Preface

Welcome to this story set on a distant, harsh moon — a place once alive with the rush of diamond mining, now long fallen silent. No one stayed here by choice. They simply couldn’t leave when the boom collapsed, and time slowly forgot them.

I wrote this story to follow one of them — a wandering merchant, and the few companions who still move across this quiet, broken land. They live where every resource is precious, and every human bond becomes a kind of survival.

It’s not a story of heroes or grand victories. It’s about those who keep walking when there’s nowhere else to go, and still manage to find warmth in small moments of kindness and hope.

Through silence, friendship, and quiet courage, this story looks for what it means to search for home and meaning — even when the world has moved on without you.

If you ever find comfort in stories that carry a small light through the dark, I hope this one walks beside you for a while.

— Peace
[Sol-III | Orion Arm | Milky Way] November 2025

Copyright

© 2025 Peace
All rights reserved.

This eBook is provided free of charge. You may share and distribute it for personal, educational, or noncommercial purposes, provided that proper credit is given to the author.

No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored, or transmitted for commercial gain without prior written permission from the author.

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution–NonCommercial 4.0 International License.

First Edition — November 2025
eBook Version 1.0
Published by Peace / Snugly Cloud
https://snugly.cloud

ISBN:

The Moon

This place is dying.

Once a thriving hub of diamond mining, this space colony on a distant moon now lies abandoned and forgotten.

The large towns around the mines are now very quiet. The streets are empty, and the buildings are falling apart because no one takes care of them. This is a faraway moon that orbits a big gas planet. Many people came here to find diamonds and start a new life. But those days are over.

The surface diamonds, the life's blood of this colony, have been depleted. What remained beneath could not sustain the operations, and so the mines shut down — one by one, the towns that serviced them emptied. Families packed up and left, guided by promises of better opportunities closer to the active trade routes. The mass exodus was swift and unforgiving.

For those still stranded here, hope is a distant memory. The space highways are silent; the once-bustling merchant routes that connected this colony to the universe are nothing but ghost lanes now, abandoned when the mines closed.

Leaving this moon is not easy. Unlike on Earth, where you can just call a taxi, no ship is waiting here to take you away. The nearest trade route is ten light years away—ten light years of empty, endless space.

Isolation here is absolute. The vastness stretches, indifferent to the few who remain. Each day is a battle against time and hope, as the dwindling population clings to survival amidst silence and desolation, waiting for a chance—any chance—to leave. But until then, this place remains a graveyard of dreams, a testament to the fleeting fortune that once shone bright beneath the barren soil.

Well, if you are like me, who didn't get off this moon in time what it started to crumbled 5 years ago, there is still good things down here, for example, the air is breathable!, which is quite a big plus, but nothing else really,

there is a lot of dust causing respiratory diseases at times, we see only a few hours of sun because of the dust storm, the food is scarce, neighbors are looters, want to go to the Central City? only if you want to risk your life, own a lot of food? someone is coming for you.

Basically, if you are here with me, we are fucked, and if I meet you in person, you are my customer or we are about to rob each other

Elaron

Today’s another dusty day, but at least no sandstorm—makes the job a bit easier. My job? Like you see, I drive from town to town buying and selling goods. Each town doesn’t have much, but if someone buys local products from one town and sells them at the next, that town gets more variety than what they have locally.

And that’s my job: a stray merchant, driving a loop through twelve towns encircling the old mining colony. I buy what the locals have, sell what they need. My pride and joy is the truck—three sections strong—called “The Deadlight.” When I roll into town, folks come out to gather, and kids cheer, their eyes lighting up at the sight of my arrival.

How did I come by this beautiful truck? It was just sitting there, too big for the company to haul off to orbit, so they left it parked on the moon. Out here, nothing is ever wasted, so I made it mine.

I'm in the middle of the way to the next town, should reach there in about 3 hours or so. I'm having a cigarette in the driver’s seat—laying down, actually—but don’t worry, this ride's got an autopilot system. The plus side to not having a proper road is, I don’t have to worry about staying on it, because there isn’t one—just a 30-ton metal beast hurling through the desert.

the first section is a living quarter, me, the boss, and Josy, his name is actually Josh but with his plenty of earrings for the whole village, I like to tease and call him Josy, a young and strong teen who is the muscle for heavy lifting

I radio to Josy "Josy, how its like in the back?" I shouted to the radio, is has been quiet for a seconds "Dusty" he reply, I sighed.

"I mean, things is not falling off? the straps still ok?" I said, he reply "All is good"

"Great," I say. "I thought the water distiller fell down and we wouldn't notice it." There is a quiet on the radio for a whole minute, and Josy finally says, "What water distiller?" I hit the button on the truck console, the truck slowing down.

"please tell me you are joking" I said through the radio "no jokes boss,"

The truck slowed to a stop. I jumped down, grabbed the respirator mask hanging around my neck, and pulled it up to cover my face. The desert dust swirled thickly around the truck as I made my way to the back. Josy jumped down too, quickly pulling his own mask into place. I stood there, watching the straps that had held the water distiller sway loosely in the restless desert wind.

I stand there, hands on my hips, and ask, "When was the last time you saw it?" Josy scans left and right, then shrugs, "Honestly, I’m not sure I saw it at all after we took off."

I sighed, it must have fallen off a few hours back, sometime after we left the last town. At this point, I was torn—wondering if it was even worth turning around to look for it. "Should we turn back...?" Josy asked, his voice heavy with guilt. "Not worth it," I said, shaking my head. "But if something else falls off and you don't catch it, I swear, I'll send you back out here to drag it across the desert yourself." I said that as I started walking back toward the front, leaving the swirling dust behind us.

'What a waste,' I think. We spent two hours digging it out of the sand and loading it onto the truck, all to fix and sell it. Now, it’s just lying somewhere under the desert sands again, lost to the wind.

I start the engine—another good thing about this truck is that it uses solar power, with a solar array good enough to work under this murky sky.

Still thinking about the loss of the water distiller, I decided to take a nap. We should arrive at the next town just before dark, and we'll rest there for the night—just in time for the month's market in the morning.

We arrived at the next town as the sun slipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the barren landscape. The truck rolled to a stop at a small motel on the outskirts—a simple setup, but the utility fee here was cheap and it even boasted a modest bar. The motel's name felt a little grander than its function: it was little more than a dusty parking lot scattered with a handful of trucks, mostly carrying tired travelers like ourselves.

The motel’s utility setup was worth a mention—a single cable rigged to connect directly to trucks, providing water, electricity, and even a surprising amount of fresh air pumped through the lines. A subtle comfort in this harsh environment where every resource counted.

I stepped down from the truck, do some stretch to relief myself from a long drive. it is getting dustier when it's evening, I saw Josy came down and try to relief himself from the long ride too, I adjust my respirator mask and walked toward the registration kiosk, a battered, dusty structure standing alone in the vast parking lot. Knocking gently on the window, it slid open to reveal Rob, the old man who managed this place. His wide smile, though missing several teeth, was earnestly welcoming.

"Hey Rob," I greeted. "One night as usual?" he asked.

I nodded, and I handed him a digital wallet—a relic from better times, but still useful enough in these parts. I took the opportunity to ask, "Are many merchants joining the market tomorrow?"

Rob paused, the dusty wind stirring around us, then nodded slowly. "More than usual," he replied.

Good news. The more merchants coming, the livelier the market. It had been a slow haul in the last town—few trucks and fewer buyers milling about.

"What did you bring this time?" Rob asked, still processing the transaction.

"Stuff," I replied. "A village from Elaron made a good batch of fabric bags—thought they’d be useful here."

Rob handed back the wallet with a grin. "Starting to sell purses now?"

I smiled in return. "Whatever can be sold," I said, then turned and walked back toward the truck. The market awaited, and with it, the hope of a better day.

I walked back to my truck where Josy was waiting. Our payment arrangement was unusual—I didn’t pay Josy daily but rather when we reached a new town. It wasn’t much, but enough for us to get by. I transferred his share through the digital wallet, and Josy nodded in thanks.

"Tomorrow, we’ll start at 7," I told him. He nodded in agreement, and I let him continue with his day. I figured I’d see him again at the motel bar later.

Josy disappeared into the murky wind as I circled the truck to check if it was still in good shape since leaving the last town. Everything looked fine. I muttered to myself, "I should install a perimeter sensor—it would make parking in remote areas safer and even alert me if something fell off."

I stopped and stared at the faint light piercing through the murky air. It was the motel bar. The mechanic shop on the other side of town might have what I needed, but first, I needed to see how tomorrow’s market would go.

Shaking off my thoughts, I lit a cigarette and headed toward the bar to grab something to eat.

Black Fort

The next morning, the alarm from my glass woke me—a glittering piece of tech that looked like a shard of glass but worked as my screen and connection to the local network. It was like a phone back on Earth, but here, the internet was limited—only connecting within the moon, nothing vast or cosmic. Still, it was useful to check local news and messages.

I got up slowly, barely steady when a bottle of local beer slipped off my bed, clattering loudly against the floor but somehow staying intact. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes; it was 6:30 a.m.

Stepping out of my living quarters—the front cabin of the truck—I spotted Josy already up, smoking quietly.

"'Morning," I greeted him. "Ready?"

He just nodded. Together, we unplugged the motel’s supply cable feeding our truck, packed up, and started the engine for the day ahead.

We headed towards the other side of town where the monthly market was held, our routine a simple endurance test against the barren dust-filled dawn. The market operated on a strictly first-come, first-served basis when choosing where to set up.

I picked a spot near the entrance, some trucks already parked and unpacking their crates. The open air felt refreshing today—less dense with dusk particles than usual.

Setting up was straightforward; the truck was basically a neatly stacked assortment of crates locked in place with safety bars. I released the bars, carried crates to the ground, and arranged them in tidy rows beside the truck before posting prices. My haul from the last town was a batch of sturdy fabric bags, soon to gain popularity if word spread. After the market, I planned to trade local specialties here to the next -- strong local moonshines.

The setup done, thanks to Josy’s help—the market swiftly roused to life. Customers come and go, eager to trade.

Goods moved fast today. I allowed myself a small smile, thinking that if this pace kept up, we’d earn enough to restock the moonshine and maybe finally afford that perimeter sensor I’d been wanting. The market closed at noon, and it only came once a month, on the Good Friday.

For now, though, I kept my spirits light and my eyes on the passing crowd. Each sale was a small victory.

Josy proved to be a great help when it came to handling transactions. Even though he was a man of few words, when the shop was open, he had a way with customers that felt both sincere and persuasive. "You see," he explained to a curious buyer, "these kinds of bags come with mini pockets inside. You can keep your glasses there—no one will notice." Then, with a small grin, he added, "And they’re washable. You can toss them in with your clothes without worry."

The customer ended up buying two bags, pleased with the demonstration. Josy glanced at me, and I nodded in approval.

"Josy, I think I'll get a perimeter sensor for the truck after we stock up on moonshine," I said. He simply nodded.

"So I can know if you fall off when you get too drunk," I teased, knowing that everyone on this moon seemed to drink like there was no tomorrow—which, in some cases, was true.

As the market edged toward closing, many people still wandered the stalls. I decided to take a walk myself to check on other merchants and maybe catch up with some contacts. We had a message group, useful sometimes but often just a reminder of rivalries and hard times in this harsh world.

"Hi, how’s business?" I greeted the vendor at the stall next to mine, a truck selling vegetables and herbs.

He turned, remembering me. "Not so good today, pal," he admitted, gesturing toward the dwindling greens. "Unlike your goods, these will spoil soon."

"Well," I said, "you can still sell them to the local shops. They’re skilled at preserving vegetables—drying or turning them into pickles."

He nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, I’ll look into it."

I pulled out my glass and sent him the location of a shop in town. "Here—this is where I bought a crate of pickles before."

His eyes lit up. "Thanks," he said gratefully. I winked and walked off. Information was valuable, and now he owed me one; it would make future favors easier.

The rest of the market was a mix of goods—used electronics, clothes, fresh meat and greens, perfumes, bedding, respirators, even machine parts. The food stalls were gathered on one side; I wasn’t hungry yet, so I started back toward my truck.

Josy was still by the truck, preparing to close up. "The market manager’s already collected the fee," he informed me. I nodded. Every market charged merchants for their stalls, and we paid more because our truck took up extra space.

I helped him pack the remaining goods back into the truck. Merchants around us were still wrapping up; it wasn’t time to leave just yet. "Josy, you’re free now. Go have a walk if you like. We’ll leave in half an hour," I said. He smiled and handed me a cash pouch. Not everyone used digital wallets here, and he always liked to stroll the market and greet the local girls in every town we visited.

I climbed into my truck’s living quarter and lay down. Counting the cash from Josy’s pouch, I felt relieved—he was trustworthy with money, another of his many quiet strengths.

Doing the math, it looked like we had enough to stock up on moonshine, but I wasn’t yet sure if we could afford the perimeter sensor.

I sent a message to the merchants’ group: "Anyone got a contact at the Ironclad Garage?"

Within minutes, one of the merchants posted the information. I thanked them and reached out to the garage to inquire about the perimeter sensor.

Finally, most of the merchants had packed up and left the market. Josy was still busy in the back of the truck, so I began my departure from the market, heading toward the moonshine settlement. They quickly loaded bottles of moonshine into my empty crates, preparing them to be sold at the next town.

The moonshine settlement was like a small cluster of about ten houses grouped close together, situated farther away from other habitation. Almost all the residents were relatives, bound tightly by family ties that stretched back generations.

They moved with a quiet familiarity, transferring crates of moonshine from the storage sheds to the truck. The air was filled with the sharp scent of homemade liquor and the faint hum of conversation as Josy waited patiently.

While I was settling the payment, exchanging a few coins with the settlement's elders, I casually asked, "Any news around here?"

There was a pause, then an old lady stopped and thought for a moment before replying, "Someone found an abandoned mining equipment next to the south cliff," she pointed in the direction. "Not sure if all the good stuff is gone yet; they found it two days ago."

I glanced at Josy, gauging his reaction. After thanking the lady, we drove off with the moonshine loaded.

Once we left the settlement, I radioed Josy in the back, "Hey, what do you think about that mining equipment?"

After a brief pause, he replied, "Worth checking out."

"Alright, let’s check it out then," I said, turning the truck toward the cliff.

The trip to the cliff took longer than expected, and then I wondered why it had taken so long for anyone to find the equipment, considering its size. When we arrived, it towered high above the truck—at least thirty meters tall. Josy joined me outside, standing beside the massive machine.

"It's huge, isn’t it?" I remarked.

Josy simply nodded, his eyes tracing the outline of this building on wheels.

"Think you can make it work?" Josy asked.

I shook my head. "No. The fuel cells for these kind of miners can't last this long without maintenance." I retrieved a tool bag from the truck. "But let’s see if we can scavenge something worth taking."

Leading Josy to a ladder, we climbed up to the operator's cabin. The door was unlocked, indicating we weren’t the first visitors. Inside, the cabin served as the control room, relatively spacious at around three by three meters. Several monitors were missing, with wires dangling from where they should have been. Josy paced the cabin while I examined the console, finding it dead—no power.

I signaled Josy to follow me and whispered, hoping to teach him a trick useful for the future. "There’s no power here, but there should be a backup battery at the back of the engine. If we turn it on, we might be able to access the vehicle’s logs and manifest."

We proceeded to the back of the vehicle, where a maintenance access door blocked the battery compartment. It was locked, so I used my tool to pry it open. Inside, the space was narrow—we couldn’t stand fully upright. I walked to the far end, where a control box sat. Flicking a switch, machinery whirred to life, catching Josy’s interest. I gestured for him to return to the cabin.

Back in the control cabin, the console flickered on, dim beneath a layer of dust. I tapped the keyboard, bringing up logs and the manifest.

"It was en route to the mine when the engine malfunctioned," I explained, reading aloud. "They were carrying ore to the diamond extraction plant."

"Nothing useful then," Josy shrugged. "Just a pile of rocks."

I didn’t smile but an idea had formed. "Do you know what miners usually do when they find diamonds?"

Josy gave me a blank look.

"They keep them for themselves. Let’s search the cabin," I said, and with Josy’s help, we spent twenty minutes trying to open various parts of the cabin for possible hidden compartments.

Almost ready to give up, Josy slumped into one of the control chairs, gazing outside. "Sandstorm’s coming," he said.

But I was fixated on a stuck air pipe panel. Usually, it has a simple knob, but this one was jammed. After several minutes, it finally opened, releasing only dust. Josy looked at me as if to ask if we should leave, but I knew better. Reaching inside, my fingers brushed against something. Pulling it out, I revealed a worn fabric bag—not larger than two fists—something moving inside. Josy’s eyes widened.

I carefully emptied the bag’s contents: several pieces of uncut diamonds, with two roughly the size of my fist.

Josy quickly stood up, his eyes wide with disbelief and excitement as I carefully placed the diamonds back into the worn fabric bag. I glanced outside the cabin; no one was in sight — the moon's desolate landscape offered us a brief window. "Let’s leave," I said quietly.

Without hesitation, we both bolted outside, racing back toward our truck under the vast, empty sky. Though no one was around at the moment, I knew deep down that others who hadn’t yet left the moon, or those who were on their way back, would come searching for these diamonds. The risk was too high to linger.

I opened the truck’s door, quickly asking Josy to come up front with me. Wasting no time, I started the engine and hurriedly pulled away from the site.

"Remember," I said, looking over at Josy, "if anyone asks, we found nothing and left."

He fixed his gaze on me, his expression serious but filled with a spark of hope. "You'll get a cut," I added, hoping to ease some of the tension.

Josy smiled — a kind of smile that carried the fragile promise of something better to come.

Mobius

To keep things under the radar, I decided to head straight to the garage to have the perimeter sensor installed on the truck. I’d made the appointment earlier, so there was no need to waste time. As we drove, I kept telling Josy over and over that it wasn’t safe to try selling the diamonds in this town. I told him I’d try to find a better place in the next town to make the sale.

Once we finished our talk, Josy settled into the back of the truck. Meanwhile, I kept a small piece of diamond with me for added security. The largest diamond was tucked away in a secret compartment hidden beneath my seat, while the rest were safely stored in a locked compartment under the console.

The perimeter sensor installation went smoothly. The mechanic, a man who always seemed to be in good spirits despite the city’s many troubles, joked as he worked. “Next thing your truck will need is some fortified guns,” he said with a laugh.

I smiled but didn't reply, leaving the joke hanging. When it came time to install the monitor on the driver’s console, I made sure to be there the whole time, showing interest in how it worked. I couldn’t risk anyone else venturing inside the cab alone, especially with diamonds hidden in there.

By the end of the installation, the truck felt a bit more secure. With the new sensor, any unauthorized movement or tampering would set off an alarm on my glass unit—it was as close to peace of mind as I could get out here.

With the installation complete, we left the garage, the perimeter sensor silently humming with readiness. I asked Josy to sit in the front again—away from prying eyes—and began a quiet conversation. "The diamonds," I said carefully, "I'll try to find a place to sell them in the next town."

Josy nodded but remained silent, the weight of the news settling between us.

I paused, searching for the right words. "Listen, kids," I started, "I know once you get your cut, you might want to live on your own. That’s fine."

I looked over at him, adding gently, "But I’ve lived long enough to know it won’t last if you spend it like you’re rich."

Josy stayed quiet, absorbing the truth.

We continued the drive toward the next town. Evening was falling, the sun setting behind a hazy sky thick with dust. We still had a few hours to go before we’d reach the town.

Finally, I said, "To the Morbius. We’ll stop at a hotel. I’ll ask around. You come with me and say nothing, okay?"

Josy nodded once more.

The rest of the ride passed in silence, the only sound the muted roar of the engine. The night was settling in as we moved forward, stepping cautiously into whatever awaited us in Morbius.

As we neared Mobius, the next town, we pulled into a motel—a simple sprawl of parking spots connected to supply lines pumping water, electricity, and even fresh air directly into our truck. After paying the modest fee, night had already fallen. Josy and I headed to a trading post I knew well, essentially the town's pawnshop where many locals bought and sold goods.

