I grabbed the rungs to jump up the short steps at the back of the mech loader. Slamming the cage shut over top of my head, I shoved my feet to the front of the toe cup to ensure they were secure and pulled the belts over my shoulders, snapping them shut at my chest and waist. Flicking switches on both left and right consoles, the giant machine whirred to life, lights blipping as the systems came online.

“Good morning, Chee-tah,” the mechanical voice droned from my headrest.

“Morning, Sloth,” I replied in a false, cheery tone.

At our initiation, we were allowed to ‘name’ our AI mech supports. As the machine I was currently readying had tried to reject my name when we’d first met, I’d decided to name it after the most obvious opposite animal I could think of. Who knew it would be an apt description for the thing? Weighing nearly three tons, it worked with massive hydraulics to move its steel body around, but with a lift capacity of five times its own weight, it was a useful tool in the recycling section we worked in. But fast? No, Sloth was not fast. It wasn’t even that comfortable. I winced to shift my hips in the small stool seat that had worn-out padding. I’d be rubbed and chafed by the end of my ten-hour day.

Sloth had the basic function of ‘self-driving’ us from the garage facility to our assigned work area in the yards. For my part, I was supposed to be reading the daily briefs sent by the company on their expected quota for the day and if any new material had been dumped, what classification it was and if there were special instructions involving it. Usually my area was topped up regularly, probably because I worked fast, but that didn’t mean I was a keener. I watched Sloth’s power readings, eyed its system checks until they were all green, and then sat back and enjoyed the ride.

Sloth lumbered out of the facility and I waved at another guy who went left, Joe trailing behind. We took turns with the rookies. There was one good thing about the training regime. I recognized the rig but not the guy, could be a new promotion, but Joe looked apprehensive. I gave him two thumbs up and then promptly turned Sloth the opposite way for a day of uninterrupted slogging.

Mayan was in delivery. These were the hovercraft loaders that ferried shipments of raw metals over the yards and dropped the raw materials into processing piles. Depending on what they were and what capacity was like on the ground, computers calculated the best quadrant and directed them there.

As Sloth made its way to our quad, I watched the hovercrafts that were already moving around above. Slowing to a stop above my section, I watched one open a giant double door on its underbelly to release tons of shiny shit into a pile in front of me. I frowned and looked at my screen.

“Aluminum,” I murmured.

The screen spit out a high-toned ping and the word glowed brighter. Overhead, the hovercraft’s belly doors boomed loudly shut, and the giant jet fans whirred to speed away. It kicked up a massive cloud of dirt and sand, forcing me to hold my breath. My face shield protected me from the grit but did not filter the smaller dust. It beat on the plastic with a hiss.

“Aluminum shipment, Chee-tah. Company prioritizes processing of pile one,” Sloth’s mechanical voice advised uselessly. I punched in the commands and grabbed the toggle throttles. Twin grappling claws whirred to life, and we dug in.

---

The hangar was the last place anyone would think of to look for people. Set a mile from the complex, it was a large abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of what remained of the old traditional city. Seeing as the company owned what was left of the grid on earth, interconnected to every complex around the globe, they never shut off any of the electricity. It glowed with low security lights, and occasionally automated drones patrolled the area. Even less frequent, manned hovercraft would do a sweep, but if you kept out of sight and hid the lights , no one would ever care to find you.

It was still hot. Fucking planet was melting down and the sky bitches just kept building. My mood had taken a nosedive, probably due to the ten hours spent in the 41C temperatures. My hips were rubbed raw, I was dehydrated, again, and Sloth had broken down two times, causing me to miss my quota for the day. If I made up for it tomorrow, I’d make my weekly bonus, which was an extra ration of alcohol and food, but frankly, neither was good enough that I cared.

In the complete dark, I stopped at the corner of the last building across the hangar and waited. No movement or sound, save the wind sweeping up the empty streets, causing the old signs to rattle in its wake. Seeing nothing of concern, I shot fast across the last open corner, then ducked under the door overhang. I checked one last time, listened for air bound traffic, but it was all quiet. I unbolted the door.

The open space was a relief. Protected from the hot winds and sand, it was cooler and shaded. Even though most of the skylights were broken, my hideout was well hidden in a dark corner at the far back. I made my way, working to step light and keep my eyes sharp. Occasionally a roach flittered past, but we ignored each other. They’d outlive us all and probably set up a new civilization, the filthy fuckers.

Getting close I slowed. I kept my secret in an industrial paint booth, built in and shielded at the back of the warehouse. I looked for any signs it had been disturbed, but, same as always, it sat dark and waiting.

I slipped under the old plastic tarps and quickly unlocked the door to get inside but left it unlocked for Mayan, who took longer to get off work because her hovercrafts required some sort of debrief inspection that took an extra hour.

Finding the switch, the old LEDS blinked to life.

For the past twelve years of my life, I’ve been a junker. To the company, that’s my entire adult working life so far. They educated us to the age of fifteen, then sent us to the yards. I found this place, and the marvels inside, the night before reporting for the rest of my miserable life. It’s the only thing that’s kept me sane.

Running my hands over the sleek fuselage, I imagined her brand new. It always made me smile.

