Dunelock - Arid Planet

D4 Space Port

Varek stood at the edge of the bustling D4 Space Port, his heart a mixture of excitement and anxiety. The sky above was a burnt orange, the sun hanging low like a lazy drone that couldn't be bothered to rise any higher. He took a deep breath, the dry, dusty air swirling around him, whispering secrets of the arid planet he was about to leave behind.

After countless applications, he had finally landed a job as a miner. The thought sent a thrill through him. Mining space rocks might not sound glamorous, but it was a ticket out of Dunelock—out of Rustings Prefabs, where life was a relentless cycle of survival. He remembered those days vividly: the relentless dust storms and the rusted metal structures of his village, where the only constant was decay.

“Hey, Varek!” a voice called out, breaking his reverie. It was Fynn, his old friend, a scrawny kid with a wild mop of hair and a grin that could light up a black hole. “You ready for your big adventure?”

“Big adventure? More like big headache,” Varek shot back, chuckling. He couldn’t help but feel a warmth wash over him as memories of their childhood flooded in. They’d spent countless hours navigating the canyons, searching for anything that could resemble fun amidst the dusty wasteland.

“Come on, man! You’re mining now. Think of all the shiny rocks!” Fynn teased, nudging him playfully. “And then you can finally buy that ship you’re always blabbing about.”

Varek rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t deny the hope that fluttered in his chest. He had a plan—a solid one. Four hours, and he’d be on a ship headed for a future that wasn’t just about scraping by. He was determined to save every credit, every scrap of change, to buy a personal ship through installments. He’d be damned if he let Dunelock’s oppressive heat dictate his future.

In the back of his mind, the memory of the canyon tugged at him. The cave entrance had always loomed large, a portal to another world. Inside, they had discovered a hidden lake, its waters sparkling like the stars above. They’d caught fish that sold for a fortune in Dunelock, their little treasure trove that set them apart from the rest. While others succumbed to starvation and dehydration, he and his father had thrived, finding sustenance in the shadows of their secret.

“Hey, Varek, you good?” Fynn’s voice pulled him back to reality.

“Yeah, just thinking about the old days,” Varek replied, his smile tinged with nostalgia. “You remember that cavern lake?”

“Yeah, the one with all the fish! You guys kept that secret for ages. How’s your dad doing?”

“Still at it, fishing for our lives,” Varek said, his voice lowering. “But he’s getting old, and I can’t keep relying on that spot forever.”

Fynn nodded, his expression turning serious. “You’ll make it big, I know it. Just don’t forget where you came from, alright?”

“Never,” Varek promised, his heart swelling with determination. As the countdown to departure began, he glanced back one last time at the arid expanse of Dunelock. With its rusty, crumbling structures and harsh landscapes, it would always be home. But he was ready to leave it behind.

Four hours until takeoff. Four hours until the unknown awaited him among the stars. And with that thought, he felt the weight of possibility settle on his shoulders.

Three hours and fifteen minutes passed. Varek stood near the edge of the spaceport’s platform, watching the scene in front of him. The D4 Spaceport wasn't fancy, far from it. It was the bare bones of functionality, cobbled together like everything else on Dunelock. The framework looked like it had seen better days—welded steel beams and rusted plates, dust sticking to every surface as if it was a permanent feature. It was a place for people who had given up caring about appearances, where the focus was on survival and getting the job done.

Around him, rugged personnel were bustling about, repairing the logistics ship that sat awkwardly on the ground, looking like it might fall apart if you sneezed too hard. Mechanics wiped the sweat from their brows, cursing at uncooperative parts as they hammered and patched with a mix of skill and frustration. These people were as much a part of the machinery as the ships themselves—tough, gritty, and holding together by pure willpower.

Varek ran a hand through his short-cropped hair, eyes scanning the workers. A part of him had always been fascinated by the way things worked—engines, ships, spaceports. But that fascination always took a backseat to the weight of survival. You couldn’t get lost in your dreams when the desert wind was ready to peel the skin off your bones. Still, the sight of the ships—no matter how battered—always stirred something in him. They represented freedom, a way out of this dusty hellhole.

Suddenly, the speakers crackled to life, a voice cutting through the clanging of tools and the hum of engines. “Attention: The next transport shuttle will be arriving in five minutes. Please proceed to the boarding area. Repeat, transport shuttle arriving in five minutes.”

