A Day In A Life: Carlos López, 2290, Charon Dock Station**
04:30 - The Tugboat Frame Carlos López stood beneath the massive, mate-ready-built tugboat hull, its skeletal frame suspended by mag-lock cranes like a leviathan caught mid-flight. The air in Bay 7 was cool, carrying the faint, metallic tang of ozone and fresh sealant, a stark contrast to the usual cacophony of welding torches and grinding tools. It was quiet, a sacred hush broken only by the distant hum of the station’s life support and the soft clink of his thermos against the steel floor. He sipped bitter café, the warmth spreading through him, a familiar comfort from a thermos marked “López Seniority Shipwrights Welcome to the family”. The same weathered, hand-painted sign, a relic from his father-in-law’s early days, hung proudly above the main entrance to their workshop. This company, Carlos knew, wasn’t just a business; it was family, woven into the very fabric of their lives, a legacy built on sweat and stubborn pride. He, Carlos López, understood this deeply. He had married the second daughter of the old man, Elena, a woman as strong and resilient as the ships they built, her laughter a constant melody in their bustling home. Abuela, his wife’s mother, was the engine mechanic, a wizened woman with grease-stained hands and a sharp wit that could cut through any argument. He, Carlos, was the construction welder, his life intertwined with theirs, close in work and in spirit. This is how he had earned his surname, López, a name he carried with pride, for before, he had simply been a talented employee, like the others, but now he was family.
Last year, they’d nearly folded. A dry quarter, the kind that withered hope and left a bitter taste in the mouth. Almost no orders, just the echo of empty bays and the gnawing fear of failure. Only one live-boat, heavily underpaid, a charity project almost, yet massively overbuilt – ten times stronger than usual, a testament to their stubborn pride and refusal to compromise on quality, even when it hurt. “We build them right, or we don’t build them at all,” his father-in-law, old Manolo, used to grumble. The universal basic grant – 0.5creds monthly for every adult citizen – had been their lifeline. It kept the lights on, paid his team’s subsistence meals, ensured his daughter’s school tuition was covered. The grant didn’t make them rich; it merely kept them afloat, a thin thread holding them above the abyss. They had almost had to sell one of the family apartments, a painful thought that still sent a shiver down his spine. The rescue had come in the form of a contract for the development of three new orbital pods. Sleek, elegant, and demanding, they were a challenge that reignited the spark in the workshop. His stepson, Kai, a brilliant young engineer, had developed the exterior and the engines, pushing the boundaries of compact propulsion with audacious designs. His son, Mateo, with his artistic expertise, had designed the comfortable, ergonomic interiors, turning cold metal into inviting spaces, a true artist with a welder’s touch. A perfect pair, when it came to the business, a good marriage of talents, a stable option for the followship of the company.
“Abuela always said ‘a stable keel, not a golden mast,’” he muttered to himself, the old woman’s wisdom a comforting presence in the quiet bay. “She was right. Flashy doesn’t last. Solid does. And we are solid.” He took another sip of coffee, the metallic tang of the air a reminder of the honest work that defined their lives.
07:00 - Family Check-ins They owned three flats, a practical arrangement for their sprawling, interconnected family. One for the old couple, Manolo and Abuela, who, having run the company for decades, now occasionally lent a hand or, more often, looked after the children, their stories filling the rooms with history. One for his kids and his wife, Elena, a bustling hub of youthful energy and the aroma of Elena’s famous nutrient paste stew. And one, smaller, near the docks, for him and any interim workers, a shared space that fostered camaraderie and late-night discussions about orbital mechanics. Charon was compact, a jewel in the frigid embrace of the Kuiper Belt, and space was a premium. His stepson, Kai, a lanky figure with perpetually oil-stained hands, came by, thermos in hand, a faint scent of synth-oil clinging to his work clothes.
“Morning, Carlos,” Kai greeted, his voice still a bit rough with sleep, but his eyes already sharp with engineering calculations. “Ready to tackle those guidance relays for the new tug? They’re trickier than they look.” “Always, Kai. You got the updated schematics? I want to double-check the power conduits before we seal anything,” Carlos asked, gesturing to the holographic projector, already mentally tracing the lines. Kai nodded, activating the projection, a complex web of glowing blue lines appearing in the air. “Just finished them. This little mighty boat, she’s going to be faster and more powerful than any interplanetary ship on short distances. Capable of 0.012c. We’re pushing the envelope on the manoeuvring thrusters, really squeezing every last bit of thrust out of them.” “0.012c for a tug? You’re a madman, Kai,” Carlos chuckled, a genuine warmth in his voice, a mix of pride and disbelief. “But a brilliant one. Are you sure the structural integrity can handle that kind of stress on repeated short jumps?” “That’s why we’re using the new dura-alloy on the frame, Carlos. And the inertial dampeners are top-of-the-line. It’ll hold,” Kai assured him, tapping a section of the schematic. “We ran simulations all night. Green across the board.”
