Utopia Colony

A Utopian story by katerauner

Despite the Do Not Climb sign, Jake clambered onto the catwalk railing, stretched one arm out to balance against the central Spoke, and touched the sky.

One of the sky-bots was close by. A thick disk, it was as blue as the ceiling and too small to be seen from the floor. It crept along a line of bulbs, glowing pinpricks of light. There were millions of lights in the ceiling. The bot flattened itself against one dark bulb, and when it crawled away, the light glowed again.

Jake hopped down because staring at the bot made him dizzy, not because of the Do Not Climb sign. No one would notice his violation. No one ever joined Jake on the catwalk except, occasionally, his mother. His throat tightened with grief. She had died too soon, too young. It was no comfort to be told that was the price they paid for life in the asteroid belt, that cosmic radiation sometimes led to premature death.

Being loud was rude in town, but with his mother on the catwalk, they once laughed till they cried. He didn't climb the Spoke to laugh anymore, but to contemplate his world. From this height, the toroid shape of the colony was obvious. Facing spinward, the ground curved up to a distant bulkhead, painted blue like the sky, where shoulder-high stacks released reconditioned air. Each of the colony's segments had its own life support system for redundant safety, so his lessons taught. That was a good thing, because the people in Jake's segment had built a utopia that must be protected. Others had not.

Strips of trees laced the ground, surrounding level croplands and meadows, until three forested terraces crept up the hull on either side. His eyes followed the line of rail tracks along the segment's spine to the anti-spin bulkhead where more stacks inhaled air to recycle.

Straight below, Jake gazed through the grate of the catwalk deck to roofs of the town clustered at the base of the Spoke.

He circled the Spoke one more time, pausing at the single closed door. There was a lift inside, or so his lessons taught. A small light was centered above the door. As always, it glowed red. He pushed a button at the side but, also as always, nothing happened.

Jake started down the staircase that spiraled around the Spoke. Halfway down, still above the treetops with his loose tunic flapping in the perpetual breeze, his comm pad beeped.

A text from his father. I'm going to the cabin.

Jake looked in the direction of their cabin and small potato field, but it was lost in the trees. He tapped out an answer to his father's unspoken question. I'm taking a walk.

There was no need to elaborate since he walked most days. He could cover the length of the segment in half an hour, bulkhead to bulkhead.

A symbol blinked as his father typed a reply. I gave up my room in town, but you should keep yours. I want to live alone now.

There it was. Jake wasn't surprised, but his knees folded to drop him on the step as he reread the message. His father was deeply private and, without his mother as a bridge, they barely connected.

Jake sat until his butt ached from the textured metal tread.

At the bottom of the stairs, Jake crossed the town's plaza. People in shades of beige and gray passed him, eyes down as always. His mother had been dead long enough that he met no fleeting expressions of sympathy. He entered a beige concrete building that held individual rooms. Inside his own small space, empty potato sacks lay on the little round table. His father had deposited the last harvest they'd made together in the town warehouse.

He'd never been close to his father, so nothing was really changing. But Jake's throat thickened and his eyes burned. Maybe he deserved to be alone.

Restless, Jake left his room and headed for the community kitchen across the plaza, next to a warehouse at the railroad platform's edge. A train glided in bringing a dozen sleek, steel-blue cargo cars. Wide doors hummed open and robotic stevedores rolled out, each bracing its central column with multi-jointed limbs as it rolled across the gap. A train arrived every couple days to collect potatoes and the tinctures some folk brewed from medicinal herbs. In exchange, the stevedores unloaded wheat, cloth, and other products from segments beyond the bulkheads.

No one else gave the train a glance, but Jake stopped to watch. The last car had a line of windows along its side and a door in the middle that remained closed. No passengers arrived today. They seldom did, and no one approached the car to board. Why would anyone leave utopia?

