“Excuse me, would you happen to know the time?” A loud, harsh knock and a loud, hoarse voice woke me from my rest. “I think my clock is broken,” it explained further.

    I ascended from sleep and looked at the clock at my bedside. 14:07 common time - I’d been napping for a whole five hours. I sprung out of bed and approached the door. “2:07,” I shouted back.

    “Thank you,” replied the voice, and I slid open the door just in time to see the retreating back of a fellow passenger, a Primoid, down the narrow hall.

    Succinctly put, Primoids are lizardmen. It was a chance meeting between humankind and Primoid in 2071, 50 years ago, that sparked the beginning of what would later become the Galactic Federation. This particular Primoid was a female, judging by the short yet noticeable frill at its neck as well as its larger frame.

    She glanced back with reptilian eyes as I opened the door. “Jusst woken up, have you? I’m afraid we sstill haven’t warped. Don’t know what’ss keeping them.” 25 years alive in Prime and the customary hiss of the Primoids still occasionally caught me off guard.

    “Dang. Um, I didn’t miss lunch, did I?”

    “You did. B-But sso did I. Hopefully we aren’t that late.”

    I walked behind her, staying clear of her tail. The cramped, brightly lit hallway made me think for the second time that day that the only difference between consumer class and luxury class was the fact that I had my own room.

   The mess hall was just a short elevator ride down. It seemed like the rest of the passengers were also late to lunch, or at least had decided to linger for a while. As this was a bipedal-only vessel, only humans and Primoids were present. Lunch was actually quite good, consisting of a (relatively) fresh salad and synthetic beef, roasted medium well. It must have been the other feature I paid a premium for.

   Me and my Primoid companion were forced to sit at the same table. Our trays smacked down on the polymer surface, and she decided to initiate conversation. “Sso, why are you heading to Island Maroon?”

   I glanced at the tableside display, which was currently showing an artsy picture of a red rock cliff overlooking a sea of golden clouds. Some informational text was below it:

Island Maroon

(Ares-Gamma)

Whether for work or relaxation, Island Maroon is the hottest and coolest place to be! Originally a pressure-specced prisoner colony established in 2115, a convict there struck gold - figuratively and literally - a year later and, well, the rest is history. From the fascinating indoor metropolis of Venna Rra to the beautiful seaside resorts of Cloudarch, there’s something for everyone on the new Red Planet!

   Supplementary information in fine print scrolled below it: 50 parts CO2, 40 parts O2, and 9 parts S; tectonically active; orbiting the Class M red giant Ares; 0.78 Terran atmospheres of pressure on the continents. I knew the planet’s geology fairly well, but the convict thing was new to me.

   “Oh, you know,” I answered after a second, “I just want to de-stress. Going to, um,” I glanced at the display again, “Cloudarch, I guess. I don’t know, I picked this planet on a whim. Say -”

   “I have ssome exciting business opportunities mysself - oh, ssorry?”

   “Say, I didn’t know it was a prisoner colony. Are any prisoners still there?”

   “Of course they are,” the Primoid said, as if I should’ve already known. “It’ss pretty hard to dig those convictss out of caves once they’ve already esstablished themsselves. P-P-Prime Fed just tells them where they can’t go and regular people try to avoid ssetting foot in their turf.”

   “Huh.” I had a sudden thought. “Have Raid -”

   I was interrupted by an abrasive-sounding alarm. “Incoming warp. Prepare for warp.” A synthetic voice bleated over the P.A. Then the captain’s voice: “Alrighty folks. Sorry for the long wait, there were more problems with the ships ahead of us than we expected. Hold on tight for warp.”

   “About time,” muttered the Primoid. “I hate the waiting in line part of these.”

   Suddenly, silence enveloped the room. I felt what could only be described as a warp in the space-time continuum pass through me. In university, the physics of space travel was a required course, though one I remembered only vaguely. Warp gates were, at a minimum, ten kilometers across - the only size that could create a stable enough wormhole. The Sol Gate was ten times this size, for maximum reliability. It was inconceivable that the Sol Gate, by far the largest gate in Prime, could fail, but the usual warp gate had a 0.0001% failure rate, on average - not high enough to even consider it a risk, but common enough that the few failures that had ever occurred (and their nasty aftermaths) were widely talked about for years to come. Each ship had to be as compact as possible to minimize matter sent (and therefore energy spent), hence the sardine can I was travelling in.

