The tram doors open onto a platform dressed in shadows of uncharacteristic darkness. Up and down the promenade, dim emergency lights flicker along pathways through the unlit station.

“There they are!” Golden rays of light from the tram’s open door illuminate five haggard looking individuals slouching against support pillars near the rail. The maintenance crew give their replacements weary smiles.

Aboard the tram, the incoming shift collect their tools and prepare to disembark.

“Thought you’d never get here.” A tall young man with a digital clipboard under his arm tousles the sandy-blond hair of an equally tall gentleman with a briefcase folio of delicate tools in his hands as they pass onto and off of the tram. The two are obviously twins by their similar appearance.

“We’re on time.” A shorter woman steps neatly off the tram and her low heels click sharply on the fabricated tile floor. She gestures toward the clock on the wall of tram behind her.

“Precisely, Gascho!” He waggles his clipboard playfully. Dark circles ring his eyes, and sooty grease cakes his knees. “You’re so close to exactly on time that you’re almost late!”

Adah Gascho gives her fellow project manager a wink.

“It’s almost like you’re counting the minutes of your shift, you slacker. How many tickets did you even bother to complete this shift? Negative two?” She follows the wink with gentle ribbing.

The rest of the crew files past while their managers complete the hand off process, trading details of work requests, incident tickets, and finally exchanging their thumbprints and digital signatures on their boards. When the hand-off process is complete, the two shake hands.

“Have a good nap, Kostas,” Adah says, giving her exhausted opposite a genuine smile. “The Feisty Fossas will take good care of her.”

“Only because the Busy Buffalo were in the sector first. You’ll see.” Kostas Kyrillou gives a lackluster salute as the tram doors begin to close in front of him.

“We’ll do it right. We’ve got the good twin after all.” Behind her, Adah’s crew cautiously look around the tram platform with intense curiosity. The doors close and the chime goes off to indicate that the tram is preparing to leave.

Adah looks at her crew and smiles. They’re a good bunch. She pauses a moment to check in both directions of the upward-sloping floor of the promenade. They appear to be alone in the emptied public space.

Markos Kyrillou, the virtual duplicate of the departing team’s project manager, dons his hardhat and flips on its built in light. The other team members follow suite, the dim emergency lighting reflecting off the shiny plastic of their protective gear. The mascot of their crew grins from stickers plastered on the helmets.

“Yeah, sure,” Markos mutters under his breath. He adjusts the focus of his light, narrowing the beam to make the lighting more intense.

The plump, dark eyed woman next to him tucks her long hair into her hard hat, twisting the braid around its strap for security. She pulls her own digital clipboard out of the side pocket of her tool kit and then sits atop the metal box of electrician’s tools to read her notifications.

“What should we expect on this’un, boss?” She opens the ticket list suspiciously.

“Glad you asked!” Adah responds with enthusiasm, “But first, we must begin all meetings with a prayer per corporate guidelines.”

The group solemnly bows their heads and waits.

“Lord, keep your guidance in our lives and your hand over my mouth.” She earns the expected chuckles with the chorus of Amens this receives.

The touch sensitive digital clipboard responds instantly when prodded. Adah sorts and resorts the list with different filters.

“Everyone got their phase bands confirmed?” A chorus of agreement answers the project manager’s request. The crew point out their wristbands, clearly labeled for either Anzion or Venkyke.

“Tiphaine,” she nods toward the electrician, “as you can see, we’ve got a long list for you. The Busy Buffalo got a lot done, but they somehow forgot to get the main overhead lighting array online before they ran off for their breaks. That’ll be priority number one for our shift.”

Tiphaine Labauve gives a thumbs up for understanding and assigns the lighting ticket to herself.

“Amina, that puts you as her backup for now.” Adah nods toward a woman in the process of tucking a variety of hand tools into her belt. “Anything that needs major physical repair can wait until there’s light enough to see it by.”

“Got it.” The crew’s carpenter, Amina Bint Hafs, gestures an affirmative while Tiphaine co-assigns her to the work ticket.

“Markos, Tsim, there’s a lot left that hasn’t yet been assessed. We’ll start with the control structures on the higher floors and work our way down once life support is thoroughly tested, got it?”

Tsim Nruas Fa, the plumber, stops fidgeting with a roll of flex sealant long enough to give a brief answer indicating he understands the assignment. Markos appears concerned.