"Wait outside," I told Josy quietly, "but keep alert and watch for my signal if anything goes wrong."

Inside, the owner recognized me immediately. "Hey, how are you doing?" I greeted him.

He nodded with a smile, a bald man with thick glasses. "Dusty, what can I help you with?"

I cautiously asked, "I'm not sure if you're buying uncut diamonds?"

His eyebrows rose. Even though this was once a diamond mining moon, uncut diamonds rarely circulated openly.

"Yes, but if you have any, let me see," he responded.

Glancing around to confirm we were alone, I pulled out a diamond no larger than the tip of my finger. He took it and examined the stone under a microscope. Minutes passed before he spoke again. "Hmm, where did you get this?"

I knew I didn't owe him the truth, but still offered, "I won it in a bet from an ex-miner in the last town."

He handed the diamond back. "200,000 credits, that's what I can offer."

I countered, "250,000, and it's yours."

He chuckled and said, "240,000."

I shrugged. "Deal, but you don't say you got it from me." I tapped my digital wallet chip on the reader. While the transaction processed, he leaned in and asked, "An ex-miner, you say?"

"Right, a big guy. If he comes this way, he might visit you; seems he has more," I added, aiming to divert suspicion.

He studied me for a moment before nodding.

The transaction completed. I ask "What do you think that ex-miner would do if he came to town? Where would he sell chunks of diamonds?"

His eyes locked onto mine as he pondered. "Why, are you planning to ambush him?" he asked, gauging my reaction.

I paused, then replied, "Would you buy more of these uncut diamonds if I brought them?"

He was silent for a beat, then nodded slowly. "Yes. And if you don’t want to do it alone, I can lend my men."

I gave a slight nod and left without another word.

Outside, I signaled Josy to join me, and we returned to the truck. The perimeter sensor was still running smoothly and would alert me on my glasses if anyone tried to enter the truck.

Once inside, I locked the doors and said, "Give me your chip."

Josy handed over his digital wallet chip, and I transferred 80,000 credits to him. "That's one-third of what I got. Our deal: besides merchants, we'll share one-third of any other finds."

He smiled, accepting his chip back with a newfound respect, though a flicker of doubt lingered in his eyes about my trustworthiness.

"Go rest for the night," I advised. "And again, don’t act like you have money, or you’re a dead man."

He nodded. "I'll be careful."

I couldn't help but worry for him; he was young but had lived here long enough to know how to survive.

Josy left for the night. I wasn’t sure if he’d be back by morning. The town’s market took place in the evening, held inside an old sports stadium.

Sighing, I checked the diamonds I’d hidden in the driver compartment. They were safe still. I take another small piece of the diamond with me. I locked the compartment and headed out for dinner.

That night was rough in its own way. I stuck to the same food I'd had before, careful not to buy too much and draw attention. Eventually, I found myself at my usual local bar, a glass of the town’s whiskey clutched in my hand.

"What troubles you, pal?" the bartender asked after catching the look on my face.

"Life," I replied bluntly. "How’s the business?"

He shrugged and smiled. "If there’s one thing that always sells in this town, it’s alcohol."

I returned his smile and thought for a moment. "Hey, I just got a lot of moonshine from the last town. Planning to sell it at the stadium market tomorrow."

I paused, then added, "Unless you want to buy in bulk. I can give you a special price."

He stopped polishing glasses and looked up sharply. "How many you got?"

"Fifteen crates, fresh from Black Fort," I said.

He nodded and disappeared to the back, probably to fetch the owner. I took a slow sip while I waited.

Minutes later, the bartender returned to his routine, but behind him walked a stout man toward me.

"Hi," he said. "You got moonshine from Black Fort?"

I nodded. "I was going to sell it at the stadium market, but if you want, I have 15 crates. I’m asking 3000 each."

He frowned. "That’s quite cheap, isn’t it? What’s in it for you?"

I smiled, already knowing my answer. "If I don’t have to sell it at the market tomorrow, I can head to the next town and make more business."

I took another sip. "The Mill’s Tuesday market."

The owner nodded thoughtfully. "I’ll take 10 crates. Deliver tomorrow at 10?"

I agreed. He asked for my chip as a 20% down payment, with the rest due on delivery. The deal was done. That gave me more time in the next town, to find a place to sell the diamonds. It was too risky to sell several of them in one town.

I grabbed my glass and sent Josy a message: "10 a.m., deliver 10 crates of moonshine to Hip Bottom Bar, then we leave."

Minutes later, he replied, "Got it. See you at the bar."

I ordered another bottle to go finished it in my truck, and left.

Towns in Transition

Morning came quietly. I checked the time—9 a.m.—and prepared to leave the motel. Josy should be at the bar soon, winding down whatever night he’d had. The travel to the next stop was uneventful, the landscape still desolate under the pale sun. I maneuvered the truck close to the back of the bar and gave a soft honk. The owner quickly appeared and acknowledged me with a nod.

I sent Josy a message: "I'm here, in the back."

His reply came a moment later: "On my way."

The road behind the bar was narrow for my three-section truck, so I parked a bit further. Climbing down, I grabbed the cart attached to the side of the truck. By the second trip, Josy appeared and took over the delivery with practiced efficiency.

I walked toward the bar owner, who was already inspecting the goods. He held a glass and had opened a bottle. His cheeks flushed a deep red as he smiled broadly. "Good stuff," he said. "This town's moonshine is my favorite."

I smiled back. "Best in the ring," I replied, referring to the ring of towns circling the mining site where I usually traded.

The owner asked for my chip, which I handed over. After finishing the transaction, he returned it. Checking it, I smiled. "Thank you. I'll stop here first when I'm back in this town," I said and bade him goodbye.

Josy finished loading the last crate, looking a bit pale—probably recovering from last night’s party. He hopped back into the truck just as I started the engine.

Before leaving town, I needed to purchase local goods—respirators and dusk masks. They were made here in mass and sold cheaply.

About 20 minutes later, we stopped in front of a large factory bustling with cheap laborers.

Inside, the workers remembered me. One gestured, "Please head in, the boss is in there," pointing toward the office.

I entered the air-conditioned room—a luxury rare on this moon. The owner sat eating breakfast.

"Good morning," I greeted. "How’s business?"

Still chewing, he gave me a thumbs-up.

Once he swallowed "What do you need this time?", I said, "Same old—whatever you make that's easy to sell."

He wiped his hands and moved to his terminal. Tapping on the screen, he said, "I have a good deal this month: reusable masks and filters, 200 pieces per crate. If you take the usual 10 crates, it'll be 2,000 credits each."

I paused, considering the free space we had on the truck. "What about 20 crates for 1,800?"

He laughed. "You’re the merchant as usual," he said, sitting back down with a smile. "Alright, if you take 20 crates, 1,800 it is."

I agreed and transferred the credits. He accompanied me outside to instruct his workers to load the crates.

Thanking him for the business, I left with Josy still at the back. We headed out of town for the next destination—The Water Mill, now simply called 'Mill' since water had become scarce.

The journey to Water Mill stretched ahead, around four hours through the endless expanse of sand. I double-checked the perimeter sensor, making sure it was active before radioing Josy. "Josy, feel free to sleep. The Mill is four hours away," I said with a small smile. "Also, you look like a zombie with insomnia."

I heard his chuckle over the comms, followed by a grateful "Thanks, boss."

For me, the truck was set to autopilot. With hours to spare and nothing but sand stretching beyond the windows, I poured myself another glass from the half-empty bottle of whiskey. Then I pulled out my sketchbook from the back of the driver's seat, planning to draw something. The scenery offered little more than a monotonous desert, but it was a chance to lean back, let the autopilot take the wheel, and let the quiet settle in.

The hum of the engines filled the cab, punctuated only by the occasional crackle of dust through the vents. Outside, the landscape was an unbroken sweep of sand, shifting under a pale sky. It was a harsh, empty world out here—but somehow, moments like this gave me a small measure of peace.

The Water Mill

I woke up to soft daylight filtering through the thin windshield. Outside was nothing but endless sand, stretching out like a sea of dust. Checking the console display, I saw we were about an hour away from the Water Mill. This town used to lie by a river, fed by the water from a massive terraforming machine. Now, the river and the device are long gone, swallowed by desert like the rest of this moon. The giant terraforming structure, nearly a kilometer tall, still loomed on the horizon—a rusted giant marking a forgotten time.

I had been to the top of that machine once. The climb was tough—thin air made each breath a struggle. Back then, an elevator took you up. Now, if you want to reach the top, you have to walk.

Sleep wasn’t calling me back, so I grabbed my sketchbook and pencil again. Drawing helped clear my mind during long travels between towns. The bumpy, uneven road made my lines shaky, but somehow that gave my sketches an honest feel.

Just as I was deciding what to draw, Josy’s voice came through the radio. "Boss, you up?"

"Yes, go ahead," I replied.

"Boss, you know the Mill is my hometown," he said quietly. "Can we stay here a few days?"

I paused to think. We weren’t in a hurry, financially safe enough. Carrying diamond chunks was risky, but Josy rarely asked for favors. After weighing it, I said, "Alright, kiddo. Take your time."

He sounded relieved. "Thanks, boss."

I looked back out the window, pencil poised over the sketchbook. My lines began to trace a long path through the desert, leading to the distant Water Mill and its towering terraforming machine.

My mind wandered, troubled by the diamonds we had found. If anyone knew about them, it would put us in grave danger. Just the other day, someone was killed over a respirator mask—imagine the trouble a chunk of diamond could cause.

I thought about what it would cost to leave this moon. The last time someone tried, the fare to hire a pilot willing to risk the journey was around 25 million credits. Even then, it was nearly impossible to find someone ready to make the trip. Regular cargo ships don’t carry passengers, and private pickups are rare and unpredictable.

I began sketching the distant sun, drawing jagged lines that marked scattered settlements at the horizon.

And if I did manage to get off this planet, what then? Live on a space station? I’m not even sure the credits would cover the transport fees. Maybe the best choice is to stay here. What’s the point of starving somewhere else?

I smiled quietly to myself. I could settle down, have a house in the outer rings—a smaller village where I could open a simple shop. That might be the best life for Josy too. But he’s young and might still crave adventure, wanting to escape this dusty prison. If he decides to go, I can’t stop him.

For now, I let my pencil dance across the page, capturing the jagged lines of this desolate moon as I wrestled with the heavy choices ahead.

As the Deadlight rolled closer to the outskirts of Water Mill, I started making plans. The town was big, at least by moon standards, but its population had thinned significantly, most people having moved away in search of water and better fortune. The markets here reflected that scarcity—yields were always low, but trades still happened, and if I was careful, I could find someone willing to take another chunk of diamond off my hands.

I keyed the radio, "Josy, you want me to drop you off somewhere?"

A long pause followed, as if he was still half-asleep or deep in thought. Finally, his voice came back, quiet but clear. "Could you drop me at my village? It's about 30 minutes away. But if not, it's okay."

I knew his village well. "Sure, Josy," I said, punching new coordinates into the truck's navigation console. I pictured Josy returning home after all these years, hoping he'd arrive with something in hand, free of money worries for once.

I added into the radio, "I'll also drop you off with a crate of moonshine. Have fun."

Josy's voice came through, grateful and warm: "Thank you, boss."

I dropped Josy off at the edge of his village. Not many people still lived here—out in the middle of the desert, every day was a struggle. The remnants of an old school dome used for growing vegetables still stood, a faded symbol of hope. Outside, people mostly dug shallow gardens, trying to catch whatever moisture remained in the dry ground to cultivate their crops.

I handed Josy a crate of moonshine. He said he'd walk the rest of the way on foot. Though my stop was brief, it seemed enough to draw the eyes of children from scattered homes; they ran out, fascinated by the sight of my three-section truck, which, to them, looked like a small train rolling into their village.

After leaving the village behind, I headed back to Water Mill. Now, with Josy absent, I had three days to myself. I wasn’t sure if I would set up shop in the market alone—it would likely yield low returns—but I considered selling wholesale to some local shops instead.

Eventually, I arrived at the town's motel, called “Mother Moon.” The name was meant to hint at Mother Earth but tied to this moon, referencing the terraforming device nearby. The device itself now sat silent, turned off since the air and moisture levels had stabilized enough for the moon to sustain life on its own.

When I parked the truck, Merisa, the motel owner, was already there. She greeted me warmly, a rare friendly face in this quiet town.

I asked, "So, what's going on in town these days?"

Merisa sighed and replied, "Same old story. People are still moving out, but some folks from the nearby villages are moving in. They're taking over empty buildings and houses."

I raised an eyebrow. "That sounds like it's causing problems."

She nodded. "Yeah, it's led to more crime around here."

As I checked around my truck, Merisa walked with me. I said, "The market still looks empty, doesn’t it?"

She nodded. "It’s more like a village market now. No one manages it anymore. People just sell handmade goods. Some villagers have even moved into buildings and started growing vegetables inside, selling them at the market."

I asked, "What about you? Why don’t you take over a building and make use of it?"

She shook her head and sighed. "And do what? Run a hotel for village people? This town is slowly dying. I’m lucky to have this motel, and merchants still pass through on their way to the next stop."

I finished checking the truck and the perimeter sensor, then handed her my chip. She processed the payment.

"One day, as usual?" she asked.

"Three nights this time. Josy is visiting his village," I replied.

Merisa raised her eyebrows but continued with the transaction.

"Do you want anything else?" she asked.

I looked around and said, "No, I think I’ll head into town. Just keep an eye on my truck. The security camera still works?"

She nodded. "Yes, it’s all working."

With everything settled, I headed toward town, hoping to find what I needed.

Echoes of the Past

I walked toward the town, just as the motel owner described. Most buildings were empty — no land deeds changing hands, no sales for profit. People simply moved out, and most never came back.

This town had been hit hard by the mine's closure first: the terraforming device shut down nearly a decade ago, and then the mine itself closed. Sometimes I wondered if they would ever reopen it; the company’s survey ship still came here every few months, probably scanning for diamonds on the surface of the moon or whatever else could bring in profit.

I walked for about thirty minutes but couldn’t find a single shop that was open. A few I recognized from before were clearly abandoned. I stopped to catch my breath and muttered to myself, “Damn, this town really went empty.” Only a handful of people strolled the empty streets.

I stood there, debating whether to walk further or turn back. Suddenly, I heard a loud scream: “Help! Somebody help!” The sharp voice of a woman came from the building next to me. Instinctively, I did what people on the moon tend to do—I turned and ran back the way I had come.

I stopped and turned around about thirty meters down the path. A few seconds later, a woman poked her head out of the building—the same one where the scream came from. She saw me and made a face that I could only interpret as "damn, he knows," before retreating back inside.

I shook my head, a chill running through me. I continued walking back toward the motel, thinking, "This place is getting dangerous." If I needed to explore the town more safely, I'd probably have to use the truck and visit other parts later.

Back at the motel, Merisa greeted me with a simple nod. I told her about the woman’s scream from earlier. She chuckled and said, "Luckily you didn’t fall for that."

"Does anyone still fall for it?" I asked.

She laughed softly. "Yeah, some do. But as you see, it’s getting more dangerous out there. Anyone foolish enough to go help could easily get robbed—or worse."

I glanced around and asked, "Where can I get some food around here?"

After a brief pause, Merisa said, "I can cook you something. What do you want?"

"Anything," I replied, feeling hungry.

A few minutes later, Merisa came back with a warm plate of vegetables and rice. "I’ll have it in the truck," I said.

She nodded, and I took the plate, walking back to my truck. I ate quietly in my quarters, watching the endless stretches of desert through the small window.

That evening, I borrowed Merisa’s motorcycle, taking two bottles of moonshine along—"one for the food, one for the ride," I joked, and she appreciated the gesture.

I headed back toward town, this time to the other side.

The landscape hadn’t changed much: empty buildings, deserted streets, people passing by with looks that felt out of place—staring, glaring, uncertainty etched in their eyes.

When I reached the far side, I saw what used to be a big store, now shuttered and abandoned. But nearby, a new market had sprung up. It looked unmanaged, likely started by someone who simply set up shop and attracted others to follow.

I decided to stop and walk through the market for a bit. Hopefully, the motorcycle’s lock would be enough security while I explored.

Just as Merisa had said, the market here felt more like a village gathering than a bustling trade hub. Stalls clustered around uneven sand paths, mostly homemade goods, vegetables, handicrafts, and a few food vendors mixing with other small traders. The ingredients for cooking came in single-serving packages — even raw meat, though judging by its color, none was pork or beef.

I adjusted my mask against the blend of local spices wafting through the air. Some were fermented, and to be honest, some of the smells were downright pungent.

I wandered through the market without buying anything. Nothing here seemed especially valuable or different from what I'd already seen. After circling the stalls, I returned to the motorcycle and headed back.

On the ride back, I mulled over my options. The market was no good for business. What would I do with the two days I still had left in this town?

I parked the motorcycle at the motel and handed the keys back to Merisa. Judging by her rosy cheeks, the moonshine was serving her well.

Back at my truck, everything was just as I'd left it. I opened the hatch and climbed into the living quarters — a simple space with just a bed and some shelves. Underneath the bed sat a box with a few half-empty bottles of whiskey and moonshine. I grabbed one of the bottles, twisted off the cap, took a swig, and then tossed it aside.

Just as I was about to lie down, a knock came at the quarters' hatch. I opened it to find Merisa standing there, a bottle of moonshine in her hand. She smiled, "Can I join you?"

Goodbye, Mother Moon

The next day, I woke with a dull ache lingering in my head from the night’s moonshine. Deciding not to let it slow me down, I got up and thought about where to find something to eat and, more importantly, how to get information about selling the uncut diamonds. But where? This town was nearly empty, and the shops I knew were all shut.

I made my way to the motel lobby. Merisa was there, her usual calm presence a small comfort in this dying place. "Hey, can I borrow the motorcycle again?" I asked. "I'm looking for something to eat."

She smiled tiredly. "I just made something. Just eat it." She disappeared to the back and soon returned with a warm dish.

Sitting down, I began to eat. After a few quiet minutes, I decided to broach the topic carefully. "In Elaron, I met an ex-miner. He was looking for a place to sell some uncut diamonds." I paused, watching Merisa turn toward me, attention sharpening. "He wasn’t sure if there are still diamonds left on this moon, but he said he'd come to this town. I wonder where he'd go to sell them if he did."

"What do you think?" I asked.

Merisa gazed off into the distance for a long moment before answering, "If he doesn’t get himself killed first."

"He'd probably go downtown, to the old pawnshop. Do you know it?" Merisa asked.

I nodded but doubted it was still open. By "downtown," she meant the slums. "I don't think anyone with diamonds would survive going back to that place," I added.

Merisa chuckled softly.

Still sitting there, the weight of those three wasted days settled over me. I decided to ask more directly. "And do you know where I could sell some of my stuff in this town? All the shops I know are closed."

Merisa sighed. "At this point, I don’t know, hunny. The only businesses I can think of still open are this motel and the pawnshop."

I exhaled, sharing her defeat. Another dead town. Two towns gone already, this was the third of the twelve that circled the mining site.

I sighed, running a hand through my hair as I looked at Merisa. "Maybe you’re right," I said quietly. "I’ll probably have to head to the next town — or..." I hesitated before finishing, "... the central city."

The reality hit hard. There was no future here. The next town was the safer choice, but the lure of the central city was tempting. It was the very heart of the ring, centered around a vast hundred-kilometer-wide mining crater, a place filled with opportunity but equally fraught with danger. The long distance filled with hostile pirates was daunting.

"To get to the central city," Marisa said reluctantly, "You’ll need more guns and men."

I nodded in agreement, my eyes grave. "The safest route from the ring runs along the north highway. It connects the central city to the fourth town out."

I exhaled sharply. "So, I’m sitting duck here until I figure something out."

She offered a small, understanding smile. "Sometimes staying put is the only option. But be careful — things have a way of getting worse when people feel trapped."