“Our company is just a family business,” Carlos worried aloud, a familiar refrain. “New interim employees this year. Can we keep them? The workload is picking up, but the margins are still tight.” He thought of young Anya, fresh out of the Academy, her eagerness a stark contrast to the weary veterans. Gladly the social-grant kept every hand employed, a safety net that allowed them to take on apprentices and keep their core team intact. Some folks scoffed, calling it a handout, but Carlos saw the truth - “You pay taxes, you deserve a fallback. It’s not charity, it’s an investment in our collective future. Keeps the economy moving, keeps families fed.”
13:00 - The Tug Drive Install Today was the big one. The air in Bay 7 crackled with anticipation. They hoisted the tug’s custom-built high-speed manoeuvring drive - compact, high-powered, beautiful, a gleaming marvel of engineering. It hummed with latent energy, promising incredible speed. “Only a madman puts this engine in a tug,” his stepson engineer joked, wiping sweat from his brow as the massive unit slowly descended. Carlos grinned, watching the precise movements of the mag-lock cranes. “A madman… or a genius like you, Kai. Just make sure it seats perfectly. One micron off, and we’ll be chasing a runaway tug through the Kuiper Belt.” “Don’t worry, Carlos. Abuela herself calibrated the alignment lasers this morning,” Kai replied, his voice tight with concentration. “She said if it’s off, she’ll personally re-weld it with her teeth.” A ripple of nervous laughter went through the crew. Abuela’s reputation was legendary. “Alright, everyone, steady now! Slow and easy,” Carlos commanded, his eyes fixed on the delicate dance of machinery. The drive slid into place with a soft thud, the magnetic locks engaging with a satisfying click. “Perfect,” he breathed, a wave of relief washing over him. “Now, let’s get those power conduits connected. Mateo, you got the thermal shielding ready?” Mateo, his son, emerged from behind a stack of components, a roll of shimmering, heat-resistant fabric in his hands. “Ready when you are, Papa. This tug’s going to be a furnace with that engine, but she’ll be a fast furnace.”
18:00 - Dinner With the Crew The mess hall buzzed with the day’s triumphs and tribulations. They ate subscription based - crew and family together, a noisy, vibrant gathering. Fried plankton, noodles, and garlic-sprayed soy-steaks, a simple but hearty meal. His wife, Elena, laughed over trade gossip with Anya, the new apprentice, who was wide-eyed at the stories of daring rescues and near-misses in the asteroid fields. “Did you hear about the ‘Stardust Drifter’?” Elena asked, her eyes twinkling. “Lost its primary thruster near Ceres. Took three days for a heavy hauler to tow it back. Captain swore he saw a space kraken.” “A space kraken, Elena? Really?” Carlos teased, but he knew the stories were part of the fabric of their lives. The mechanic’s kid, little Leo, drew spaceships on the wall projector, his imagination soaring. Abuela, meanwhile, was deep in conversation with old Manolo, dissecting the new engine’s performance. “The torque converters are a marvel, Manolo,” she rasped, gesturing with a soy-steak. “But I still think they could have shaved another half-kilo off the housing if they’d used a different alloy.” Manolo just grunted, a smile playing on his lips. “Always the critic, old woman. But you’re usually right.”
22:00 - Stars and Silence Carlos looked out the service hatch above his apartment. Past the dock’s flickering lights, the stars shimmered over Pluto’s shadow, an endless, silent ocean. The cold, distant beauty of the Kuiper Belt was a constant reminder of the vastness they navigated. He thought of the tug, now fully assembled, waiting for its maiden voyage.
“This is freedom,” he whispered, the words a soft exhalation into the cold, recycled air. Not luxury. Not power. Just a small business that didn’t fall apart, a family that stayed together, building dreams out of metal and grit. “And a chance to build something that truly matters.” He thought of the “Horizon Voyager,” the X-ship they’d built the lifeboat for, soon to embark on its ambitious journey. It was ships like that, pushing the boundaries, that made their work meaningful.
A tugboat hummed in the drydock, nearly finished, a silent promise of tomorrow’s work.
Tomorrow, she’d fly.
Aftermath The very next day two ships left the dockyards: in the early hours, a brand new tugboat, the “Charon’s Workhorse,” went into service, its powerful engines a testament to López Seniority Shipwrights’ ingenuity. Carlos watched its departure from the control room, a quiet pride swelling in his chest. “She’s a beauty, isn’t she, Kai?” he murmured, watching the tug disappear into the inky blackness. “Fastest tug in the Belt, Papa,” Kai replied, a wide grin on his face. “And stable as a rock.” In the late hours, the X-ship for which they had built the lifeboat, the “Horizon Voyager,” accelerated. Carlos López saw the transmissions, first 0.01c, then 0.02c, “much too fast,” he thought, a knot forming in his stomach. He remembered the overbuilt lifeboat, a “charity project” that now seemed like a premonition. “Elena, are you seeing this?” he called out to his wife, who was reviewing inventory logs. “The Voyager? Yes, it’s pushing hard,” she replied, her brow furrowed. “They’re really testing the limits of that new propulsion system.” “Limits? They’re shattering them! 0.02c in a single jump? That’s reckless,” Carlos muttered, pacing the small apartment. “What about the G-forces? The structural integrity? Our lifeboat is strong, but even it has its breaking point.” “They’ve got advanced dampeners, Carlos. And the hull is reinforced,” Elena tried to reassure him, though her voice held a hint of concern. “Reinforced isn’t invincible,” he countered, his mind racing through stress calculations. “That’s why we built that lifeboat so robust. We had a feeling they’d push it.” The “Horizon Voyager” continued to accelerate towards Neptune, a tiny, distant speck of light. It took several flights and some failures, including a near-catastrophic hull breach on a test run, until the “Horizon Vanguard” (the second of the three orbital pods they built) reached a sustained 0.1c in the year 2301. Meanwhile, his shipyard developed better, more rigid live-boats which could withstand the forces of higher speeds, incorporating lessons learned from the “Voyager’s” audacious, and sometimes terrifying, journey. The López family business, against all odds, continued to thrive, building not just ships, but a legacy of resilience and innovation in the vast, unforgiving expanse of space.
