When Lex was thirteen, he left Bancarduu, heading west, and took an apprenticeship in a workers’ settlement. He stayed there for two years, learning how to weld small parts in a workshop, working with machine electronics, assembling circuit boards, and writing simple programs for computer systems. Under the massive dome of a huge building he repaired machines as large as entire factories. These machines were used in open-pit mining; inside them, stairs led to various components, and twenty engines ran in parallel to move the massive, lifeless body and control a 20-ton bucket. In his final year of training he learned how to disassemble these complex engines, clean or replace parts and reassemble everything. He was there when the huge machines were dismantled and lifted by crane onto freight cars, ready for transport—massive convoys that stretched for miles and miles. The settlement was the heart of the machine production for the western sector. These convoys carried parts to the mining zones, where the expanding open-pit mines constantly demanded more machines. And more men.

When Lex completed his apprenticeship, he followed that call. It took him to the far end of the western sector, to the mining town of Orongu, nestled along the inner edge of a crater. Most of the convicts there had no formal education and spent their days extracting ore from the nearby open pit. Lex repaired their mining vehicles, which needed servicing every second or third shift due to constant wear and the extreme cold.

Just then, a dump truck rolled through the gate of the maintenance hall—two-axled, with double tires, towering over nine meters tall. Its freezing metal skin steamed, and frost had crept across the windshield of the driver’s cab, making the person behind it seem lost in eternal ice.

Lex took a deep drag on the half-dead cigarette between his fingers, bringing it back to life. He sized up the giant from his seat and estimated its condition. The vehicle had been out in the open for twelve hours. That meant, it had probably been refueled at least once by one of the mobile fuel stations out there. At minus 167 degrees Celsius the polar diesel-methane mixture froze quickly, and the oil became thick if the engine wasn’t running hot enough. Often, ore trucks got stuck in the pit; if they were lucky, they came back with just engine damage.

The ore hauler rumbled backward slowly. A mechanic guided it along the adhesive strip markers on the ground, while the warning alarms on the vehicle blared in staccato, cutting through the constant noise of idling engines and welding torches like sharp pencils tearing through paper.

The guide backed toward Lex, making sweeping gestures to signal the driver to stay on course. The twin exhaust pipes on the side belched out thick clouds of fumes; the bluish smoke swirled up through the air, making the beams of the halogen lights visible. The hauler rolled over the platform’s lift columns embedded in the floor, finally coming to a stop at bay S7. Lex set his cigarette on the corner of the workbench and slowly rose from his crouch. He squinted up at the driver, who was standing next to the cab, leaning over the rail. With one hand, he held his helmet in place, the chin straps dangling loose at the sides. He flashed a wide grin.

"Good to see you again, man."

"You too," Lex replied.

"That meetup still happening tonight?"

"Don’t have to pull any overtime today."

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"Mori’s coming, too."

"I thought she had a late shift on Wednesdays."

"She’s mostly got overtime now. But since one of the nurses in her group got hit with a penalty, she's to cover her shift."

"Even better," Lex said. "You coming down, or you gonna leave me with a stiff neck?"

"On my way, man."

Lex was dressed in an orange jumpsuit with reflective stripes running down the sides and pockets on arms, chest and legs. He pulled a handheld computer from his cargo pocket, grabbed the stylus with his left hand, jotted down the vehicle’s ID and slid the device back into his pocket.

Tayus still wore the old welding goggles around his neck—the only physical reminder of his dad. As he walked over, he pulled off his cap, revealing a wild tangle of felted dreadlocks. Passing by Lex, he nodded at the half-smoked cigarette. "Looks like it’s kinda drooping. Mind if I give it a little life?" He grabbed the cigarette and fixed it between his lips.

"Go ahead, knock yourself out," Lex said. "Just happens to be my last bit of tobacco for the month."

"Got a light?"

Lex patted down his pockets, pulled out a worn matchbox, gave it a shake near his ear to check if there were any matches left and then tossed it in a wide arc to Tayus. Tayus caught it with both hands and inspected it from all sides. With the unlit cigarette still hanging from the corner of his mouth, he looked up at Lex.

"These things came from Vega Prime, what, four years ago?"

"Yep, they sure did."

Tayus widened his eyes. "Why’d you hold onto this junk? Man, back then we were still hanging out with Mori in Bancarduu, watching the Harvester land."

"And watching the lucky winner of the Selection Program take off and leave the moon. Oh yeah—"

"Exactly, man. Wonder who’s getting out of Limbo this year."

Lex cleared his throat.

"You good, man?" Tayus asked.

"Yeah, yeah, I’m fine," Lex replied. "You thinking of entering the contest?"

"You out of your goddamn mind? Like I’d just leave you and Mori stuck in this hellhole. Plus, to even pass the test, you need, like, some kind of education. All I do is haul junk back and forth. Hardly think I’m the right guy for it. But even if I could..."

"...you wouldn’t leave us hanging."

"Exactly, man."

Lex nodded, pressing his lips together. Whatever he had to tell Tayus, he’d save it for their meetup at B17. If Mori was there, he wouldn’t have to explain twice what a lousy friend he was.

"What’s up with you today?" Tayus asked, snapping Lex out of his thoughts.

"Nothing," Lex said.

The two of them leaned back against the large front tire of the hauler, silently smoking. After a while, Tayus handed the cigarette butt back. "I better get moving. Gotta transfer all that ore before I catch heat."

Lex nodded. "See you tonight." He took a couple more drags before dropping the cigarette butt and grinding it out with the tip of his boot. Then he picked up the stub, tucked it into the cuff of his overalls, and glanced up at the damaged driver's cab, shielded by the overhang of the dump bed from falling rocks. He gave a nod and sighed. "Alright, let’s get to it," he muttered.

After an hour, he’d replaced the windshield and checked the tires for serious damage. He climbed into the cab and tried the ignition. The engine sputtered to life on the fourth try. He climbed back down, grabbed the electric screwdriver from the workbench and loosened the eight large screws on the battery compartment. Sliding it open, he peeked inside.

"Holy crap."

Steam rose from the compartment; it was packed full of lunar sludge from the mines. When Lex returned from the tool room, he had an old metal shovel in hand. Scoop by scoop, he cleared out the worst of the gunk, then sucked up the rest with a vacuum hose leading into the floor of the hangar. Once the battery was exposed, he could see the corroded terminal clamps.

"Triple holy crap. What the hell is this?"

He cut the cables from the battery and removed the clamps. Each weighed about a kilo and fit right in his palm. He grabbed a fine steel brush and tried scrubbing away the rust but quickly realized it was pointless—the clamps were toast. He grabbed a new set, smeared them with terminal grease, and hooked them up to the battery. Then he climbed back into the transporter. The engine started up instantly—on the first try, second and third.