Five minutes. Varek felt his pulse quicken. This was it. The countdown to leaving everything behind. He glanced at his small bag, slung over his shoulder. It held everything he owned, which wasn’t much. A few old holo-discs, some clothes, and a worn-out toolkit his father had given him when he first showed interest in mechanics. Everything else stayed behind, locked in the past.

"Varek!" Fynn’s voice broke through the buzz of the spaceport. He jogged over, slightly out of breath. “You ready, man?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Varek replied, a smirk tugging at his lips. “No turning back now.”

“You know, I thought you’d be more excited. You're not gonna miss this, are you?” Fynn gestured to the decaying spaceport, the dirt, the endless heat. “All this luxury?”

“Oh yeah, I’m really gonna miss the constant threat of heatstroke,” Varek shot back, shaking his head. “But hey, at least the dust adds texture to everything, right?”

They both laughed, the kind of laugh you have when you're standing on the edge of something big and terrifying, and the only way to keep the nerves at bay is to make fun of it. Varek felt a little lighter, but he knew the weight would come crashing back down the moment that shuttle arrived.

“Seriously though,” Fynn said, his tone softening, “I’m gonna miss you, man. It’s not gonna be the same around here.”

Varek gave him a hard pat on the shoulder. “You’ll be fine. Hell, you’ll probably run this place without me dragging you into trouble.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Fynn grinned. “You were the one who always got us out of trouble.”

“Yeah, well, now you’re on your own for that,” Varek said, though his chest tightened at the thought of leaving. But he wasn’t about to get sentimental. Not now.

The distant hum of the transport shuttle grew louder, drawing everyone's attention skyward. A speck in the sky slowly became more defined—a sleek, utilitarian shuttle descending toward the port. Varek’s heart thumped in sync with its engines, the reality of the situation setting in.

“Guess this is it,” Fynn muttered, eyes on the shuttle.

“Yeah,” Varek replied, his voice low.

They stood in silence for a moment, watching as the shuttle’s landing gear touched down with a metallic hiss, dust swirling in a cloud around it. It looked more reliable than the ships scattered around the spaceport—at least, Varek hoped it was. He didn’t fancy the idea of exploding before even leaving Dunelock’s atmosphere.

“Final call for boarding: Transport shuttle departing in five minutes,” the voice over the speaker announced again, as passengers started to shuffle toward the boarding area.

Varek took a deep breath. “I’ll see you out there someday, Fynn. You keep yourself alive, alright?”

Fynn smirked, his usual bravado masking the emotion beneath. “I’ll try not to get blown up, if you do the same.”

“No promises,” Varek grinned before turning toward the shuttle.

With one last look at Dunelock—the rusted spaceport, the rugged workers, the endless desert—Varek steeled himself and started walking. The future awaited, somewhere beyond the dust.

As Varek stood in the boarding area, surrounded by other newly recruited miners, he couldn’t help but notice how precarious the whole setup was. The so-called "boarding area" was nothing more than a platform with a few caution marks painted haphazardly on the ground. There were no doors, no windows—just a rusty railing that looked like it had been salvaged from a scrap heap. Below, a 30-foot drop waited to claim anyone careless or unlucky enough to stumble off the edge.

He’d heard stories. Some poor bastards had taken a tumble before even setting foot on their new job. And what did the port officials do about it? Not a damn thing. There was a sign, after all. And if someone ignored it? Well, it was just another "unfortunate fella," as the locals liked to say. That’s how it was on Dunelock. Survival of the fittest—no pity for the clumsy.

Varek shuffled closer to the center of the platform, instinctively avoiding the edge. He glanced at the other miners, most of them looking just as worn down by life as the planet they were leaving. Dust-covered faces, cracked lips, and eyes that had long lost any sparkle of excitement. It was like looking at a gallery of people beaten by the universe but too stubborn to lie down and die.

“Hey,” one of the miners muttered to Varek, his voice hoarse, “you think this thing’s safe?”

Varek glanced up. “Safer than falling off this damn platform, I guess.”

The guy let out a rough laugh, more of a cough really. “Guess that’s a low bar.”

Then, the murmur of the miners quieted as something massive began to break through the atmosphere above them. At first, it was just a dark shape against the burnt orange sky, but as it descended, it became clearer.

The ship wasn’t sleek or pretty. Far from it. It looked like a gigantic, rusted hunk of metal barely held together by welds and luck. But it was functional. Big, bulky, and functional.

"Guess they’re not wasting money on aesthetics," someone muttered behind Varek.

