The sweat was coming off Tegan’s forehead in sheets as she struggled against the pull of the machine plow. It wasn’t the tech’s fault; it was her rock-headed swamp ox, Carl, that was making this day miserable.

  Carl’s thick haunches strained against the weight of the plow, and his five-fingered, calloused feet were buried deep in the mud. He was a powerful animal, but it was too little, too late. If he had let her guide him around the sapoc root in the first place, they wouldn’t be in this situation.

  Oh, how she’d love to just give up. To leave the exhausted beast and the heavy plow where it sat. She could head to the white house, chuck off her muddy jumpsuit, and sink into the clawed tub on the second floor. She could unhitch the ox and deal with the plow another day.

  It was a nice thought, but how long would the lights stay on with the fuel they had? Not long.

  If she didn’t unstuck this plow and this pale, idiot beast, she would have no way to harvest the mud, moss, and other organic matter the traders paid good credits for. Without the credits, they couldn’t buy fuel for the dome, and without the dome, they would all float right up into the dark vacuum of space. Maybe that’s where Carl belonged anyway.

  “Looks like a real mess, Tegan.”

  She didn’t need to turn to know who spoke. There were only three people on this microplanet, and Helix was her least favorite.

  “It’s this fucking swamp ox,” she replied, resting her forearms on the machine plow handles. For his part, Carl had settled and was panting like a dog. His wide eyes were the only thing that gave away how distressed he was. Helix probably wouldn’t notice; he wasn’t much with animals.

  Helix shrugged, finally trudging into view. “Well, unhitch him and put the machine in reverse.”

  “The mud’s too thick for the plow to work its own way out. Anyway, I think it might be caught on a root.” Tegan gestured lazily at the tall sapoc palm, tired of talking to Helix already.

  “Well, what are you gonna do, T? We gotta get a load boxed up before tomorrow.”

  Tegan sniffed. She knew that. She was the one who had talked to the traders last and knew their schedule. She was the one who had maneuvered the plow all day, pulling the mud and moss, and she was the one who would stay up all night if she had to, making sure they had something to sell in the morning.

  She could come down on Helix for all of it, or she could just get it solved. So, she said, “We’re gonna winch it. Let’s go get the crank from the barn.”

  He motioned to the ox. “What are you gonna do about Carl?”

  Tegan pulled her gloves and threw them on the only part of the plow that was above mud. “Leave him. Not like he’s going anywhere.”

  After digging her way out of the mess she’d been working in, she started the trek to the fabricated plastiel machining shed. She’d welded the crank back together not a week ago, and thought she remembered throwing it behind the tanks. It was fortunate she had chosen to fix it over the other tech on her list. Everything on this planet was some type of broken.

  The ground firmed as the two approached the round, tan buildings. Where the white house under the willow tree had been printed to look as farmhouses used to look, apparently, the utility barns were purely practical: modular, sterile, and functional.

  That didn’t mean they weren’t old. Everything on this planet was old.

  The autodoor shot up as Tegan approached, Helix dragging along behind her. She heard the cursing as soon as the door snapped open and smiled, knowing the expletives belonged to her favorite person on the microplanet, Lee.

  Lee turned as the door opened, glaring through dirty protec goggles. “This fucking mat grinder is on its last leg Tegan.”

  Tegan smiled, shedding some of her frustration. “Well, the way my day is going, I won’t have any mats to put in it, Lee.”

  The taller woman stood from where she had been crouched over the grinder and stretched. Her graceful figure cut a sharp contrast to Tegan, who had formed lean muscle as soon as she was old enough to work a machine plow. Lee always looked out of place on a mat planet, and Tegan often wondered if her father hadn’t left this one to her, if she would be here at all.

  As Helix never forgot to remind Tegan, his slender, blonde sister would rise quickly on a city ship or, even, on the arm of a wealthy man on a luxury cruiser. Why he thought that Tegan kept Lee here was a mystery. The only thing she kept Lee from was a wealthy man’s arm; she’d be happy to follow along for all the rest.

  Lee crossed the distance between them and planted a distracted kiss on Tegan’s cheek. One of the load batteries was in her hand, and after a few frustrated turns of its power ring, she spoke, “It’s just… something has worn out all the protons in this thing. I can’t figure it out. It’s meant to be good for another hundred years. I shouldn’t be alive to see it die.”

  Tegan took the battery from her hand, turning it over and cracking open its stat plate with her pocket knife. Lee hadn’t asked after her day, and she was fine letting it drop.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  “Tegan got Carl stuck up to his gut over in Field 2,” Helix said.

  Lee looked up, raising her eyebrows. “I see.”

  Tegan glared at the big man. “Helix bought a swamp ox with half its brain cells rotted out.”

  Lee smiled, “Well, Helix really shouldn’t be the one buying an ox.”

  Before either of them could reply, the lights in the machining shed flickered once, twice, then shut off completely. The constant buzz of machine, the one nobody noticed until it was gone, sputtered and died.

