The rock wants to be dank, but there is no water here. No water, no life. No way out. Just a forever void. No darkness even to see by. And we’re stuck right in the middle of it.

Steel grates against stone, and I step out of the lift shaft. This cave isn’t natural, but the asteroid is, as much as anything can be. Just one rock in a giant goddamn ring of the things.

I raise a hand to the side out of my helmet, more out of habit than necessity. They’re already listening to me. Following my every move. I press the button anyway. It feels easier somehow. Safer. The lie is held, the peace kept.

“You told me to tell you when I reach the shaft,” I say.

“Yes, Petra,” the voice comes back. “We did. And?” 

I roll my eyes — they can’t see that, at least. “Here it is. Confirmation. I’ve done it. Shaft Ten. Here I am.”

“Good,” the voice says. Danielle. Control Manager. “The target should be just ahead. Proceed as instructed.”

I snort. “Were you always this dramatic?” Target indeed.

She doesn’t reply.

We’ve been on the base for months, but it was only recently that Danielle was promoted this far. Promoted. Shafted into the role. Same difference.

I never got it clear what happened to the last one. Some emergency, had to be taken back to Earth — that’s what I heard. Still don’t know the details and, God forgiving, I never will. Please let it not have been a virus. Something about this environment, it shatters the immune system. Marcus was a prick, but he wouldn’t deserve that.

Neither would the rest of us.

Danielle’s alright, though. She’s fun. Friendly. Used to have a laugh that would melt the stars.

Stop it, Petra. Focus. Back to the so-called target.

The familiar thrum of machinery reverberates around me. Quiet, pulsing with the stone. But no air down here. Stay in the suits. There’s only a few contained areas in the whole base — and even then, Maintenance Control warns the supply could dry out at any moment.

No gravity either. Boots to stabilise, rails to hold. Don’t jump too high — you might not touch the ground again. The lifts are only a convenience. Saves miles of walking. Grab hold of the handles, and it takes you down. Or up. Or is it sideways?

Directions — what’s the point of them in space?

That’s not the only thing gravity affects. Injuries become... interesting. The smallest cut is like ink coiling in water. Which in a mining base is not fun for anyone. That’s why there’s med-bays at almost every turn.

I creep down the tunnel. No med-bays down here. It’s dark. There’s no light. No light at all. Too expensive, and why illuminate an abandoned shaft? We have the head lamps — what more do we want?

We abandoned this shaft some months ago. Maintenance Control said it wasn’t worth it. Nothing to find down here. Nothing to see. Best to pool resources elsewhere.

Resources. We’re stuck in the middle of nowhere, and all for a few rocks. They mined the Moon first — until the tides changed, and they had to stop. Not for the people, but because it ruined all their leisure spots, their beach resorts and their golf clubs and whatever the fuck else.

I would love it if our world had been running out of vital minerals, and brave explorers were sent off into an unknown frontier to gather more. I would love it. Or, if not love, I would damned well prefer it. That story would at least be romantic somehow. Humanity’s Great Endeavour amongst the stars, or some shit. But no. Some rich fuckers wanted space rocks for their fancy gardens, some other people found the technology to do so, and here we are now.

“Keep going,” Danielle says again. “He should be just ahead.”

I know that, but I say nothing, bite down a sarcastic response. “Okay. Proceeding,” I manage. Even though I want to scream at her. What happened to you? Why are you like this now? Who changed you?

Tensions can’t get too high. We’re stuck in the middle of a giant fucking void. No easy way off this rock. One temper flares, and chaos will unfold. It’s happened before.

Have you any idea what a strain it is?

Relationships are almost worse. We’re instructed to avoid them at all costs. We have to. One bad break-up, and the entire station would be sent into meltdown.

I take another step forward. I have to find him. Him. The target. Perci, short for Percival von Septimus III.

Homing pigeons — I hear it’s because with geographic skill they would return home as quickly and directly as they could. They are marvels. But was there a limit to how far they could go? 

Someone wondered how the pigeons would fare in space.

A cruel sport. I never followed the results. From it we saved Perci.

He lives with us now. No way to send him home. We set up a rudimentary dovecote. Just a box in the crew quarters — one of the only ventilated zones. That, and the eating hall. Perci doesn’t do much, but he’s good for morale. Someone from Below even fitted him up with a tiny spacesuit in case the air gets bad. Everybody loves Perci. Just your average pigeon — dilute blue, with t-check wings and a knobbly cere — but in this void, he’s a special presence.

So how do you lose a pigeon in an asteroid mine? I still can’t believe it. Whoever was in charge of him this week would need a stern talking to, and maybe their head slammed against a wall.

But because I had helped rescue him, and because I have a week off mining to recover from a bruised shoulder, it’s my job to find him now.

Typical.

A buzzing in my ear startles me. It’s Danielle again.

“Petra. There’s been a mistake. You have to turn back.”

Not what I expected. “Why?”

Pause.

“It’s not safe down there.”

I snort. “You should have checked earlier.” Scrabbling ahead. “Hang on, I think I’ve found him.”

“Oh. Great. Well, hurry back then.”

“I will,” I sigh, fighting my exasperation. “Just give me a minute.”

Stop. Calm yourself.

I breathe through the suit. In. Out.

Tensions cannot rise.

The scrabbling comes again. Just around the next boulder. Convenient. It’s a feathery sort of flutter, like a bird struggling at a window. It better be a bird — that’s who I’m searching for.

Then a pale shadow darts behind me. I glimpse it out of the edge of my eye. Turning around, I see.

Hunched form. Twisted shadows stretch long behind it.

It’s Perci.

“There you are, you devil,” I call, crouching down to him. He coos, wobbles in that way pigeons do — he looks happy to see me. I pick him up carefully, stand, clutch his feathered form against my body. Instantly he relaxes. 

I do not.

Feathers.

He’s not wearing a suit.

He’s breathing.

There’s air down here.

The shaft is closed.

Stop. Slow. Breathe.

One gasp, then I swallow it again. I do not need my helmet misting up — hard enough to see already.

And I do not need Control to hear my panic.

Back down the shaft I head. I grip Perci gently but firm. I don’t want to hurt him, but even more I do not want him to escape again. I’m sure he doesn’t either.

He’d seemed panicked when I found him.

How did he get down here?

The lift is jammed. I press the button, and it does not work. There is no beep to recognise my request. There is no whirr as the mechanism churns. There is no ding as the lifting handles become ready.

I press the button again. The lift spectacularly does not launch into action.

The mineshaft looms dark behind me. Dark. Darker than before. Darker because I am trapped.

No. Not trapped. I will have to climb. It can be done, and it has been done. I have done it. The lifts are a convenience, not a necessity. To do it one-handed will be the challenge, but it can still be done.

The hum of machinery reverberates through the chamber still. Machinery. Hum.

What machinery? So familiar, I couldn’t notice it before. But what is it doing down here?

There are pipes. The walls are shaking, and there is air being vented into this tunnel. Why? For what?

I do not know. But I have to get out of here now.

Because I see now what Danielle had learnt. What Perci had felt.

There is something down here with us.