“All right, listen up,” said Staff Sergeant William Panabaker. His crisp grey-blue uniform complimented his Space Corps-approved flattop perfectly. Each hair stood atop his head at the regulation 7.62mm exactly, with not even one out of place. 

Panabaker addressed the morning shift at 0600 on the dot. Four rows of eight moulded plastic chairs, occupied with some of the first officers onboard the first precinct outside of Earth’s orbit. At the back sat a solitary desk.

The shuffling and quiet chatter subsided as Panabaker began his brief. “We got a batch of new recruits gracing us with their presence at 0700 hours. All but one are riding a desk,” said Panabaker as he flicked through a paper file. “Seems we got a Sec-Gen riding coattails.” 

His epaulettes were neatly stitched with a diamond and three downward-facing arrowheads signifying his rank of Staff Sergeant. A rank he fought for and was proud to hold.

“Our honourable Chief Superintendent is bestowing upon us his very own daughter this morning. Throwing her into the breach. Let’s make her comfortable, shall we?” A smattering of laughter. Panabaker peered towards the back of the room, scanning for the lone desk with the lone officer beyond the rows of chairs. The officer’s face was split by a scar running from his forehead, through his left eyebrow and down to his cheek. His uniform was identical to the others, except for one minor yet glaring difference. Where Panabaker’s —and everyone else’s— shoulder patches showed the two golden stars of the United Continents on a sky blue background, this officer’s shoulder patches offered white stars on black. “Karaner. Meet your new partner at Docking Bay 03.”

Lucas Karaner scowled. “Yes, Sir.”

“Am I putting you out, Karaner?” said Panabaker, returning Lucas’s scowl.

“No, sir.”

“Because it sounds an awful lot like I’m putting you out.”

“No, sir.”

“Good. Dismissed.” The officers stood, their chairs squeaking across the floor tiles as legs nudged them backward. Panabaker was gone. Lucas didn’t move as the rest of the room began to chatter again, mingling and moving towards the door. All except two. They wandered towards Lucas’s desk at the back of the room.

“Nice going, Skem.”

“Yeah, Skem.” Officers Roast and Chatterley, the Precinct’s resident dickheads. Greasy, over-confident smirks with ode-to-Panabaker haircuts: the same Space Corps-approved flattop, like right out of the Academy manual. It wasn’t a requirement to have one, but if an officer felt the need to show their dedication or earn favour with a few of the more strict commanding officers, the flattop was a good first step.

“Your face is going to get us all in trouble again, Skem. The last time you pissed off Panabaker he extended our rotation. You remember that, Skem?”

“Yeah, Skem. You remember that?” 

Nothing more than bullies, Lucas was the perfect target and didn’t usually have to provide much, if any, instigation to get their attention. “Fuck off, guys.” He wasn’t one to play along, either.

“Ah, big tough Scheme Officer Karaner,” said Roast, kicking at the table leg. The desk skidded back an inch under Lucas’s hands. He didn’t budge, save his pupils that followed Roast as he stepped backwards away from the table. The pair headed for the door. “Best hop on over to docking bay three, Karaner. Don’t want to keep the CSI’s daughter waiting!”

She had calmed down now. Strapped into a chair with nothing to do, Emay had little choice. She was now mere moments away from entering one of probably hundreds —thousands?— of docking bays on the Precinct. She wasn’t sure exactly on the figure. She didn’t much have a head for numbers, and why did she need to know that anyway? In case she had a panic attack and wanted to skip out? Was she going to be doing guided tours? That didn’t sound so bad, actually…

It wasn’t the end of the world, coming to the Precinct, she thought. Did she mean that? Was she thinking it because that’s where she was heading and that’s where she’d be for at least six months? No point being miserable about it now. Get your head down, do the work, and you’ll be back on Earth in no time, she thought to herself. Maybe I’ll even enjoy it…

“Prepare for arrival,” came the pilot’s voice. The panic rose again for a second. Maybe it was just the shock of the sudden voice that filled her helmet. They had arrived.

The Precinct was effectively a floating city. During its design, scientists, engineers, architects, and everyone in between were tasked with creating a space-worthy alternative to Earth. An unofficial evacuation point if conditions were to worsen. 

As things were, and always had been, any advancement came through military involvement, and the United Continents Space Corps was right at the centre. The Precinct had gradually become inhabited by wave after wave of Space Corps officers yet remained mostly empty. 

The landing was quiet enough, the transporter coming to a rest as the hatchway in the side of the precinct closed behind them. They unbuckled and collected their things as the docking bay pressurised. Emay removed her helmet and took a deep breath.

“Not so bad a flight, Reiziger. No?” said Nesiguren. He had stood, his duffel bag thrown over his shoulder. His helmet in one hand. He was beaming with excitement. 

“No, Nes, can’t wait to do it again.” 

Nesiguren laughed. “Why so miserable? This is what we’ve been training for! We’re finally here!” He raised his voice as he looked about the transporter. Several officers cheered. Nesiguren’s enthusiasm was infectious. Emay was immune. She retrieved her bag and stepped into the narrow aisle, following the other officers as they filed down the rampway into the docking bay.

It wasn’t much bigger than the transporter itself and was plain besides a large ‘03’ stencilled beside the door into the precinct. Circular patches of tiny speaker holes lined the centre of the wall. As they disembarked, Scheme Officer Lucas Karaner stood waiting.

A chime rang out, alerting the officers to a notice. A robotic female voice said, “attention, new arrivals. Welcome to Precinct Zero. Report to Briefing Room Seven for orientation.”

“How are we supposed to know where that is?” said one of the officers, as they moved toward the door.

Lucas stepped forward. “Just follow the red line on the floor.” Some of the officers nodded with gratitude, others —those more in the know— sneered, as the doorway slid into the ceiling, unveiling a hallway. It had various coloured lines painted on it, running past the doorway in both directions. “Is one of you Officer Reiziger?” he asked as the group was passing.

“Yes, Sir. I’m Emay Reiziger.” She repositioned her duffel bag, rubbing her neck.

“I’ve been paired with you for your rotation.” He handed her an A4 paper folder. “These are notes, directions, any information you need that should help you get settled. We should get to orientation.”

“Yes, Sir.” She tucked the folder under her arm and followed him as they stepped out into the hallway. They stopped abruptly as a group of officers barged past. 

“Watch it, Skem,” said one of them as they continued on. Lucas’s jaw stiffened. 

Emay caught what they had said: Skem? The derogatory term many officers took to calling scheme officers. She now observed the different shoulder patches. The black and white instead of blue and yellow. She hadn’t even noticed. She had never seen them before. It was jarring. 

“Nervous, officer?” asked Lucas, as he continued on down the hallway.

“It’s um— no. Well yes, I suppose I am. It’s a big step, the whole— you know…moving to space.” She struggled to keep up with him as he strode along the red line.

“Well, you’d better get used to it. Quick.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll be fine for active duty.”

Lucas stopped. Emay almost strode right into the back of him. He turned to her. “Green. You’re already on active duty.”

“What? But I just got here, Sir. Don’t all officers get desk duty their first rotation?”

“Yeah. But you don’t. And less of the sir. My name is Lucas Karaner. I’m your partner.”

She was stunned. It took her a moment to realise that he had continued on down the hallway. She took off after him.