   Despite my 25 years living in this galaxy, despite my communications position at Lexander Co., I had never felt the sensation of going through a warp gate before then. It wasn’t a feeling I was likely to forget.

   A few seconds later my body felt like it was back to normal, but before I could make another move, the alarm sounded again, this time blaring, “Accelerating to sub-light speeds in 500 seconds. Please return to your cabins and secure yourselves.” One of the cooks came out of the kitchen and shouted the same message. “Everybody back to your rooms! Sub-light incoming!”

   A cacophony of noises erupted as the hundred or so passengers currently in the mess hall moved to dispose of their trays and jam themselves in the elevators.

   “Well, I guess thiss is it,” said the Primoid, and bid goodbye to me with the universal gesture of greeting and leaving: a closed fist raised to head level. I returned the gesture. And then we walked in the same direction towards the elevator we came in.

   Thankfully, many people packed themselves between us as the elevator filled up. Before long, I was back in my small room, about to strap myself in for acceleration. Before I did that, I looked through the porthole-like window toward this new system, the Ares system.

   The ship was slowly turning to the right, so I could see the gate I’d just popped out of emerging into view. We were about half a kilometer away at this point, but the gate, the size of a small city in diameter, still filled my vision. With no wormhole active, the true shape of the gate could be seen. A perfectly shaped hollow dome, plated with tons and tons of reflective metals, truly dwarfed the tiny vessel I peered out of. Among the thousands of stars, Sol, 7,000 light years away, could not be seen. I stepped away from the window and strapped myself into the bed.

   Before long, the alarm rang once more and the voice announced a countdown. 5…4…3…2…1… 

   This time, I had another unforgettable experience, though much different from the warp. An intense sickening feeling, like my insides were being pulled apart, then black.

-    -    -

    I came to with a jolt, feeling sore and with a splitting headache. Looking at the clock, we’d been at sub-light speed for about two hours. Painkillers had been mysteriously provided on the bedside table, which I took with gratuity. My hearing gradually returned, in time to hear the captain on the P.A. “…for another few hours, then we’ll descend…” - a dramatic pause - “to Island Maroon. Please sit tight.” Simultaneously, I heard the sound of a door sliding open, then a harsh knock.

    “4:32,” I yelled.

    “T - okay, thankss.”

    I spent the next three hours on my Netpad reading some more about the planet - formally called Ares-Gamma, being the third terrestrial planet from its star. I learned a bit more - how it got its common name by being the only habitable planet (or moon) in the Ares system; how its surface is divided into the Highlands and Lowlands, the Highlands having lower pressure, temperature, and topographic variation on average, thereby being the place most people inhabit, the Lowlands being essentially the bottom of the Cloud Sea, where thick forests grow and fresh lava flows. How there is no H2O naturally present on the planet, and the flora use a liquid sulphur compound called “acid water” (which is what the clouds are made of) to photosynthesize - releasing a great amount of O2 in the process. How the photosynthesizing cells of said flora are forced to absorb as much of the low-energy light from the red giant Ares as possible, making all the plants black as night. How there are no native fauna on the planet. And as the captain reminded us passengers, “We’re approaching your destination. Remember your respirators, and your skinsuits, if you need them,” I pulled the equipment out of my bag. I needed the respirator - oxygen poisoning would be a serious threat on Island Maroon - but I did not need a skinsuit, as my parents had enough foresight to spec me with pressure resistance before birth.

    I followed the stream of passengers back down the elevator and out the pressure door, through the person-wide gangway into spaceport customs. There, facing us in a low, wide room, was a long row of glastic doors, reflecting too much light to see through. I approached one of them, where a device at the top scanned my face, and, recognizing me, said in a warm, feminine voice, “Welcome to Ares-Gamma, Pittsburgh Lexander.”

    The door opened, and I was finally able to see the spaceport inside. The first thing I noticed was the reddish lighting. It was 19:45, but common time means nothing on planets that are not Sol-Terra. Indeed, looking upwards through the transparent ceiling, the star Ares was directly overhead, casting its dim red glow on all that lay beneath. Even the sky was red. It seemed that on Island Maroon, appropriately named, everything was red.

