Quitting Time
The shrieking wind whipped away the last of the ash and fell to its usual murmur. It was safe to go outside. Amid a barren dwarf planet illuminated by rivers of molten stone, a weary shaft miner emerged from the shelter of a bluespace safety pod. Charles Lambo adjusted his gas mask and looked around for the ore crate he abandoned in the storm. Featureless black stone stretched out in all directions, but Charles knew from experience that the crust was innervated with deposits of precious minerals. Charles spotted the storage crate and winced as he stepped over the corpse of a native inhabitant. The ashwalker had caught him by surprise, jabbing relentlessly with a crude spear that left him bleeding where it slipped between the plates of his hardsuit. Charles barely managed to overcome the liazardman and deployed his emergency pod just in time to escape the deadly ash storm.Hastily wrapped bandages had staunched the worst of the bleeding, but he knew that without real medical assistance he would be lying horizontal soon. Glancing at the valve on his oxygen tank, Charles noted that the tank was nearly depleted. He grimaced, mentally calculating that there was barely enough air left for the long trek back to the mining outpost. Suddenly a monotone robotic voice from his earpiece startled him. "The emergency shuttle has been called. It will arrive in 10 minutes. Nature of emergency: OH GOD OH FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK." Charles sighed and muttered, “Guess it’s quitting time.”
Telecommunications had been down for well over an hour. Charles hadn’t heard any radio chatter since then. Thankfully the priority announcement system utilized a bluespace communication array that beamed important messages directly into his brain. Charles briefly wondered why all radio channels didn't use the same technology but dismissed the idea as he realized he was wasting precious oxygen. With one hand on the grip of his trusty proto-kinetic accelerator, Charles dragged the heavy wooden crate through a maze of hacked out rock. Charles trudged onward with grim determination and rounded a bend that opened into a narrow canyon, where he found himself face to face with an ash drake.
Golden eyes blazed as the monster caught the scent of human blood. The massive creature reared, its wingspan stretching the entire width of the canyon. As the drake leapt into the air, Charles instinctively dove forward. The drake crashed down a heartbeat later. Searing flames erupted where the beast touched down and the ore crate exploded in a shower of rare minerals. The drake screeched, tendrils of fire streaming from its nostrils. Charles rose to his feet and found himself trapped between the walls of the canyon. And as the drake lowered its enormous head to charge, Charles knew he was doomed. He thought of his wife and daughter. Wondered if they would ever know he died fighting this alien megafauna. He raised his kinetic accelerator in desperation and fired at the beast, then watched in horror as the current of raw energy flew wide.
The world was consumed by smoke and percussion. Disoriented, Charles rose and found himself on the opposite end of the canyon from where he had entered. Bloody giblets littered the ground where the ash drake had been. It took the dazed miner a moment to notice a newly opened hole in the side of the canyon. He slowly realized that the accelerator blast must have struck a cluster of explosive gibronite ore. Relief quickly turned to panic as Charles felt the light-headedness of oxygen deprivation setting in. He whipped out his survival medipen and stabbed it into his thigh. Epinephrine immediately coursed through his veins and propelled him through rough stone channels toward the mining base. Gasping for breath as he entered the outpost, Charles ripped off his gas mask and leapt into the mining shuttle. As the small craft arrived at the station and docked outside the cargo bay airlock, he received a priority announcement that the evacuation shuttle would depart the station in three minutes. Charles had to cross the entire station, avoiding whatever catastrophe had occurred in order to reach the evacuation bay in time.
Charles hurried through a cargo bay scattered with empty crates and trash but otherwise devoid of life. Entering the main corridor, Charles found the station in a state of chaos. He was immediately assailed by a horrible stench filling the air. Bloody footprints and broken glass littered the hallways. The chaplain stood atop a nearby table, gesticulating madly as he welcomed the apocalypse. Charles dashed past the madman and passed a group of grey-clad assistants kicking the shit out of a weeping clown. The noble entertainer met Charles’ gaze as he passed by, silently begging for help. Charles slowed briefly, but quickly reconsidered as one of the greyshirts menacingly pointed a bloody toolbox in his direction.
Charles ran on, vaulting over the corpses of crewmates he had worked with for years. He rounded a corner just in time to avoid a group of whooping cargo technicians riding motorcycles, circling the main hallway and proclaiming their dominance of the station. As he entered the evacuation bay, Charles slipped and crashed headlong into a glass table. A nearby janitor calmly pointed at a wet floor sign while he mopped the bloody tiles. Cursing the bastard custodian as he scrambled through shards of broken glass, Charles pulled himself the last few meters to the shuttle.
He strapped into an uncomfortable chair just as the shuttle departed. Charles drew a ragged breath and looked around at the lucky few who had managed to escape Space Station 13. A blood-spattered doctor sat across from him staring blankly ahead, her hands trembling in shock. At the rear of the shuttle a scientist wept openly, while a mime sat glumly in the corner and played mournful tune on an accordion. A botanist seated next to Charles shrugged and offered a joint of rainbow-colored cannabis. Accepting the offering, Charles watched a bartender drag a beer keg into the bridge. The department heads were inside reveling drunkenly, brandishing bottles of expensive liquor and throwing credit chips at a dancing catgirl. Charles sighed and sat back as the narcotic smoke filled his lungs.
Charles returned to his tiny apartment in the corporate housing facility. He gave a weary grin as he found his wife tucking their daughter into bed. The young girl’s face lit up when she saw her father. “Papa, you’re home! Will you read me a bedtime story?” Charles patted the girl’s head, horrors of the workday momentarily forgotten. He gently sat beside his wife and child, reaching for the lone book on an otherwise empty shelf. He began to read: “One day while Andy was masturbating, Woody got wood….”