Title: A Day In A Life: Carlos López, 2290, Charon Dock Station
04:30 - The Tugboat Frame Carlos López stood beneath the massive mate-ready-built tugboat hull, its skeletal frame suspended by mag-lock cranes. It was quiet in the bay. He sipped bitter café from a thermos marked “López Seniority Shipwrights Welcome to the family” The same to lined sign pranked above the main entrance. This company means family for any employee. He, Carlos López, did know. He married the second daughter of the old man. Abuela was the engine mechanic, he the construction welder, close in work and life. This is how he got his surname, before he just was a talented employee like the others.
Last year, they’d nearly folded. A dry quarter. Almost no orders. Only one live-boat, heavily underpaid, and massively overbuild. Ten times stronger than usual. The grant - 0.5creds monthly for adults - kept the lights on. It paid his team’s subsistence meals, his daughter’s school. The grant didn’t make them rich. They almost had to sold one of the apartments. The rescue was a contract about the development of three new orbital pods. Sleek and fine. His stepson developed the exterior and the engines, his son with his artistic expertise designed the comfortable interiors. A perfect pair, when it comes to the business, a good marriage, a stable option for the followship.
“Abuela always said ‘a stable keel, not a golden mast,’” he muttered.
07:00 - Family Check-ins They owned three flats: one for the old couple, before them they ran the company, now they occasionally worked or looked after the children; one for his kids and his wife, and one near the docks for him and interim workers. Shared spaces. Charon was compact. In the bring of the Kuiper Belt. His stepson came by to help wire the guidance relays for the new tug-boat. His new plans showed the little mighty boat, faster and more powerful than any interplanetary ship on short distances capable of 0.012c.
The meal service delivered the breakfast, a good variety for different tastes. Quickly his daughter turned up and grabbed a sandwich, and off she was for school waving - “Love you, Pá Pá.”
10:00 - Midday Orders “Two more orbital-pods, and the one tug-boat, all on spec,” he told his accountant, a new employee from Mars. They looked to this new mobile-shipyard, that docked to Charon’s, their space-station last year. Turned out they build that overengineered live-boat for this shipyard, the CHV - a forge for X-ships, who operated under the contract of Jade Horizon Energy. The mobile-shipyard had his own gravity ring with modern offices and quarters. When they delivered the liveboat, he was in their lobby with the exclusive view through a panoramic lens directly on Pluto’s heart.
“Our company is just a family business”, he worried, “New interim employees this year. Can we keep them?” he wondered. Gladly the social-grant kept every hand employed. Some folks scoffed, but Carlos saw the truth - “You pay taxes, you deserve a fallback.”
13:00 - The Tug Drive Install Today was the big one. They hoisted the tug’s custom-built high-speed manoeuvring drive - compact, high-powered, beautiful. “Only a madman puts this engine in a tug,” his stepson engineer joked. Carlos grinned. “A madman… or a genius like you.”
18:00 - Dinner With the Crew They ate subscription based - crew and family together. Fried plankton, noodles, and garlic-sprayed soy-steaks. His wife laughed over trade gossip; the mechanic’s kid drew spaceships on the wall projector.
22:00 - Stars and Silence Carlos looked out the service hatch above his apartment. Past the dock’s flickering lights, the stars shimmered over Pluto’s shadow.
“This is freedom,” he whispered. Not luxury. Not power. Just a small business that didn’t fall apart.
A tugboat hummed in the drydock, nearly finished.
Tomorrow, she’d fly.
Aftermath The very next day two ship’s left the dockyards: in the early hours, a brand new tugboat went into service, and in the late hours, the X-ship for which they had built the lifeboat accelerated. Carlos Lopez saw the transmissions, first 0.01c, then 0.02c, “much too fast” thought Carlos López while the “Horizon Voyager” continued to accelerate towards Neptune. It took several flight and some failures until the “Horizon Vanguard” reached 0.1c in the year 2301. Meanwhile his shipyard developed better more rigged live-boats which can withstand the forces of higher speeds.