Salt Haven

Three days had passed with little to report. Most of my time was spent inside the truck, staring out into the endless stretch of desert. I finally sent Josy a message, "I'll pick you up today at noon." His quick reply, "Okay," was the only sign of life in the quiet day.

I got off the truck, disconnected the utility cable, and walked toward the motel lobby. Merisa appeared from the back as I approached.
"Hey, I’m leaving," I said.
"Leaving already?" she asked, settling behind the counter.
I nodded. "I’m going to pick up Josy from his village."
"Hmm, see you in a month or so then, when you complete the ring," she said with a smile. I returned the smile and headed back to my truck.

When I arrived at the village where I'd dropped Josy off not long ago, I saw him waiting by the roadside. He had a backpack slung over one shoulder and was accompanied by a long-haired woman about his age. I guessed she had come to say goodbye.

Without a word, Josy and the woman climbed into the back of the truck. I was momentarily surprised but shrugged it off. I didn’t ask about her; the truck was already moving on autopilot toward the next town.

I spoke into the radio, "We're heading to the next town."

"Okay boss," Josy replied from the back.

Settling into the driver's seat, I pulled out my sketchbook and began to draw a plant dome — an oasis of life in this harsh, dusty world — as the vast desert rolled past the windows.

We arrived at the edge of the next town, Salt Haven, the stockpile of goods in the truck still untouched. I carefully maneuvered through the dusty outskirts, pulling up at a small settlement where a few scattered shops and stores clustered near the motel.

I climbed down from the cab, pulling my mask up to cover my face against the persistent dust. Not long after, Josy and the girl came down from the back of the truck, their masks tight upon their faces. Josy walked up to me and said quietly, "Boss, this is Gabriella." I offered a polite smile and nodded toward her, "Nice to meet you." She nodded in return, her eyes cautiously friendly.

Together, we walked towards the motel lobby. On our way inside, I waited for Josy to fill in the silence, then asked, "So... Gabriella?"

Josy shrugged, "She’s going to stay with me."

I just nodded, a faint sense of relief settling in. Seems Josy had found someone to share the road with now. I had been considering another helper for the long haul, but my greater concern was always the fragile balance of personalities, "Just don’t let it affect the business," I warned lightly.

Josy smiled and said, "Thank you, boss," a hint of guilt in his voice, likely for not asking permission beforehand.

After finishing the deal at the motel reception, Josy and Gabriella vanished quickly into the dusty air, probably heading for a nearby shop or restaurant. I took a moment to collect myself and decided to grab a simple meal nearby.

At a modest restaurant, I ordered the usual and asked the owner quietly, "Hi, how’s business around here?"

He paused, then replied, "It’s fine. People still come and go. You here for the market?"

"Yes," I said, "The Three Tree Market, tomorrow morning, right?" I glanced at my glass where I jotted down market dates for every town.

The owner nodded, "Yeah, they’re expanding it from what I’ve heard."

A small glimmer of hope flickered inside me. "That’s great to hear, thanks."

Pondering my plans for tomorrow, I calculated my usual routine—sell in the morning, buy local goods in the evening, and leave town. Most likely, I'd stay one more night to find someone who might buy some of the diamonds I was carrying.

About the local goods, the owner mentioned the town was known for fine glassware. The local sand was abundant, and they apparently repurposed some mining-era equipment to craft durable, lightweight tableware.

The plates on the table where I sat were made from that very glass, and I found myself inspecting the remnants of my meal with a new appreciation.

Morning came with the familiar hum of the truck's systems powering up. I started the engine, eased out from the motel’s lot, but didn’t plan on leaving town just yet—I decided to stay for another night. The market was the focus today.

Arriving early, I found a spot to set up our stall. The market manager was punctual, promptly coming over to collect the setup fee. With Josy and Gabriella hustling alongside me, the setup went faster than usual. The three of us laid out fabric bags, respirator masks, and crates of moonshine. This town lacked many essentials, and it wasn’t long before a decent crowd gathered.

Josy was already in his element, expertly engaging customers, teaching Gabriella the subtle art of selling. She looked eager but still nervous, absorbing every lesson. I kept a watchful eye over them both, because trust was earned, not given—even amongst friends.

Needing to stretch my legs, I briefly left the truck and walked through the market. I greeted several merchants, exchanging news and small talk that was as much about building alliances as business. Near a larger stall, I noticed a couple of men demonstrating a new gadget—a cube-shaped device designed to capture moisture from the air and soil.

Approaching them with a smile, I asked, "Hi there, how’s it going?"

The owner, a sturdy man with an easy grin, shook his head. "Not too good. People don’t seem interested in the water maker here."

He gestured toward the cube. "But air filters are booming."

Nearby, small groups clustered around another demonstration. Observing, I said, "Nice. You came from the Water Mill?"

He shook his head again. "No, we came from another direction. Planning to head to Water Mill next."

After a pause, he asked, "You came from there? What’s it like?"

I exhaled, the weight of my experience heavy in my voice. "Dead. It’s an empty town now, not even a proper market."

His smile faded. "That bad, huh?"

I nodded. "That bad."

The market buzzed around us still, a lively scene in contrast to the somber news. I paused to greet other fellow merchants, exchanging information and insights with them in quiet confidence, always alert to the shifting currents of trade, trust, and survival on this moon.

Time dragged on until the market began winding down. By the time I was back at the truck, fewer people lingered in the dusty stalls. Josy was closing a deal, now with four bottles of the moonshine sold, while Gabriella bagged respirator masks for another customer. She glanced toward me, and I gave her a nod. I walked over to Josy and said, "Let's start closing up; you two can walk the market if you want."

They both nodded and smiled—a rare moment of lightness amid the harshness surrounding us. Together, we packed crates back into the truck. Gradually, other merchants followed suit, closing their stalls, but it would still be some time before enough space was cleared for trucks to pass through.

"We'll leave in about an hour. Have fun," I said with a smile, watching Josy grin as she turned toward Gabriella and signaled for them to walk the market together.

I sighed, uncertain how long the young couple would last, but for the moment, they seemed happy.

Removing my mask and letting it dangle from my neck, I lit a cigarette and walked among the fading shops and lingering customers. Some vendors refused to close, either hoping for a last-minute sale or simply struggling with the day’s meager earnings.

Reaching for my glass, I pulled up the merchant group chat and posted, “Anyone know a good pawnshop in town?”

Responses trickled in quickly, mostly teasing: "That bad, huh?" "Selling the truck? I'll buy it!" Yet among them were helpful tips—a suggestion of a pawnshop known for fair prices and reasonable dealings. Deciding to check it out this afternoon, I was still left wrestling with the best way to sell the diamonds without drawing dangerous attention.

I decided to buy a second-hand glass, intending to use it as a burner phone. From the driver’s seat of the truck, I called the pawnshop – the 'Red Tree Pawnshop.' Their line picked up on the first ring. I shifted into a different accent, cautiously asking, "You buy uncut diamonds?"

There was silence for a moment before another voice came on, as if transferring me to someone else who could answer. "Uncut diamonds? Yes, but we need to see them first."

That was a good sign. I replied, "Great. But is there any limit or quota on the size or number?"

They sounded confused. "What do you mean?"

I didn’t answer directly but sent them a photo of one of the uncut diamonds beside a beer can for scale — roughly the same size. Their end went silent for a few moments before the voice said, "Umm, uh, can I call you back?"

"Okay, a rough estimate will be fine," I said and hung up.

My heart pounded. I hoped for a quick response and prayed they couldn’t trace the call or show up at my truck. Josy and Gabriella hadn’t returned yet, and most shops were closing now.

Around ten minutes later, my burner glass rang. I picked up with my strange accent. "Yes?"

They said, "If you come this afternoon, we can give you an estimate, but ballpark is around 20 million."

My heart hammered again — that was close to what I expected. I asked, "What if I have more? I’ll probably bring more later. Is this a one-time deal or open for future pieces?"

Their voice carried a hint of a smile. "Yes, we’d welcome future transactions."

"See you this afternoon," I said and hung up, mind racing with possibilities and risks ahead.

The Sell

I waited patiently near the edge of the market, scanning the scattered stalls as merchants hastily packed up for the day. Soon, Josy appeared, Gabriella trailing behind him. I nodded to Josy and signaled for him to come sit in the front seat with me. As we rumbled out of the nearly empty market, I turned to him and said, "We're going to a pawn shop in town. It's time to sell a diamond."

His eyes widened, unsure if he was excited or apprehensive. "We’re selling the big one," I added, explaining that Gabriella would stay in the driver’s seat while the two of us went inside the pawn shop.

Reaching beneath the worn cushions, I opened a hidden compartment and pulled out two plasma guns—usually just a threat to ward off pirates and scavengers. Handing one to Josy, I said, "We're taking these with us."

He strapped the gun to his waist while I concealed mine beneath my battered black jacket. We pulled the truck over to the side of the road, and I instructed Josy to alert Gabriella in the back to be extra vigilant—without revealing what we were about to do.

Josy nodded and climbed down, disappearing towards the truck bed. I felt my nerves tighten; I’d never been to this pawn shop before, but it was the best choice I had. I started the truck again, setting course for the uncertain meeting ahead.

I stopped the truck just opposite the pawnshop. The "Red Tree" sign gleamed with neon and LED lights, casting an eerie glow over the dusty street. I climbed down and adjusted my jacket to better conceal the diamonds nestled inside the inner pocket. Josy approached the front, while Gabriella quietly slipped into the driver’s seat. No one spoke—a silent understanding of the gravity of the moment.

To draw less attention, I grabbed one of the radios mounted inside the truck and walked toward the pawnshop, pretending I was there to sell it. A man stood outside, likely waiting for someone with a piece of uncut diamond. I could feel the weight of the stone pressing against my chest beneath the fabric.

Josy stayed close behind me as I stepped inside. I placed the radio on the counter. "The radio, eh? Let me see. This model’s quite new," the man said, his voice familiar—the same one from my earlier phone call.

With a strange, forced accent, I said, "Actually, I’m here about a diamond. I’m the one who called earlier."

His eyes widened, a small smile playing at his lips as he seemed to appreciate my cheekiness. He probably guessed the radio was a diversion—a way to seem unprepared while in fact showing I was anything but.

He signaled to a man nearby, who promptly wrapped up his business with a client and hurried out. Now it was just me, Josy, and the man behind the counter. I glanced at Josy. He leaned against the counter, watching my back—his steady presence eased my tension a bit.

"Let me see it," the man said. I reached slowly into my jacket, careful not to give the impression I was reaching for a weapon, and placed the diamond on the counter.

His eyes widened as he bent down to retrieve a scanner. He was prepared—scales, a laser tool, various instruments laid out around the counter. Minutes drifted by, weighted with tension. Finally, he removed his glasses and said, "Thirty million—and I’m willing to take more if you have it," a hint of a smile in his voice.

Josy snapped his head toward the front door, alert.

I hesitated for a moment, unwilling to appear desperate, and offered, "Thirty-two and we’re good."

The man chuckled knowingly, nodding. "Alright, give me your chip."

I handed it over. The exchange took what felt like a lifetime, though it was only moments before the chip was returned to me. I checked the balance and exhaled with relief. Beads of sweat dotted Josy’s brow.

"Thank you. I’ll come back with more," I said as the man stood and motioned us toward the door.

Outside, he called to the man at the entrance, instructing him to accompany us back to our truck as a guard. The man followed, but my hand and Josy’s crept to the plasma pistols hidden beneath our jackets.

We reached the truck, and I told Gabriella to head to the back. Josy and I settled up front. The man who’d escorted us nodded once and retraced his steps back to the pawnshop. We both exhaled heavily, the weight of the moment finally lessening as I gripped the wheel and started the engine.

The road out of town was silent except for the low hum of the truck’s engine. Josy and I sat quietly, eyes sharp, checking every shadow, every distant movement for signs of pursuit. The tension lingered long after we left the dusty streets behind.

"Let’s leave the town now," I finally said, squeezing the wheel a little tighter.

Josy nodded, his gaze steady. I opened the window and tossed my burner phone out to the side of the road, watching it disappear into the dust. Turning sharply, I headed for the highway leading away from the city.

Twenty minutes passed without incident. The emptiness of the desert pressed in around us, vast and unforgiving. Pulling over to the side, I looked over at Josy. "Your chip," I said.

He quickly handed it to me, trust reflected in his eyes despite the thin tension between us. I tapped a transfer, the sum already calculated in my head—ten point seven million credits.

I returned the chip to him. His smile was wide but cautious; part of him probably expected me to vanish with everything without a word.

Starting up again, I broke the silence. "Josy, this credit could last us a good while. You want to split now?"

He fell silent for a moment, then asked, "What will you do next?"

I considered my answer, a plan beginning to form. "Drive around, act like the merchant I always am. Keep a low profile. And maybe—open a shop somewhere quiet. A village, perhaps."

There was another quiet that settled over us.

Curiosity edged my next question. "What’s the deal with you and Gabriella?"

"We’re together," Josy said simply, the weight of those words enough coming from a man of few.

I didn’t press further but offered my guidance anyway. "If I were you, I’d keep your share close for a bit. Quiet."

Josy nodded in agreement.

"And you?" I asked finally.

Josy's grin cracked his face. "Start a water farm."

I raised my brows, then smiled, understanding the idea instantly. Water was scarce but humidity was high. There was money in drawing water from the air.

"Probably in Dustfall," he added.

I nodded. "Sounds good."

"About the rest of the diamonds," I said, "there’s one big chunk and a dozen smaller ones. You can have the small ones if you want. I’ll keep the big one, if that's all right."

Josy paused then nodded. Trust—real trust—was rare on this moon.

I opened the compartment in the console, pulling out a worn bag filled with the smaller diamonds. "Count them, see for yourself."

He obeyed and tucked the bag inside his jacket.

The rest of the journey passed without a word, both of us lost in the quiet hum of the truck and the vast desert stretching ahead.

Dustfall

We arrived at Dustfall as the evening sun dipped low, casting long shadows across the canyon walls that cradled the town. Unlike the other settlements crowning barren plains, Dustfall sprawled deep within a massive canyon, its buildings nestled in layers carved into the rock. The air felt heavier here, cleaner somehow—shields against the relentless dust storms that battered this dry moon.

"Where should I drop you two?" I asked.

"The transport station," Josy replied promptly.

I pulled the truck to a stop near a bustling transport station.

As we settled in, Josy asked me to wait a moment while he gathered his and Gabriella’s few belongings. I stayed inside the cab, watching the narrow streets through the windshield as people hurried about, shadows dissolving in the dusty twilight.

Soon, Josy returned, carrying a small bag, Gabriella close behind. He approached the window and said softly, "Umm, goodbye, boss, and thanks for everything."

I felt a lump rise in my throat, and imagined tears glistening in his tired eyes. "Good luck, son," I replied, rolling the window back up as they turned away.

As I pulled out from the station, the desert wind filled the cabin. I activated the autopilot, deciding the quiet of the road was better than prolonging the painful farewell.

Leaning back, I exhaled slowly. "What now? A new chapter," I murmured, reaching for my sketchbook.

With trembling hands, I began to draw Dustfall—the winding canyon streets, the dusty voices of its people—a fragile world clinging to survival inside the moon’s endless desert. the place where someone who's closest for a son I never have will live.

Ironclad

A sharp beep shattered the silence just before midnight, waking me from a restless doze. I fumbled with the navigation to silence the persistent alert. We were nearly at Ironclad, my next stop on this endless circuit.

This town was smaller, more compact than others, its buildings reaching upward in a cluster rather than spreading wide. A few high-rises rose against the horizon, evidence of some lingering prosperity. The market here was reportedly healthy, and the motel even offered food delivery straight to the truck—a rare luxury in these parts.

I guided the truck into the lot, scanning for a familiar parking spot among the scattered rigs. Mask pulled tight, I approached the registration counter where a familiar smile greeted me. "How many nights this time?" they asked.

Not quite sure, I replied, "One night to start, but might stay longer." I paid in cash, minding the worn bills tucked in my palm. "And I'd like to order some food," I added. Nodding, the clerk processed the request and said delivery would be within twenty minutes.

Back at the truck, I climbed carefully into the cramped living quarters, muscles aching from the day’s long drive. The weight of the day pressed down, and thoughts drifted to Josy and Gabriella—how they were faring without me?

Money jingled softly in my pocket—a rare comfort—but also a reminder. I needed to plan my next moves carefully. Was it safer to abandon the merchant life here, or more dangerous to continue as a lone stray among shrinking towns?

Indecision gnawed at me as a knock echoed at the cabin hatch. Peeking out, I saw the food delivery guy from the reception. I opened the hatch, gratefully accepting the warm meal and thanking him.

He lingered briefly, hesitant to leave. "Please, have this," I said, pressing ten credits into his palm. His face lit up with gratitude as he finally turned and disappeared down the street.

I exhaled deeply and muttered, "These tensions will kill me one day."

That night, I settled into my cramped cabin, the weight of the day pushing me toward restless exhaustion. After a few drinks to dull the edges, I stumbled upon some old, grainy movies buried deep in the internet library archives. It struck me how much of the moon’s digital life still depended on the old town library server—an echo of better days.

Half dozing with the TV flickering low, my glass beeped softly. A message popped up from Merisa: "How are you doing?"

I blinked, surprised to see a rare message. I tapped my glass slowly, "Good. I'm in Ironclad."

I waited, hoping for more, but the quiet stretched long, unbroken by further words. Giving in to the stillness, I turned back to the flickering images on the screen and let sleep find me.

I woke up the next day to warm light coming through the thin window of my cabin. I still felt worried from the night before as I lay there, thinking about what to do. The central city, the ring, the outer rings—none seemed like an easy choice. It looked like the only sure thing was to keep moving, traveling around the ring, living my lonely life as a traveling merchant.

I finally got myself out of bed and made a simple breakfast in the small kitchen corner. Food was limited, but I had enough to keep going for now. I planned to get more local goods here before moving on, even though I was thinking less about trading.

Exiting the truck, I wandered the streets nearby. Not far away, I stumbled upon a small alley stall with a modest, flickering sign: "Breakfast and Whiskey." Smiling to myself, I stepped inside and slid onto a worn barstool. The lone owner looked up, nodding in greeting.

"Good morning. What'll it be?" he asked.

"A broth and a whiskey," I replied with a tired voice.

As he turned to prepare my order, I looked around. I was the only customer, but the street outside hummed faintly with distant movement. The quiet was comforting but hollow.

"What brings you to town?" the owner asked, breaking the silence.

"I'm a merchant, following markets," I said softly.

He smiled, pouring me a cup. "Want some coffee? Five credits."

I shook my head and asked instead, "How’s business around here?"

He glanced outside thoughtfully. "Good enough," he said. "Not many people leaving, at least compared to other towns, I hear."

I nodded slowly. "I just came from the Water Mill," I said, spooning the broth slowly. "It’s an empty town now."

"Sad," he murmured. "People leave for the central city—or the Oasis."

"The Oasis?" I echoed, finishing the broth and reaching for my whiskey. The name was unfamiliar, stirring vague memories of rumor and hope.

"You haven’t heard?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "They say a new land’s been found. Well, land’s everywhere on this moon, but out near the equator, there’s water and plants—real green spots."

I looked up sharply. "Bullshit," I said bluntly.

He laughed, unbothered. "That’s what I thought at first—then there’s been so much talk about it lately."

I frowned, recalling past scams. "Like that economic ship hoax a few years back," I said. "Promises to get off the moon, but no one ever boarded."

"Not this," he insisted. "Anyone can try; it’s just over a month’s drive."

I raised my eyebrows skeptically. "On the other side of the moon?"

He nodded. "Yeah, near the equator. They terraformed this moon for years to make it livable. Most of the water cycles there—the diamonds are here, sure, but the moisture’s stuck at the equator."

I bit back a laugh but kept it to myself. "Check the archives," he added. "It’s all there, on the moon’s net."

Finishing my whiskey, I stood and slid some credits toward him. "Thanks for the news," I said, pocketing my chip as I stepped outside.