He smirked. Functional was probably the best compliment you could give this thing. It was ugly in a way that was almost impressive. Wide, thick hull plating scarred by years of space travel, paint worn down to bare metal in some spots, patches welded over holes that probably told stories of near-misses with asteroid belts or pirate raids. This wasn’t a ship you admired—it was a ship you respected. It had seen things. It had survived things. Just like the people it was picking up.

This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

"That’s our ride?" the miner next to Varek said, squinting up at it.

“Yep,” Varek replied, feeling a weird mix of dread and relief. It wasn’t pretty, but if it flew, that was all that mattered.

The ship’s engines roared as it slowly lowered itself above the platform, the ground vibrating beneath their feet. Dust kicked up in waves, swirling around the group of miners as they shielded their faces. The ship hovered above them, its landing gear too wide to fit on the platform, meaning they’d be boarding from a ladder drop. Because of course, they couldn’t make this easy.

With a hiss and a series of mechanical clicks, a massive cargo bay door on the underside of the ship began to open. From it, a ladder uncoiled, dropping down onto the platform with a loud clank.

“Alright, rookies!” a booming voice called out from above, echoing across the platform. A figure stood at the top of the ladder, leaning out from the open hatch. “Get your asses in gear and climb up! We don’t have all day, and this damn planet’s got me sweating in places I didn’t even know existed!”

Varek squinted up at the man—a broad-shouldered guy in a grimy jumpsuit, probably the crew chief. He looked every bit like someone who’d been in space too long. Varek sighed, adjusting his bag on his shoulder. The idea of climbing up that long ladder didn’t exactly fill him with excitement. But compared to staying on Dunelock? He’d take the climb.

One by one, the miners started toward the ladder, the sound of boots clanging on metal as they ascended. Varek waited a moment, letting the others go ahead. No point rushing when there were still too many people trying to scramble up all at once.

“Here we go,” Varek muttered to himself. He took a step toward the ladder, his heart thumping with each heavy footfall. He could feel the dry heat of Dunelock on his back, the taste of dust still lingering in his throat.

The guy in front of him, a tall miner with a shaved head, started to climb but paused, glancing back at Varek. “You ever been off-planet before?”

“First time,” Varek admitted, gripping the rungs of the ladder. “You?”

“Second,” the man said, pulling himself up. “It’s not as exciting as you think.”

“I’m not expecting a luxury cruise,” Varek replied, hauling himself up the ladder, feeling the weight of his bag dragging him down.

The climb was awkward, and the metal rungs were hot from the sun. Sweat dripped from Varek’s brow, his muscles straining as he pulled himself higher and higher. When he finally reached the top, he was greeted by the crew chief, who slapped a hand on his shoulder with more force than was probably necessary.

“Welcome to your new home, kid,” the chief grinned, showing off a set of teeth that looked like they’d been through just as much as the ship. “Hope you like small spaces and shitty food!”

Varek stepped into the ship, the air inside cooler but thick with the smell of grease and machinery. The cargo bay was huge, filled with mining gear, crates, and a few makeshift bunks along the walls. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was better than the dusty hell of Dunelock.

As the last of the miners climbed aboard, the cargo bay doors began to close, sealing them inside with a heavy thunk. The crew chief shouted orders to the workers, and the ship’s engines rumbled to life, shaking the entire bay.

Varek found a spot to sit against one of the crates, wiping the sweat from his face. His heart pounded, not from the climb, but from the realization that this was it. No more Dunelock. No more Rustings Prefabs.

The ship lifted off, and with it, Varek’s old life slipped further and further away. He leaned back, closing his eyes as the vibrations of the ship's engines hummed through him. The future was unknown, but it was out there—beyond the stars, beyond the dust.

The crew chief, standing at the front of the cargo bay with a wicked grin, clapped his hands together, the sound echoing through the metallic space. “Alright, listen up, rookies!” His voice was rough, like sandpaper dragged over a comm unit. “We ain’t got no fancy grav systems on this bird. Life support’s the only luxury you're getting. Which means… we got twenty pairs of magnetic boots. The rest of you? Grab a chain, or hold on to the balls of the poor bastard next to ya. No one’s floating away on my watch!”

The miners exchanged uneasy glances. Varek snorted, despite himself. Mag boots for the lucky few, huh? He didn’t need to be told twice that he wasn’t going to be one of them. With fifty miners packed into the cargo bay and only twenty sets of boots, the odds weren’t exactly in his favor.

The crew chief pointed to a large crate where a burly crew member was distributing the magnetic boots, tossing them to the lucky winners like they were handing out gold. "Mag boots, step up! And for the rest of you unlucky saps, better get creative. There's plenty of chains around, just don’t strangle yourselves."

