Home Sweet Home.

Horizons curve away much sooner on Moons then those of planets, owing to the size difference. That, aside from the lower gravity, is the hardest thing to get used to when living on something like the Insanity Moon.

The Insanity Moon was, for the most part, a spaceport. Its atmosphere kept habitable by air-reprocessing facilities dotted across and under its small surface.

The spaceport served Hekshano, the moon's primary, until the occupying Rulerist forces deployed mines in Hekshano's atmosphere. Thus preventing passage of anything larger then small two-passenger transports, Though some still take the risk of piloting small craft through the artificial cloud of deadly explosives.

Next to a squat building, by one of the older and more dilapidated landing sites the I.M. had to offer, a figure leaned against the wall, smoking in its shadow while watching Hekshano's continents roll slowly across its surface.

A stiff breeze shifted the veil of stagnant smoke away just in time to reveal the spaceport’s main income, a small cargo plane coming in on approach.

A crisp, quiet voice came from around the building.

"Auger! Inbound! Get ready to offload!" The voice, Auger knew, belonged to the Andonian boss he'd nicknamed 'Mr. Smile' after he'd failed to secure a package containing medical tranquilizers which had resulted in Mr. Smile ingesting a hefty dose of powerful drugs.

It had seemed funny at the time, though now he thought back on it; it had been stupid to draw attention and mock the poor cargo supervisor regarding the incident.

Being Human and close to Hekshano, around so many of its Resident species made Auger uncomfortable. It wasn’t just the ‘unfortunate’ Rulerist occupation or it’s aftereffects that made living around them hard, it was mostly self-persecution on Auger’s part. Walking down the street, looking at the alien faces as they passed, he imagined thoughts running through their heads regarding him.

It was mostly paranoia.

The Boss' quiet voice cut deep no matter how hard Auger tried to ignore it, there was something cold and commanding about his clear-cut Uni that made people listen.

Auger bent over and coughed heavily, stubbing out the so-called ‘Funny-Fag’ on the dirty wall. Smoking this particular kind of tobacco was a relatively new habit and made his head spin each time he indulged it, but the relaxation it offered made the coughing fits and nausea worth it.

"Yeah, I’m coming! Gimme a second!" Auger shouted, trying frantically to slip the still-burning blunt into his jacket, every little saving helped when rent was due.

The Andonian put his head around the corner of the building, revealing a thin, pallid grey face which looked although it had seen its fair share of disappointment. His large, fanned ears didn't help diminish the sad & overworked clown impression he seemed to leave on people.

"Hurry up, it’ll be landing soon." Mr. Smiles said, pointing to the incoming plane.

"Just coming, what's it carrying?" Auger enquired half-heartedly, walking with the Andonian to the unloading bay.

"Manifest says its carrying Computer parts and MRE's, nothing exciting." He replied, knowing Auger's tendency to try and dramatize the hours away.

Auger only mumbled a reply, watching the small plane land and taxi to the cargo offloading area, The Andonian continuing to his office.

The offloading bay consisted of a raised concrete step leading to the small spaceport's storage warehouse; it was reminiscent of all such places, dull and depressingly functional.

But money is money, Auger reflected, unloading the crates along with the other 'porters.

The population on the I.M was roughly one quarter Hekshanian, the other three quarters being mostly a hodge-podge mix of Myches, Chuians, Andonians and a small Rakwulf population.

Myches and Chuians, being more the intellectual and mechanical type, tended to stay away from tedious manual labor. This left mainly Hekshanians and Andonians doing most of the physical work.

Once all the crates were unloaded, and the other 'porters had checked off the routine cargo transferal forms, Mr. Smiles emerged from the building.

"That was the last Plane, The others re-routed. You can all go home." The Andonian said, referring to the unimpressed group trying to look busy.

Auger slunk off toward home, thankful that the 14-hour graveyard-shift had been cut short.

He walked about a kilometer or so, whistling half-heartedly when he was sure there was no one around, before coming to a stout raised-vent sprouting from the poorly paved-over lunar soil. As he walked by it, he hit a patch of air that seemed curiously ‘thick’. It felt hot and humid as he passed, the gas being expelled smelling unusually cloying to his senses.

It was probably some kind of biological by-product, he thought to himself...Allowing the unusual smell and texture to the air to fill his nostrils one last time, hastening his pace before the smell became unpleasant.

It wasn’t the first time he’d appreciated the smell, he’d pass the vent on the way home every day. It hadn’t taken him long to find out it was part of the many atmospheric regulation facilities dotted across and in this case under the surface.

After a few minutes of walking, he reached a more built-up area. There were buildings across the entire surface of the small moon, but they tended to cluster around Hub-like centers. Usually the more modern launching sites seemed to cause the phenomena, the service staff and hangers-on living close to their place of work.

Auger considered himself the exception to the rule, living in one of these hubs, but working in one of the more remote spacecraft landing sites.

The alleyways and streets of the moon had seemed intimidating and frightening at first. But after eight or so months of using them regularly, they had taken on a familiar and welcoming quality, walled in as they so often were with residential buildings.

Buildings on the I.M rarely got taller then two storeys because there was little need, even at its peak the I.M had only somewhere in the region of 30,000 – 40,000 consistent inhabitants. And Hekshanian buildings weren't made for height, even in low-gravity.

Some of the housing complexes were of different design though, metals and support structures apparent on the outside rather then plaster. These buildings were usually Chuian or Myche designed luxury abodes for those who could afford it.

Auger did not live on one of those buildings; the rent was usually 10 times that of a normal apartment and would have attracted too much attention, as well as being beyond a dock-workers wages. He lived in a dank boarding house on the outskirts of the moon’s north-polar space-port. It's wasn't luxury, but it was cheap. And better then he would get on Hekshano for the same money.

The apartment he inhabited was small, a solitary room dominated by an even smaller table and chairs on one side, and a single bed on the other.

All in all it was a hovel, but it kept the rain off.

A huge pile of accumulated newspapers attested to a persistent kleptomaniac streak.

"Honey, I’m home!" He laughed to himself, kicking off his old pair of boots,

Turned around, barely inside the room, and fell backwards onto the bed causing a small shockwave that made the floorboards squeak.

Another problem with cheap housing, he mulled, was that the damn beds were invariably either too hard or too soft. With that in mind, he retrieved his ‘special tobacco’ from his jacket, put it to his lips, and tried to sleep.

Tomorrow was another day; he hoped it would be better one then today had been.