I pull the lever as the whistle blows, and the press comes down. Low gravity makes the seal on the components produced on the moon superior, so my quotas have increased again. I heft the pieces into their crate roughly, but the shift is over, and it’s been a long day after a crazy week in the middle of one of those months.  

I nod goodbyes to my coworkers as I complete cleaning my station and leave, as they’re at various points in the process, except Shelia, who only grunts in reply—not that I’ve come to expect less. I wouldn’t have acknowledged her if she hadn’t been with others.  

Then I’m on the lunar surface, walking out of the factory district on the long, enclosed sidewalk to the shuttle bus stop. The distance makes up for the gravity, but eventually, I make it to the edge of Mare Serenitatis, where the highways curve around Luna City.  

I’m at my stop two minutes ahead of schedule, but I hear the squeaky wheels almost as soon as I get to the bench. I swear it’s the first time this month that the thing isn’t running late, and I nearly missed it.  

I grab a seat in the unpopulated middle of the bus, take a brief scan, and think I haven’t had much luck in months. Soon, I hear hoarse huffing down the center aisle. Then, a voice I know all too well barks my name while its owner is still a few rows of seats away, precluding any avenues of excuse for escape. He has my attention by the time he has waddled to my elbow. 

“I thought that was you,” says the foul-smelling, many-armed Thesolorian as he sits his squat, orange body into the seat beside me. For months, it seemed like he would find me no matter where I went, and I learned his entire life sob story. His wife took their litter of five and left for Mars, abandoning him to alcoholism, a complex routine of keeping tabs on soccer scores, and a restaurant job he hates.  

“Yeah, it’s me.”

“Oh? Why so glum today?” he asks with his heavy accent.  

“I had a rough day at work. They’re meeting the quotas and still talking about layoffs. It has everyone feeling on edge.” I said vaguely, just enough to get him off my case.  

“Quotas and layoffs. I know all about quotas and layoffs,” he tells me in a voice that almost boasts of his sorrows.  

“Don’t you work in a restaurant? What quota?” I ask pointedly. 

“Well,” it’s about the pressure.” He said something stupid, and now he begins to spin his yarn of bullshit. Months of forced friendship make me wonder how his wife managed to get through the first two litters with him. 

The Thesolorian home world was destroyed fifty years ago when a nearby star went supernova. The alien race often resides in the lowest rungs of the societies where they seek refuge. Usually, I’m sympathetic, but today, my head hurts, and I can’t listen to any of his horrific stories. I’m already tuning him out as he’s droning on about the dirty tables piling up during a rush and the kitchen heat as he carries the dishes to the back and the servers lose patience. Frankly, I can empathize with them.  

It takes almost the complete loop around the Mare, but eventually, he notices that I’m joining the conversation even less than usual and gets quiet. He nudges me and asks, “What’s the matter? You’re not yourself.” 

“Yeah, I just had a bad day, like I told you,” I snap. 

“Well, I’m sorry,” he says, finally mollified. “It’s hard to get on this moon, is all I meant.” 

“Yeah, I guess, so,” I agree. 

“I will leave you to your thoughts,” he relents.  

And then, for the first time in months, silence—or as close as can be attained on a crowded bus. If I had known it was that easy, I might have lost my temper with him a long time ago. I spent the last fifteen minutes of the ride staring out the window in near peace. 

When I reached my stop, I looked over to say goodbye, but he nodded off. I squeeze around him and disembark.  

The few blocks’ walk past the dome through the populated housing district of Luna City proper feels entirely different from my solitary trek down the enclosed sidewalk. Trees line the footpaths, and the street is in the distance. Some other pedestrians plod home with the day’s cares still hanging from them, but others leave their homes again refreshed and stroll with a lighter countenance. Children skip alongside their parents as they embark on an evening adventure. 

I picked out my building by force of habit rather than distinctive features; it’s all concrete cubes. When I step into the foyer, I almost trip over an enormous box. I look closer and see my name on the front. 

I can’t believe it! The automatic subsonic hovercraft has finally arrived!  

