The Lunar Disc

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  Even out here, amongst the infinite expanse of the stars, December seemed colder somehow. Lingering memories of Earth, perhaps, intrusive and subversive, providing a placebo effect that would die out along with this generations generation. Shed for the newborn Lunians, never known, never needed.

  The great and race-saving achievement that was the Lunar Disc floated, excruciatingly slowly to anyone with a shred of interstellar experience, through it’s synthesised orbit, spinning around the system’s star. The disc, relatively small when compared to its bigger, geniune planetary brothers of Erst, Bodwin and Pheniper, knew night and day, though it only took one of the five million residents a nineteen minute high speed shuttle ride to reach the other side of the ship and – consequently – day or night respectively. Still; time – as it used to be measured – existed, however conquerable.

  So it was with this make-do calendar that Orleans managed to look forward to the festival of masks, an annual occurrence as the disc reached, docked and passed the not-so abandoned oil rig on the outer rim.  The inhabitants – known to the Lunians as ‘the Proxys’, were regarded as a band of merchants and cultists, the inflection of the description depending on who you talked to. They were, by Orlean’s reckoning, a perfectly friendly people who gave you as much of a chance as you did them. Hardcore xenophobes aside, most everyone looked forward to the yearly meet, the six days of which passing by in a flow of culture and colour careful coalition.

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~ by Joseph Blame on December 30, 2010.

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