Rushing Through the Station Toward the Airlock

Rushing Through the Station Toward the Airlock

I was rushing through the station near my office because I was late for a work trip, except the departure board listed ship names instead of trains. My badge wouldn't scan and I kept digging through my bag for it while people behind me sighed. The corridor to the gate was the same hallway as my building, only longer, and the lights hummed like the fridge at home. My manager was waiting by the airlock in her usual cardigan, but she also looked like my old college roommate, and I couldn't tell which one I was supposed to apologize to. I wasn't dressed right—sneakers and a hoodie for what felt like a formal briefing. Someone called my name over the intercom and I started running, but the floor barely moved under me. I woke up still worried I'd missed it.