Hub [work]: Moon

“Copy. And the repair crew?”

I walk the central spine, boots clipping on the grated floor. The viewport is the size of a garage door. Below, the Earth hangs like a cracked blue marble, half in shadow. Above, nothing but the black felt of space and the slow crawl of the orbital elevators.

Tonight, a cargo hauler from the JAXA sector is late. Its transponder blinks amber: Mechanical fault. The pilot’s voice crackles over the comm, thick with a Kyoto accent. “Hub Control, we have a seal breach in bay seven. Requesting emergency berth.”

I press a button. A distant klaxon wails—a soft, polite sound, like a microwave finishing. The Hub stretches, yawns, and gets back to work.