Endo runs a perfectly ordinary moving company. The only unusual thing is that he works in space.

Sixteen years in the business. He’s hauled cargo everywhere from the Jupiter belt to the Saturn ring zone. The company slogan: “Any load, any distance, delivered with a smile.” The problem is, lately some of his clients don’t seem to have much of a load left.

There’s a man named Kimura. Quiet, unremarkable — Endo took his first job five years ago.

It was a normal move. Fifty boxes, thirteen pieces of furniture, odds and ends stacked down the hallway. Endo brought two crew and had it done in three hours.

The second job came a year later. Twenty-eight boxes, nine pieces of furniture. “I’ve been decluttering,” Kimura said.

Third time, the year after that. Twelve boxes, four pieces of furniture. “Wanted to simplify.”

From the fourth through the sixth move, the stuff kept dwindling. It wasn’t that Kimura was actively throwing things away — it felt more like things were just quietly disappearing on their own.

When the seventh request came in, Endo went to do the estimate and stood in the doorway for a moment without speaking.

Two boxes. One suitcase.

”…Where are you moving to?”

“There’s a cheap unit open on Jupiter’s fourth moon.”

“Ah,” Endo said. Cheap units out here usually meant low gravity, bad views, or both. In Kimura’s case, probably both — but that wasn’t his business.

Endo loaded the freighter alone. Done in two hours.

His company’s quoting software throws an error if you enter zero for the item count. Minimum was one. He typed in “2” and moved on.

When the call came for the eighth job, the screen auto-tagged the caller: Kimura (Job 8).

“I need to move again.”

“Right.”

“Just one suitcase this time.”

Endo paused.

”…Is that actually a move?”

“What do you mean?”

“If it’s one bag, couldn’t you just take it yourself? On the train or something?”

“There aren’t any trains in space.”

That’s true, Endo thought.

He went to do the estimate. The apartment held a single suitcase, standing alone in the middle of the room. No curtains. No shelves. Through the window, Saturn’s rings hung flat across the sky. Kimura himself looked a little thinner than before.

“Will you take the job?” Kimura asked.

“Next time you might have even less,” Endo said. He meant it as a light joke.

“I don’t know,” Kimura said. “But I’ll call you again.”

Endo nodded and pulled out his quote sheet. He typed “1” in the item count field. No error.

He loaded the suitcase into the cargo hold. One bag, alone in a bay built for far more. Out of habit, he reached for the tie-down strap and cinched it. The thing couldn’t have shifted if it tried — but his hands did it anyway.