He called after me, "Come again soon!" The dust swirled around me as I walked back to the truck, the weight of that whispered hope hanging heavy in the air.

I continued walking through town, and for the first time in a while, it felt safer here. The streets were busier, and a sense of modest prosperity hung in the air. Many shops showed signs of life, with merchants bustling quietly as the fading light settled over Ironclad.

Turning down a street lined with stores specializing in local goods, snacks, and dried foods, I couldn't help but chuckle at the irony of the moon’s town names. There was Water Mill, ironically dry; Blackdots, surrounded by white sands; and here, Ironclad, which had made a niche out of snacks and preserved foods.

This particular street was a hive of activity—shops selling bulk dried food in every variety seemed to thrive here, the business booming despite the harsh environment. I paused before one such store and asked about general prices. Most shops here sold at similar rates, likely due to the close proximity and competition.

I quickly took mental notes. The prices were reasonable and cheap enough. However, before I could stock up, I'd need to clear space in the truck. Let’s see how things looked on the inventory.

With a flick of my wrist, I pulled up the inventory display on my glass. A few crates of respirator masks remained, and about four crates held assorted miscellaneous goods—small items nobody seemed to buy in bulk. Over three crates contained moonshine, which I decided to keep.

The assorted crates puzzled me. Should I throw them out? Donate? Hell no—no one here helped their neighbors without expecting something in return. Survival was a harsh game, and generosity was a luxury.

I wasn’t sure what to do, so for now, I resolved to keep them. The truck held about fifty-five crates in total, and nearly thirty-five were still empty.

"What if," I thought, "I fill most of the empty crates with long-lasting food?" Food stored for the long haul was always in demand, especially in the outlying villages. It might be my retirement plan—something to leave behind if I ever settled down.

I grinned to myself, imagining the kind of life I might build with a simple inventory of food and essentials. For now, I’d focus on filling about twenty-eight to thirty crates with dried goods before heading back out. It was a new kind of hope in this bleak world—a plan to keep going, to survive, and maybe find a future beyond the dust.

I continued walking down the street lined with shops selling bulk dried food, passing each one with a cautious eye. No kidding, some of the sellers had sharp eyes for merchants like me; they could spot a stray merchant from a distance and would rush out eagerly.

"Sir, want some high-profit dried food?" came a voice, and there it was—the usual pitch.

A merchant from one shop seemed to recognize a merchant in me immediately. "What do you have?" I asked.

"We have everything," he said proudly. "Snacks, pickles, dried meat, dried vegetables, seeds, rice, wheat, and cheap snacks that sell fast in the outer rings."

I smiled; he clearly knew the market well.

"And the prices?" I inquired.

He told me they were similar to another shop I had checked out earlier.

"Good, I'll take some," I said, stopping to glance around. "Hmm, but my truck can’t get down this small street," I added.

The merchant's smile faded. "How many crates do you want? We can deliver them to the motel if you order more than five crates."

He didn't think I would buy many crates, which was true under normal circumstances.

"Twenty-eight," I said.

"Twenty-eight? For real? Of course, please come this way," he said with renewed enthusiasm and led me inside.

I chose what I wanted from his catalogue, hitting his quotas with ease, and transferred the credits. His smile broadened.

"Will delivery to your truck's motel in an hour be okay?" I asked.

He nodded eagerly. "Do you want a lift? You can come with the delivery."

I thought about it and nodded; I didn’t have any other place to go in town.

He asked me to wait out front. In about ten minutes, a small delivery truck pulled up just ahead. The driver was already in the seat.

"Please come on in," he said, and I hopped into the passenger seat beside him.

The driver sped toward the motel, driving so fast that several times I feared we'd crash, but he managed to avoid accidents. He tried to keep up a steady conversation the whole time, asking, "What market will you go to next? Which town did you come from? Is business good?"

I barely answered, sometimes even trying to shout over the engine's roar to escape the talk.

Finally, we arrived at the motel. The driver helped load all the crates into my truck. It took almost half an hour, but soon the job was done.

I handed him fifty credits in cash, and he accepted eagerly before driving off into the dust.

I caught my breath and pulled the mask away from my face, letting the murky air fill my lungs despite the grit still clinging to it. The drive from that wild delivery, compounded by the effort of loading all those crates, had left me both exhausted and restless.

"I'll just leave the town," I thought, glancing at the clock. "It's just noon. I'll rest on the way."

Switching off the utility cable tethering the truck to the motel's supply, I climbed back into the cab.

After inputting the coordinates for the next town, the engines hummed to life, and the truck rolled slowly out of the parking lot.

Settling into the driver's seat, I reclined slightly to ease my aching muscles, lit a cigarette, and allowed myself a moment of quiet. Outside, the air remained thick and murky as usual, but after leaving the city behind, vast open desert stretched endlessly.

I estimated the trip to the next town would take about four hours—a familiar duration on the road between settlements.

Glancing sideways, my gaze fell on the half-empty bottle of moonshine resting on the passenger seat. Without hesitation, I uncorked it and took a long swallow, feeling the burn as it slid down.

Removing the mask entirely, I tossed it atop the console beside the glass I kept ready. It reminded me of the message Merisa had sent the day before. Had she needed something?

I reached for my glass and tapped out a message: "How are you doing?"

A quick reply flashed up: "Good, busy as usual."

Unsure if she was joking, I responded with a simple, "Really?"

"Yes, zero customers," she replied, and I chuckled softly.

Unsure what else to say, I snapped a picture through the windshield, now so coated with dust that visibility was nearly zero.

"She’s probably just bored and wants some company," I thought, opening another bottle and pouring some moonshine.

Then her message arrived—an image that caught me completely off guard. Moonshine shot out of my nose as I coughed for several minutes. The picture was risqué—Merisa, nude.

I was quite surprised but couldn't help replying, "Thanks, that made my day. :)"

I smiled wryly, thinking, "Hmm, maybe she doesn’t just want to talk after all."

Merchant's Life

The journey to the next town passed uneventfully; I mostly drank, slept, sketched, and then repeated the cycle. Eventually, the muted lights of the town emerged through the dusty haze. Unlike the other settlements, this place was less welcoming to merchants like me—there was no motel designed for trucks, just a cheap truck parking lot and a small hotel nearby.

I parked the truck, paid the feeble parking fee, and decided to walk into town and visit the market—not as a merchant, but simply as a visitor.

It felt strange to browse a market without setting up a stall, but there I was, wandering among the shops and stalls as a mere passerby. Familiar faces watched me cautiously, many of whom remembered me from years of drifting trade.

I greeted everyone I could recall and stopped occasionally for brief conversations.

“Is this the life I’ve been living?” I muttered to myself. I’d never once allowed myself to see how it all fit together—getting up early for the market, rushing to set up shops, pushing to sell as much as I could before closing late, then racing to restock and move on to the next town. It was exhausting.

Looking back on the past few years, I realized it had only been easier when I’d taken Josy under my wing. But now, with no one else by my side, I might need to reconsider—perhaps even find someone to help if I was going to continue this lonely merchant life.

Suddenly, a hand touched my arm. I turned to see the merchant who sold vegetables here.

“Hey, how are you doing? Sorry, I didn’t hear you,” he smiled.

"It's okay," I replied, momentarily lost in thought.

He chuckled softly, "I see you’re a little lost in space."

We exchanged a few words and caught up briefly. I shared that I had just arrived in town and wasn’t able to join this market in time it open. He told me he had been here since the day before. Our conversation drifted into smaller talk.

I walked over to his stall—it was still full of fresh green vegetables.

“Still focused on fresh stuff, huh?” I asked.

“Yeah, but I’ve got some pickles now too,” he gestured to a corner where jars of pickled goods sat. “Thanks to your suggestion.”

I smiled at that.

Then he lowered his voice, “Did you hear about the Oasis?”

I raised my eyebrows skeptically, “Yeah, I thought it was some hoax.”

“Hmm, maybe,” he shrugged. “I know someone who already left for it with his family. They’re gone since last week, no news yet.”

“I heard it’s about a month trip,” I said.

He nodded, “Yeah, I don’t think anyone is ready for it.”

Curious, I asked, “What do you mean by ready?”

“Think about it --a months in a truck. If you go alone and something goes wrong with your ride, or you run out of food halfway through, making it there would be suicidal.”

I nodded slowly, unsure if he was simply sharing an opinion or warning seriously.

“So... is the place for real?” I pressed.

He pulled out his glass and showed me a website filled with information—maps, routes, satellite images, all pointing to a stretch of green patch at the equator.

I studied the data. This information was solid, posted officially by the central city library itself. The moon’s internet inherited its security protocols from the galactic network before the cutoff—almost impossible to fake.

“Can you send me that page too?” I asked, fishing my glass out of my pocket to save the link.

A bit later, we said our goodbyes. I bought something quick to eat and headed to the small hotel.

As soon as I settled into my room, I opened the page on the Oasis again, scrolling through the facts and figures. The data was reliable, yet no one had actually made it there—at least, no one returned.

The mine, the towns, and all infrastructure lay in the northern hemisphere, where the terraforming device ran continuously to keep the air breathable and moisture somewhat steady. However, ecologically, most of the moon’s moisture circled near the equator.

The problem? The Oasis was very far away—more than eight thousand kilometers of barren desert where no one had ever ventured.

I sighed deeply, leaning back on the bed and wondering if it was even possible to make the journey.

The next morning, sunlight filtered weakly through the thin curtains of my hotel room. Still lying in bed, my eyes traced the map of the Oasis flickering softly on my glass. The distance—almost 10,000 kilometers—loomed daunting and far beyond known territory. It was an uncharted stretch where death would likely find many unprepared travelers.

A soft beep broke my reverie, and I glanced down at a new message. Merisa’s name flashed on the screen. Opening it, I found a picture of a simple dish—warm vegetables, just like the ones she’d made for me during my visit to her motel.

"Yummy, save some for me," I typed back with a slight smile.

Lately, I’d been thinking about Merisa a lot. Perhaps because no one else sent me messages, or maybe because of that surprising nude photo she’d sent. I wasn’t sure where this was heading—if anywhere—but the thought of her lent a subtle warmth to my solitary life.

I switched back to the information about the Oasis, my gaze lingering on the jagged line of the unexplored route. Could I truly become the first settler there? Drive a lonely path to a distant land and build life by growing vegetables in the dust? It didn’t sound very civilized, more like isolation compounded.

I tried to stop these swirling thoughts, rolling over to the other side of the bed. But restlessness gnawed at me still.

Eventually, I rose, dusting off the heavy night and preparing to check on my truck. I wasn’t certain if I’d leave now or simply inspect it and wait for the right moment.

The desert outside beckoned silently, a vast unknown that held more questions than answers.

As I walked to the parking lot where my truck was, I thought about my life and how things were going. With the money I had earned recently, I could consider myself rich. But on this moon, being rich could also mean being a target — maybe even a death sentence.

I didn’t see any point in going to Central City, the ring towns, or the outer rings. None of those places felt right. Then the idea of the oasis came back to me. What if I used my money to travel there? To invest in that new land and maybe become someone important in the new town?

It was a tempting thought. I pictured a brand new city with a house of my own, and Merisa standing by my side. I wondered why she was in my mind. I rubbed my temple, trying to clear the thought.

When I reached my truck, I took twenty minutes to check everything carefully. The solar panels looked good, the battery was holding strong, and the engine was running smoothly. This company really made quality equipment.

I climbed into the driver's seat and got serious about planning the journey. If I could make it, it might change everything.

I started the engine, drove out of the parking lot, and headed toward the next town.

Cragspire

A weeks had passed, and here I was again at the Cragspire market—a town built precariously along a towering cliff face. The market was slow, just like the last few towns, and the ones before that. The familiar grind of setting up the stall, selling what little I could, and preparing to move on.

If you’ve seen the map included earlier, you know Cragspire is the eleventh town in the ring—the ring city that circles the Central City. It was created around the roughly 100 kilometers-radius mining hole, and as of now, the bleak truth is we’re nearly back where we started.

The past two weeks had been monotony at its worst: drive to a new town, open the stall, sell, restock, move along, and repeat. But there was a strange comfort in that rhythm.

One good thing about this constant travel was the view it gave me of the bigger picture. Every town was dying in its own way but with the same patterns—population decline, disease creeping quietly, poverty digging its claws deeper, and an ever-present threat of famine.

Cragspire was no different. The market remained active, with most shops open and a steady trickle of customers. But beyond this small, fragile bubble, the other side of town looked like a ghost settlement. Empty buildings sat in rot and silence, with only a few poor souls scraping by in what felt like deep poverty.

At my stall, I was selling jewelry. Ironically enough, such items still found buyers among the wealthier citizens here. Meanwhile, just blocks away, people who could survive on these jewels for days struggled to find their next meal.

Merisa and I stayed in touch, often talking over video calls despite the spotty internet under sandstorms. It was one of the few threads holding me to hope.

All the while, thoughts of the Oasis crowded my mind. News trickled in—people leaving town in waves, reports of contact lasting no more than a week, some lost without a trace, others sending desperate pleas from places we could not reach, and many vanishing entirely from the radar.

Do I still want to go? Absolutely. My funds tucked away, stashing them deep within what little security I could muster. I’m circling the ring carefully, positioning myself at Dustfall—the closest point to the Oasis within the ring.

I’m cautious, scared even. The journey will be deadly, and I won’t go alone. I’ve reached out to a few others who want to be among the first settlers to claim this new land. We’ll leave together. Safety in numbers.

I’ve mentioned the plan to Merisa several times now. Asking her to join me on what could only be described as a perilous adventure—perhaps one leading to death—feels selfish. But it’s time I speak seriously with her about my intentions. It’s part of the responsibility that comes with whatever this strange connection between us really is.

Glancing up, I noticed the sun slipping low. The market was closing, merchants hurriedly packing up their stalls. I sighed and began to close mine.

I didn’t bring down many crates from my truck this time — just ten. With Josy gone, no one was left to help me unload, so I kept my market presence small these days.

Climbing back into the cab of the "Deadlight," I started the engine and pulled slowly away from the crowded market area. The name "Deadlight" still shone like a beacon on the front of the truck, a stubborn symbol of life clinging to this dying moon.

As I headed toward the motel, my glass beeped softly. I tapped the screen and called Merisa, our conversations becoming a daily habit lately. It rang several times before she answered.

"You busy?" I asked.

"No, super free as usual. Where are you now?"

"On the truck, heading back to the motel. The market was slow today," I replied, exhaling a weary breath.

"Same here," she said with a tired tone. "If you come back here, you’ll notice there’s almost nobody left in this part of town."

"Really? Even the villagers who moved in?"

"Yeah — probably starved to death," she said. A heavy silence filled the line.

"And your business?" I asked softly.

Merisa exhaled deeply. "Still no one coming in. I think they’ve just stopped stopping here, driving straight to the next town."

I became quiet too, the realization sinking in. "Another town dies," I muttered.

Merisa said nothing for a few beats. "I think I’ll stay in this town until you finish your circuit here."

"And after that?" I pressed gently.

Her voice grew hesitant. "Leave."

"Not much choice," she said quietly. "When there are no people, there’s no food either."

A long pause stretched between us.

"Where will you go?"

"I don’t know yet," she finally admitted.

The truck shuddered beneath me as I navigated the dusty road toward the motel where I’d be staying tonight.

"I just arrived at the motel," I said.

"Oh, okay," she replied, clearly just waking from a silence. "Do you want to rest first? I’ll call you later."

"No," I said, swallowing the exhaustion. "Actually, did you hear about the Oasis?"

I checked into my room, but the conversation lingered in my mind. We spoke for hours after that, sharing hopes and fears about the Oasis and the impossible trek that lay ahead.

I’m still on the line with Merisa, and now we’re both quiet after I told her about the Oasis, the plan.

"And you tell me all about this because..." Merisa teased.

"Well," I chuckled, "it's not a subject you bring up easily."

I smiled. "It’s kind of a long shot, too. Well, to ask if you want to go with me."

Her eyes widened. "Me? Going with you?"

"Yeah, on my truck, and with the others I talked about."

She went quiet but kept smiling.

I added, "Yeah, to be honest, we didn’t really know what we are..." She stayed silent, so I continued, "And asking you to go with me like this—it almost feels selfish."

I exhaled. "Will you come on this trip with me?"

Merisa smiled, showing all her teeth. I felt as if I had just proposed to her.

"Yeah, umm, you can tell me more about this 'adventure' and see what I can help with," Merisa said.

"Help?" I repeated.

"Yes, I think you’ll need quite a budget for this trip. I have a bit saved up," she paused. "If I’m going with you, I think I can help with that."

A knot formed in my stomach. I’d never told her about the money I got from the diamonds.

"Okay, probably we can talk about more details later?"

It was getting late.

Merisa yawned on the glass, and I chuckled. "So, let’s continue this conversation tomorrow?" I asked.

Merisa nodded and smiled. She seemed to be sleeping with the camera on again—we’d done that most days lately. She said it made her feel safe.

I left the glass on, watching her sleep. I don’t usually feel attached to anyone, but somehow with Merisa, it was different.

I closed my eyes and tried to sleep too.

(Later, when I couldn’t sleep, I dropped the line and chucked moonshines to knock myself out as usual.)

The Plan

The road stretched out ahead, endless and dust-choked. I’d just restocked my truck with dried food—expensive here, but necessary. Following the plan was crucial; I couldn't afford to stray from it now.

Quiet settled around me as the truck cruised over cracked asphalt. I grabbed my glass and dialed Merisa. She answered on the first ring.

"Hey, I was just thinking about you," she said warmly.

A smile tugged at my lips. "That's why I called," I replied. "Umm, what if we continue that conversation? About that 'death trip' we talked about?"

She made a face, playful yet serious. "Don’t call it that, or I won’t go with you," she teased.

I chuckled softly and explained the plan. Essentially, I was making my way to her town, skipping most stops except for brief ones at Eraron and Black Fort to stock up on goods and gear. I intended to stay with Merisa at the water mill for a few days before setting off together to join the rest of the caravan I had gathered at Dustfall. We’d get all the vehicles checked there, then face the long, perilous journey across the desert to the Oasis. Beyond that point, none of us really knew what lay ahead.

"Who’s joining us?" she asked, eyes curious.

I described the caravan—six other vehicles, mostly merchants I’d known for years.

"One’s an ex-mechanic," I said, "and another, well, her husband’s a veterinarian—the closest thing to a doctor we have. So engine troubles and health issues should be covered."

"And medicine?" she questioned.

"Already arranged," I said. "Contacted someone in Dustfall, paid the deposit."

"Food?"

"Each of us brings enough. I’ve loaded my truck full—enough for two trips."

She raised an eyebrow. "You got the budget for all that?"

"Some savings," I replied.

She smirked. "What if we have a fights?"

I grinned back. "I say I’m sorry, it won’t happen again. You’re in a good mood, and then we have sex."

Her face hit the table off-camera.

"You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?"

She came back into frame and asked softly, "And what about me? What will I do?"

I paused, heart steadying. "Be with me," I said simply.

2 days had passed, and the vast silhouette of the Water Mill loomed ahead, its towering terraforming device unmistakable even through the dusty haze. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the barren landscape as I sent a quick photo of my cracked windshield, the terraforming giant hanging just beyond, to Merisa’s glass.

"See you soon!" was her cheerful reply.

Half an hour later, I rolled into her motel’s parking area. Even through the respirator mask and the familiar dust-streaked clothes, I recognized her immediately. She stood in the center of the lot, quiet and poised, as if waiting for me.

I parked the truck and climbed down, witnessing her shift from a slow walk to a half-run as she approached. When we met, I pulled her in for a hug—brief, but full of that shared relief and warmth that had become so rare.

Merisa quickly helped me connect the utility cable to the truck—power, water, air—the lifelines keeping the Deadlight running while idle.

Together, we circled the truck for a post-ride check, her hand settling in mine as the sun faded behind the distant horizon. It had been a long day, a long ride, but this moment held a rare softness amidst the relentless dust and toil.

"You must be tired," Merisa murmured.