Varek didn’t bother moving toward the crate. He knew his place in the pecking order, and it wasn’t at the front. Instead, he quickly scanned the walls, noticing thick chains bolted everywhere—presumably to keep cargo and people from floating around like untethered space junk.

While some of the other miners stood around dumbfounded, waiting for instructions, Varek moved with purpose. He grabbed one of the chains, feeling the weight of it, then quickly looped it around his torso and arms, securing himself to the wall like a seasoned spacer. He made sure the knot was tight but not constricting—he didn’t want to be stuck gasping for breath in zero-G because he’d been overzealous with the damn chain.

“Smart kid,” a gruff voice said, cutting through the noise of boots clanging and miners muttering.

Varek looked up to see the crew chief, hands on his hips, watching him with a raised eyebrow. “Quick thinking,” the chief added, nodding approvingly. “Better than some of these other meatheads. I once saw a guy float headfirst into a bulkhead ‘cause he thought he could ‘wing it.’ Blood everywhere.” He laughed, though it was hard to tell if he was joking.

Varek gave a half-smile, not sure how to respond. “Figured I'd rather not be that guy,” he muttered, adjusting the chain to make sure it was secure.

The crew chief clapped him on the back, almost knocking the wind out of him. “Good instinct. We’ll see if you’re still this sharp after a week of mining space rocks. For now, just hold on and pray you don’t puke in zero-G.”

Varek smirked, though he couldn’t deny the tight knot of anxiety forming in his gut. It was one thing to wrap yourself in chains to avoid floating off, but another thing entirely to spend days or weeks without gravity. He’d never experienced it before, and from the looks of the other miners, neither had they. A few were nervously trying to copy his method, while others were clutching onto any railing or chain they could find, their knuckles white with tension.

“Alright!” the crew chief bellowed, stepping back into the middle of the bay. “For those lucky enough to score mag boots, stick to the deck. For everyone else, you’re about to get your first taste of floating. Just keep it together and don’t panic. And remember, if you do let go…” He pointed down at the floor, or more accurately, the cargo hold’s wide open space, now just a few meters away. “...ain’t nobody catching you.”

The last of the miners strapped themselves in or grabbed hold of something solid, the air thick with nervous tension. Then, with a sudden lurch, the ship’s artificial gravity cut out. Varek felt his stomach flip, his body lifting slightly before the chains pulled taut and held him in place. Around him, miners let out surprised grunts, some of them awkwardly floating away from their handholds, while the more fortunate ones with magnetic boots clanked to the floor, holding their position with smug expressions.

Varek gripped the chain tightly, feeling the odd sensation of his body wanting to float but being held down by his makeshift harness. The room felt lighter, sounds more distant, and everything seemed to move in slow motion. He blinked, disoriented for a moment, but quickly adjusted. Not too bad, he thought, once the nausea passed.

“Holy shit, this is weird,” one of the miners near him muttered, his eyes wide as he floated slightly off the floor, one hand gripping a chain like it was his lifeline.

“Welcome to space,” Varek replied dryly, glancing at the guy. “Hope you’re not planning on taking a piss anytime soon.”

The miner gave him a wide-eyed look of panic, his grip on the chain tightening. “I hadn’t even thought of that!”

Varek laughed, shaking his head. This was the crew he’d be working with—half of them clueless and the other half scared out of their minds. At least they weren’t all morons, he thought, his gaze shifting to the crew chief, who seemed to be enjoying the chaos.

“Alright, you lot!” the chief called out, his voice booming in the quiet hum of the ship. “Settle in, ‘cause this is your life now. Zero-G, no comforts, and a hell of a lot of work. If you’re lucky, you won’t float into anything sharp. If you’re not… well, that’s your problem.”

Varek couldn’t help but feel a small sense of satisfaction as he glanced down at the chain wrapped snugly around his body. Maybe he wasn’t one of the lucky few with mag boots, but he’d done alright for himself. Survival is survival, he thought, tightening his grip on the chain.

After what felt like an eternity of floating in the awkward, weightless limbo of the cargo bay, Varek finally saw the refinery station come into view through the small porthole above him. It was massive—a cold, industrial behemoth made of steel and pipes, all interconnected like the organs of some gargantuan space beast. The station hung in the void, shimmering against the backdrop of distant stars, with docking arms extending like claws, ready to pull in ships just like the one they were in.