    Venna Rra Spaceport itself was a massive steel structure, 4 floors high. It was arranged like a mall, with walkways leading around an open central area to various offices. Bright, colorful advertisement screens littered the walls, supplementing the red lighting. In the central area was a towering granite statue of a Primoid, presumably Venna Rra’s founder. If there’s one thing to know about most Primoids, it’s that they like to have their accomplishments known. The spaceport was bustling with activity. Voices in varied timbres echoed all over the place, and people of all species walked and talked, filling the structure to its capacity. I felt positively excited, being always eager to learn about other species, and looked around for any I didn’t recognize.

    While the majority of the population in the Galactic Federation currently was either human or Primoid, a portion of it consists of other species, and Venna Rra Spaceport provided an excellent sample of that variety. The third most populous species, at least of the ones that travelled around the galaxy, were the Argopods. They are most akin to spiders from Sol-Terra - eight spindly (though thankfully hairless) legs supporting the weight of an insect-like abdomen. They normally spoke through clicks and scratches, but through the use of equipment they could speak common and use normal tools. Outside of the top three, though, most other species were either not intelligent enough or just not willing to venture beyond their home planet.

    That day, I met a new species. I saw it, sliding across the atrium on another walkway. It had some sort of black carapace, though not exactly reflective, housing slimy innards that I could see oozing out the bottom of the exoskeleton. Underneath, it would’ve undoubtedly looked like a snail without its shell. It wore a bulky-looking device on what could only be its head.

    I walked closer to it, noting that a robotic arm was also affixed along its length, and that the device on its head had a screen. It noticed me, and turned to face me. We greeted each other, it using its robotic arm to make an approximation of the motion. I realized that on its screen was a rather adorable smiley face. Obviously, this species was one that didn’t speak or display emotions in a perceivable way. The eyes of the smiley face blinked.

    “Hi,” I began, “You know, I’m a rather, um, curious person, and I -”

    “You’re wondering what species I am, because you’ve never seen my kind before?” said the digital face with a slow, methodical, androgynous voice, mouthing the words in common. Underneath the synthesized voice I could hear a faint sucking sound, like breathing in gelatin. “I get that a lot. But no worries. For your information, I am a” - and here the synthesizer managed to make a sound much like sucking in and spitting out a great deal of saliva, and the screen displayed the word “Schrisplt” - “from the planet Seneca in the TL4 system. My name is,” and here again there came an unpronounceable sound, and this time the screen simply said “Tim,” “but I suppose you can just call me Tim.”

    There was a pause while my mind processed this, then I said, “Um…Pleased to meet you, Tim. How long have you been here?”

    “Just a few days. I have to admit, I don’t really like it here. It’s much too dry and dim.”

    “Well, I’ve only just arrived. Anyway, I don’t suppose you know where I can find a taxi service or something like that?”

    “I’m afraid I don’t know. I’ve been getting everywhere by walking” - walking? - “just fine. But there’s a service desk right over there.” It pointed its arm in the direction of a prominent sign that said “Service Desk”.

    After bidding farewell I made my way to the place. At first I was greeted by nothing, then a hologram of a woman materialized, smiling, and asked, “How may I help you today, Mr. Lexander?”

    I never got why the people who built these official buildings insisted on such technology to be implemented. It was only a recent development, but already it seemed to be in every spaceport, hospital, and office lobby in Prime. Didn’t they realize how disconcerting it is to be greeted by a stranger who knows your full name and details from the get-go?

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    “Well, you know, I was just wondering where I could find a taxi service,” I stated. “Or something,” I added.

    “The travel administration building is across the street,” she answered, “But you’ll have to go outside to get there. That means going through the airlock exit, so make sure you have a respirator and skinsuit. They sell those in the equipment shop, over there.” She pointed to the shop some distance behind the desk.

    At an insane markup, I thought.

    “Oh, I already have it,” I said. I paused, about to turn away. “Thanks,” I said quickly, before strutting off. I never knew the best way to communicate with an AI.

    The airlock exit was a similar affair to customs - a long row of doors. Nearby, medibots were at the ready, in case someone should forget some vital piece of equipment. There were signs next to every doorway with the warning. I fixed the respirator over my mouth and nose, breathing in sterile, filtered air. I stepped through the door and into the open street.