"I am," I admitted, joints aching even though I hadn’t driven. The truck’s vibrations and the rough miles took their toll nonetheless.

"Have a bath?" she suggested with a teasing smile. "And I think you could stay in my quarters—it should be fine."

I laughed quietly, shaking my head. "Hmm, should I? Seems like that would break the unspoken client-owner code."

She grinned and linked her fingers through mine, leading me toward her room as the first stars began to prick the darkening sky.

Evening fell softly as we reclined on Merisa’s bed, the faint hum of the city outside mingling with the quiet between us. Her glass displayed a cascade of information about the Oasis, the uncharted green land that had consumed my thoughts for weeks now.

I looked over at her, curiosity and concern mingling in my voice. "So, about the trek to the Oasis, what do you think? Have I missed anything?"

Merisa continued scrolling through the data, her eyes scanning the reliable records maintained by the moon's AI-controlled internet. Here, fake news was automatically filtered out—a sharp contrast to the chaos that plagued the surface. Yet, even with dependable information, the uncertainty remained.

"Hmm," she murmured thoughtfully, "I don’t know. It’s not like anyone has been there."

I nodded. "True. No one’s made it to the green area yet. But from what I’ve seen, most who attempted the trek were underprepared—running away from poverty or starvation with only a handful of trucks at a time."

She looked up, her eyes steady. I continued, "That’s why I think we need to be over-prepared."

Merisa raised her eyebrows. "How over-prepared can we be?"

"Well," I began, "right now, we have six vehicles joining us—that’s a good start. But ideally, we’ll want more."

Merisa’s brow furrowed. "More? Won’t that get messy?"

"You’re right," I admitted. "Most of the path is a desert, and sandstorms will keep communication sparse. We probably won’t have much chance to coordinate while traveling. But if one truck breaks down, its passengers can hop onto another—grab only what they need—and the caravan can keep moving. With six trucks, we can only afford to lose two or three. More trucks mean more margin for error."

She fell silent, considering the possibilities. "So, it’s possible that halfway through, your truck will have, like, a dozen people riding along with us?"

I laughed softly and pulled her close. "Don’t worry. My truck has an extra living quarter at the back—you remember where Josy used to stay?"

"Oh, right," she said, the corners of her mouth lifting into a small smile. "You usually travel with Josy. Will he be joining us?"

I paused, a flicker of uncertainty crossing my face. "I haven’t talked to him in a while since we split up, actually. I think I’ll call him, but he’s doing well, and I don’t think he’ll join us."

Merisa tilted her head. "Why don’t you try calling him now?"

Shrugging, I reached for my glass and dialed Josy. He answered on the second ring. "Hello, boss," he greeted.

I smiled, shaking my head. "Hey Josy, I’m no longer your boss, remember?"

His smile matched mine. I explained the situation and asked if he wanted to join the trek.

He hesitated, then said, "Right now, I can’t, boss. Business needs me here."

I nodded understandingly. "It’s okay. Figured as much, but thought I should ask, just in case."

Josy thanked me, and we ended the call.

Merisa turned toward me. "Want me to ask around if anyone else wants to join? Or do you have a way to qualify or test them?"

I raised my eyebrows and laughed gently. "No, hunny. Anyone can join. There’s plenty of space behind our trucks."

I looked at her, curiosity sparking. "What do you mean by asking around? Got someone in mind you want to invite?"

She gave me an incredulous look. "Hey, I know all the merchants on this moon! I own the motel!"

I chuckled, recalling the fact I’d forgotten. "Oh, right. Sorry about that. You’re going to broadcast a message or something?"

"Yeah, kind of," Merisa said. "If you’re sure everyone can join."

She pulled her glass closer and displayed a large group chat filled with over a thousand truckers and drivers. I hadn’t even realized there were that many trucks on this moon.

Carefully, Merisa drafted a message. Before sending, she showed it to me. It read:

"Fellow drivers and merchants,

A rare opportunity lies ahead. We’re organizing a caravan to the uncharted Oasis at the equator—a new land rumored to hold promise beyond this drought-stricken moon. The journey is dangerous, with sandstorms and isolation threatening us along the way. But together, we can survive and build something new.

The caravan will depart soon from Dustfall at the end of the cycle, joining six known trucks, but all are welcome—there is plenty of space for more. No strict qualifications, just determination and readiness.

Reply to this message if you’re interested. Let's take this chance to rewrite our stories.

Drive safe, Deadlight Caravan

Merisa from the Mother Moon motel"

I smiled, feeling a fragile hope blooming amidst the dust and desolation.

I was genuinely impressed with the message Merisa crafted. "What do you think?" she asked softly, hopeful.

"That's really great," I replied. "Now, we wait and see if anyone will join."

She smiled and suggested, "I think there will be some—when people have nowhere else to go, they look for any place with a leader to follow."

For a moment, doubt crept up on me. Why was I so stressed about this? The weight of leading others into the unknown gnawed at my thoughts.

Finally, I voiced the fear that had been lingering. "What if I'm wrong? What if I lead everyone—and you—into danger?"

Without hesitation, Merisa moved closer and kissed me. "The bigger the funeral, the more fun the after party," she said with a mischievous smile.

I leaned back, letting out a chuckle. "What kind of saying is that?"

We both laughed together, feeling a rare moment of lightness. It was as if, in this endless night of dust and hardship, two desperate souls had found a flicker of hope to hold onto.

Last Light of the Mother Moon

Two days passed at the Mother Moon motel, uneventful yet charged with quiet anticipation. I spent the time with Merisa, our conversations a mix of plans and lingering uncertainties, the future both hopeful and daunting. Our trek to the equator remained on track despite the slow gathering of willing participants.

I used this time to arrange essential services in Dustfall: medicine supplies secured, the truck scheduled for a thorough checkup before the long journey, and seeds procured from the agricultural town’s vendors—simple preparations yet crucial ones. Merisa was poised to leave, too; tonight, the motel's neon sign flickered and dimmed, its light extinguished after years of steady glow.

Despite multiple postings, only a few responded to our caravan message. The silence was surprising, yet perhaps understandable.

"Hmm, maybe they don't like the route I've chosen," I mutter softly.

Merisa, sitting beside me, unfolds the map that shows four possible paths—each one suggested by the library's archives.

"Why did you pick this one?" Merisa asks, her curiosity evident.

I pause a moment, searching for the right words.

"It's the location, the resources I can gather along the way, the way the sandstorms behave," I say thoughtfully. "And... this path gives me a chance to see you again, whether you decide to come with me or not."

The peril that lay ahead tempered enthusiasm; the unknown held many back, even as hope spurred others forward.

Still, as quiet settled over the motel, the weight of what was to come pressed heavily, grounding us both in the stark reality beneath our fragile plans.

“Will you miss all this?” I asked, watching Merisa gather her bag to head toward the truck. In just two days, we’d leave for Dustfall and begin the caravan’s long journey.

“Yes, I will,” she said softly.

“Me too,” I admitted.

We climbed into the Deadlight, Merisa sliding into the seat next to me. I started the engine, and the truck rolled forward, heading toward Dustfall.

The ride was quiet. We didn’t do much, mostly drinking to pass time and catching up on sleep whenever the landscape slipped past in blurs of dust and rock. The desert stretched endlessly around us.

Preparation Day

By early afternoon, we arrived at a garage on the outskirts of Dustfall. At the entrance, the owner stood waiting.

“Hey. I’m the one who called earlier—Deadlight,” I greeted.

He smiled. “Hey. I heard about your caravan to the equator.”

Merisa and I exchanged surprised glances. “You know?” she asked.

“Of course,” he nodded. “You posted about it, and we all talk about it.” He pointed at a large truck nearby. “The owner of that one said he’d come too.”

“But nobody seemed interested in the post,” Merisa said, a frown creasing her brow.

The mechanic chuckled. “If you’re merchants chatting in a group, you’ve got two choices—a once-in-a-lifetime caravan: either you openly admit you’re leaving, or you slip out with the caravan quietly, without alerting competitors.”

It made sense. Yet, neither of us had received any direct responses.

“So, what do you want done with your ride?” he asked.

“General checkup,” I replied. “Need to be ready for the long haul.”

I added, “Also, I want to move from the driver’s seat to the cabin behind without getting off the truck.”

He inspected the truck carefully and nodded. “No problem. Anything else?”

“Yeah,” I said. “Extra spotlight on the front, powered separately, to cut through thick sandstorms.” I showed him where.

“That all?” he asked with a grin.

“That’s all,” I smiled back.

“When will it be done?”

“Tomorrow morning,” he answered.

I looked at Merisa. We’d need a place to rest—a quiet spot for us as a couple.

“Let’s grab our things and come back tomorrow,” I said.

She nodded and went to the truck’s living quarters, the first section she usually stayed in. I lingered a moment longer in the driver’s cabin, making sure no one was watching, before reaching into the hidden compartment beneath my seat. I took out the fist-sized diamond and slipped it carefully inside my jacket pocket, securing it away from prying eyes.

I got off the truck and handed the key to the garage owner. "Trust me with the Deadlight," He said firmly, assuring me that everything was in good hands. I nodded,. With that settled, Merisa and I stepped outside.

As we walked out to the front of the garage, I asked, "Where to now?"

"We can find a hotel nearby," Merisa replied, "but it's still afternoon. Do you want to see someone here? Like Josy?"

I paused, considering. Josy was likely busy with his own affairs, so I decided not to call him.

"Probably not," I said. "What about you?"

"I don't know anyone around here," she admitted, "but I can't help wondering about those who wanted to join the caravan but haven’t contacted us yet."

We shared the same thought: if we were among them—stray merchants wanting to leave together but afraid to reveal their plans to competitors—we’d probably hesitate to reach out too early.

"If I were them, I'd wait until tonight or right before departure to contact us," I said, mulling it over. We fell into a thoughtful silence as we passed a row of local shops and houses.

"We should post another message in the chat," I finally said. "Tell everyone where we’ll assemble—at noon tomorrow, on the open plain south of town. Ask them to direct message me so I can organize the caravan’s order."

Merisa smiled, admiring the idea. We kept holding hands as we walked. Suddenly, I pulled her to a stop in front of another garage—a motorcycle repair shop.

She looked at me curiously.

"I’m going to get a desert motorcycle," I explained. "It’ll help us cover short distances quickly if we need to move around the caravan."

The stop was brief, but soon we left with a sleek solar-powered desert motorcycle—built to handle the rough sand and heat. It felt like the perfect tool for managing what was to come.

We left the garage on the new solar-powered desert motorcycle, the engine humming quietly beneath us as we cut through the dusty air. The open plains stretched endlessly, the landscape barren but alive with the low hum of distant machinery and the occasional sway of desert grasses.

Our first stop was a small community just outside of town. I had arranged for some important medicines and medical kits to be delivered there—these were needed for the caravan’s long trip ahead. The small clinic in the settlement was busy with people. Workers were loading a crate full of medical supplies onto a tough transport vehicle that would take them to the garage where our trucks were kept.

Merisa took out her glass to show me the message she had written for the trucker and merchant group chat. It was simple, clear, and showed how important the journey ahead was:

Merisa's Caravan Gathering Message

Fellow truckers and merchants,

To all interested in joining the Deadlight Caravan to the Oasis, please take note: We will be gathering at the open plain just south of Dustfall. Assembly begins at 10 AM, with departure scheduled promptly at noon.

Please RSVP by direct messaging me so we can confirm attendees and organize the caravan order in advance. This will help us prepare and travel safely together.

Looking forward to journeying with those brave enough to seek new beginnings.

Merisa, Mother Moon Motel

I nodded in approval. "That's beautiful, but please add a note reminding everyone to bring enough food and water," I suggested.

She laughed softly and teased, "Okay, boss."

With the message finished and sent, we got back on the motorcycle. The engine softly hummed as we rode toward my next stop: picking up vegetable seeds and planting kits. These simple steps felt very important—not just for the trip, but for the hope of something new to grow when it was over.

We drove through the valley town on the solar-powered motorcycle, the setting sun casting long shadows over the dusty streets. Riding down to the lower part of town, the settlement where my next appointment awaited, we found him easily—a seasoned grower with five crates of seeds and a batch of planting kits ready.

At first, he hesitated when I asked if he could deliver the supplies directly to the garage where the trucks were being serviced. But with a fair extra fee offered, his reluctance faded, replaced by a nod of agreement. This was the sort of cooperation we'd need on the journey ahead—practical, trustworthy, and decisive.

"And our quest is done," I said to Merisa.

She smiled warmly. "What about now? Shall we find a hotel and rest for the night?"

I nodded, feeling the weight of the day’s work settle into a quiet satisfaction. Our preparations were falling into place, each small step drawing us closer to the uncertain horizon that awaited the caravan.

The South Plain

Morning came softly over the valley of the Dustfall, casting a dim light over the few buildings and rocky cliffs define the edge of town. Merisa and I woke up from a restless sleep in a simple motel, the sounds of people getting ready already filling the air outside.

As we dressed, my glass buzzed softly with messages — dozens from truckers and merchants declaring their intentions to join the caravan. Counting carefully, I said aloud, "Apart from the six trucks I contacted before, there are now twenty-five more joining us."

Merisa stopped mid-dress, eyes wide with disbelief. "Twenty-five? Really?"

I nodded, still taken aback myself. "This will be a big caravan."

She smiled and pulled me into a hug from behind. "Good for us, right?"

I returned the smile, feeling a surge of cautious hope. "Much better. Even if we travel non-stop, having more hands means we can watch out for each other on the way."

We shared a simple meal from the hotel kitchen — humble, but enough to fill our empty stomachs with energy. Today marked the beginning of the big day. Finally, we were ready to move out, to leave behind the fading shadows of the ring towns and venture into the uncertain vastness toward the Oasis.

We hopped onto our new solar-powered desert motorcycle and made our way to the garage, the quiet hum of the engine blending with the distant sounds of Dustfall’s waking town.

Pulling into the service bay, I inspected the Deadlight carefully. Everything was as I had requested: the truck’s systems were in top condition, and the modification to allow easier access between the driver’s cabin and the living quarters was complete. The extra spotlight installed on the front looked ready to cut through even the thickest sandstorm.

The crates of supplies we had delivered earlier were already loaded onto the truck, neatly stowed and secured for the long journey ahead.

I handed over the payment to the garage owner with a firm nod. "Everything looks perfect," I said. "Thank you for the quick work."
He smiled, wiping his hands on a rag. "It was a pleasure. The Deadlight's ready to handle whatever the trip throws at you."
I nodded again, feeling a surge of confidence. "We’re counting on it. Thanks."

Merisa and I stepped on the Deadlight. I took a moment to plan our next move; the caravan was assembling on the southern plain of the town, and it was time to join the others. I felt the weight of responsibility settle over me. The Deadlight was ready, the caravan was growing, and the journey toward the Oasis was no longer just a dream but an impending reality waiting for us to take the first step.

Merisa caught my hand as we glided through the town, offering a quiet smile that steadied my resolve. Together, we headed to meet the others, a small spark of hope burning brightly amid the desert’s endless night.

We left the garage, heading toward the south plain on the outskirts of Dustfall. The ride was quiet, but beneath the silence, a shared excitement hummed between Merisa and me. As we approached, I couldn’t believe my eyes—a long line of trucks was neatly parked in two rows, just like they used to at marketplaces. "Old habits die hard, huh?" I thought, steering the Deadlight to settle between two parked rigs.

Merchants sitting beside their trucks talking in low voices suddenly stopped and turned to look as we arrived. I pulled the truck to a stop and climbed down with Merisa. Slowly, people started to gather around.

"Hi everyone," I called out, scanning the crowd. Almost all faces were familiar from my years in the merchant life.

"I didn’t expect to see this many trucks joining us," I shouted to be heard clearly. "But the more, the better."

I began introducing the first six members I knew who would set off in our initial group. "James is a mechanic and merchant, traveling with his family. He’s an ex-mechanic who’ll help keep our rides running. He’ll drive second, right behind me." James smiled and nodded as others greeted him.

"Jess is a cloth merchant, and her hubby is a veterinarian—the closest we'll find to a doctor on the road," I added, drawing a few laughs. Her truck would be third in line.

After introducing the rest of the six, I turned to the crowd — "Now," I almost shouted, nearly out of breath, "the rest, please state your name, what goods you carry, and any special skills or specialties you have. We need to know in case anything happens on the way."

One by one, people stepped forward and shared about themselves and their trucks. It took almost an hour to hear from all, and I made notes in my glass.

Merisa then stepped to the front and announced, "I created a group for communication during the trip. Please hand over your glasses."

She tapped her glass, sharing the group link with everyone. I did the same. The group already held impressive information — maps, weather forecasts predicting an 80% chance of sandstorms, and the list of caravan members.

I checked the time. "Alright, get ready. We roll out in half an hour," I said, noting Merisa’s smiling encouragement to the gathered crowd.

Just as I was turning toward my truck, a hand raised. "Boss, a question," someone called out.

I raised an eyebrow, half curious, half amused. Why the sudden 'boss'?

"What if our truck breaks down?" the man asked.

"Send a message to the group," I replied. "The caravan will pause, the mechanic will check it. If it can’t be fixed, you pack your things and hop on the truck behind you."

"And what do we do when we get there?" another asked.

"We set up settlements or live in our trucks—basically build a new town," I said.

"So we’ll be the first to live in the unexplored land?" one voice asked.

Merisa added, "After we settle, we’ll broadcast our path coordinates to the moon, so others can follow gradually."

What was supposed to be a quick thirty-minute rest turned into a lively question-and-answer session, with each answered question fueling more confidence and eagerness.

I concluded, "Remember, watch each other’s backs. Keep an eye on the trucks ahead and behind. If anyone has trouble, send a message immediately."

Voices shouted energetically, "Yeah, let’s go!" and "Okay boss, lead the way!"

I furrowed my brows and muttered, "Why are they calling me boss?" Merisa laughed softly at my expression, standing proudly beside me.

The Deadlight Caravan

We walked back to our truck around noon, the sun blazing down on the dusty plain where the caravan gathered. I took one last, long look around at the sea of trucks and determined faces — all hopeful, all ready. Merisa wrapped her arm around mine and looked up at me with a soft smile.

"Are you ready?" she asked.

"Very much," I replied, feeling both the weight and the promise of what was to come.

Together, we climbed into the cab of the Deadlight. I started the engine, the familiar hum vibrating beneath us as the truck came to life. My hand brushed over the hidden compartment under the driver’s seat, where the large chunk of diamond still nestled safely. Merisa didn’t know about it yet — it was our secret fallback, our second chance if things went wrong out there.

I eased the Deadlight forward, and one by one, the other trucks around us started their engines, following the rhythm I set. It seemed the caravan was moving exactly as I had planned.

Merisa glanced at her glass and tapped quickly on the screen. A new map appeared, dotted with red indicators showing the exact locations of each truck in the caravan.

I lifted a brow. "You can do that?"

She turned and smiled confidently. "Yes. And you started this caravan without even planning for this?"

I let that question hang in the dusty air, realizing she was more efficient with technology than I ever was. But I would need her — and everyone else — if we were to survive the long road ahead.

The truck settled into autopilot mode just ten minutes into our departure. I sat back, letting the hum of the engine and the steady vibration settle my nerves. Merisa leaned over, pointing at her glass with a bright smile. "See that? The 'group travelling' mode is active. It’s designed so each truck keeps a safe distance—not too close, not too far."

I shook my head in surprise. "I never knew that existed. I’ve always traveled alone."

She chuckled warmly. "Now it’s a full caravan. The last truck just took off." Her smile grew wider.

"The Deadlight Run," I added, feeling a burst of pride.

Merisa pulled a half-full bottle of moonshine from beside her seat and waved it teasingly. "And now, what do we do? We have thirty days ahead on this truck."

I grinned cheekily. "Well, perhaps we can explore the cabin. Crawl through that tunnel and spend some quality time inside."

She laughed softly. "Sounds interesting. And it’s definitely worth this little thing," she said, lifting the bottle again. With shared laughter and a spark of mischief, we crawled into the cabin, the soft mattress and clean white sheets from her motel wrapping us in a rare moment of comfort during the long road ahead.