The hovercraft is my ticket off the crowded shuttle bus. Now, I won’t be doomed for two hours of my day sailing back and forth over Mare Serenitatis. I’ll be able to still the city traffic, sail to work every morning, and arrive on time for a change, without ever having to drive on the looping highways buses are relegated to. Floating blissfully on the causeways above the dense urban center, I can look down on rows of hydroponic gardens and the grid lines of streets choked with mundane vehicles. Traffic jams will be a thing of the past as I fly over them in my hovercraft. 

I rip into the large package, digging with abandon through shredded paper and filler materials. It’s hard to believe that it could fit into a cardboard box, but a personal craft only measures three feet across. My hands find the smooth, sleek sides as I lift the disk. I hold it up, marveling that it could be light and still support my weight. The slick, black exterior feels like Teflon, but the thin material is nothing like the metal in a cooking pan. The top curves toroidally inward toward the joint where the dome extends once you get in. It leaves a ring just big enough for one person to sit inside to operate the few controls. I carefully set it down on the floor. The device is solid and rigid, but it looks delicate. Nevertheless, there aren’t chances of damaging it. 

I can’t help but think of all I could do with this craft. Not only is it a way to get to and from work every day, but this baby offers a chance to explore Luna City and maybe even venture beyond. I can visit Regolith Flats at the base of Plato one evening when I’m bored. Or I could wake up early on a weekend morning and soar down Mare Nubium in the dark to watch the first rays of sunlight break over the rim of Tycho.  

No more working around a bus schedule! I’ll be able to see a movie at any time. I can go out after eight-thirty when the last bus leaves. And I won’t have to create a million mental contingency plans worrying about the bus being late. But best of all, the Thesolorian will not be able to bother me. No matter the time of day or destination, he is always on the bus, calling my name, ready to drag me down with another tale of self-pity. 

I’ve never considered it before, but he must live near me because he is always on the same bus. Of everything he’s told me, where he lived never came up. How else could I explain his presence on the same bus as me every day? 

But now, after months of waiting, my new ride is finally here—my ticket to freedom and escape. I didn’t invest anything in living for ages, but I saved for this goal. Then, after I had accrued the money, came the interminable weeks while it shipped from Earth. It’s still hard to believe it’s real, that it, so glorious and beautiful, so sleek and sexy, is all mine. I run my hands along its curvaceous form again, blowing kisses in my mind. 

I have stopped to consider it now, though. What could the Thesolorian be doing on the bus all the time? He’s pretty attached to me but is often already on there when I board; he isn’t following me. I’m sure he’s told me his name, but I don’t remember; it would’ve been so long ago that it would be awkward to admit now. He never asks for anything; he’s just waiting to tell me another depressing tale. Yesterday, he gave me gory details about an incident when a littermate broke a limb while they were growing up in the gutter of some far-off world. 

The story was awful, and it tore my heart out. I couldn’t stop seeing the poor little Thesolorian kid in pain: they’re so cute until they grow up and get furry. Thinking about the mother splinting the arm herself, unable to comfort her baby sufficiently, had been too much for a bus ride home. Remembering his childhood had him speculating about the conditions his wife and kids might have to endure on Mars without him.  

But tomorrow, a new era starts. I’ll float to work like a bird from a child’s book. I’m sure a small crowd will gather around as I glide for a smooth landing. The cutie from the mail room may even be there. Everyone will notice I’m no longer trembling from the stop. Most of my coworkers will congratulate me on the upgrade, but Shelia will roll her eyes at my new toy.  

Nobody will be as surprised I’m not riding this anymore as my good friend, the Thesolorian. I imagine his orange forehead wrinkles folding over themselves in faint confusion when I don’t get on at my morning spot.  

The hovercraft sits in front of me, practically glowing with possibilities, and suddenly, all I can think of is the old Thesolorian. I berated myself for wondering whether he would be alright on his own. But then, I don’t know how long it’s been since we’ve gone more than two days without seeing each other. 

I look up at the clock on the wall. The bus loops the neighborhood and goes back out every half an hour. I wonder if the Thesolorian will still be riding when it does. I feel guilty for snapping at him this afternoon. Maybe I should go with him one last time to let him know what’s happened to me.