Bastion Saturn by C. Chase Harwood

suddenly moved around the room filled with breathable molecules, and they heard the door lock thump into the open position. Caleb readied the nerve disrupter and nodded to Jennifer to do the same—as if she really needed prompting. Caleb pushed the door in. It only took a light touch to open, and his shove swung it so hard that it banged against the inside wall and bounced back toward him.
    “Bang a gong, why don’t you,” snapped Jennifer.
    They stepped inside, Caleb first, and she closed the door behind her, hitting the lock button. A vacuum array sucked the air out of the chamber outside, once again making it feel like a ruined mausoleum. The prep room proved to be the first good thing that had happened all day, with exosuits and assorted gear for external exploration, maintenance and whatnot. It remained in perfect order. A rack held air packs would fit into the insulated slot that was standard on all exosuit breathing apparatus connectors. Caleb checked that two were full and grabbed one while Jennifer turned her back to him to swap hers out. She did the same for him and they simultaneously took in big gulps of air before they sighed with relief as the beeping in their helmets abruptly stopped.
     
    Jennifer pointed a thumb at the porthole behind her. “Those people walked out there on their own two feet, past all this gear. Why?”
    “You really do have an uncanny knack for wasting breath. I bet you talk the whole time you watch a movie.”
    Jennifer was about to offer a sharp reply, then caught herself. He was right, she chattered at the movies. She preferred to watch them alone, just so.
    The station lighting worked via motion detectors. The hallway beyond was dark. But when they reached it, Caleb was relieved to see the ceiling light up with LEDs.
    Jennifer said, “I thought we’re just getting gas.”
    “To go where? We need the key or the code for that shuttle.”
    “But you said—”
    “I know what I said. Obviously we were being short-sighted idiots. We need that ship, so we can be anywhere but here.”
    The hall ran roughly thirty meters, ending in a large dark junction. Doors on either side offered no suggestion beyond simple numbers of what they may hold. Each had an observation window, beyond it dark. He wasn’t going to check every door, instead pushed forward until he found an area with the lights turned on. Lights on, meant someone in a room—as often as not.
    The junction acted as a common area with a snack kitchen and chairs for lounging. A bit messy, a space for gathering and kicking back but no evidence of disarray, much less of the kind of panic that residents of the station to walk out the door and die. Three other hallways led out from the common area, making the layout one big cross of sorts. To Caleb’s frustration, beyond a dull glow that was casting across all of the floors, none of the remaining three hallways showed any light. He waived at the three choices and said, “You pick.”
    “Right. Always start with right.”
    “You always start with right?”
    “Always.”
    Caleb chose to leave it at that. “Right then.”
    The hallway lit up, and the one behind them clicked off. The shifts in light were startling in their instantaneousness. Caleb felt his nerves jump each time.
    Caleb sighed. “OK. Let’s open the doors as we go.”
    “If we want to be thorough, we should go back.”
    “What’s the difference?” He opened a door to his left. The room lit up. An office with furniture—nondescript space travel stuff—ultra-light-weight and utilitarian. They probably weren’t set up to print big stuff like furniture. In fact, Caleb was pretty sure Phoebe lacked the raw materials to bother with industrial printing array. This was the kind of place where everything got trucked in. Food was likely printed; almost everyone ate printed food in the Saturn System—heck, everyone ate printed food back on Earth. No, not even that anymore; just those cubes. Douches, thought