    A chill wind howled through. The low pressure - lower, at least, than Sol-Terra - caused the very air to pull at my skin. Again, I was lucky enough to be specced with pressure resistance. All manner of vehicles whizzed past, some ground-based, others not. There seemed to be multiple distinct layers of traffic, each less dense than the one below it. But I was used to city traffic. What I was not used to, however, was the pungent smell that squirmed its way through my respirator. This was the sulphur in the air, I realized; I would later discover to my dismay that the dastardly smell would inevitably get on everything I owned. I looked for a way across, before realizing it was right in front of me, down a set of steps tunneling below the street. A building smaller in scale but otherwise identical to the spaceport was across the street - the travel administration building, I assumed.

    Making my way through, I noticed that a good portion of the many people briskly walking past me were wearing bulky-looking oxygen tanks (for they had “O2” emblazoned on them). Cheaper alternatives to respirators? No - oxygen was expensive to refill. Of course, there lay the answer: the abundance of oxygen in the air, the very thing the respirators were actually filtering out - these people were storing the oxygen, to sell to explorers and entrepreneurs on even less hospitable planets.

    In the travel administration building, I was greeted, thankfully, by a real person. She was also human, and introduced herself simply as Janice. I asked if they had any taxiing services available to go to Cloudarch.

    “A tourist, hmm? Well, unfortunately, all the autonomous and most of the manned options have been bought out. But we do have one more manned flight - it’s in a stratoplane, which can avoid all the traffic as long as we get clearance. It’s piloted by an old Primoid fellow, but he’s really nice.”

    “Sure, I’ll take it.”

    “Oh, I forgot to mention, it’ll cost quite a premium, since it’s - well - manned, and also relatively fast.”

    “That’s fine.” My aunt and uncle were the founders of Lexander Co., which meant I had a well-paying, if stressful, job. Still, I was only being desperate, and from then on I would have to be careful about how I spent my vacation funds.

    With the transaction completed, I put on my respirator and headed out into the hangar. There was just one vehicle there - a stratoplane. It was a utilitarian type, with space in the back for some cargo, should the need arise. Stratoplanes combined ion engines and aerodynamic wings to fly in nearly any kind of atmosphere. Unfortunately, this one looked a bit dinged up and rusty. Clearly, I was not about to get the luxury experience I paid for. Standing just outside the cockpit door was a Primoid, also wearing a respirator and no skinsuit. He was motioning me inside.

    I stepped inside the cockpit. He stepped inside after me and the door sealed shut; we both removed our respirators. Immediately, I felt a sweltering heat.

   “Sa ut Ssa’du?” said the Primoid.

   “Eh? Sorry, I don’t speak Primish, I’m afraid.”

   “Damn. I rrarely get anyone who sspeakss my language.”

   On the right were the pilot’s and co-pilot’s seats, both abundantly cushioned. To the left were empty passenger seats in place of the expected cargo hold. Noticing my glance, the Primoid said, “Oh, don’t worry about dose. Dey’re perfectly safe, I p-prromisse. B-but if you prrefer, you can ssit in the co-pilot sseat. Not like I have one, anyway.”

    I turned and took a look at the pilot. His shorter snout, yellowish scales, his dialect, with its mispronounced “th’s” and rolled r’s  - they all indicated that he was of the Islander breed. A somewhat rare meeting - they accounted for only about a tenth of the Primoid population.

    For some reason, I thought it necessary to say, “Oh. You’re an Islander.”

    “If you mean I come from dis planet, den you’re misstaken,” he scowled, “b-but I’ll give you the benefit of de doubt and asssume you’re talking ab-bout my…what is it…ethnicity.”

    “Of course, of course,” I responded, mildly flustered. I took a seat in the copilot’s seat, which was closest. “Um…is it me, or is it hot in here?”

    “Hey, I’m cold-blooded, you know? I’ve got to keep warm ssomehow,” he said in an angry tone. “Dere’s ssome cold packss in de cooler b-back dere if you need it.”

    Looking at the flight console, however, I could clearly see a set of controls for localized temperature. “Actually, if you don’t mind I’m just gonna…” I readied my hand and looked over at him, now seated in the pilot’s seat next to me, for a reaction.

    His eye twitched, but he shrugged and said, “I haven’t even turned de p-plane on yet, but go ahead if you want.” He clearly didn’t like passengers messing with his climate controls, but I was on the verge of melting.

