ENTRY LOG // H3-79QZ
It’s late cycle, and I’m sitting by the big window in our module, the one that looks out over Dock Sector 4, where the ships come and go like restless fireflies in the endless black. The hum of the station feels softer here, but still, the air smells faintly of recycled metal and hydroponic soil from the domes below. I can hear the distant clatter and hiss of machinery, Dad probably still working in the mech bay, tightening bolts and coaxing life back into old engines that nobody else cares about.
I helped in the agricultural dome again today—lifting those heavy trays of green shoots, checking the humidity meters, talking to the plants like Mom told me to. The hydroponic mist felt cool on my skin, a tiny relief from the recycled air that never quite feels fresh. Even though the law says I can’t really work—too young, they say—I know my help matters. Dad says every little thing counts when you’re stuck on a station orbiting a dead rock so far from the nearest planet you can’t even see it.
There aren’t many kids here, not like on Earth or the old colonies that fell. I almost never see my own age, and when I do, they’re often just passing through before they’re shipped off to other stations or back to Earth. The adults here are always busy, tired, or too wrapped up in their own survival to bother much with the young ones. Sometimes I feel like some odd ghost, wandering these crowded metal halls.
From this window, I watch ships arrive—cargo ships with scratched paint and patchwork hulls, sleek private cruisers that look like they’re hiding secrets, and big bulky industrial vessels that groan as they dock. They always bring new people, new stories. Some are merchants with eyes gleaming at a good trade, some are travelers with tired smiles and rough hands, and others speak in strange tongues that make my stomach flip with excitement. I overheard a trader telling Dad about the ruins on Xal’Vraxis—some ancient alien place filled with glowing symbols and traps. Another time, a pilot told me about the way stars look from the void between galaxies, how they bleed color that no human eye can truly see.
These stories are my stars in the dark. They fill me with a restless hope that maybe, one day, I’ll have my own ship—small, fast, and free—and I’ll carve my own path through the cosmos. I imagine the hum of engines beneath me, the feel of stardust on my skin, and the endless expanse staring me in the face, daring me to jump into it.
But for now, it’s just me, the plants, Dad’s tools, and these quiet moments by the window, watching the galaxy keep moving while I’m stuck here, dreaming. The station feels like a cage sometimes—a glittering prison wrapped in thousands of lights and wires, but it’s the only home I’ve ever known. Tomorrow, I’ll be back in the dome, hands wet with mist and soil, but tonight, I’ll keep watching the ships and thinking about the stories they carry. Maybe, someday soon, one of those stories will be mine.
I’m tired now. The hum is louder, and the stars outside blur through the condensation on the glass. Time to rest. But the dreams… they won’t let me go.
—L.