The afternoon settled dimly over the desert plain, the sky darkening under the gathering veil of a sandstorm. Merisa and I lay side by side on the narrow bed in the Deadlight’s cabin, the soft hum of the truck’s systems the only sound beneath the muffled roar of the wind outside. Through the small window, the shifting sands painted streaks of amber and rust, a reminder of the vast challenge we were about to face.

I checked the weather report flickering on my glass and sent a quick message to the Deadlight Run group chat: "Sandstorm incoming."

Almost instantly, a message popped up from one of the caravan members: a joke about moths—poncing humor over our solemn trek. I glanced over at Merisa and grinned. "Do you know what the red moth did at the end of the cycle?"

She raised an eyebrow without looking away from her own glass. "No, what?"

"They left for the equator."

Her lips curved into a small smile, the faintest light in the dim cabin. That shared moment of happiness kept us steady despite the swirling dust and uncertainty outside.

We talked off and on, going over supplies, checking the route, and making small plans for the next day. The friendly messages from the group chat mixed into our talk, linking us to the others spread out along the caravan.

Though the storm raged outside, we clung to hope, finding warmth in each other and in the faint, flickering ember of promise that this arduous journey still held—an intimate contrast to the harsh desert beyond the truck’s protective walls.

I grabbed my sketchbook to pass the time, feeling the gentle sway of the truck beneath me. Merisa and I had shared a bottle of moonshine, and I wasn't sure if it was the warmth of the drink or the swaying truck that made my hands shaky; the straight lines I tried to draw turned into swirling patterns. I put the sketchbook down and gazed out the window. As expected for this barren moon, sand swirled endlessly in every direction.

Merisa, lying back on the bed, glanced at the tablet attached to the ceiling above us. "There are some lost trucks ahead," she said softly. "Their signals went dark somewhere nearby."

I frowned. "Should we stop and check?"

She sat up and asked, "Should we?"

Despite the lingering haze from the moonshine, I nodded. "Yeah, better to know what happened."

I sent a quick message to the caravan group: "10 minutes break, checking lost truck about 1 km ahead."

Reaching out, I tapped the truck console to bring the vehicle to a halt near the last known location. "You stay here," I told Merisa, who stretched lazily on the bed. "I'll use the goggles."

She grinned, showing off the newly acquired smart glasses capable of streaming what I saw back to her. I grabbed my gear and stepped out into the gusty wind, ready to find the missing truck as the rest of the caravan slowed behind us.

The caravan had come to a halt, the engines of numerous trucks now silent under the oppressive sky. I was a bit drunk, goggles tight against the biting sand, mask firmly in place, as I stepped outside, wandering slowly in search of the missing truck that everyone was talking about. The swirling dust painted the world in shades of ochre and rust, blurring the horizon.

Suddenly, a hand touched my shoulder. I turned to see James, our trusted mechanic, standing close. "A lost truck that departed before us?" he asked quietly.

"Yes," I replied, "about two weeks ago," though the swirling sand made it impossible to tell where to search.

Together, we circled the Deadlight, the large truck anchoring us in the endless desert. Then, Merisa’s voice echoed softly from my goggles: "Ten meters ahead."

Following her guidance, we found the truck parked close to a large rock, using it as a shield against the relentless storm. James approached the door and knocked, but there was no response. The silence inside was unnerving. "They might have already walked back to Dustfall," I shouted over the wind.

We checked the back of the truck: locked tight, no signs of life or movement.

James squatted by the battery compartment and pointed out, "The battery is dead—swollen at the top. Bad luck to be stranded out here with a dead battery."

"Do we salvage any parts?" I asked, thinking about our own needs.

He shrugged. "Maybe, but it’ll take hours. Is it worth it?"

I stood tall and scanned the storm-lashed terrain. "No, we’re just beginning. But if we find more trucks later, we might take parts then."

He nodded. "Okay, boss."

I paused, "Why are you calling me that?"

"I don’t know," James said with a wry smile. "They started this morning. I’m just following along."

Before I could respond, he tapped my shoulder again, "Come on, boss. Let’s get back."

I chuckled and headed back to the Deadlight, the storm howling around us as we prepared to continue the journey.

First Camp

Night fell over the desert as the first day ended, but the caravan kept moving, strong and determined. The land was just like we expected — endless sand stretching all around. Even with the blowing dust and growing darkness, we kept a steady pace. Despite the moving sandstorm, the caravan stayed at nearly 20 kilometers per hour.

Merisa and I sat together at the front of the Deadlight, sharing a simple meal. The newly installed spotlight cast a faint glow, struggling to cut through the thick dust that filled the air. Mostly, though, we relied on the truck's navigation sensors — they were far more reliable in these conditions.

Laughter suddenly bubbled up from the caravan chat group on my glass. One of the drivers, from truck number 17, said, "We forgot TP."

I responded dryly, "Use sand."

Thankfully, there were no major issues reported among the other trucks. Encouraged, I decided to press on, though I planned to play it safe and stop on the third day to rest and have the mechanics check the trucks.

I sent a message out to the group: "I still have spare respirator masks. Let me know if anyone needs some."

Truck number 17 responded almost immediately, "Can I...?"

I couldn't help but chuckle as I typed back, "No, you can't use it as a TP."

The mood was light — a small relief amid the long journey ahead — as the caravan continued forward through the dust-filled night.

Morning came quietly, the sandstorm had slowed down enough to let us see better across the wide desert. I woke up to the soft sound of the Deadlight’s machines and felt Merisa close beside me. It was a relief to have her here—without her, this long trip would have been very lonely and boring.

I threw on some clothes and reached for my glass, scanning for updates. Our caravan was steady, moving at a cautious but persistent 15 kilometers per hour. "A long way to go," I mused quietly.

Merisa joined me at the front of the truck, her messy, curly hair tousled but lively. I smiled as she handed me a forgotten bottle of moonshine from the back. Taking a swig, I reminded myself it counted as hydration here.

"How are things?" I asked her.

She chuckled, "Nothing much, except someone started a poker game in the group chat."

I raised an eyebrow, knowing my limited grasp of modern tech meant I'd miss most of the nuances. "You want anything?" I offered.

"Like what?"

"Drinks, food? I can fetch something from the truck's supplies."

She shook her head. "I'm good."

Turning back to my glass, I pulled up the map of our route. We had just crossed the starting line—the red path stretched long and unforgiving ahead of us. Dots appeared scattered along the way. Squinting, I asked, "What do those dots mean?"

Taking my glass, Merisa tapped a few commands, bringing labels to each: last known locations of some trucks, warnings of hazardous terrain, and potential settlement spots dotted along our journey. None posed immediate threats.

I flicked to the weather overlay, focusing on the projected sandstorm graph. "Looks like this afternoon, the sandstorm will fade. Maybe then we can pick up the pace a bit."

Merisa nodded thoughtfully, chewing on a dried herb and popping one into my mouth with a mischievous glint.

Suddenly, a message popped in from the group: "How are things?"

I opened to reply when Merisa cut in, "Let me handle it."

She sent out a detailed progress update: distance covered, current location, sandstorm status, and where we intended to rest on the third day.

Responses pinged back immediately, reflecting the collective hunger for connection on this solitary journey. Merisa translated one with a sly grin: Only two trucks were traveling solo—must be unbearable boredom.

I shook the bottle of moonshine casually, looked at Merisa while gently running fingers through her wild hair. "Bored yet?"

She shook her head, smiling softly. "Nope. Motel was more boring."

"I’m glad you came," I whispered, meeting her eyes with all the unspoken gratitude brimming within.

The next day dawned bright and clear, a welcome reprieve after the grip of the sandstorm loosened. By mid-morning, I estimated we would reach our planned stop, and I promptly posted the update to the group's chat: 'Stopping near noon, clear skies ahead.'

The caravan buzzed with relief. Messages popped up: "Finally!", "First milestone!", and my personal favorite, "My arse hurts!" It was clear everyone was just as glad as me to get off their trucks for a while.

I glanced outside; the air was indeed clear enough to sit outside without masks. I turned to Merisa and asked, "Should we invite the others to have lunch outside? Might boost morale."

She smiled knowingly and shook a bottle of moonshine. "That, and maybe a little of this will help too." I laughed at the playful glint in her eyes.

As noon arrived, I signaled the convoy to pull off the road and park close together. We all emerged, stretching stiff limbs, some daring to remove their masks as the dust had settled.

From my truck, I gathered a few crates to serve as makeshift tables, calling out for all to join. Well before long, plates filled with food appeared, and Merisa placed three bottles of moonshine in the center.

Each of us brought our own meal and shared not just food but stories and laughter. It was a rare, heartwarming scene on this barren moon—over a thousand kilometers from the nearest town. I watched as some walked about, others sat down to rest; even in this desolate place, moments like these reminded me of what made the struggle worthwhile.

Once we finished eating, I called out loud enough for all to hear, "Do you have enough food for the whole trip?"

Nods answered me; some even confessed to stockpiling since receiving Merisa’s earlier messages.

Passing the moonshine around once more, I asked, "How long do we want to stop here? The forecast says clear skies until dusk."

The group was divided—some preferred staying overnight, others wished to journey on soon, some wanted to rest only a few hours. Merisa quickly jumped into action, creating a poll in our chat and inviting all to vote.

I checked my own device, watching the number of votes steadily climb. It was an excellent idea—saving us from endless debates.

Not long after, she announced, "The decision is to stay overnight and depart at seven." Cheers erupted from many trucks, signaling agreement. The comfort of stable ground to rest on was welcome relief for everyone.

As evening came to the resting caravan, the air stayed calm, giving us a rare break from the harsh dust storms that had been with us for much of the journey. The ground beneath us moved gently under the weight of the vehicles and footsteps, but the open plain was full of quiet life.

Merchants and drivers gathered around small fires, sharing stories, laughter, and the occasional swig from a bottle of moonshine. Children—some of whom had never known a life beyond the ring—played in the fading light, their laughter a fragile melody against the vast and unforgiving desert.

Camps were grouped together, with tents and simple shelters making small areas of people in the empty space. The trucks waited close by, their engines making a soft hum, as if they were connected to the group’s shared feelings.

Even though tough times were still ahead, tonight together gave us a brief feeling of hope, a quick reminder that even in the hardest places, people can come together and find light in the darkness.

I stood next to Merisa, watching the stars slowly come out above us. Their cold light was very different from the warm glow of the fires. This was not just a group of travelers; it was a gathering of people hoping for a fresh start. The long journey was still ahead, but tonight, we found strength by being together.

That evening, I walked alongside James, the mechanic. The caravan was camped in clusters, trucks lined up across the open plain with their owners and crews gathered nearby, sharing stories and preparing for the next day's journey.

James and I moved methodically from truck to truck, examining engines, checking connections, and offering help wherever we could. Despite being a free service, most of the drivers insisted on sharing snacks or offering homemade moonshine in gratitude. It was a gesture of camaraderie born of shared hardship.

The air smelled a little like rust and oil mixed with the always-present dust. From the campfires nearby came soft laughter and quiet talking. James worked carefully, looking under hoods and fixing loose parts. His skilled hands showed he had many years of experience.

As we worked, we shared stories about old vehicle problems and the dangers we faced on this lonely moon, like sandstorms and being cut off from others. Even with all these risks, the group stayed strong—each truck was a key to staying alive.

I looked around at the people there. Some were tired, some were careful, but all had a small hope. It was a quiet night, but underneath, there was a growing excitement. Tomorrow, the caravan would start moving again, going further into the unknown. But tonight, we found comfort in getting ready and being together.

Caravan Continues

Morning came slowly, the pale light filtering through the thin curtains of the cabin. The sandstorm that had started last night still raged outside, dust swirling in relentless waves.

I woke up first, shaking off the last bits of sleep. Merisa was already up, her outline clear against the dusty cabin as she got ready for the day.

We woke others up slowly, speaking softly and nodding, all knowing the day would be hard. Packing our things was careful—not too fast, not too slow. Every item had its own place, and every move was practiced from many trips before.

The wind made loud noises, shaking the thin walls of the tents. The storm showed how tough the world outside really was.

The caravan waited, its engines running quietly under a layer of dust. It was the sign of moving forward and hope right after the storm.

After one last look around the camping area, I sent a message to the group chat saying, "Let's move." One by one, the trucks started moving, and the caravan kept going.

The caravan kept moving through the dusty air until late in the afternoon, when I woke up suddenly because the truck was shaking. Merisa was still asleep. I climbed up to the driver's seat and checked the navigation panel. The ground ahead had changed — it was now solid but covered with many small rocks and pebbles, making the road harder to drive on.

I quickly sent a message to the group chat: "Terrain update: solid ground with many scattered rocks. Please drive carefully." Some drivers replied, warning others to be careful.

I stayed in the driver's seat while watching the caravan move slowly. Fifteen minutes later, my glass beeped with a new message from truck number 22. They said they were stuck. I immediately told the group to stop.

I walked back to truck number 22. This truck usually carries candy and food. Its back wheel had sunk deep into soft ground, as if the road had given way underneath it. The ground here was less stable than we thought.

James, the mechanic, jumped out quickly to help. We used a strong cable to pull the truck out slowly. After checking the truck carefully, James said it wasn't damaged.

Relieved that the truck was okay, I told everyone to start moving again. I also sent a message to the group about managing the cargo to spread the weight more evenly. The driver from truck number 22 shared in the chat that they had rearranged their cargo to distribute the weight better, a useful tip that could help the other trucks avoid similar problems.

Cliff Side

The next day was much like the one before—quiet and not very exciting. I spent most of my time drinking moonshine, trying to shake off the boredom that came with traveling through the endless desert. Outside the windshield, the dusty world looked blurred and hard to see through.

Merisa sat beside me, stretching her legs across my lap. She noticed my squinting and said softly, "We may need the dust to settle more before you can see better."

I sighed, agreeing, and carefully closed my sketchbook, stowing it behind the driver's seat. Instead of drawing, I rubbed her feet gently, still trying to catch glimpses of the world beyond the sand.

Merisa kept her eyes on her glass, scrolling through articles from the central library about the equator—the destination that now felt both close and impossibly far.

With not much else to do, my mind started to think about what it would be like when we finally got to that green land. I imagined grass spreading like a soft carpet, although there were no trees yet. Since we had lots of seeds and planting kits with us, I hoped we could help the plants grow faster and turn the empty land into a forest over time.

I paused, thinking further about the future. "What about the houses?" I asked Merisa, turning to her. Her curly messy hair swayed slightly in the air conditioning; we couldn't open the windows here.

"We could sleep on the truck," she said simply, "or wait until more people move in—those who can build houses will come too."

I nodded pensively. "That could take a long time."

She considered a moment and then said, "Or we could order a house construction kit and have it delivered there..." She did some quick calculations on her glass. "It might cost a million."

She seemed to dismiss the idea, finding the number unrealistic.

"How would they deliver it to the equator?" I asked. "It's thousands of kilometers away."

She pointed upward. "The construction site is in orbit—it’s been there since the beginning."

I nodded in understanding. "So it just stays there. The company probably doesn't have the means to move such a large orbital construction facility to another planet."

As I thought about all this, my mind drifted to the money I hadn’t told Merisa about yet—and the chunk of diamond I was literally sitting on beneath me.

10 days had passed since we set out on this tremendous journey, and life in the caravan had settled into a steady rhythm. Every three days or so, we stopped to rest and regroup, our latest pause set against the backdrop of a towering cliff.

As night came, we sat around a crackling campfire. The cliff nearby stopped most of the dust from swirling around us. I looked at the tired faces lit by the fire's glow and spoke. "That cliff over there," I said, pointing to the rough rock face ahead, "is a big problem for us. We will get there soon and have to go east to an easier way."

Murmurs rippled through the group as Merisa add, "In ten days, when we'll reach the other side, there will be a narrow passage to cross"

I nodded, "Yes, a natural, narrow pass we can use. But no, there's no way to cut through the cliff directly — our vehicles aren't built for climbing such terrain."

The council of travelers seemed to absorb this news quietly. I glanced at my glass and noted, "So far, we've traveled over 4,000 kilometers." Some cheered softly, satisfaction evident in their eyes.

Merisa chimed in, her voice clear despite the crackling fire. "According to data from the central library, no one traveling this route before has passed beyond this point."

A hush fell over the gathering as that realization sank in. "We're venturing into the unknown," I added firmly. "We must stay vigilant and be extremely careful."

Hands hesitantly rose, one person asking in a strained voice, "What happened to those who came before us?"

Merisa answered, "No one knows for sure. Their signals cut off somewhere just past this very spot."

I continued, pointing up to the sky between the canyon walls, "We can't get good satellite signals here because the sandstorms block our view."

But even with all this, the view was amazing—the endless desert under the starry sky, and the cliff standing tall and quiet, watching over the unknown ahead.

That night, Merisa and I decided to set up our tent outside with others, near the campfire, to break the monotony of sleeping in the truck's cramped cabin. The air was cooler here, and the flickering flames offered a kind of warmth that the metal walls of the Deadlight couldn't provide. Around us, most of the caravan members had already settled in for the night—some smoking quietly, others drinking, the low murmur of conversation blending with the crackle of firewood.

We finished our tent preparations and sat together, the soft silence between us only interrupted by the occasional pop from the fire. After a long pause, Merisa broke the quiet, her voice thoughtful. "What do you think happened to those who came before us?"

I stopped to consider the question. It wasn't easy to answer. "I don’t know," I admitted. "The distance alone could drive people mad. I can imagine coming here alone and trying to climb that cliff."

I turned to face Merisa, my eyes searching. "What do you think?" I asked.

She shrugged. "Nothing reasonable," she replied. I propped myself up on one elbow, looking toward the stars visible beyond the firelight. "For example," she said seriously, "this moon is planet-like in many ways. What if there are life forms we don’t know about?"

"Like some alien?" I asked.

She nodded, her expression earnest. "Like bugs the size of trucks."

I exhaled slowly, trying not to imagine such a sight. "If that were true," I said, "it would be bad." I pushed the thought away—a terrifying image of a dragonfly the size of a truck, lifting one of our vehicles and soaring into the sky.

The next morning, we gathered our things and prepared to travel on schedule. Though there was no rush, an undercurrent of tension hung in the air. We were approaching a point where no one in the records had ever passed before.

The day moved on steadily, the Deadlight rolling steadily along the side of the cliff. The dust remained low, thanks to the towering rock wall beside us, making the view outside clearer than before. I felt relieved to finally see more than a blur, and took the opportunity to sketch the landscape that passed in front of me. Meanwhile, above our heads, a thick sandstorm blew over the cliff and drifted across the sky overhead.

Pausing to admire my freshly finished drawing, Merisa noticed my concentration and asked, "Can I see?" I handed the sketchbook to her. She smiled and passed me back the bottle of moonshine with a twinkle in her eye. There wasn’t much left in the bottle, so I finished it with a long drink.

Suddenly, all the lights on my truck turned green. I stopped in surprise, and Merisa stared at me, equally puzzled. Nobody around seemed to know what was happening. Together, we stared silently outside while the front lights of the Deadlight glowed the same eerie green.

"Your truck can do that?" Merisa asked.

"No," I replied, just as startled.

The truck then slowed down slightly, prompting Merisa to send a message to the caravan chat: "Everyone’s lighting working normally?."

She turned her glass toward me, showing the sent message just as the group chat screen flashed with a live voice communication activation—something we had agreed to use only in emergencies.

Suddenly, the voice of truck 2, James, came through in a shout: "We got hit! We got hit!" It was quickly followed by many voices shouting over each other, a chaotic sound that was impossible to understand.

I quickly pushed the control on the console to slow the truck rapidly to a stop. I was ready to open the door and get out, but Merisa grabbed my arm and shouted, "Don’t! We don’t know what it is yet!"

Her warning made sense, so I nodded and stayed inside. The shouting continued in the background, and I turned to Merisa, asking quickly, "How do we mute everyone?"

