The journalist switched on his recorder, sipped his coffee and faced the soon-to-be former yardsman. "Why do you think they are closing SkyBase-1?" 

The old man grunted. "They say with the new ships being more efficient, more self-sufficient, this old supply yard is obsolete. Suppose that includes me too!" 

"My guess is they got one of these corporate gurus in. You know the kind. Straight out of college and think they're God. Wet as hell, they talk up in the clouds but don't take the time to connect with the workers. I shouldn't think this one's even left Earth."

The journalist shifted, made uneasy by the man's abrasive answer. He changed tack, "What's this place mean to you?"

"This place has been my life. Sixty years have gone by since I arrived here. I was here when we began carving these caverns from this lump of rock. Sixty years since we started to mine the belt. Sixty years since those recruitment posters worked their magic on my younger self. 'See the Solar System,' they boasted. 'Live among the Stars,' 'Brave the New Worlds.' Something like that anyway. Hah!" 

"See the solar system?" he said, snorting. "I never did. I've been here ever since, in these caverns. My quarters don't even have a viewport. I haven't seen a star in 10 years."

The old man gestured to the rock face to his left. "You see that wall there? That's 40 metres thick — solid rock. The solar system's the other side of it — not in here. But this has been my home, my life. I wouldn't have traded it." He ended quietly. 

The younger man shuffled on his seat, feeling uncomfortable with the man's openness. "You were here on day one? What was it like then?" 

"Those first months were crazy, let me tell you. We had four months to build the space dock and ready it so we could service those early freightliners. When the first one arrived we hadn't even set up the sleeping accommodations — we were all bunked at the back of the loading bay."

"Now, that was a nightmare. No way you got much sleep when cargo units were moving around 5 metres away. But we got it done." The old man settled back in his chair, gazing into the distance. 

"How long was it 'til the station was fully operational?" the journalist asked. 

"Hah! I'm not sure it's ever been fully operational. At least not in the way the boffins originally intended," he replied, laughing. "They had this grand dream of a sleek, elegant, efficient space port. Problem was that it was overstretched right from the start. We never had time to finish it. It was always a case of make do, and as time passed more and more reworks happened." 

"So it didn't look like this, then?" the journalist said gesturing at the bay. 

"Hell, no! Those designers wouldn't recognise the place if they turned up today. We started off following their blueprints, but we had to expand the capacity more than tenfold in a hurry so all those smooth lines were thrown out. As long as the floor was flat that would do." The old man laughed. 

"We were only expecting two or three ships a year, but Earth was a wreck and needed the resources — they had next to nothing back then. Within two years the schedule was one every other week." 

"Was it really that bad on Earth in those days?"

"God yes!" the yardsman replied, serious all of a sudden. He leant forward. "I don’t know what they told you about it at school, but to live through it was hell. Every day you thought war was going to break out."

"Every time a new rationing was announced, reactions got stronger. People would be on the streets, screaming and fighting. It was getting worse and worse…." 

He sighed. Then his smile returned. "I guess it made my decision to leave Earth easier." 

"Did it ease down once your shipments started reaching Earth?" 

"I guess. Well the war didn't happen. But I think it also re-kindled people's hopes, gave them a sign there was a chance, something out there." 

"Were there many people applying to work here?"

"Oh yes! There were thousands. The chance to get off Earth appealed to a lot of people. Being up here had its risks, but it's better than risking death in a pointless war. I just got ‘lucky’." The old man laughed again, almost choking on his drink. "Hah! My luck was to spend my entire adult life in a re-supply yard. It’s not been that bad though. I’ve heard of worse. I didn’t work in reclaim; that would've been bad." 

"Didn't you ever miss it? Earth?" The younger man asked. 

"Of course. Look up! The ceiling is 20 metres up. That's the highest ceiling we have. This is the biggest space we have here, less than a kilometre long, just a few hundred metres wide. Okay it's big enough for a football game during the down times — weird in this gravity by the way. But it's not Earth." 

"Has it turned out as you expected?" 

"In all that time I would have thought we’d have headed out. Gone to see what is there. Okay it’s a one-way trip, but I’d ’ve gone. But all we’ve done is set up the moon settlement — oh, and the Space-Domes. But they are just nice housing for the well-to-do, nothing serious. I guess when it got better on Earth the desire to leave it all behind faded." 

"So what's next now the yard is closing? Back to Earth?" 

"I might visit it, but I don't think I'll return. At my age and having been away so long I don't think I want the gravity. I'm headed for the Moon. Okay, I'll need a space suit to get out onto the surface, but it will be good to stand under a sky again."