Around Calypso, the world stretched out in open grassland. Only to the north was there any sign of civilization in the form of wood-framed tents. Even the landing pads for ships were just areas of grass with stone markers instead of concrete slabs with radio transmitters.
The wind whipped at Flynn’s coat, and he let it, enjoying the feel of nature after so many weeks in space. Ann, as usual, refused to set foot on an “uncivilized mudball.”
The thought made Flynn think of how space travel had changed humanity. He had read that long ago people judged each other on things like religion, where they came from, and even skin color. Over time those had largely been reconciled, but when colonizing space became an option, a new judgement had emerged, those born planetside and those in space, and skin color was a shortcut to those. Spacers tended to be lighter skinned, spending all of their time shielded from all solar radiation. The prejudices were, as then, unfounded, but it didn’t stop humanity from finding a reason to judge one another.
Space is in my bones I’ve been in it so long, but I do love being on a planet. No rivers here, though. No sea. I grew up watching the sea roll into the beach. An ocean of water or an ocean of space, it’s all the same to me.
He looked once again at the grasslands, how the wind rippled through them. In the distance, horses ran in a tight knot
Or an ocean of grass. I guess it’s all the same.
“Hey, Flynn” Ann said over his commband. “Are you ready to get out of the dirt?”
Flynn sighed briefly, then looked up. The sky was darker and greener in it than on Azoria, but it also let through pinpricks of stars all the time.
“Prep for launch,” he said.
That’s my ocean. This one’s nice, too, though. Maybe I’ll have to come back and try out riding a horse.