Tingles ran up Jake's fingers, into his arms, and through his chest. He held his breath as the thought of that empty car filled his mind. The train ran in an endless spinward loop around the colony's habitat ring, stopping at each segment. If no one texted it - and who would be so rude as to make the train wait - it would leave shortly.

Jakes ran his tongue across his dry palate. Yes, the train ran on a loop so it would return, and nothing forbid anyone from taking a ride. He'd be home in a couple days, so nothing bad could happen. On trembling legs, he walked along the platform and, when Jake pressed the button at the passenger car door, it slid into the car's hull. He stepped inside and it whirred closed behind him.

The car was spotless, with a dozen bench seats on either side of a central aisle. Colors were muted, from the gray floor and pastel walls to seats covered in a slick, dull-blue plastic. But Jake couldn't have been more excited if it was as gilded as a fairy tale castle.

Illuminated signs near the ceiling announced the location. Meadows. Facing the car, another sign outside on the platform repeated the information. Meadows. His home segment.

Jake crouched in the aisle, suddenly reluctant for anyone to see him, until closing cargo doors sent rumbles through the car and it began to move. Then he pressed close to the glass.

The train traveled no faster than a brisk walk, but Jake laughed out loud as the trees and fields flowed past. Farming bots like shoulder-high beetles trundled among crops.

His pulse was slowing to normal when the ventilation stacks flashed by, darkness flooded the car, and then daylight again, jolting him back to breathlessness.

***

Jake was in the next segment, traveling past fields he'd never seen before. Some were overgrown with bright flowers shining through dense grass. Then came a flooded area, though he couldn't tell how deep the water might be. More flowers, another pond where something splashed at the surface. The pattern repeated.

The train slowed and stopped with a slight bump. A sign facing him read Laketown.

Of course. He'd been taught the name of each segment and their sequence, like a necklace of beads along the ring.

Tension fluttered in his stomach as he spread both hands wide against a window. There was a Spoke outside, just like at home, and the layout of buildings was familiar, but he could hardly recognize individual structures among the riotous colors. Murals of giant flowers covered red and yellow walls punctuated with doors contrasting like jewels.

And the people! Alone or in small groups circling the plaza, they were vibrant. Laketown seemed a better candidate for utopia than his gloomy home.

Jake smacked the button at the door and noise engulfed him. Instead of a somber shuffling of feet, voices called and laughter echoed. He stepped back into the car, overwhelmed for a moment, and then he hopped out with a grin.

His stomach growled as Jake approached the structure that, in Meadows, housed a community kitchen. This building was cobalt blue with murals of overflowing breadbaskets, bright vegetables, and platters of succulent fish.

Inside, the building was strange. Instead of serving counters, stalls with overhead signs lined both sides. Instead of long tables flanked by equally long benches, square tables filled the center, each with a few chairs. People exchanged plates at the stalls and tapped their pads together for some unknown reason.

Jake moved along until he could slip up to a stall. A man wearing a red striped shirt, with a white towel over one shoulder, stood behind the spotless countertop. His face was deeply creased, and he was gazing out at the crowd, so Jake stepped directly in front of him. The man eyes flicked over Jake's gray tunic, but then returned to his face rather than drop down as would be polite at Meadows.

Jake bounced on his toes. This was like meeting an old friend. He felt sure a cheerful greeting was appropriate. "Good day."

"As you will." The man's reply sounded odd, but his tone was pleasant. "What can I get you?"

Jake's eyes settled on one of the baskets on a shelf behind the man. "One of those, please."

The man's eyes moved to Jake's hands and his smile flattened. "I don't think I've seen you before."

"I just arrived." Jake's chest swelled. Saying it out loud made him feel bold. "From Meadows."

"Then you may not know that in Laketown, you need to buy your meal."

Heat flushed across Jake's face and his sense of triumph deflated. Suddenly he wanted to run, but his feet wouldn't move.

The man's expression was still friendly. "You need a job in town or at the fish ponds. Or perhaps you have something to barter."