“How long are we scheduled for this sector?” the computer technician asks, peering over Tiphaine’s shoulder to assess the work list. There isn’t an end date listed.

“We’re here till it’s near done and Marketing can send in the finishing folks,” Adah answers, sounding serious, “it’ll be converted to their new offices soon enough, so they’re highly motivated to actually oversee some of the last bits in person. Our rotation’s 12 on, 24 off, swapping with the Busy Buffalo and the Energetic Emu.”

“The Buffalo have agreed to a bit of a contest.” Adah pauses and assigns the assessment tickets to the two men on the crew. “Whichever crew hits the highest completion percentage before reassignment gets first choice of quarters in the renovated apartment wing that’s opening next orbit.”

“But I like my space,” Markos complains, “I’ve got it all decorated just the way I like.”

“Markos, you live in a cesspool,” Tiphanie responds with a laugh, “it smells like so much mildew.”

Markos gives the electrician a dark glare.

“Just the way I like,” he repeats, “nice and damp, keeps my gills fresh. It’s just the right environment for living on this Moldy Donut. Not everyone can keep their place climate-controlled into a desert. Besides, it reduces static.”

They share a laugh at the old joke.

“If you want to stay in the old sector, I don’t think you’ll be forced out,” Adah answers the unasked question. “But some of us have need of a bit more space than we’re currently granted.”

“Think of it as an income opportunity,” Tsim offers, “you can always claim a space and sublet it to tourists.”

The crew finishes their preparations while grumbling playfully about the upcoming residential renovations and the unlikely chance of an increased volume of visitors. They pause to check their local communication links. Once gear is stowed and personal lights are lit, they head out to their duties.

The fact that their footsteps do not echo in the large open space of the tram station is a testament to its sound engineering. Carefully angled walls direct sound away. Old ficus trees spill out of their cracked planters, and the dim lighting gives them an eerie quality, like gnarled old men waiting menacingly for the mistakes of youth. Along the wall across the tram tracks, a reinforced window provides a view outside to where the stars shine solidly in the vast darkness of open space.

So far from Venkyke, Adah cannot even spot it in the dark. She shares the view of the Venkyke constellations with the plumber and electrician. The carpenter and computer tech can see Anzion’s golden halo of a ring through the window. It’s close enough in the orbit to clearly see the colors of swirling clouds on the planet’s surface.

The ring gate spins at a rate sufficient to make the orientation of the stars outside subtly rotate while viewed. It isn’t enough to make one dizzy, but it can be disorienting if one spends too long at it.

Tiphanie and Amina make their way to the employees only elevator across the darkened tram station. Tiphanie carefully follows the map laid out on her digital clipboard, making certain that they are not taking any wrong turns in finding it. The map is accurate enough, and their route brings them through the darkened hallway between two closed food vendors - a noodle shop and what was probably an alien rotisserie meats vendor if the remaining equipment is anything to judge by.

The elevator, thankfully, is currently working. It chimes cheerfully when summoned, and its doors open to a spotlessly cleaned interior.

The two women share a brief look of disbelief. The look into the elevator, observe its pristine condition, and then out into the tram station’s dilapidated back hallway again.

“I guess we found where Repair Crew B spent all their time,” Amina quips, shooting out a hand to stop the elevator’s doors from closing before they can enter.

“Maybe,” Tiphanie shrugs. She steps inside the elevator cautiously, as though she doesn’t really believe that it could possibly be in the condition that it appears.

They ride upward, inward really, and cross into the next level. The elevator seems to glide with all possible grace. It halts gently at their requested floor.

The maintenance level has additional emergency lighting. That is its best feature, the two repair technicians agree, as they head toward the centralized electrical control room. Unlike the perfect elevator, the employee hallway is lined with peeling sad wallpaper in an extremely outdated geometric pattern.

“I hope this glue ain’t toxic,” Tiphanie makes note of the motes of dust and decay in her headlamp’s feeble beam. “It’s flaking everywhere.”

The floor in the hallway has dark green carpet that softens their footfalls. When the hit a patch worn bare with excess wear, Tiphanie’s map shows that they have successfully located the room where the main electrical circuits should be.

Amina gestures dramatically and opens the door.

“After you, oh expert queen of the grid.”