RX3248’s spaceport had not aged well. Initially meant to house a purely industrial complex, three terminals spread like spikes on a trident away from a series of landing pads that looked out over the moon’s dried out ocean. A control tower looked out over the port, piles of discarded machine parts stacked up against all four of its walls. 

Originally a large open space adjacent to the largest terminal was set aside to store containers of Helium-3 ready for shipping. However with space at a premium and twenty seven years worth of refugees to house, it had been completely swamped by cheap housing units. Rectangular in shape, hundreds of them had been stacked in rows with metal staircases down to the ground. In the middle of this maze of prefabs was a larger community centre/canteen/whatever was needed area. In all the spaceport housed 70% of RX’s 40,000 strong population.

Now the Helium-3 shipments were kept at the place they were mined, and when ships were ready to be loaded they trundled down a funicular railway and straight through the centre of the colony. They trundled past the moon’s hospital, some of the permanent residences, a utility vehicle pool, the marketplace, the Colonial Administration and a mess of other buildings. The town had been arranged in a symmetrical semi-circular shape, but more ad-hoc buildings disrupted the open space which had been created, extending the feeling of a shanty town.

The Col-Ad building was where most of the important decisions were made. The colony’s Director maintained a small staff of administrators and representatives from other stations on the moon that helped to deal with the strain of people asking what was happening and trying to further their own cause. The lobby was always busy, with inadequate facilities and lack of space further exacerbating the perceived chaos of it all. The Col-Ad building ground floor was separated into around a dozen meeting rooms, with each having been partially taken over by wounded UWG personnel that had been left stranded after ‘Mdama fell to The Nomad.

Clara arrived by buggy, having hitched a lift with a couple of the science team who were making the journey anyway to requisition more lab equipment. They clanged up the few short metal steps to the Col-Ad entrance, making way for a gaggle of refugees taking a stretcher back to the hospital. They had been swamped with walking wounded and medical supplies were running dangerously low.

That UWG vessel in orbit better have some more. Clara thought as they walked through the doors and into the airlock. As oxygen flooded in, all three of them took off their spacesuit helmets, collapsed them down to a third of their regular size and clipped them to the back of their suits. Clara tapped personal assistant device on her wrist, opening a line of communication with RX’s director.

“James, its Clara. I need to see you now.”
“Oh, fuck off no it's too busy up here Clara. Don’t waste a journey, come see me once this UWG ship has touched down.

“Too late, i’m already here.”

“For fuck sake, alright come on up! I can spare you two minutes.”

When the communique came through that morning, there was a kind of collective stunned silence across the colony comms network. The war was over, but it was still nowhere near sinking in. There was a general feeling that there was still a lot to do before the moon’s own personal struggle was rectified. And then, only then, would people celebrate.

Clara agreed to meet her colleagues back at the buggy and left them in the line for the main reception desk. She zigzagged her way past throngs of people waiting for ration cards to take to the store rooms and showed her clearance to a pair of armed security guards. They let her into the central elevator, which whizzed her up four floors to the Director’s office. The doors opened to a waiting room packed with people. She could just about pick out Director James Ogilve in the middle of a mass of shouting people.

“I don’t have anything to tell you at this time, i will make sure that i get as many injured people up onto the ship to use their hospital! Please, let me do my job so i can help you do yours!” He shouted over the noise. He spotted Clara, and motioned her forward while making a general shooing motion with the other. “Everyone please make their requests and questions known to Yulia my assistant. Clara come with me!” As the crowd rounded on the small desk of a well built woman in her fifties to wave papers and data pads, James ushered Clara through the open door of his office.

The Director’s office was simple, with a few exotic pot plants and a view over the whole colony taking up an entire wall. Several administrators sat on the office’s two sofas, furiously tapping at portable workstations, blue and orange light bathed over their faces. Ogilvie sharply clicked his fingers at them and made the same shooing motion.

“Out please. Go and help Yulia.”

They packed up their stuff and jogged outside, closing the doors which dimmed the sound of the commotion outside.

James Ogilvie was a tired looking man. He wore a once-crisp white shirt which had a coffee stain down on the collar. Clara took a quick look around and judged that he’d probably been sleeping in his office. He sat on the edge of his desk and looked at Clara for a moment, scratching his stubble. 

“Can i get you a cup of coffee?”
“No thank you, so what's going on? This UWG ship, the Scythian is it? It didn’t give any inclination as to why it's hot footed its way out here so fast. Only for us to monitor all comms channels. They only say that if there's some Navy politics going on and nobody knows whats happening.”

“How the fuck should i know? I saw the same message you did. They haven’t opened a comm line yet so i’ve been sitting here with my thumb in my ass, trying to keep everybody calm. People are scared and hungry, and this ship looks like their only way off this rock.” Ogilvie got himself a cup of coffee and handed one to Clara, who put it down on the desk. He took a big gulp, his left hand shaking slightly.

“What was that thing you were telling me about, before all hell broke loose this morning. Some kind of artifact? Is it valuable?”

“Yeah, i left it with Dr Gao. Its inconsistent with the civilisation whose ruins we’re digging up, which means they probably got it from someone else. Its unlike anything i’ve ever seen before, and its age seems to predate that of the original precursor civ in this sector which--”

Ogilvie’s personal assistant device chimed from its cradle on the desk. “Message from the spaceport control room Director Ogilvie.”

“Patch them through.”

“Director, the UWS Scythian is requesting permission to land.”

“Grant them access, request a comms line with their commanding officer.”

“What are you going to ask them?” Clara murmured, shifting forward in her seat.

“Why the Navy sent them to a forsaken moon light years from anywhere when there are worlds with hundreds of millions of people on the brink of collapse.” Ogilvie replied, reaching across his desk to grab an earpiece. He popped it in his ear and stood up, walking over to the bay windows looking out over the spaceport.”

“Good evening, allow me to introduce myself. I’m James Ogilvie, Director of RX3248. May we now know why you made it all the way out here? We didn’t request a Navy transport and i doubt we’d get one unless there was something here that you wanted.” 

The Director didn’t appear to like the answer he was given. A few seconds past and Clara could see his eyes hardening even more. He didn’t believe what he was being told.

“Well i must say, that's a very efficient service you’re operating there. In that case, i will deploy personnel to help unload. Please make your way to my office when you are first able, one of my staff will show you the way.”