Outside, the rain cascades from a murky sky, pummelling a dull green carpet of something that is not quite grass. It never seems to end, the rain on this moon.
In the distance and beyond a muddy river delta, the lights of a small city glitter beneath the shelter of a colossal ruin, the remains of a starship of unfathomable size reaching high into the low clouds.
The air outside is cold, a wet kind of cold that seeps into your bones.
But you are warm.
You watch it all from the window of a small wooden house, as the music of a worn record and the soft overlapping voices of your companions drifts into the air.
A fire crackles and flickers, and though what it burns is not wood, it casts a welcoming orange glow across the room.
Here, among towering bookshelves and plentiful pantries, in the gathering place of this little colony, you are safe and happy.
