Page 2 of Alien Engineer's Mate

"If you couldn't handle the equipment, you should have said so instead of making excuses," Paul cut her off. "The company doesn't look kindly on operators who can't keep their shit together."

"She's right about the sensors," Amos said quietly, though he wouldn't meet her eyes or Paul’s. "They've been acting up."

"Then why wasn't it reported properly?" Paul's voice was reasonable, but his eyes said he was going for the kill.

"It was," she insisted, but she knew she was screwed. Her team was already looking away, shuffling their feet. They all knew what was coming next.

"Well, regardless of your excuses," Paul said, tapping his tablet imperiously, "company policy is crystal clear. Equipment damage comes out of team wages. Hmmm…” He paused for effect, the bastard. "A new rotor cutter assembly will cost approximately twenty thousand credits."

She gasped. Someone swore behind her. Twenty thousand credits meant at least a month of survival rations. The corporatetakeover had already pushed them to the edge with their "optimization" nonsense; surge pricing on necessities, restricted rations, and endless equipment fees. This would push some families right over that edge.

"That's not fair," she tried one last time. "If proper maintenance had been done?—"

"Life isn't fair," Paul cut her off. "But hey, if you want to cover the whole cost yourself..."

The threat hung there like a noose. They both knew she was screwed. With three kids to feed, Kyle's medical bills had her barely treading water as it was. Same story for most of the crew… especially Amos, trying to keep two girls fed on a single miner's pay.

"We'll split it," Amos ground out, staring Paul down. "Equal shares."

The others muttered agreement, their anger thick in the air but useless. They all knew the drill. One wrong word, and suddenly your air quality would tank, or your family's water would come up short. The colony's new owners had turned screwing people over into an art form aided and abetted by people like Paul Justiv.

Her hand clenched at her side. Just once she’d like to meet him down a dark tunnel where no one could hear him scream…

"Excellent," Paul said, tapping his tablet with a flourish like he was doing them a favor. "I'll process the paperwork. Coleman, you're done for the shift. Everyone else, come with me. We'll clear this lot out and bring in the backup rig once this mess is cleared." His smile was pure poison. "Assuming it's working, of course."

He turned and walked away, leaving them standing there, the blood-red emergency lighting playing over their tired faces. One by one, the crew drifted off to start cleanup, carefully not looking at her. Only Amos hung back for a moment.

"I know it wasn't your fault," he said quietly. "But my girls have to eat."

Then he was gone as well, leaving her alone with the wreckage. She looked up at the mining rig's cabin, remembering James teaching her to run it just months before he died."You never know when you might need the extra skill,"he'd said.

She sighed and yanked off her safety helmet to shove her hand through her hair. What would he think of the hellhole the colony was now? Or what they'd all turned into, fighting like rats just to survive…

She started the long walk back to the surface, trying not to think about explaining to her kids why their plates would be even emptier this month. She snorted as she passed the colony's motto, carved above the exit to the main tunnel: ‘Together We Thrive.’

Yeah, right. These days it was more like ‘Together We're Fucked.’

And somewhere in his office, Paul Justiv was probably already planning his next move against her. The colony wasn't a community anymore, it was just a mass of desperate people trying to keep their heads above water, willing to drown others to save themselves.

She straightened her back and kept walking. She'd survived worse than this. She'd find a way through. She had to. Her kids were counting on her.

The broth wasn't enough.

Eira stirred the thin liquid, watching the few precious protein chunks swirl in lazy circles. Steam rose in weak wisps that did nothing to help her growling stomach. Through the tinykitchen window, she could just see the edge of her greenhouse below, nestled between the pods. The salvaged poly-sheeting barely protected her struggling vegetables from the caustic atmosphere. The plants were stunted, with twisted leaves and bent stems, but they were food—real food, not the processed protein they could barely afford at the moment. She frowned as she noticed movement; one of the sheets had started to degrade, letting in traces of the orange dust that covered everything on this world. She couldn’t afford to replace it yet.

Leaning her head back, she closed her eyes for a moment. The dull plasti-walls pressed in around her in the cramped kitchen. Her fingers tightened on the spoon, but she wasn’t there; she was back in the mine, watching that rotary blade spin wrong again. She flinched as her mind replayed the explosion... metal shrapnel flying everywhere, the sound of her own heart pounding in her ears as she waited for her crew to sound off. Opening her eyes, she stabbed at the hard vegetables with a fury they didn’t deserve, trying to break them down to something more palatable. Twenty thousand credits split between the crew. The number made her stomach clench harder than hunger. That was a lot of money—a month of survival rations, if they were lucky.

Leaning her hip against the counter, she let her gaze drift over their small living space while she stirred. The extruded plastic table and chairs were just like everyone else's in this section, a far cry from their previous three-bedroom pod on the other side of the settlement.

Her gaze softened as it passed over a cushion made from one of James's shirts, brightening one chair, and her grandmother's needlework adorning another. At least she'd managed to save the cushions when they moved. Small comforts meant everything these days.

The airlock's warning chime sounded, followed by the hiss of equalizing pressure. Her son, Leo, ducked through the narrow doorway, unclipping his respirator. His broad shoulders nearly brushed both sides of the frame. His refinery uniform was coated in dust, and exhaustion dragged at his features.

"You're home early," she said, forcing brightness into her voice as she ladled broth into worn plastic bowls. With practiced movements, she shifted most of her protein chunks into Leo's portion before he noticed.

"Supervisor sent us home. Equipment needs maintenance." His voice was heavy with fatigue as he slumped into a chair. Worry spiked through her; the long hours at the refinery were wearing on him, but he never complained.

"I'm sure they'll fix it soon," she said, setting his bowl in front of him. When he looked suspiciously at the extra protein in his serving, she busied herself serving food for the rest of the family. In the past, there would have been bread too, but their budget didn’t stretch that far anymore.

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