‘Star Hunter’ was still bright and prominent in its giant gold lettering on both starboard and port sides.

A class 2 space shuttle from the moon settlement days, Star Hunter was a forgotten relic of a fast and furious space age. Humans had discovered the secret to establishing a colony on the moon and immediately switched gears at a feverish pace to build the moon base and city that followed. Over a hundred years or so, they built hundreds of class 2 shuttles to ferry people, materials, and supplies to the lunar community. All the spares—damaged, wrecked and obsolete—were gathered-and to my luck-disposed of at the Phoenix Complex. The program ended when I was just a kid. My dad worked on their salvage. But Star Hunter was just obsolete, never broken. I’d overheard the mechanic going on one day about what a shame it was, she was in perfect low-hours condition. So I’d told dad about her. And we’d saved her. Hiding her in the old paint booth, we’d covered it with tarps and eventually, she was forgotten when they started shutting down the place. No one found her. When they finally closed the warehouse for the last time, they’d just shut off the lights and walked away. Missing her completely.

I didn’t know what we’d do with her. I didn’t know how to fly, or where I would go if I learned, but she was mine. My dad mapped out what little repairs she needed. He’d even swiped a vid of the original technical repair manual. Bit by bit, he’d taught me to salvage the parts we needed to not just keep Star Hunter running, but to maintain her as good as new. She shone in the dim light.

The scrunch of the door moving across the floor made me turn. Mayan ducked through and I waved at her.

She grinned. “Quiet tonight,” she said, exhaling to relax at being arrived.

Mayan admired the shuttle for a moment, probably joining me in the perfect peace of being in the presence of something not broken or dirty.

She was mine, and I’d brought Mayan to see her a few months ago. Until then, she’d been my secret alone since my dad died.

“The third set of coordinates on the map is off world,” she said, breaking the silence, but not her gaze on the ship.

I blinked, but stood still in disbelief for a moment longer. “How—” I tried to ask.

She beat me to it. “I punched them up on my break today. The first set of numbers brings up a location in the Mexican jungle. A sort of cave or mountain system or something.”

Moving to the small counter we used for snacks and water, she took her backpack off her shoulder and set it on the surface to unzip the top. Digging deep, she lifted two large water bottles and a soft pack meal kit. She cracked one bottle and opened the lid on the pack. “The second is somewhere near Sydney,” she finished, and tipped her head to take a long drink.

Still standing close to the shuttle, I turned a bit to see her, but wasn’t exactly sure what to say. “And the third?”

Mayan shrugged, stopped drinking to take a breath, but resumed drinking the entire near-litre of contents in one go. She held up a finger for me to wait.

I had to chuckle. It was just like her to have excitement and optimism on the tip of her tongue, but life to get in the way. So, I waited.

“Dunno,” she replied in a huff and out of breath. “I think the second site will tell us.”

I moved now to walk around the shuttle. “Well, the jungles of Mexico might as well be off-world, so why not,” I quipped and moved slowly, my arms folded and relaxed against my chest. I liked to pace around Star Hunter, changing my view of her. It helped me to think-or daydream.

Mayan appeared in front of me, causing me to stop, having come the opposite way. Her expression was dead serious, like the night before. “We’re going,” she told me.

I could feel the grin raising the corners of my mouth. “M’kay. What are you talking about?”

She huffed again. “You want out of here? I think you should get out of here. I want out of here. Here’s our chance.”

“Mayan,” I began, shaking my head but moving to continue my walk by going around her. “That’s pretty quaint, I appreciate you thinking of me, but I’m not a temp. I couldn’t leave the company if I wanted to. And you know that,” I added, the last I couldn’t help sounding annoyed.

As if she was the only one to dream of leaving, of starting a new life anywhere but in the complexes.

Mayan was a temp. Born in the sky, her parents were skilled workers who spent contracted periods of time on the surface to support the operations down here. Her father was an engineer, her mother a nurse. She taught the infirmaries here how to tend to basic health needs like check-ups and scrapes and bruises, and was an imported skilled worker, because they kept doctors and nurses at the sky city level. You couldn’t even aspire to be one if you were born in the dirt. Because Mayan was of age, she was working to earn her pilot permit to one day be a shuttle pilot in the sky, ferrying the enlightened back and forth across the azure-blue from city to city-or even the moon-far from the stench and colourless world of the surface.

I might be able to achieve a hovercraft junk delivery level by the time I reach fifty or sixty, but for Mayan, her parents were contracted here for two years and she’d wanted to stay with them. She needed a job, so she picked one.

At first I had hated her for that, but I quickly learned there was no hating Mayan. She was too perky, too bright, her goodness and enthusiasm infectious. She was pretty without effort, healthy from being born and raised with ample vitamin D, C and A and educated by the best the sky could offer. They’d accepted her to medical school, she’d told me, but flying was her dream.

“Star Hunter will take us,” she said. This time she’d not followed or moved to intercept me. She’d simply waited for me to make a full rotation. I stopped in front of her, my expression blank.

“You’re a hovercraft pilot. I’m not a starship pilot. This is a space shuttle. This isn’t space,” I told her flatly.

She grinned.