Barter. That made sense. "In Meadows, we bring whatever we grow or craft to the warehouse and take what we need."

The man's eyebrows tented as if puzzled. "What if someone cheats?"

"Why would anyone cheat?"

The man laughed. "Must have no ambition, you Meadowans."

He jerked back. Despite the smile he faced, Jake felt he should defend his people.

The man interrupted his stammered reply. "No offense intended. Do as you will and welcome to utopia. Now, if you'll excuse me." He sidestepped to serve a woman queued behind Jake.

Jake stumbled out of the building. The train remained at the platform, but its engines no longer hummed. It was waiting for something.

He shoved his hands in the pockets of his loose trousers and began walking anti-spinward along the tracks. Towards home. His face cooled as he increased his pace and he quietly laughed at himself. His big adventure was about to end, and probably no one in Meadows had noticed he was gone.

I should have reviewed my lessons on this segment's society. But what could the man have meant by saying, welcome to utopia?

As he approached the bulkhead, Jake slowed. There was another lesson he should review - how trains moved. The tracks ran up against the bottom of a frame and three seams outlined panels that must open somehow, but were shut tight. Jake ran his hands around the edges as far as he could reach but found no controls. Not even a button.

There was nothing to do but return to Laketown. The train was gone, so Jake flopped down at the community kitchen, even if that's not what the building was here.

"Hello." A woman sat as he did, on the ground, leaning against the wall, a few paces away. "You're the Meadowan, aren't you?"

Talking would take his mind off his stomach, so Jake moved close enough for conversation. "Yes, I arrived at suppertime, though I haven't had supper." At Meadows, such an implied complaint would be rude, but he'd never missed a meal before.

"You need to find your place, that's all. Like me. I broke my arm and couldn't work, so I had to give up my room."

Shock drove the rumbling out of his stomach. "You were hurt? Didn't anyone help you?"

"I'm better now." She stretched her arm out, wriggling the fingers. "I'll have my place in utopia back soon."

"Not much of a utopia."

"Of course it is. Freedom. Do as you will without harming others. Here's what you need to know. When the lights adjust to nighttime, join me inside. We'll prepare the room for the cleaning bots and get supper in return." Jake found it hard to wait patiently. But eventually the lights embedded in the ceiling high overhead dimmed and sconces mounted on the building blinked on.

Inside, people behind the stalls were busy wiping their counters and bagging left-overs. The man in the striped shirt called out. "Sheila! As you will. How's your day?"

"Fine, Albert. Have you met my friend?" She frowned at Jake. "What's your name?"

"I'm Jake." She said they were friends, so he boldly looked into her face. Under a tangle of gray-streaked hair, her eyes were bright even if her skin wrinkled like crumpled paper.

"Just like you to pick up a stray." Albert smiled tolerantly and reached out to join hands with the woman. It was a familiar, intimate touch.

Jake blinked with unexpected insight. "Are you two married?"

Sheila kept smiling at Albert as she answered. "What's married?"

"It's an exclusive pair bond, and the couple often raise children together."

"You Meadowans are quaint." Albert pulled Sheila's hand in closer to his chest.

It was too hard to understand on an empty stomach. Jake helped wipe tables and set chairs upside down on top. The cleaning bots were familiar - thick disks with short limbs that rumbled over the floor. Most vendors had left when Sheila waved him towards the community washrooms, a familiar sight he welcomed. Jake washed in a small sink and drank water from his cupped hands.

He dodged the bots on his way to Albert's stall and the man passed him the heel of a loaf. Jake drew in a deep, satisfying breath. He didn't have to go home after all and didn't have to admit defeat.

"I'll show you a good place to sleep," Sheila said. "Temperatures are dropping for night and the air gets damp."

"See you tomorrow." Albert leaned close to Sheila and the two exchanged a quick kiss.