  Light from the transparent plexi windows illuminated Lee’s face as she looked up. “Fuck, what the fuck is going on?”

  Panic shot through Tegan, but she tried not to let it creep into her voice when she replied. “Lee, it’s a load battery. That means it only drains when the jenny isn’t powering the grinder. If it’s been overused…”

  Lee finished the thought, “Something's wrong with the generator.”

  Helix yanked the emergency handle on the auto door, and the three rushed out into the bright afternoon light. On most mat planets, the generator and battery bank were near the barns and sheds, but Lee’s father had installed his behind the farmhouse, in an effort to keep their maintenance convenient. Bog microplanets were hard on equipment, and rust had to be checked for constantly.

  It would have been a straight shot to the house if they cut through the fields, but the path around would always take less time. All three mat farmers started at a sprint, but it was only Tegan who could maintain the pace. Her calves burned, already exhausted from her awful day, but she kept pushing. Carl lowed as she ran past.

  Slowly, the ache of her bones and muscles started to let up. Her feet hit the dirt path a little lighter. The gravity the dome generated was lessening, and while it felt great to have some relief physically, she knew that this was when the real problems would start.

  She wasn’t worried about their safety–yet. The dome was just a nickname for the machine that made this microplanet livable. While the word “dome” implied that all the machine did was generate the green film that held their oxygen mix snug to the micro planet, it had a few primary functions outside of the organic bubble.

  In the event of a power failure, the first to go was the gravity, not the assisted habitation. The dome itself had an energy reserve, but protocol dictated that the function drawing the most from it be sacrificed. Artificial gravity was top of the list. In a few moments, the dome would only maintain enough gravity to keep the habitation bubble in place.

  With a few taps on her jumpsuit’s control pad, Tegan prepped the air propulsion jets sewn into the material at her forearms and calves. She continued running, skidding from dirt onto a plastiel bridge. The river it crossed separated the hill on which the white house stood from the bog fields.

  Whether due to the slick nature of the plastiel, or the rapidly decreasing gravity, her next few steps didn’t move her forward. Tegan clicked on her air propulsion; The jets kicked against her calves with a rattling shove. Her boots skidded uselessly across the plastiel, and then she was floating.

  As the physical exertion lessened, Tegan sucked in deep breaths. She was in shape, but that had been a long run.

  Her speed slowed dramatically, her feet dangling now. The air propulsion on her jumpsuit was for emergencies. It served to move her around in an event like this one, but not quickly. Fortunately, she only had the short incline left, and she would be at the double doors of the jenny shed.

  Tegan twisted to float on her back, checking on Helix and Lee. The two had managed to activate their air propulsion, and while Lee moved efficiently, using her hands along the ground like a cat, Helix struggled to keep moving at all.

  Tegan felt a surge of joy watching him struggle, but it was short-lived; the rest of the farm was falling apart too. The water was starting to bead up, and anything not strapped down was beginning to stir. She twisted and caught the rail of the bridge, pulled hard, and launched herself up the path under the willow.

  After a few slips and awkward pushes, she was at the jenny shed and through its door. It was a tight, dry room that housed the generator, fuel, dome base, and any other expensive components Lee didn’t want the bog rotting away. All but the soft glow of the dome’s backup lights was dark.

  Tegan clicked on the chest light of her jumpsuit and deactivated her propulsion. There were two generators packed onto the opposite wall. She ignored the one on the left. It hadn’t worked in years, and they hadn’t had the credits to fix it.

  A kick off the wall, and she was in front of their main generator, their only generator. She reached for the biofuel tank first. It was Helix’s job to make sure the thing had fuel, and it wouldn’t have been the first time he had fucked up. Every other time, someone had been at the house.

  This was the longest the farm had been without gravity, and Tegan wasn’t entirely sure how quickly things would progress if she didn’t get the generator back up.

  She did know that if it went long enough, the organic bubble would collapse and their oxygen would float off into space. They would have to pile into the transport shuttle and bounce to the next microplanet. This planet’s resources would degrade within hours, and there wouldn’t be anything left worth coming back for.

  Sorry, Carl.

  Mat farmers called this process "getting floated," and Tegan was familiar with the broad strokes. Each story she had heard was different, though, and how rapidly things declined depended on the quality of the farmer’s generator and dome, and what exactly was wrong.

  The fuel gauge was broken, so she wrenched off the cap. The tank was half full. That was a problem. Tegan gritted her teeth and let out a curse. Adding more fuel would have been an easy fix.

  Tegan flipped the latch on the control panel, but the cover wouldn't budge. Once again, she flipped her pocket knife open and pried it free.

  Her chest light hit the panel, and the fuse box underneath. Through the dust of the dry shed, growing out from around the fuses, she saw a grey and blue organic film.

  It wasn’t rust.

  It wasn’t mold.

  But, Tegan was damn sure it shouldn’t be there.