    Something scanned one of his eyes and the plane booted up, the cockpit HUD flickering on and the ion engines providing a background hum. He maneuvered a few controls, and the plane lifted straight into the air.

    Once he seemed confident in our course and took his hands from the steering, I held out my hand. “Lex, by the way.”

    “Na-et Sut,” he replied, gingerly giving me a swift handshake, “but I’d prefer not to tell you what that means in Primish.”

    “No worries,” I attempted a grin. “Say, how long is it going to take to get there? Cloudarch, I mean.”

    “Hrrm,” Na-et Sut calculated, “about thrree hours by dis strraightforward rroute. We’ll p-pass over ssome convict territory, but dey can’t do anything to uss with deir p-prrimitive weapons.” He stood up suddenly. “I don’t know about you, b-but I’m sstarving. Want ssomething?”

    Without waiting for an answer, he went to the back and opened the cooler. “Oh wait, nevermind. I’ve only got…” He came back with two foil-wrapped packets. Inside was something that looked like a badly burnt brownie, pitch-black and crumbly, and smelling faintly of…something unpleasant. “Lembass?” he queried.

    “Lembas?” I queried back skeptically. “Like from Lord of the Rings?”

    “From what?”

    “Um - nevermind. Sure, I’ll have some.”

    I was pleasantly surprised. The food had a mild sweetness, though it made a mess. Even the faint taste of sulphur, I decided, I could get used to. I would later learn that lembas was a staple food on Island Maroon, made out of one of the varieties of black plants inhabiting its surface - my first taste of the local cuisine.

    “You have any water?” I asked.

    “Yess, but water is rrare on dis p-planet. It’ll cosst you, even dough de lembass is frree. Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it.”

    I looked at the surface cam, pointed straight down at the surface. We were unbelievably high up, but all I could see was the infinite floor of granite and rhyolite, which formed low, flat hilltops punctuated by jagged mountains. The Highlands were dry as a desert - no vegetation grew here, no clouds formed above.

    Na-et Sut and I talked some more about various topics. No news on the convicts had reached any citizen in over 2 weeks, which was worrying, as Prime Fed usually gave a progress report on a weekly basis. “Ssomething’s wrrong,” decided Na-et Sut. “It’ss like the government isn’t even worried about de literal thousands of crriminals crrawling arround de uncivilized arreas of de ssurface.”

    “Well, you know, I’m pretty sure Prime Fed has more to worry about than the security of backwater planets,” I replied. “Like, um, galactic exploration, for example. They’ve always put a big focus on that.”

    “Too much focuss!” hissed the Primoid. “What about uss citizens down here? I always wanted a sstratoplane, but I had to delay dat because I have to invesst in ssecurity! As if ssupporting a family isn’t enough!” He was practically shouting at this point. “And every - ssingle - day - ssince I came to dis planet, I have to watch my back when I walk home from work, or ssome crriminal will come ssneaking into de city and sstab me in de back. And every day, I fly ssome well-off persson like you who will complain on and on about deir co-workers, or deir bosss -” he stopped, glanced at me, then sighed and stared straight ahead into the maroon sky.

    I was taken aback. Normally, Islanders were, to put it bluntly, chill. They didn’t share the competitive, even aggressive tendencies of their Mainlander cousins. But more than that, I realized for the first time that I’ve never really talked to - well, a commoner, in my entire life. 25 years living in Prime, stuck on Sol-Terra in a job where I only talked to bigwig execs, thinking I had a stressful life.

    There was silence for a minute. Air whooshed past the hull endlessly, the ion engines humming.

    “I - I’m sorry,” I said meekly. “I didn’t realize -”

    “No need for ap-pologies, Lex,” Na-et Sut said in an equally quiet voice. “Actually, I should be de one apolo -”

    Suddenly, he was interrupted by a loud, high pitched whoosh from outside the cockpit. My stomach dropped, and we both looked in the surface cam. Underneath, we could faintly see hundreds of people - the size of ants from this high up.

    “Vi Guhrrah! Convictss,” said Na-et Sut.

    “But I thought you said -”

    “Dey have rrailguns. I’m turning uss arround.” He pulled the steering to the side, and the ship turned with it.

    “How do they have guns?” I yelled through gritted teeth. My heart beat at a breakneck pace. Another projectile whistled past.