***

Jake followed Sheila and a dozen others, men and woman of various ages dressed in mismatched clothes and carrying sacks and baskets. Behind them, the plaza was filling with musicians whose competing songs overlay in complex syncopations.

"The fish ponds have owners," Sheila said. "But the wild strips between are free for gathering. That's what we do. Gather." She pulled a short-handled spade from her basket. "I'll show you the greens and roots that barter best in town."

A thin old man, more stained and smudged than the others, cackled with laughter. "That's our Sheila, always happy to have an audience."

She tilted her chin up. "I'll be back in a room soon. Not living on the street all my life like you."

"What makes you think I want a room? I live free."

Jake's body gave up complaining about his missed breakfast once he concentrated on Sheila's lessons, and the group spread out as they worked. When they approached a pond, only the thin old man was close by.

From the ridge of a steep slope, a narrow ramp led to a dock extending out from the shore. The thin old man pointed and cackled happily. "Biscuit root." He scooted down the slope on his haunches.

Two figures in pink shirts and clashing orange trousers crouched at the end of the dock, pulling long poles in and out of the pond. Sheila said they were clearing a circulating pump.

A splash and yelp grabbed Jake's attention. The old man floundered below him, clawing at the slope, but slipping into the water.

Jake slid down the slope on his butt. He'd never been at a pond edge before and kicked back as the loose dirt gave way. He flattened out with one hand dug into the bank as water soaked his trousers, but he couldn't reach the man.

"Help! Help us. Bring those poles." Jake lifted his head towards the dock but the figures, after a brief look, went back to their pump.

Hands gripped Jake's wrist. Sheila sat next to him with her heels dug deeply into the dirt. He stretched farther, the old man caught his other hand, and he pulled.

"My hamper." The old man looked like he might jump back in as his basket floated towards the dock.

Jake scrambled along the slope, climbing upwards as fast as he slid down, until he clambered onto the dock. He grabbed the basket from the water and rolled onto his back, panting.

When he could breathe, he jumped up, trembling. "What's wrong with you people? You didn't help us."

"Relax, friend. Do as you will."

"Without harm!" Wasn't that the saying? Jake swept one arm towards the old man, now creeping carefully towards them. "He could have died."

"That was his choice, to go down there." The dock man bit his lip, perplexed.

A jerk pulled the basket from Jake's hands. The old man had reached him.

Jake stomped a foot in frustration. "This is no utopia." He ran up the ramp as fast as his shaky legs could manage and around the pond until he could turn towards town.

Sheila trotted to catch up. "What're you doing?"

Jake waved his pad. "I'm leaving. A train will be here in an hour. I'll view lessons on the next segment, and the next one, and travel until I find a true utopia."

Muddy clothes chaffed his skin, increasing Jake's irritation as he walked. His pulse was still pounding when he plopped down on the railroad platform to stare at his pad's chronometer and wait.

Shuffling feet finally made Jake look up. Five gatherers surrounded him, each with their basket of herbs, and Sheila sat nearby.

"Maybe there is a better place," she said. "We want to come."

"As you will." He rolled his shoulders, huffed out a long breath, and looked straight into her eyes. "I mean, anyone can come. I'd appreciate your company."

***

The sign facing the train read Sanctity.

Jake hopped up, leaving a splotch on the seat from his damp trousers, and read aloud from his pad. "'In the Sanctity segment, colonists base their social structure on ideals of dignity, graciousness, and civility.' That sounds good to me so I'm getting off here. If any of you..."

Everyone leaped up.

His moment of leadership was brief. The gatherers spread out through the town plaza and even Sheila left him standing alone on the platform. Sanctity's town was laid out in the usual pattern. Building colors were muted, like Meadows, but the windows had been enlarged and the hum of conversation was more like Laketown.

The Spoke at the platform's edge was identical, but Jake's eyes snapped to a light in the top of the embedded doorframe. It glowed green. A tingle ran down his neck. He'd never seen that before and sat down to watch.

