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It was still early, but as the night progressed, most of the community would gather at the base of the hill, in the large expanse of common land we dubbed “the square.” It was lined with neat rows of houses made entirely out of reinforced earth.
Almost a century ago, these houses had been a temporary solution to those who sought work in nearby farms or ranches like mine. Over the years, people had found a way to make the modest homes permanent by adding concrete to reinforce the earth. Many others had joined them, starting families in the quaint rows of houses that now stretched as far as the eye could see.
What had initially started as a small town of sixty residents had quickly grown into sixty thousand, and small portions of land had been sold to different families to build larger homes or even factories.
My neighbor to the north had set up a processing plant thirty years ago for our Star’s dairy products. And my closest neighbor to the west—Ana’id’s family—had purchased half an acre of land from my grandparents to start our only mechanic shop for miles.
The Star had a natural split of five communities. Ours was a mixed one, meaning all starpeople—with any manner of modifications—could move about freely. But there were four other closed communities we coexisted with, and they only opened themselves to those with certain mods. Beast hybrids only mixed with their kind, and Fangers kept to themselves. Felins usually preferred their own company.
It irked me a little that such a dichotomy still existed, but when all five communities came together for our largest annual gathering, Solstice, things remained seamlessly friendly despite our physical divide.
Feasting and Solstice were silly traditions, especially since we didn’t get a traditional winter on the Star. Our ancestors from Old Earth had wanted to imbue some sense of normalcy into their new lives, and keeping the names of the seasons had been an integral part of creating a comfortable transition from overpolluted Earth to the untouched planets in the Cancer Cluster.
There were other odd traditions, too. The soil here was nutrient-dense and we could harvest all year-round if we wanted to, but only did so four times a year to preserve its integrity.
If I were being perfectly honest with myself, I’d admit that most of our lives were built around artificial narratives. What I called a “Star” was actually just a planetary body on the edge of the Cancer Cluster. In an effort to romanticize the forced move from Old Earth to the cleaner, livable outer planets, the founding fathers had chosen the word “Star” to describe eight planets of various sizes that could sustain human life.
“Star” or planet, it was home either way.
As I watched the kids in the distance mess around with the rapidly growing fire, the whirring sound of a delivery droid seemed to get closer. I looked up just in time to see the large silver machine flashing in the rapidly darkening sky.
Royal One Post
Without this automated service, outer Stars like mine wouldn’t receive mail at all.
Ten years ago, I would’ve had to pick up my purchases from a drop box in Royal One, the heart of our cluster of Stars and a three-hour hovercraft ride away. Technology had come a long way since then, even for closed Stars like ours.
The delivery droid swooped down to eye level, setting the large rectangular package in front of me with a light thud. When Ana reached out to secure the human-sized box, the droid retracted its large metal claws and extended a blinking digital surface.
“Two prints needed for credit charge,” the mechanical voice beeped.
I raised my fingers to the biometric scanner, wincing as I placed my thumb and forefinger against the shockingly cold surface.
“Payment made by...” There was a whirring pause. “Cedra Holloway. 200 credits have been deducted from your account.”
I grimaced at the large amount as a big “thank you” filled the screen in front of me.
With a joyous little tune, the droid retracted the payment device, pulling away back to the mother cart that hovered twenty feet from the ground at the end of the path.
“That’s a lot to pay for a bot,” Ana commented, eyeing the package. “Where did you order this from again?”
“HumanoidGadgets—it was the number one recommendation on most tech sites.”
“Well, I’m excited to see what it looks like...” She trailed off, something in the distance catching her attention. I watched as her dark eyes widened in surprise.
“Maybe not tonight,” she said brusquely, holding the top of the box. “Grab the other end. Let’s get into the house.”
“What’s going on?” I asked, just as a streak of blinding red light flashed through the sky.
A curse tumbled from my lips as I turned to see the bonfire rise over twenty feet in the air, fueled by too much kerosene and too little common sense.
Ana was already pulling the box into the house and I reached for the other end, taking the few steps into the living room.
“You stay,” she said, wiping her hands on her work trousers. “Check to make sure the bot works. I’ll nag some sense into those kids.”
With a friendly cuff to my shoulder, she was gone, striding swiftly out the door and breaking into a sprint when another huge burst of fire lit the sky.
I watched her for a moment, admiring her athleticism as she jumped over leftover sacks of corn material, yelling out to the kids to back off.