Though scared, Merisa controlled herself and tapped a few buttons on her glass. The voices muted, and she said, "You can talk to them now. Everyone can hear you."

I shouted into the glass, "Everyone, shut up! Stop the truck and stay quiet!"

The voice-level indicators dropped, showing that everyone had grown silent. I tapped a button to disable the mute function and shouted again, "James, what happened? Status report, now!"

There was a brief silence, pierced only by soft crying—children and women sobbing. Finally, James answered, gathered enough composure to speak: "Something flew past my windshield—a drone or something. It flashed a light at my truck, and then all the lights went out. The engine stalled."

I looked at Merisa and shouted toward the group, "Is this happening to anyone else?"

Multiple voices answered at once, but we understood it was affecting everyone. One voice said, "My ride still runs, but the lights turned green."

Merisa’s eyes widened. "Just like our truck."

I replied to the group, "It’s happening to my truck too. The Deadlight is still running, but all the lights turned green."

Seizing the moment of quiet, Merisa warned the group, "Don’t get out of your trucks yet. We don’t know what it is."

Suddenly, someone called out, "Look to the right! From the cliff!"

Merisa and I turned to the right, toward the cliff face. There, a strange sight awaited us — faint but distinct lights shone from what looked like a cavern, perfectly square and glowing softly from within.

Silence hung heavy for a moment as everyone stared toward the square opening carved into the cliff face. From the cavern, a faint glow pulsed rhythmically, drawing all eyes. Slowly, movement began — small drones, sleek and egg-shaped, darted in and out of the tunnel.

I tapped my glass and sent a message to the group chat. "Does anyone have binoculars? Share what you see."

A woman’s voice responded after a brief pause, "I’ve got one." The caravan quieted, waiting to hear her observations.

Minutes later, she spoke cautiously, "There’s a tunnel — a drone hangar, I think. It’s about two by eight meters in size. The drones fly in and out constantly, patrolling the area... seeming to check the perimeter."

A hush fell. I asked, "What kind of drone is it?"

Her voice hesitated. "I can’t say for sure. They look egg-shaped with attachments that resemble weapons." She paused. "They're glowing yellow at the tips."

A cold shiver ran through me. I glanced at Merisa and silently mouthed, "EMP weapons."

Suddenly, panic cracked Merisa’s voice, "Oh god, one of them is coming our way!"

I shouted into my glass, trying to steady the others. "Everyone stay calm and stay inside your trucks! It will pass!"

The air was thick with tense breaths and muffled sobs as the drone approached. I watched through the rearview mirror as it hovered just behind each truck, scanning carefully. Slowly, it reached my truck — the very first in the caravan.

Above us, the drone paused for a long minute. Merisa gripped my hands tightly as the cold light reflected off its surface. Then, as suddenly as it came, it turned and flew back toward the cavern, disappearing into its hidden lair.

A collective sigh of relief swept through the caravan. But beneath it all, I knew this was just the beginning of what awaited us in the shadow of the cliffs.

I squeezed Merisa’s hand gently and whispered, "It’s gone now, we can relax." I kept my voice low, careful not to broadcast my calm to the group just yet. Merisa still looked shaken, her breaths uneven as she tried to steady herself.

"I think I know what it is now," I said quietly, meeting her wide eyes with a steady gaze.

Despite my reassurance, when I reached to open the truck door, Merisa’s hand flew out, grabbing my arm and stopping me. "Don’t go out," she said urgently. "I’m scared."

I gave her a reassuring smile. "I know what I’m doing," I told her and gently pulled free.

Stepping away from the Deadlight, I walked toward the direction of the tunnel — the drone’s hangar. I kept my movements slow and deliberate, careful not to provoke whatever machines lurked inside.

The small drone patrols were nowhere in sight, and the strange green glow from the trucks bathed the dusty ground in an eerie light. I took a cautious circle around the area, watching for any movement. The drones seemed uninterested in me for now.

After a few moments, I headed back to the truck and knocked sharply on the truck window to signal Merisa to lower it.

She did, a blend of apprehension and curiosity on her face. I asked quietly, "What brand is your glass?"

She looked confused. "The company’s model, I think. Why?"

"Doesn’t matter," I replied. "What about your smaller one?"

Her brow furrowed with puzzlement. "That one’s not from the company."

I held out my hand. She passed me the glass without hesitation.

Without a word, I stepped away from the truck and tossed her smaller glass several meters onto the ground.

Almost immediately, one of the drones flew over the discarded device, flashing a sharp yellow light upon it before darting back toward the cavern.

That brief moment confirmed what I thought — these drones were programmed to disable any unregistered technology, marking us as trespassers in this forgotten territory.

I exhaled a breath of relief, feeling a slight weight lift from my shoulders. Now I knew what those drones were — automated sentinels designed to protect company interests, hostile to any technology not registered to their control. The small glass I had just thrown lay dead on the dusty ground, a silent casualty of their silent watch.

Carrying the broken device back to the truck, I climbed inside. Merisa looked at me with a puzzled expression, and from the windows of nearby trucks, others who had seen me go out and return exchanged wary glances.

I cleared my throat, pushing away unease to explain what I had learned. Locking eyes with Merisa, I began, my voice steady and calm — projecting not just to her, but to everyone connected through our voice chat.

"Alright, first things first: to the driver whose truck turned green — who are you, and what truck do you drive?"

A few moments later, a voice responded: "I’m Sam, driving truck number 27. It’s a long-haul vehicle, manufactured by the company."

That confirmation settled my suspicion. I continued, "That tunnel carved into the cliff is a drone hangar — relics from the company’s early expeditions. These drones are ordered to use their weapons on any vehicle or electronic device not registered to the company; likely to prevent interference or intrusion from rival operators."

I emphasized the next part clearly, "And I repeat: no one leaves their truck. We don’t know what happens if a human emerges from an unregistered vehicle. Stay inside. Stay safe."

Merisa’s eyes flicked back to me, the look she gave me was a mix of trust and curiosity, like someone eyeing a piece of forbidden chocolate.

"That’s all the solid information I have for now," I said, muting my microphone and opening the floor for others to share thoughts or ideas. The caravan waited, silent but alert.

"Now, anyone got any ideas to get us out of this?" I asked.

A voice chimed in from truck 22 over the group chat, "I'm not sure, but we have two working trucks here. Can we use them to drag the rest out of the drone's range?"

That seemed like a good plan. James, our trusty mechanic, quickly replied, "That's possible. The Deadlight can tow three or four trucks at a time, but Sam's truck, number 27, can handle five since it’s a long haul vehicle without multiple sections like the Deadlight."

Another voice joined in, "If those drones are responsible for the other caravan's disappearance, they must still be nearby. Where exactly are they?"

I responded, "If those vehicles aren't company-registered, their rides would be disabled by the drones. If the drones attacked unregistered vehicles, those crews likely didn't survive. Their trucks could be around us or further ahead."

The chat fell silent for a moment. Then I continued, "Alright, let's move out. Sam, your truck and mine will get out first and tow any trucks nearby, moving forward until your lights go normal again. Then you come back, and we haul the rest. James will check if he can repair the disabled trucks while we operate. Ready? Go."

Merisa hugged me tightly. "Please stay here," I said softly before stepping out to start connecting the towing cables between the four trucks behind me. Sam was doing the same at the back.

Less than ten minutes later, I climbed back into the Deadlight. I broadcast over the chat, "The Deadlight is ready to make the first haul," and started moving forward.

About two kilometers ahead, the lights on my truck flickered back to their normal white color. Merisa exhaled in relief beside me.

She insisted on helping, and though I hesitated at first, I nodded. Together, we got out to disconnect the towing cables. I was soon ready for the next round of hauling.

The second truck to be recovered was James’ mechanic vehicle, which was already parked with its hood open. "How’s it looking?" I called out.

"Checking on it, will update later," James said without delay.

"Alright, I’m heading back for the rest," I replied as people from the other trucks cautiously left their vehicles, looking around nervously and beginning to check their rides.

I turned to Merisa and said, "Stay here and help James."

She nodded quietly as I climbed back into the truck.

Sam arrived shortly, lowering his window to shout, "I’ll follow you for the next round."

I smiled and gave a nod. He seemed genuinely happy to help — probably relieved that he could do something useful in this tense situation.

Sam and I took turns making multiple trips, towing trucks one by one back into the safety of the drone-free zone. Each haul brought a wave of relief as another vehicle regained its place among the caravan. When I pulled the last disabled truck to the safe area, I heard cheers erupting from nearby rigs.

James was already working on repairs, his mechanic truck humming steadily as he checked systems and reset components. Parking beside me, he grinned and said, "Just reset the board, and it’s working again. I’ll get the others fixed up as soon as I can."

I nodded with genuine relief. The worst-case scenario was that only two trucks could run, but now three were operational, the caravan securing itself bit by bit.

As James busied himself with repairs, I lit a cigarette and leaned back, watching people climb down from their rigs. A woman nearby lifted her binoculars to scan the cliff line, searching for more drone hangars hidden in the rocky face.

Turning to Merisa, I said, "We need to ask them to keep looking for drone hangars along the route."

She agreed and sent a message to the group chat, urging travelers to stay vigilant, scout carefully, and report any new threats.

The mood was lighter now, the danger temporarily held at bay. We all felt more secure knowing our community was pulling through.

About an hour later, all the trucks were repaired and ready to go. James was sitting on a crate, wiping sweat from his forehead as others approached him, offering drinks and food in thanks for his tireless work.

I settled on the step of my truck beside Merisa. A fellow driver passed by and nodded; I returned the greeting with a brief smile. We talked little, but the quiet camaraderie was reassuring. A few of the group carried binoculars, committed to scouting ahead for any more hidden drone hangars along our path.

Earlier, we had taken a quick vote, and the majority agreed to continue after a short rest, allowing everyone time to catch their breath and regain composure.

Merisa broke the silence, her voice soft but thoughtful. "Do you think this happened to the caravans before us?"

I nodded slowly. "I believe so. If we come across disabled trucks ahead, we should either salvage them or repair and bring them back into the caravan."

She agreed, raising her glass in a small toast. "I’ll make sure the group knows. We all need to stay on the same page."

Half an hour later, refreshed and alert, our caravan rolled onward. The recent events had heightened our senses. Though no permanent harm had come to us, everyone remained vigilant, knowing the desert still held many secrets and dangers.

Cliff's End

Twenty days have passed since we left the endless desert behind, traveling alongside this towering cliff that seems to stretch on without end. The cliff offers us some small mercy—it blocks much of the relentless dust storms that have so often battered us.

We came across another drone hangar, built into the cliff just like the previous one. We took a detour to go around it, but passed by without any problems.

Along the road, we also saw quite a number disabled trucks scattered about. They looked like they had been abandoned in a hurry; someone had tried pushing and pulling them to go further, but the soft ground wouldn't give way. There was no sign of the drivers nearby. Merisa thinks they probably continued on foot, trying to get away from the dangers here.

James managed to repair two of those trucks, and surprisingly, two families who had been traveling together now want to split up, each taking one truck to continue on separately. Later, Merisa, who keeps a separate group chat for the ladies of the caravan, learned that tensions arose—an argument that led to this split.

As we approach what Merisa’s analysis says should be the end of this towering cliff, we start noticing changes in the weather. The dust storms above us lose their strength, sometimes revealing a faint, almost forgotten shade of blue sky. It's a subtle sign of hope—something rare in these parts since leaving the central city and outer rings behind. The journey is far from over, but these moments remind us that even out here, after all the desolation and hardship, pockets of respite exist. It feels like the moon might just be starting to show us another face.

We traveled with a steady rhythm, the Deadlight quietly humming on autopilot as Merisa and I rested in the cabin. Suddenly, my glass beeped—a message popped up in our group chat: "Are you seeing this?" I frowned, not sure what it meant. Shaking Merisa awake, I showed her the message, and together we headed to the front of the truck.

The air was unusually clear. The towering cliff on our left—the constant companion for so many days—had abruptly ended. Where once harsh sandstorms blew over its edge and swept across the land, now soft white clouds floated lazily in the sky.

"Is that a cloud?" Merisa murmured, wrapping a blanket tighter around her shoulders as she drew close.

I nodded, speechless. Beyond the cliff's end stretched a vast plain dotted with patches of vibrant green grass—the first sign of life we'd seen since the start of our journey.

"The end of the cliff lets moisture from the other side come through," Merisa said softly.

I could only leave my jaw slightly agape, caught between awe and hope. This glimpse of life beyond the dead desert was a reminder that even here, in the harshest places, change was possible.

As we drew closer to the cliff's end, the air grew noticeably more humid, and patches of grass began to creep along the roadside. It was just before sunset when we finally reached the point where the towering cliff that had shadowed us for so many days opened wide to reveal a vast plain stretching as far as the eye could see. To my right, the familiar rugged cliffside stood silent and imposing, while ahead and to the left, the land unfolded into rolling fields, dotted with clusters of green grass and interrupted sporadically by drifting clouds.

Merisa sent a quick message to our group chat: "You don't want to miss this."

I turned to her, eyes still locked on the unfolding landscape. "Tell them, we'll rest here tonight. In three kilometers, we'll stop."

She tapped the send button, and the message went out.

Three kilometers later, the caravan slowed down, and the trucks stopped around the Deadlight as usual. We got out of our vehicles, feeling amazed. We stood quietly, looking out at the wide plains and breathing in the fresh, wet air. Behind us, past the cliff's end, the dry desert spread out with sandstorms blowing in the distance—a strong reminder of where we came from.

But here, on this side, it felt like two different worlds were split by the cliff—one was dry and empty, the other was alive and growing. The soft sound of grass moving under our feet and the gentle clouds above gave a small sign of hope. It told us that life can grow even in hard places. We didn’t know what was ahead on our journey, but right now, this difference gave us strength and reminded us why we kept going.

As night got darker, we all sat around three campfires. The warm light of the fires was like a small island in the big, dark night. Everyone ate and drank, the sound of glasses clinking and soft talking made it feel special—like we were celebrating not just the end of the day, but also the hope for what comes next. Merisa and I sat close, sipping slowly and looking at the map. The data said the desert would still continue for another thousand kilometers or more, but the green land in front of us made it feel like we had already reached something new.

The group was quietly talking—some wanted to start building a home here, others were careful and thought we should go further to find better water. We did not decide tonight; the question was still open, heavy but alive.

"This place should be a desert," someone said, looking at the grass moving gently in the firelight. "And look at all this green. If we go further, there might even be a lake or a river."

"But going further could mean more danger," another voice warned, still thinking about the drones and shadows nearby.

As everyone shared their thoughts, Merisa looked at me and quietly asked, "What do you think? Should we keep going or stay here?"

I paused, the flickering flames painting shadows across my face. "If we go further, there might be a better place for us," I said thoughtfully, "but I don't think we should stop here. We didn't come this far just for moisture. We want water, real water. Rain. Something that can sustain our future farm—both for me and you."

Merisa smiled and gently touched my cheek—a quiet affirmation that we were in this together.

Then, a sudden shout cut through the conversation. "Oi! Look over there—a light!"

We all turned toward the south, following the gesture to see a faint beam flickering in the distance, perhaps a few kilometers away. The source was unmistakable—a signal from others who had made it here before us.

"Binoculars! What do you see?" I called out urgently.

Minutes passed, the tension thick.

"There are two trucks," came the reply, "and a few tents. They must be the survivors who came this way before us."

Without hesitation, I made a decision. "James, come with me. We'll ride out on my motorcycle."

Merisa hand me a gun, a quiet sign that danger was still there. I took it, feeling a serious weight. I said, "I'll call the group when I find out more."

James got on behind me, and we quickly rode toward the settlement—a small group of trucks and tents shining softly in the night. As we got closer, the people waved and jumped with happiness that felt real, not fake.

After a moment of calm—for James, it took nearly as long, caught up in the excitement—we began to talk. We learned they had arrived over a month ago, attacked by drones along the way but pushed on despite everything. When they got here, their supplies were gone—no food, no water. Now, their survival depends on cooking various grasses and extracting moisture just to get by.

I asked, "What about this truck?"

A young man raised his hand and explained that he took a different route, not by the cliff. It was a harsh journey. They traveled in five trucks, but only he made it through. The rest were destroyed by storms, sinkholes, or simply stopped working.

"I survived with my friends," he said quietly. "Only two of us now. There were fifteen when we left."

"Why no contact with the towns?" I inquired further.

Two of them showed cracked and dead phones, explaining the drones disabled their devices.

"Can we borrow your phone? And where are you heading? Do you have food?" they asked, nodding toward possible help.

I stepped back, pulled out my comm device, and updated the caravan. Tell them situation, ending with "We can spare some resources, including my old glass," I said.

"I have seeds and growing kits to share," another chimed in from the group.

"For food and water, I’ll return with James tonight," I added cautiously, "but the glass and delicate supplies will come later, just to be safe."

Though some disagreed, most followed the plan.

I informed the settlers, then returned to camp, gathering food and water to share as night settled softly around us.

The campfire crackled softly as people gathered close, faces illuminated by its warm glow. I settled near the fire while others huddled around, questions flowing like a quiet river in the night. "And what do you learn? Is this place livable?" one of them asked.

I nodded slowly. "Yes," I said, "but it’s harsh. They live with very limited water and survive on grasses."

Another voice spoke up, cautious and curious. "They don’t contact the outside world?"

They shared their old, cracked glasses—some broken, some disabled by the drones we’d encountered. It was a cruel reminder of the dangers beyond.

"There are other ways to reach this spot?" came another question.

I confirmed, "Yes, but this group started as fifteen. Only two of them made it this far."

More questions followed, the weight of survival pressing on everyone’s minds. I leaned forward, steadying my voice. "I ask everyone in the caravan to be even more vigilant at night. We’ll set up perimeter sensors. We didn’t come this far to be caught off guard now."

Then, the moment we’d all been waiting for—the time to decide whether to press onward or settle here. The air thickened with anticipation.

"Like I said," I began, "will we go further, or settle here?"

Rather than call for a vote, I asked them to raise their hands.

Twenty trucks wanted to press on; twelve chose to stay.

Merisa glanced at the group and said calmly, "Okay, the vote is: we go further."

I rose from my seat. Conversations and gazes turned to me.

"But," I said, "at this point, I say—let each of you decide for yourself."

"What do you mean?" someone asked.

"If you want to stay and settle, do it," I replied. "As for me, I plan to go further, see if there’s a better place. Whoever wants to come with me—just follow."

A long, weighty silence fell over the camp. The night seemed to hold its breath with us.

I finished. "Tomorrow morning at seven, we continue the caravan. For now, rest well. Tonight is yours."

I sank back down beside Merisa, reaching for my drink. Around us, groups formed, voices rose in whispered thoughts and plans. The future was uncertain—but for the first time in a long time, hope stirred.

The Split

The morning came quietly—no drones, no ambushes, just the soft warmth of dawn over the plains. The sky changed from dark blue to light pink and orange, making the horizon look calm and bright. A gentle breeze moved the grass, bringing the fresh smell of earth and morning dew.

Nothing had bothered the camp during the night, a rare and welcome gift in the tough world we lived in. I stayed still for a moment, enjoying the peace before the day started, letting the silence feel like a protective blanket. Merisa was still asleep next to me, her calm breathing a warm and reassuring sign of friendship in this wide and uncertain land.

Before stepping out of my tent, I grabbed my glass and sent a message to the group chat: "Who will continue with me? Please comment."

I waited, watching the faint light get brighter and the camp slowly wake up. Some truckers were already up, sitting around small fires, quietly getting ready to eat. I checked my glass again and saw fifteen messages, but I knew more people were still waking up. It was a small but hopeful sign that they wanted to keep going.

I stood and stretched, slipping on my boots, then made my way toward the truck. Inside the quiet cabin, I prepared a simple meal—warm bread, dried fruit, and strong coffee—the kind that could steel you for what lay ahead. Carrying the tray back to my tent, I gently woke Merisa. Half asleep, she smiled groggily as we shared the morning meal together, the fragile normalcy of the moment.