He was rapping his heel impatiently when the door opened. A slender man leaned forward to scan the platform, saw him, and straightened abruptly. A shorter woman pushed past him. "What's the problem?" She carried a large hinged box in both hands and jerked to a stop when she saw Jake.

"We're here to repair a stevedore." She tilted her head towards an open cargo car. One robot stood on the platform but a second bot inside hadn't moved.

Jake wanted to leap up. He'd always wondered about people inside the Spoke. But the woman bit her lip nervously and the man hadn't stepped out of the lift. So he swallowed a shout and nodded instead. "I've always wanted to meet someone from the Hub." He realized he was staring rudely, but the woman's gaze held steady.

"I pressed the button a thousand times. Back home, I mean. In Meadows. I climbed the stairs to the ceiling and pressed that button too, but nothing ever happened." He stopped for a breath.

The man stepped out of the lift, smiling. "It's a biometric control. Here, I'll show you."

Jake hopped forward as the man took a ring from his pocket and placed it around the button. "Use your thumb..."

Jake pushed a thumb against the button and then pulled away. The man pocketed the ring. "Try it now."

The door slid shut with a hiss and open again as Jake pushed the button. Shut, open, shut. The man grinned at him. "I'm Walter, and this is Abbey."

"We're pleased to meet you," Abbey said. "Utopians aren't usually interested in repair crews. Never interested, actually."

"Sometimes we have to work at night," Walter said, "so Utopians don't chase us away."

"You can't mean Meadowans." Jake's people respected privacy. They'd barely glance at a newcomer and never chased anyone.

"Meadows... any of the segments."

That odd urge to defend his town rose again. "But Meadows is utopia."

Abbey chuckled. "Every segment thinks it's utopia. Maybe they all are, each for the right sort of person. I prefer the Hub."

Jake's lessons flashed through his mind. "But, you can't live in the Hub. It's zero-g there. Your muscles atrophy, your immune system shorts out, and fluids build up in your head." He focused on Abbey's eyes, looking for bulging.

"We spend prescribed lengths on time in the ring. Enough centrifugal gravity to prevent that."

Jake nodded without agreeing. Confusion must have showed on his face because Walter gave his arm a sympathetic squeeze. "We'll show you, as soon as we fix that bot."

They crouched at the motionless stevedore and Walter pressed his thumb into a depression on the bot's column. A panel fell open. "More biometrics. A security feature to protect the bot because, well, sometimes technophobia crops up in the ring."

Abby removed a shiny palm-sized case from her box. "Once, there was a guy who claimed the colony isn't an artificial, rotating ring. Said maintenance was against the will of the gods. He had followers, if you can believe it." She yanked a similar case out of the bot and snapped in the new one.

They returned to the Spoke and Jake tingled all over as he stepped into the lift. The door whisked shut and a little bump raised Jake onto his toes as the floor fell away for an instant.

Abbey stepped out. "We're under Sanctity's deck now."

They stood in a pool of light on a catwalk like the one Jake knew from Meadows' ceiling. But white pipes as thick as his waist surrounded this walkaway, and square ducts of shiny ceramic hung overhead. A hum vibrated through Jake's feet as Abbey led the way.

Lights blinked on in front of them, and Abbey paused at times to point out pumps and compressors half-lost in the shadows. Beyond a cluster of tanks, they arrived at a door opening to a room housing soft-sided chairs and a small kitchen.

Abbey hoisted her box onto a counter and flipped it open. "Time for lunch. I brought plenty."

Walter motioned to a door at the room's far end. "We have a home here, with sleeping space and exercise rooms. And while we're below decks, we check the maintenance robots that crawl through the recycling systems and do whatever chores need doing."

As they shared sandwiches, Jake asked a thousand questions about the Hub and its maintenance crews. They did important work in the colony, much more interesting than growing potatoes. Walter and Abbey looked straight into his eyes and spoke with enthusiasm. Even though they'd just met Jake, they felt like long-time friends.

