The resupply barge lumbered into lunar orbit. This automated ship brought fresh supplies to Lunatraz every Wednesday.

Steel containers detached from the barge, then descended for Lunatraz’s cargo dock, where suited unloading crews waited.

Today, Meck was among the crews.

“How’d the new guy get dock duty already?” one of the other prisoners complained over the radio. “I had to wait a year.”

“I waited two,” grumbled another. “Hey, new guy, what’s so special about you?”

“Guess Warden has an eye for talent,” replied Meck. “And good looks.”

They chuckled and scoffed. Humor, Meck had learned, was in short supply on Lunatraz. He found he could defuse any situation with a good quip.

As he scanned the dock, Meck began to understand why this job rated so highly with the prisoners. The chance to go outside felt liberating, even in a suit.

The striking view didn’t hurt either. Stark gray plains stretched in every direction, marred only by the occasional boulder or impact crater. The Moon held its own harsh beauty.

“Here they come!” somebody yelled.

Meck spotted a dozen orange flares high overhead. The containers were on final approach. Everyone instinctively backed away from the landing pads.

Each container touched down in a cloud of dust, then automatically splayed open. The crews rushed forward like swarming locusts. Soon a steady stream of cargo crates moved toward the prison.

The weekly resupply made Wednesdays special for everyone. Aside from essentials like food and water, the barge brought niceties like shampoo and toothpaste. Prisoners could buy these comfort items with their work money.

“Whoa, a case of peanut butter!” somebody exclaimed over the radio. Everyone cheered.

Meck found himself smiling. By far, this was his happiest experience at Lunatraz.

The crews competed to unload their containers in record time. Today, a crew on Meck’s left finished first. They exchanged gloved fist-bumps and high-fives as their container closed and began its launch sequence.

“Hey, new guy,” a team member called, “help me with this last pallet.”

Meck followed him into the container. Together they maneuvered the final bundle down the ramp.

“We’re done,” the teammate said. “Hit the switch.”

Meck looked over his shoulder and saw the container’s control switch. He flicked it and red warning lights flashed. The loading ramp began to rise.

The teammate dragged the pallet away on a jack, leaving Meck alone on the landing pad.

He looked around. Nobody in sight. Nearby, other containers were kicking up dust clouds as they departed, obscuring him from view.

This was his chance. But he’d have to hurry. The cargo ramp had nearly closed.

Meck made a running start, then launched himself toward the top of the ramp. The low lunar gravity allowed him to nearly fly. He was four meters from the surface and still rising.

He tensed as he soared for the narrow opening. A split-second too late and he’d be crushed.

Meck slammed into the ramp and hooked an arm over the lip. With a grunt he wrenched his body over the top, tumbling inside the container an instant before it slammed shut.

Pitch black. He activated his helmet’s flashlight. Nothing but scuffed steel walls.

The cargo container never carried people, so it lacked basic safety limits. A sudden launch threw Meck to the floor, pinning him.

Perhaps this plan had been a mistake, he realized belatedly. The odds of escape had seemed so remote that he never considered what to do if he succeeded.

But here he was, on his way into orbit, trapped inside an empty cargo container.

Meck forced himself to stay calm and think. The container would dock with the barge and begin a three-day trip back to Earth. Once there, someone would open it and find him. His mission would be over, but at least he’d survive.

A knot gripped his stomach. Warily he raised his wrist to check the suit’s control pad. The knot tightened. His pad showed only two hours of oxygen. Two hours of air for a three-day trip.

They would indeed find him. As a corpse.