“Have you ever worked a wind harvesting operation before, Stanton?”

“No sir. 25 years on a rig off the North Slope, Alaska.”

“Oil?”

“Yes sir.”

Commander Bryce’s expression flashes to frustration, and back to a grin. He lowers his voice. “Stanton, have you ever been in space?”

I shake my head. “No sir, I never even been in an airplane.”

He swears, and forces a laugh. “Wonderful! They assigned me a relic! Won’t this be fun?”

“Sir, all due respect, but I can handle whatever you can throw at me. I work good under pressure and I never seen a piece of equipment I can’t figure out. I won’t let you down.”

“We’ll see, Stanton.” The commander’s tone is grim. “Just try not to mess yourself. We dock in an hour.” He pushes off and floats past with a glare.

I’m drawn to the nearest porthole, glowing like a fiery sunset. This is Jupiter. Raging below, the Red Spot, a hellacious hurricane several times the size of Earth. Somewhere within the chaos, a small array of weatherbeaten turbines is anchored. My new home.