"Is the Hub the real utopia?" Jake asked.

Abbey snorted. "Not with a crew leader like ours. He'll expect a report before supper, and he probably already checked whether we repaired the stevedore."

Jake was sorry when Abbey announced it was time to escort him back to the lift. The door opened by the train platform and he peeked out as she'd recommended, but no one was in sight, so he circled the Spoke and headed across the plaza.

A small group started toward him, striding with purpose. Two women and a man, dressed in dark, buttoned vests over pastel shirts. Their faces were grim and Jake's stomach tightened. They looked angry.

The grimmest woman spoke. "Did you arrive on today's train?"

"Yes. Is there a problem?" Jake dropped his gaze, which would be polite in Meadows. But not in Laketown, he remembered, and these Sanctity people stared at him. It was so confusing.

The woman scowled. "Shifty-eyed vagrant, like the other thieves. Come with us."

Several men had surrounded Jake and now stood with their arms held slightly away from their sides, fists flexing. Jake wobbled on weak knees as he followed the grim woman to the community building. Blocks filled in the windows and the door was fitted with a crossbeam. Two men lifted the beam while a third pulled the door open and shoved Jake inside.

The gatherers ran to him with Sheila in the lead. "We wondered what happened to you."

"What's going on?" Jake scanned the dim interior. Knots of people in buttoned vests hunkered on benches that ringed the walls.

"It's all a misunderstanding," one of the gatherers said, a man in bright green. "We just harvested some herbs. Never seen anything like them before - oh, what great barter they'd make. But those people... I bet the same three stiffbacks grabbed you. They said any three citizens can convict, so here we are."

Sheila's eyes brimmed with tears. "For a year. They said, they'll keep us in here for a year."

Jake's breath caught in his throat. He rattled the closed door and one of the strangers barked a harsh laugh from a bench.

"I lost my basket." The green gatherer sniffled deeply.

"You said this segment was civilized," another added, as if Jake had caused their troubles. "We didn't do anything wrong."

Sheila hugged her own basket against her chest. Her eyes were red and watery. She didn't join in with the others' accusations, but her eyes said it all.

Jake slumped down next to her. His throat tightened and he dropped his head into his hands to hide tears that threatened to overflow.

Sheila set her basket down. With her hands freed, she put an arm around his shoulder.

No one had taken her basket. Jake sat up abruptly and fished his pad from a trouser pocket. No one had taken anything from him. He motioned them close. "What do you all have?"

Everyone waved a pad. "These people aren't very good at taking captives," a gatherer said. She held up her spade. They all had their spades.

Jake turned back to the door. It seemed to be a standard slab, outlined in light that seeped into the dim room. Two shadows marked where the cross beam lay in its brackets. Jake rattled the door again and the shadows rattled too.

***

They worked at flattening one of the spades by setting a bench leg on it and jumping on the bench. The other prisoners seemed to enjoy the spectacle as Jake toppled several times.

When guards opened the door and pushed in a cart with bowls of soup, none of the pastel prisoners said a word about the spades. One of the gatherers had a couple handfuls of chives in his basket, so he tore the herb up and shared it around.

"You'd think a few chives made today a major festival," Sheila said as everyone eagerly slurped herbed soup.

A man in a lavender shirt approached Jake with a resolute expression. "We... all of us. We want to know what you're planning."

"To get out of here," Jake said.

"You don't understand. Confined here, we must contemplate our violations and become worthy of utopia."

Sheila leaped to her feet. "Are you defending our imprisonment? Utopia is liberty."

Pastels and gatherers joined in.

"Utopia is effortless beauty."

"Nonsense. Without work there's no meaning."

"Utopia is fertile lands and clear ponds open to harvest."

"It's not about land. It's about harmony with our fellows."

A gatherer waved his remaining chives. "If you need to change human nature to reach utopia, you'll fail."

"No. Utopia grants us grace despite our nature."

