“Your funeral. This way.” He motioned for me to follow him. “I’m going out there with you for part of today. Show you where stuff’s at. We’ll come back to refuel and cool off. Then it’s gonna be on you. My duty is in here. I usually only go out to the surface in an emergency or when one of the bots needs tending, but you’re replacing them now. Beats me why they’ve done this to you, but it ain’t none of my business. I’m doing my time here just like the rest of the assholes.” He laughed, but I wasn’t sure what part of that was meant to be funny.

I tried for a grin, but it was pathetic at best, and I gave up.

“Don’t be nervous. Most folks here ain’t ever been out there. The suit will hold you. Just find me when you clock in every day. Find me on your way out. This job ain’t hard, just brutal as all hell.”

I snorted.

“What?”

“Just you called it hell.”

He gave me an earnest look. “It is. I’m tellin’ you. Ain’t fun out there.”

“But the planet is literally called hell.”

“It sure is.”

I gave him some side eye. I still couldn’t tell if he knew that Abaddon literally meant Hell or not.

A bay door at least six stories tall and half as wide took up almost the entire wall. From there I could see the top of the cargo bay, maybe fifteen or so stories up. To the side of the bay door was a much smaller one—about the size of an ordinary elevator. It was hotter on this side of the bay, but it wasn’t oppressive. Either I was getting used to the heat or the walls weren’t just metal like they seemed. They must’ve had some sort of insulation system.

A little keypad and two red and green buttons took up the tiny space between the smaller and bigger door, but they didn’t seem very high tech. Both red buttons were flashing.

“Why are they flashing?” I pointed to it. “What does it mean?”