Hrafn trudged out of the mine’s airlock, his Varagni fur damp with sweat and streaked with gray lunar dust that clung to him like the weight of the long shift he’d just finished. His mining suit, stiff and ill-fitted for his digitigrade wolf-folk legs, creaked faintly with every step, the joints grinding against his tired frame. His tail dragged low, trailing faint streaks of dust across the metal floor as the warmth of the mine’s interior gave way to the bitter chill of Gamma 4’s surface.

  All he wanted was warm food and a shower to wash away the grime that had settled deep into his coarse fur, but first, he had to endure the slow shuffle toward the dining facility. At least he wasn’t waiting alone. His mother, brother, and sister stood beside him in the sluggish line, their Varagni coats mottled with streaks of dirt and exhaustion. His father, as always, was still working—piloting the mining ship to earn enough credits to cover next month’s habitation pod rent and tomorrow’s meal.

  Hrafn wiped his goggles clean with the back of his paw, revealing green eyes that, despite their sharp gleam, carried the weight of fatigue. The fluorescent lights overhead flickered, casting uneven shadows across his family’s weary faces and illuminating the dust still caught in the creases of his fur. Behind him, the hum of exhausted chatter filled the air, blending with the smell of recycled sweat and the stale tang of the facility. A Nivren technician hunched over a console nearby, their prehensile tail flicking between wires with practiced precision. Their small, clawed fingers danced over the interface, ears twitching as they muttered under their breath, oblivious to the rising tension in the room. Nearby, a Barkaan foreman barked out instructions to a sluggish line of workers, his deep voice rumbling like shifting rock. He moved with deliberate weight, shoulders squared beneath the worn fabric of his uniform, the slight flick of his ear betraying quiet irritation.

  Arin nudged him with a grin sharp enough to cut through the weariness."Hey, space prince, you look like you’ve been through a dust storm. What, you mining with your muzzle these days?"

  Kaida shot Arin a warning glance, her ears twitching slightly, but even she couldn’t suppress a small smirk. Their mother remained silent, her jaw set, her hands locked tightly around the straps of her utility belt.

  A crackle from the intercom cut through the din of voices, silencing the room."Attention, all miners," a mechanical voice announced. "Due to recent assessments, the corporation has decided to increase the mining quotas by 10% effective immediately."

  The murmur of conversation turned into a low rumble of discontent. Hrafn let out a low growl and slammed his tray onto the counter, sending a puff of fine dust into the stale air."Another quota increase? I’m already working so hard my fur’s more gray than brown these days!"

  The mining dust clung to the fur on his face in awkward patches, leaving him with the look of a mangy Varagni caught in floodlights. Arin snorted, elbowing him hard enough that his oxygen tank clanged against the bulkhead."Relax, pretty boy. Maybe if you spent less time batting those lashes at the refinery crew, you’d—"

  Their mother’s hand shot out, gripping Arin’s wrist with a force that rivaled the hydraulic clamps of the mining gear."Enough," she growled, her voice low as her gaze darted toward the cameras tracking them from the ceiling corners.

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  Kaida stepped closer, her voice cutting through the noise like a blade."Ten percent isn’t a quota. It’s a noose."

  Somewhere behind them, a nutrient brick struck the wall with a hollow thud, exploding into a cloud of chalky orange powder that hung in the stagnant air.

  Beside Hrafn, a broad-shouldered Thyrran miner, his deep chestnut coat dulled with dust, flicked his ear irritably, swiping at his tray. The dull thud of his mag-boots echoed as he stood to join a nearby crowd, muttering something under his breath about “quotas.”

  "Mom," Hrafn said, his fingers tightening around his spork. "What if I—"

  Kaida’s boot connected with his shin under the table, interrupting him before he could finish."Chew first," she murmured, her ears pricking slightly as her sharp green eyes tracked a security drone skittering across the ceiling.

  Their mother methodically cut her nutrient brick into geometric shapes, the knife screeching against the tray with each precise slice."Your sister’s right," she said without looking up. "This table’s been flagged three times this month for seditious chatter."

  Hrafn leaned forward, his voice dropping low until it blended with the metallic clatter of trays and muffled murmurs.

  "I have an idea. Military service. Every time we’ve had family that joined, it’s cut our debt exponentially." His green eyes pleaded with his mother as his ears twitched nervously, his tail curling instinctively against the chair’s base—a subtle sign of submission more ingrained in Varagni instincts than choice.

  His mother’s knife slipped, scoring a deep groove in the tray’s metal surface. Beside him, Kaida’s clawed fingers dug into the table’s crusted edge, and Arin’s smirk faltered into tight-lipped silence."You don’t know what you’re offering," their mother said, her voice trembling with something colder than anger.

  A security drone paused above them, its red eye blinking rhythmically like a countdown clock. Kaida’s boot pressed harder against Hrafn’s shin as she forced a bright, practiced smile for the hovering machine."Brother’s just joking about enlisting, aren’t you?" she said too loudly, her nails leaving faint scratches in the table beneath her.

  The drone lingered for three tense heartbeats before skittering away with a mechanical whir. Lunar dust fell like ash from their mother’s fur as she leaned closer."What the corps calls military service," she whispered, "is marching into their hellzones in nothing but a paper suit."

  "But Mom, it’d be worth it! And there’s no guarantee I’d be front lines anyway," Hrafn retorted in an eager whisper. His flattened ears betrayed his uncertainty. "When Grandpa Mason joined, he was an electric engineer working on coms equipment. When Uncle Kian joined, he was a welder on a transport ship. Our family has been nothing but support jobs over the years. Heck, I could get lucky and be a mechanic...maybe a mech mechanic. They just lug the big things in to me when they get downed. I’d stay at the base where it’s safe!"

  Lunar dust caught in the tremble of his mother’s lips as she leaned forward, her fur rippling with muted agitation.

  Behind them, the Thyrran miner from earlier threw his tray down with a resounding clang, his nostrils flaring in barely restrained frustration.

  A tall, lanky Varagni, his golden-hued fur dulled by dust, snarled under his breath as he passed their table, his tail flicking irritably at the sound of Hrafn’s hopeful tone.His ears flattened slightly at the mention of Kian’s name, but he said nothing—only his stiff posture and narrowed eyes betraying whatever unspoken history lingered in the miner’s mind.

  "Your Uncle Kian’s transport ship?" their mother began, her voice sharp and low. "They told us it was a meteor strike. But his last transmission…"

  She trailed off as the klaxon blared overhead, filling the cafeteria with pulsing crimson light.