The crew chief’s voice broke through the low hum of the engines. “Alright, listen up! We’re approaching the refinery station now. This is where your asses will be living for the next few months, so get comfy. Once we dock, gravity’s gonna kick back in, and if you’re dumb enough to let go of whatever you’re holding on to, you’ll be kissing the deck real quick.”

Varek tightened his grip on the chain looped around him. He looked around, noticing a few of the more restless miners drifting lazily in the zero-G, their bodies slack, as if they’d gotten used to the sensation. Others—those with the magnetic boots—were still clomping around, their faces smug like they had some advantage over the rest of them. But Varek knew better. Gravity was coming, and it wasn’t going to be gentle.

The ship rumbled as it adjusted its course, descending toward a wide hangar bay below. The ship barely fit, its size making it seem like it would scrape the hangar walls at any moment. Varek could hear the deep groan of metal protesting against metal as the vessel maneuvered itself into position.

Suddenly, the wide hangar doors beneath the ship opened, like some massive floor hatch giving way. The ship lowered through the opening, fitting itself inside the station’s interior. It felt like squeezing into a suit two sizes too small, but somehow, the ship managed to settle into place without colliding with the walls.

“All personnel, hold onto something!” the crew chief bellowed, his voice laced with the barest hint of anticipation. “Gravity’s coming back in three… two…”

Clank! The hangar doors sealed shut, and for a second, everything was still. Then, gravity hit like a sledgehammer.

The entire cargo bay shifted, and everything—everyone—who wasn’t properly secured fell with a sudden, brutal force. Varek heard the unmistakable sound of bodies hitting the deck as miners who’d gotten too comfortable in zero-G came crashing down. Some let out curses, others groaned in pain. One poor guy who’d been floating at least eight feet above the floor landed with a bone-jarring thud, clutching his arm in agony.

Varek, secured by his chains, managed to keep himself upright as gravity slammed back into place. His legs felt heavier than usual, like the blood had rushed down all at once, but he stood firm, holding the chain as his body adjusted. Around him, miners were picking themselves up off the floor, wincing and grumbling. Even the ones with mag boots had been knocked off-balance, some of them flailing before finding their footing again.

The crew chief, unfazed as always, stood at the center of the chaos, arms crossed. “Welcome back to gravity, you clumsy bastards,” he called out with a grin. “I told you to hold on, but noooo, some of you thought you could float like you were on vacation, huh? Now look at you—kissin’ the floor like it’s your long-lost lover.”

Varek snorted, but he couldn’t deny the relief of feeling solid ground beneath him again. Zero-G had been an experience, but it wasn’t something he wanted to repeat for long stretches of time. His body still felt weird—light-headed but heavy all at once—as if it was trying to readjust to the reality of mass and weight after so long floating in the void.

The crew chief waved a hand toward the far end of the cargo bay, where a large door hissed open, revealing a narrow corridor beyond it. “Alright, miners, get your gear and line up. We’re heading out to orientation. If any of you busted your bones on the fall, now’s the time to drag your sorry asses to medical.”

Varek adjusted his bag on his shoulder and began unwrapping the chain from his body. His muscles ached slightly from the strain of holding himself steady, but at least he hadn’t fallen on his face like some of the others. As he unlooped the last bit of chain, he noticed one of the younger miners nearby nursing a bruised arm, his face twisted in discomfort.

“First time in zero-G, huh?” Varek asked, raising an eyebrow.

The kid looked up, sheepish. “Yeah… didn’t think it’d feel that weird. Thought I had it under control.”

“Yeah, you and half the guys on this ship,” Varek smirked, patting the kid on the shoulder. “You’ll get used to it. Or you won’t. Either way, better learn to fall with style.”

The kid chuckled weakly, wincing as he cradled his arm. “Thanks, man.”

With everyone more or less back on their feet, the miners began to shuffle toward the open door, forming a ragtag line. Varek fell in with the rest, his mind racing. This was it—the beginning of the next chapter. No more dusty Dunelock. No more fishing in the cavern lakes. Just him, this ship, and an endless grind of mining space rocks for credits.

As they walked down the narrow corridor, the crew chief strode alongside them, explaining the layout of the station.

“Now listen up,” the chief barked. “This station’s got everything you’ll need—bunks, mess hall, med bay, and the refinery where you’ll be spending most of your time. You’re here to mine, and that’s what you’ll do. Days are long, shifts are brutal, and no one gives a damn if you’re tired. You’re working for survival, plain and simple.”

Varek glanced at the other miners, noting the expressions on their faces—some were eager, others grim. But all of them shared the same understanding: there was no going back