Moon Hub Now

I check the board. Bay seven is occupied by a Russian ore-crusher that hasn't moved in six months. The owner is drunk in the habitation ring.

They think the moon is about science. Or glory. Or war. moon hub

I glance at the duty roster. Two mechanics are on break, playing zero-G poker in the centrifuge. “I’ll wake them. Welcome to the Hub.” I check the board

I am Elias, the night manager. My shift starts when Earth rises over the western rim of the Petavius crater. They think the moon is about science

Not the silence of the void—that’s a myth. Out here, the regolith whispers through the radiators, the oxygen recyclers hum a low C, and the docking clamps groan like old sailors. No, the quiet of Luna Hub is the quiet of a train station at 3 AM. It’s the breath between heartbeats.

It’s not. It’s about logistics. It’s about the 3 AM shipments and the cracked seals and the quiet men who know which bay is empty. The moon is just a stepping stone. But a hub? A hub is where the stones land.