Sheila scoffed. "It does not mean that bad things never happen."

Sorrow squeezed Jake's throat, choking off his breath. Bad things did happen. His mother died and left him alone. Anger knotted his muscles. The utopia promised to her, a long life of peaceful days in gentle meadows, was a lie. Her promise to stay with him forever was a lie.

Or maybe, it was a wish, an aspiration. Was he the one lying to himself?

Jake heaved out his breath. It left a space inside that ached, empty but calm at last. Somewhere in the ring, he'd find a place to belong.

Sheila shifted to stand next to Jake. "We're leaving on the train. This sure isn't utopia, but there are other segments in the ring. As for each of you... Do as you will."

Lavender turned completely around to face his friends. It was hard to know if they'd join the gatherers on the train or not. Maybe they were still considering, since nothing had happened yet. Without further discussion, they drifted back to their benches.

"You shouldn't have told them our plans," one of the gatherers said in a whisper.

Jake rubbed a sore hip. "With me pounding that bench against a spade, it's hard to keep a secret. I'm glad we made friends with your chives. Maybe they won't betray us." He opened the railroad schedule on his pad and entered requests at various stops to arrange for the train's arrival in Sanctity. "We escape tomorrow evening."

The next day dragged on forever, especially because they were all hungry - Sanctity only fed prisoners once a day. Finally, the door rattled as the crossbeam lifted. Jake leaned against the wall close to the frame, a flattened spade hidden up his sleeve, facing away as if the door held no interest at all.

A man rolled the soup cart in and backed out, pulling the cart from yesterday. As the door swung shut behind the old cart, Jake dropped to his knees and pressed the tip of his flat spade against the frame.

The door closed and the beam's shadow returned across the crack of light.

Jake took a deep breath to slow his pounding heart. Wriggling the blade farther in, he began working it up until he reached the beam. "It's not moving. I need help."

There was barely rom on the short handle for another hand, but together they wiggled and pushed.

The beam lifted and fell with an echoing thump.

Jake pushed the door open and spotted the train at the platform. He waved the others out ahead of him.

Suddenly, pastels and gatherers jammed together at the door. Feet pounded across the plaza and some prisoners veered off into the shadows.

Lights blinked on in the closest buildings. A door banged open and someone shouted. Lights glowed inside the train's passenger car as doors slid open, and people poured out of the town's buildings.

Jake flipped his pad screen to maximum brightness and waved it at their pursuers. He shouted the first words that came to mind. "Here, I'm here," as he rocketed across the plaza.

Gripping the stair rail, he swung upward. The expanded metal treads, ringing like a bell under his feet, felt familiar. At the first twist in the spiral, he paused to wave his bright screen and shout again.

Jake sprinted up the stairs. His daily walks back home, bulkhead-to-bulkhead and ground-to-ceiling, meant he could keep going, pulling ahead of his pastel pursuers.

When he hit to top catwalk, Jake caught sight of the train moving below, gaining speed. He'd done all he could for his friends and jammed his thumb against the button at the door, trusting biometrics to work.

The door slid open. Jake leaped inside and slammed a hand on the close-door button. Thumps resonated, but the door held and the lift began to rise.

Jake fell to his knees, pressing a fist into a painful stitch in his side until his breathing steadied. His stomach lurched. He gripped rails running along the walls, hopped his feet high off the floor, and drifted down, stifling a laugh.

When the door opened, Jake floated out with one hand locked on the doorframe, staring into a confusion of shapes he couldn't understand. A man swam through the air towards him. "May I help you?"

"Abbey and Walter showed me how to use the lift."

The man's creased forehead smoothed and a smile widened his lips.

After all his planning to escape, Jake hadn't considered what he'd say next, but words tumbled out. "I want to learn how the colony works. I want to join a crew and be useful. I'm good in school and I learn fast. I'll help you here."

The man tilted his head in acknowledgment. "Welcome to the Hub."