Outside, the camp was quietly busy with people moving around. The air was fresh and smelled a little like grass and dirt. This was very different from the dusty desert behind us. As it got closer to seven o’clock, I saw that seventeen trucks were ready to go with me. This was a little less than yesterday, but still enough. I showed the number to Merisa, and she just nodded, her eyes showing quiet strength.

When seven o’clock came, I stood up and got my things. The other drivers woke their trucks one by one. The engines started to hum as the caravan got ready to move forward. Our trip toward the equator began again, filled with careful hope.

The caravan kept moving for four more days, traveling across the wide plains past the cliff’s edge. The second day was the toughest. We went through a swampy area where the ground was soft and wet beneath the trucks. It smelled bad, and the smell lingered in the air. Two trucks turned back, unsure if continuing was the right choice or if they had made a mistake joining this risky trip. Fifteen of us kept going, following the Deadlight, determined to finish the journey.

I sat in the front cabin of the Deadlight, holding my sketchbook, trying to draw the strange land around us—the twisted roots sticking out of the swamp water, and the small green plants that were still growing even in such a hard place. Then Merisa spoke, breaking the quiet. "When we get some wood," she asked, "do you know how to build a house?"

I looked up, surprised by her question in the middle of nowhere. "No," I said simply, she gave a small smile.

I smiled back. "I have a better idea."

I reached into my worn jacket and pulled out the digital wallet chip, handing it to her, then gave her my glass. She looked at me with confused eyes but then decided to connect it. Her eyes widened as the transaction completed.

"Yeah," I said softly, "that’s all I have—twenty million credits. I’ll order our house from orbit."

She blinked, still grasping the reality of it.

"You’re a stray merchant," she said at last, incredulously. "Selling what?"

I laughed, a short sound filled with history and hardships. "No," I said, "it’s not all from selling goods."

I shared with her the long story of how I found the diamond—the one that changed everything—and why Josy had left to build his new life apart from mine.

Merisa nodded, absorbing the tale.

"Thank you for telling me," she said softly.

"I should have told you sooner," I admitted.

She smiled—a smile that reached her eyes—and leaned in to kiss me.

I spent more time telling Merisa the details of how I sold the big chunk of diamond. I expected the pawnshop to come after us, but they didn’t, and both of us laughed at the thought.

Merisa caught her breath between chuckles, then looked at me with sharp eyes. "Wait, wait—did you say you had two chunks? One sold for thirty-two million. So Josy has the other one?"

I sighed and shook my head. "No, Josy has a dozen smaller diamonds," I said. The moment felt right, so I decided to show her the diamond I’d kept hidden from the start.

I reached under the driver’s seat—the compartment I'd learned to trust—and pulled out an uncut diamond the size of my fist. I tossed it to Merisa, watching her instinctively reach to catch it but miss at first. It fell softly onto her lap, leaving her stunned.

She finally grasped the diamond, her jaw still slack with disbelief.

I grinned, laughter bubbling up as I said, "Yeah, that’s the one I’ve been sitting on all this time. You have no idea how long I kept that joke to myself." I laughed long and hard, while Merisa just stared, still wide-eyed.

The Green Plain

Merisa sat beside me in the cabin, her eyes scanning the map on her glass as the truck hummed steadily beneath us. "We should be close," she said, pointing to a cluster of symbols on the screen. "There’s a small lake nearby, and see here? A hill right next to it—the perfect spot for a settlement."

It had been seven days since we left the cliff’s edge behind. On the fifth day, we crossed another patch of desert that had driven four truckers to turn back, but since yesterday, the endless stretch of green grass had replaced the barren sands, rolling toward the horizon in every direction.

Only eleven trucks now remained with us, and they’d all decided to follow me to the place I’d chosen for us to build a new home together.

We were searching for the spot where the edge of the lake met the hill, with a small mountain rising behind it, shielding us from the harshest weather. We could see the mountain on the horizon now, but the lake was still hidden from view.

"Damn, that’s a lot of green," I muttered, repeating the thought again and again since dawn.

Merisa laughed, the sound carrying lightly in the cabin. "We’ll get used to it," she said with a smile.

Since yesterday, we hadn’t had to close the truck windows—the air itself was fresh, clear, and clean.

A message pinged in the group chat. "Boss, look to the left," I read aloud, glancing over my shoulder and calling to Merisa, "Hey, look."

There it was—a lake, its water crystal clear like the sky above, shimmering softly in the afternoon sunlight. If the lake was here, the hill couldn’t be far behind.

Soon enough, the hill came into view, speeding toward us as the Deadlight forged ahead.

"We’re here! We’re here!" Merisa exclaimed, her voice full of excitement.

I smiled broadly, matching her joy.

Five minutes later, Merisa and I exchanged a look, silent and knowing. We nodded in unison and brought the truck to a stop.

Stepping out, the grass was soft beneath our feet, vibrant and green as far as the eye could see. Behind us, the mountain stood strong and protective, while before us, the clear blue lake stretched wide, promising life and hope.

"This is the place," Merisa said quietly.

I echoed her words, turning toward the rest of the caravan. "This is the place."

Cheers and shouts erupted from the group, voices raised in happiness and relief. Some of the weary travelers dropped to their knees, pressing their hands to the grass, and some even lay down and kissed the earth itself, grateful to have arrived at this new beginning.

Merisa and I were the first to pick our spot. We chose the land closest to the lake because it felt peaceful and had a nice view. The others spread out a little farther, but still close enough for us to see each other.

Everyone parked their trucks in the spots they picked. There was a quiet feeling of relief and hope all around us. After going through so many hard times, this moment felt like the start of something new and good.

We quickly set up our tents, working together to make it ready before the sun went down. While Merisa got a simple meal ready on the small stove, I looked through my supplies and poured two glasses of moonshine. We sat down together on our little chairs, the cool air around us.

Looking around, it felt surreal—an endless stretch of land with no trees in sight. It resembled a vast desert, but instead of sand, it was covered in thick, short grass.

I broke the silence and said, "So, what if we order a house for us—and for the other settlers too? It would be better than only tents, don’t you think?" Merisa looked up with a bright smile. "That’s a good idea," she said.

"But they might be a bit smaller," I added thoughtfully, "so we can save some cash."

She nodded, finishing up the meal prep. "Alright," she said, raising her glass and tapping on it. "Let’s check the house catalogue."

The catalogue was one of the few remaining services left on this moon, a lifeline from a bygone era. The price range started from three hundred thousand credits for the smallest models, then four hundred thousand, eight hundred thousand, up to a million, and even two million for the custom designs. Merisa explained, "These are standard models. Custom orders cost more and take longer to deliver. What do you think?"

I rubbed my chin, considering. "Let’s stick with what’s already available. Two of the one-million credit models should be enough—one for us and another for storage. I don’t like climbing stairs."

Merisa smiled and nodded, encouraging me to continue.

"For our neighbors, the eight-hundred-thousand models should be fine," I said.

She laughed softly. "And what if they don’t like it?"

I grinned, teasing, "Then they can move out."

Merisa playfully rolled her eyes. "Okay, then," I asked, "could you just order it for me?"

She looked surprised. "Now?"

"Yeah, why wait?"

We shared a quiet laugh, and she began the process of placing the order. I started eating before her.

I handed Merisa my glass and wallet, trusting her to handle the orders for our new homes and those of our neighbors. As I continued eating, she took a sip of moonshine and focused on the task.

She placed orders for two one-million credit houses for us—spacious and comfortable—and eleven eight-hundred-thousand credit models for the rest of the settlers. Carefully, she entered the delivery details, tapping on her glass several times to confirm our current location.

"If one of our places is behind the truck," she asked, "where do you want the other?"

I pointed toward a patch of open land, finishing my meal.

"Good, we can specify which direction the front of the houses will face," she mused.

Turning back to the neighbors' orders, she opened a chat group she created called 'Deadlight Settlers,' gathering the location data of each member. I watched them unpack tents and set up their temporary homes, the beginnings of a community.

"Careful not to place them over our neighbors' heads," I cautioned.

Merisa slipped and corrected herself, "Oh right—20 meters to the north then," adjusting the delivery points accordingly.

Connecting my chip to my wallet, she looked up at me before pressing confirm. I nodded, and with a satisfied exhale, she completed the purchase.

"Done," Merisa said, still staring at her glass thoughtfully. "Hmm, the price even drops slightly. It’s because we’re now closer to the equator—closer to where they’re orbiting."

I raised my eyebrows, confused but intrigued.

"Great," I said, handing her back her dish. "Eat—I've finished, but you haven’t even started yet."

She smiled, placing the plate on her lap as she began eating.

"How long until they finish building? The delivery can’t take too long, right?" I asked, draining some moonshine and gazing upward, wishing I could see the orbital construction site through the patchy clouds.

Merisa continued eating, her other hand tapping rhythmically on the glass. Suddenly, she froze, cutting off mid-chew.

"What’s wrong?" I asked, leaning in.

She looked up, mouth slightly open, and food fell onto her chest. Quickly wiping it away, she said, "They’re delivering right now."

"What?!" I exclaimed, eyes wide.

She swallowed hard and grabbed another sip of moonshine. "They already have those pre-built houses, and they'll be here in thirty minutes."

We both looked skyward, uncertainty and excitement mingling in our eyes.

I pulled out my glass and sent a message to the neighbors: "Prepare for your welcome gift—but Merisa and I get to choose the town name."

Merisa continued eating slowly, while I added with a grin, "We’ll have our houses before you even finish your meal."

She just chewed quietly, not bothering to reply.

The End

That evening, Merisa and I finally settled into our new house. It wasn’t just a shelter—it even came furnished, a welcome comfort after so many nights under tents or inside the truck.

As we unpacked our belongings and placed them carefully where they belonged, I couldn’t help but think back to the message I’d sent the group chat before the houses arrived. After telling them to prepare for a gift, some of the settlers had approached us, expecting perhaps a bottle of moonshine or some small tokens. Instead, their surprised faces were priceless when the houses came down swiftly from orbit, settling neatly at their designated spots. Merisa even took photos of their astonished expressions, the kind of moments that lifted the weight of what we had been through.

Now, as the sun dipped low, casting long shadows around our home, we carried our makeshift table and chairs from beside the truck to the front porch. Sitting together, a calm settled between us.

"What now?" Merisa asked, her voice soft but curious.

"Now we rest," I replied with a smile. "Tomorrow, we’ll start growing trees with the kits we brought. I’m thinking mango trees—this is a tropical zone after all."

"And I’ll prepare the vegetable plots," Merisa added, her eyes bright with plans.

"What about meat?" I wondered aloud. "Will we have farms for that too?"

Merisa smiled thoughtfully. "I think we could order fish and let them grow in the lake."

"Fishing sounds good," I chuckled, feeling the tiredness settle deep in my cheeks. We smiled at each other, the grin revealing how much hope and relief we shared after everything.

"Ooh," Merisa suddenly exclaimed, "Will we tell the world about our settlement?"

"That will have to happen anyway," I said, "or our neighbors will do it first."

"If we do," she suggested, "we’ll also have to warn them about the dangers along the way."

I nodded, agreeing wholeheartedly. "That’s for the best. Some people might already be trying to come."

I grabbed my glass and began typing a message, the minutes slipping by as I crafted a careful note outlining the route—only up to the cliff’s end.

Merisa read over my shoulder and asked, "And the rest of the way?"

I shook my head. "Probably a little later."

She nodded, adding one last line before I sent the message to the library archives: "And beyond that, we’ll keep it just for us, for now."

The next morning, we woke up later than usual—no jolts or shakes from the truck’s movement, a strange but welcome change from years on the road. It’s what the old hands called "no-motion sickness," finally resting on solid, unmoving ground.

Outside, white clouds drifted softly across the sky, a gentle contrast to the vivid green grass and clear waters of the lake nearby. It felt almost surreal to wake up surrounded by such life and stillness.

Our neighbors were already up, placing food on our makeshift table as a thank you for the gifts from the day before, even before we woke up.

"I'm hungry," Merisa said with a smile, sitting down to eat, and I followed suit.

After a while, my gaze drifted toward the horizon, lost in thought. Merisa, meanwhile, checked the latest updates on the library archive.

"Hmm," she murmured, "there are updates about the folks at the cliff's end. Now the whole moon knows about this area. Soon, we'll have updated maps of the moon."

"That’s good," I replied softly. "It gives people a chance."

"Sadly," I continued, "there are no planes or ships on this moon. It would be much easier to move to better places if we had those."

Merisa smiled warmly, reaching out to take my hand. I squeezed hers back.

"But we made it," she said softly, and laughed lightly. "And surprisingly, nobody died on our trip."

A small chuckle escaped me—a toast to survival, to hope to us.

After our meal, relatively drunk, I retrieved the planting kit from the truck. I’d never used one before. The kit came with cans of nutrients and a designated hole for placing seeds. "Put the seed in, place in ground, and press the button," the instructions read. I grabbed a mango seed—big and nostalgic; we hadn’t seen mangoes in a long while. Carefully, I placed the seed inside a can and put it on the ground, with Merisa watching nearby.

"Now, where’s the button?" I muttered to myself. Merisa pointed to a paper she peeled off the can, revealing a small button. I pressed it.

"And?" I asked.

"Now let’s plant another one," Merisa said with a smile, helping select seeds from our collection. Together, we planted almost eighty cans around the house and along the lake’s edge.

"Don’t put them in front of the house," Merisa reminded me. "It’ll block the view."

We stood at the front of our new home, looking out. For now, the cans lay scattered, waiting. James, one of the nearby neighbors, watched us curiously. I didn’t think any of us had ever truly planted a tree before.

We stood silently, expecting some sign of growth. These fast-growing kits promised full-grown trees in just a month.

Suddenly, a shout broke the quiet. James called something from his house. "What?" I responded loudly. Merisa cupped her hand to her ear, trying to hear better.

"Bottom of cans... something," she repeated.

I echoed, "...must touch the soil, the bottom of the can must touch the soil. That’s it! We put them on the grass instead."

Relieved by the suggestion, I thanked James and turned to the truck. I grabbed a large sword from the back.

"You’re a shovel now," I joked, walking back to Merisa standing beside the cans.

The grass was thick and stubborn. It clung fiercely, refusing to loosen easily. Merisa walked to the truck and returned with a plasma gun.

She aimed at the ground and fired. The violent burst parted the grass, exposing bare soil.

"Nice," I said, planting another can into the soil and pressing the button once again. Within seconds, a soft vapor rose from the top of the can. The kit was working.

We repeated the process for all cans. When we returned to the first one, a tiny mango tree had already begun sprouting.

"This is nice," Merisa said softly.

I nodded, and together we walked back to our makeshift table in front of the house, sipping moonshine and watching our trees grow.

We sat together in front of the house, drinking moonshine. We wanted to plant vegetables that afternoon, but after drinking so much moonshine, we decided to wait until tomorrow.

As night came, the moonshine made my head feel dull and throb a little. I said we should set up the water extractor. I took a crate from the truck and moved it to the balcony. It was a square box with small pipes to extract water from the air.

Normally, this machine was meant to be buried in sand, but I tried placing it right on the front porch. I pushed buttons, flipped switches, but nothing happened. Merisa stretched out on the balcony floor, squinting closely at the manual. "Isn’t that manual upside down?" I asked.

"I can read better this way," she replied with a drunken grin.

Eventually, she got up and tugged at a string—a small piece of thread I’d missed entirely. Suddenly, the device buzzed to life, water dripping steadily from the outlets.

"Quick, grab a glass!" Merisa called.

I dashed to our makeshift table but tripped, sprawled on my side, muttering, "I’m drunk."

I picked myself up, fetched a glass, and hurried back. Merisa was already drinking directly from the water outlet. Handing her the glass, she carefully poured some water into it, took a long drink, then passed the glass back.

"We’re equally drunk," I declared.

"No, I’m drunker," she teased, laughing softly.

We settled back, sharing quiet laughter and the precious water, feeling the small victories of this new life beginning to take root.

The next morning, we got up early and felt good after sleeping early the night before. The small trees we planted yesterday had grown tall, almost as tall as us. Their thin bark showed they were growing fast.

We decided to start with vegetables. I took a box with a vegetable growing kit. Merisa had read the instructions carefully this time and was ready with the plasma gun.

"That’s quite a strange agricultural tool," I remarked, watching as she began methodically blasting the soil in tidy rows to prepare the ground for planting.

I unrolled a length of planting plastic—a flat pipe filled with soil—extending it carefully along the rows she prepared. The flexible rolls could even bend left or right, helping us create neat planting plots.

"I think we’ll need a longer plot," I said, glancing over at Merisa, who readied the plasma gun again.

Suddenly, James’s voice came from afar, shouting for our attention. We turned toward him and cupped our hands to listen better.

"Veggies... kit... need no... soil," he called out in his gruff voice.

We repeated the message, incredulous, and looked back at our unnecessary rows of plasma gun-blasted planting plots.

Merisa sighed and mumbled, mostly to herself, "We are learning."

I nodded in agreement, amused and relieved that we had discovered another way, realizing that the kits needed no soil after all.

We returned to our base—our makeshift table set up in front of the house—to discuss the next steps. I broke the silence first. "Power," I said firmly.

Merisa nodded in agreement. I stood, walked over to the truck, and dragged a power line from its main supply to the house. Returning to our base, I sat down, and Merisa looked at me, surprised.

"Just like that?" she asked.

I shrugged, offering no real answer. "Why didn’t you do this when the house arrived?" she inquired once more. Sipping her moonshine.

I only shrugged again.

"What’s next?" I asked, glancing around.

We paused to think—the trees were growing, the vegetables were flourishing. I turned my attention to the vegetable growing kit and muttered, "Oh."

Walking over to the vegetables, I pressed a button and retreated back with a nod.

The greens looked healthy, vibrant. We now had water and power—two essentials settled. I turned to Merisa.

"Fishes," she reminded me.

"Ah, yes," I agreed. "But where do we order them?"

Merisa seemed to have absorbed the moonshine well, lifting her finger to the company's service portal. A soft wind swayed her messy hair.

I handed her my glass, teasing, "Can you still order, or are you about to pass out?"

She took the glass and started ordering a kit called the AquaGenesis Kit, designed to establish an ecosystem for raising fish. I transferred the payment using my chip—three million credits! It was quite expensive, but an investment in transforming the ecosystem that would likely be worth every credit.

She handed my glass back, finished her moonshine, then reclined on a chair and closed her eyes.

I sat quietly beside her, admiring her peaceful expression and the gentle disarray of her hair. For a moment, the trials of the harsh moon faded, replaced by the quiet hope of a new beginning.

I decided to get up, walk to the truck again, get my sketchbook and pencil, and then come back to sit next to her. Once I was seated, I opened my sketchbook and started to draw.

As the sun dipped behind the distant hills, casting golden hues over the lake, I sat on the porch of our new home, Merisa beside me. The trees we planted swayed gently in the warm breeze, their leaves whispering promises of growth and renewal.

Despite the comfort and hope settling in my heart, I knew the moon would not give up its harshness easily. There would be challenges—unseen and unexpected—that awaited beyond the edges of this new beginning. But for now, with Merisa’s hand in mine and the soft murmur of life around us, I allowed myself to believe in the possibility of a better tomorrow. Whatever lay ahead, we would face it together, carrying the strength forged in the desert in our souls.

Appendix

Cities of the rings

Elaron

Black fort

Mobius

Water Mill

Salt Haven

Dustfall

Ironclad

Brimstone Reach

Blackdots

Shaleport

Cragspire

Verdantis

About the Author

Peace writes what lingers in the mind — small thoughts, quiet moments, and things that ask to be written before they disappear.

Their work often feels hopeful, maybe too much sometimes, but that’s the point.
The world already gives us enough noise and drama; there’s no need to add more.

Peace writes instead for the quiet spaces — where stories can breathe, and people can, too.

More works and projects:
https://snugly.cloud

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Thank you for reading.

If you’d like to find more of my work or future stories,
you can visit https://snugly.cloud
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— Peace