Shipshattering by Justin JamesThis is a bad idea, right? wonders Mars, standing outside Pitr’s luxury chambers. He keeps his back to the floor-to-ceiling window with a view of Earth from orbit. His doubt, however, arrives a moment too late. His trembling finger has already buzzed the doorbell.
Mars does not belong way up here on the top floor. He is a young man of the people, with his boring brown eyes, nondescript cheekbones, and regulation, well, everything. His straight auburn hair is parted on the right. His stethoscope is tucked neatly into the waistband of his burgundy scrubs. He even wears the optional enamel pin that easily identifies him as a worker from Subdeck 4.
Mars should go back to the pulsing throng of bodies on the spacedock floor. He should enjoy the blacklit celebratio
