The black skies and drab mounds of Planet Pluto
were spotted with color. From where he stood on
Drummer's enclosed patio, Brad looked through
the transparent shields at ice-gray Charon low
over scarred ridges to the west. Shifting his
eyes slightly brought into focus the panorama of
Coldfield's dome and its multi-colored lights. The
orange-green cylinder of the Slingshot Logistics
Depot gleamed in the black sky.
The Fandango force field around the depot
shimmered. A wide gap separated the transports
loading and unloading at the portals inside the
force field from those outside waiting in line
or in clustered formations until moorings inside
became available.
The short taxi ride from Coldfield had been
uneventful. The formalities of introductions behind
them, the host and his guests had refreshed
themselves, dined and rested.
Drummer joined Brad and followed his gaze to the
orange-green cylinder and its gaggle of transports
and tugs. The silence was brief.