the port of lost dreams

Log Entry: Cycle 88, Sol 6. Fringe Habitat.

The airlock opens. The air is thin. Tastes of ozone, burnt lubricants, and stale ale. The sudden assault of smells is almost overwhelming after the dead air of the Lacuna. The lights are utilitarian, casting long shadows that cling to the corners. This place isn’t forgotten; it’s just been left to rot. This is the kind of place where people get into trouble they can’t afford. My stomach churns. Not with excitement.

The few figures I see drift with a familiar, zero-g weariness. Miners with faces like crumpled maps. Specialists with tool kits bulging from patched jumpsuits. In the deeper shadows, flashes of cheap jewelry and laughs that are a little too loud. Everyone is either running from something or looking for a score.

Roberts moves with a quiet purpose, Echo floating silently behind him. I follow, my eyes scanning every stained bulkhead, every broken pipe. A small crew starts unloading the cargo from our hull.

Echo quietly brings me up to speed. The main contact for the station is a man called Jinx. Things go sideways when he touches them. Always wanting a favor. A manifest wiped clean. The kind man who has more enemies than friends.

The official story is that we’re here to deliver an engine. Who knows. I’m starting to learn that with Roberts, nothing is ever simple. This feels like it may be more than a delivery.

This isn’t a port. It’s a place where things, and people, get lost.