    The Primoid said nothing, pulling hard on the throttle. We were slammed back into our seats as the plane accelerated the way we had come, hopefully out of range of the convicts’ weapons.

    After a minute of fearful listening and calming down, Na-et Sut said, “Ssee? Thiss is what happens when Prime Fed doesn’t pay attention to the planetss dey pay uss to colonize.”

    “But - what happened? Why did they have guns?”

    “Rraiders. Dey must’ve touched down without anyone noticing and given the convictss weapons.”

    “Raiders? How could they -”

    “Dat alsso explains why we haven’t rrecieved any news from the government,” Na-et Sut mused. “The ones who get dat news have been taken care of.”

    Raiders. It was well known that every planetary explorer’s nightmare was to find out that the planet they’d been prospecting had already been colonized by a rogue Pirate band.

    “We need to get this to Prime Fed as soon as possible.”

    “Dat is exactly my intention,” Na-et Sut assured me.

-    -    -

    After we reported the incident to the feds, a lengthy process that took almost an hour, Na-et Sut offered to give me a ride again, free of charge. “I’ve never not ssuccessfully taken a p-passenger to deir destination,” he explained. “I’m not ab-bout to give up dat sstrreak now.”

    We would have to take an alternative route: more or less with the highway, where we were almost guaranteed to be safe from convicts, railguns or not. It would take longer, though - at least an extra hour.

    By now it was already 22:03 common time, but I felt no inclination to sleep. Besides, the days on Island Maroon are long, and Ares was barely starting to set. The star shined its vermillion light directly into the cockpit, bright even through the tinted glastic.

    We exchanged casual conversation for the first two hours; the tone was much less tense than when we first met. Eventually, Na-et Sut said, “Do you know de sstory of how uss P-P- - uss D’un had to leave our home planet?”

    “Well, generally, I guess,” I recalled. “You basically had a nuclear war that left the planet uninhabitable, right?”

    “Yess, dat happened - let’s ssee - about 20 years, Ssol-Terran time, before humans and uss met. B-but do you know what rrole de Islanders played in dat war?”

    I felt like I was back in high school history class. “You know - no, I actually have no idea.”

    “We were a sseperate trribe, uss on de Island. Sseperated for who knows how long. De Island was b-blessed with rrain - ssu-sut’vuhn we called it. With de rrain came a mountain of trreasures - by dat I mean rresources.”

    Those Primish words sounded familiar. Many a time had I heard a Primoid coworker say similar words when expressing happiness or admiration.

    “De Islanders were quite at peace,” continued Na-et Sut, “but de Mainlanders were always at war. My family likess to ssay that Guhrra, our own sstar, baked their minds, and dey had no rrain to cool it down. Anyway, one day the Mainlanders found our Island.”

    I could tell where this was going.

    “Dat’s right. Dey waged war with each oder - on our Island. Dey destrroyed it. We had to flee to de Mainland; we went into hiding. But dis was to be de final war. The two ssides began to use their mosst p-powerful weapons. And bwoom - no more home planet. No more Unrra.” He sighed. “We explored the galaxy, each clan and trribe looking for a place to ssettle…until we found you humans.”

    Why the competitive Primoids decided to ally with humans rather than destroy them with their superior technology is a mystery that nobody, not even the Primoids today, truly knows the answer to.

    “So the lesson is - don’t go looking for trouble, because sooner or later trouble will find you?” I offered.

    “I ssuppose sso.”

-    -    -

    Ares was halfway behind the horizon by the time we saw the first glimpse of Cloudarch. The city, though an indoor one like Venna Rra, was far more pristine and architecturally complex. A tall, curving archway, similar to the old Gateway Arch on Sol-Terra, greeted incoming vehicles. The city itself rested at the edge of a cliff, fearless of falling. But the real spectacle lay beyond, in the Lowlands.

    Ares illuminated massive, flowing cumulus clouds, giving them a rich, golden color. The sea of clouds, all lying below the cliff edge, was interrupted only by tall spires, the cone of a volcano, and open pits of lava in hidden calderas that cast an orange glow on the rim of the clouds it burned away. Below the clouds, I knew, were dark, treacherous jungles and boiling, windblown deserts. There’s one thing every member of every species knew about this Galactic Era: even during the most dangerous of times, even in the most hazardous of environments, there is beauty to be found in the universe.