Grandpa and I stepped off the hovertram onto the station platform. The air smelled faintly of ozone and engine oil, a combination that always reminded me of movement—of places being connected across impossible distances. Grandpa wore a long brown coat lined with synthetic wool, and a leather satchel hung across his shoulder, filled with papers and tools. I wore my jacket zipped up tight, sneakers with reinforced soles, and my little backpack bouncing against my spine. Even though most people in the station wore practical evacuation clothes, the station had a advance technology it was modern and faintly futuristic technology automated booths with glowing holographic displays, magnetic luggage carriers, and glass walls that showed stars streaking past outside, even though we were still on the planet.
We waited in a small booth for our train to Proxima Centauri b. People all around us shifted and murmured softly. Some were tapping screens that floated in midair, scrolling endlessly for updates on the evacuation; others hunched against luggage, exhausted, trying to find comfort in the cramped space. I noticed the children, staring wide-eyed at the monitors, and the elderly, rubbing their eyes and muttering under their breath. The station smelled faintly of recycled air and something metallic, like the inside of a ship, and the hum of engines vibrating through the floor made it feel alive, almost like it was breathing along with us.
Finally, the announcement came, and we entered the train. The interior was sleek, utilitarian, and glowing faintly from panels built into the walls. Seats were arranged to maximize space, some facing large windows that revealed the void outside. As we moved down the aisle, I noticed people sleeping slumped over in chairs, weak from illness or exhaustion. Others were staring at their phones, waiting, scrolling, tapping, barely moving. At first, I thought they were slothing, but I quickly realized that many couldn't do anything, these people are trapped in this limbo of exhaustion, fear, and displacement.
Grandpa and I sat along the side, near a wide window, so we could watch the stars glide past. Outside, they were astonishing: brilliant points of light scattered across the black expanse, each one burning with a color I had never seen before—some white, some golden, some faintly blue. I pressed my face against the glass and pointed, calling out to Grandpa.
"Grandpa! Look! Over there!"
He was slumped in his seat, eyes closed, sleeping lightly, and didn't answer. I sighed and slipped from the seat, heading to the small bathroom at the end of the car to pee.
When I came out, I noticed three kids, roughly my age, sitting against a wall near the door. They waved, smiling, and I talk to me "hello, what's you name?", "I'm Nixxin, what are you guys playing right now" "we are playing hide and seek do you want to join" "really? Please let me join I would love to play" and I joined them playing. We started playing hide-and-seek in the narrow aisle, ducking behind chairs and luggage, laughing quietly so as not to disturb anyone. The sound of our small game was sharp against the low hum of the train's engines and the soft murmur of the passengers. I hid behind a row of seats, heart pounding, listening to them count, when something caught my attention.
In the food car, a guard was handing out supplies. I watched closely, my curiosity sharpening. One person received a full pack of rations, including fruit and extra water. Another person, just a few feet away, received only a tiny packet, barely enough for a meal. My stomach twisted. I had learned about fairness and justice from the Visionary Altar, and this did not feel right.
I crept closer.
"Oum... Excuse me," I asked quietly. "Why are they getting different food? Why isn't it the same for everyone? It's unfair!"
The guard glanced at me, expression flat, and shrugged.
"Kid the life needs balance, not fairness, if you want fairness in this life, the life will be against you" he said, then another guard ask the guard "why do kids always ask something?", Then the guard answered while pouring soup in plate "because kids know less in this life so they will ask and ask something to learn," and they moved on, distributing the remaining rations.
I frowned, trying to understand what he meant. Balance, not fairness? I didn't get it, but I didn't have time to think much more. My heart was still racing from hiding. I turned and rejoined the three kids, who were giggling behind a row of seats.
We continued playing, weaving through narrow aisles, ducking under luggage racks, and leaping between chairs. I felt a strange mix of excitement and unease—the unfairness of the food still lingered in my mind, a puzzle I didn't yet know how to solve. But for now, I pushed it aside. The game was real, and laughter felt safe.
We hid behind a bulkhead, giggling and catching our breath. I peeked around the corner once more, and my eyes landed on the guard again, who was moving down the car with a cold, calculating expression. It made me shiver slightly, though I couldn't explain why.
For the moment, the train continued its steady hum, the stars moving endlessly outside, and the children continued to play. And then, in the next moment of hiding, I felt a hand grab my shoulder "I cought you, why are you hiding so far," and I had been caught "so you guys can't find me" I said while scratching my neck behind "oh that makes sense" and he runs to find the other.