Ahhhh the Ristler Belt. Ten thousand miles of ice and rock, floating in a wide band around about halfway from the Red Giant Star Orio. The belt neatly divides the inner, sun-scorched, planets dotted with mines and extraction ports, with the outer plants, in the cooler far reaches of this solar system.
And here, deep within the belt, is Port Luskar. Somewhere between a large rock and a dwarf planet, it may have once been a moon that swung out of orbit billions of years ago. Pockmarked and scarred by constant impact, it nevertheless features a sprawling space-port outside of the clear control of the Orion authorities. Smugglers, black market operators, political intriguers, people traders, and a thousand other oddities are crammed in here. Always passing through. Always looking to deal - or preferably double-deal. Its not a place to spend lots of time. But it is a place to get a fresh start.
Your ship hangs in dock, amid hundreds of others, as the Vorgalan Dock Master picks his nose. Its not a pretty sight. Looking like a goblin from earth fairy stories, but with an enormous curving nose that takes up most of its face, a Vorgalan is practically all nose, and as he roots around with a hopeful finger you try not to look too closely. Finally, though, he secures your small ship and lets you into the station proper.
Its a bustling 24/7 place of concrete and metal and neon. Alien crowds justle and jostle, calling out in a hundred languages. You could do almost anything here. To your left lies a shopping street with merchants plying their trade on small floating counters. To the right is what passes for a central hub, where jobs and contracts might be found. Ahead of you, through the crowd, is a narrow black door guarded by a couple of bouncers. Above them a neon outline of a woman, looking vaguely human, gyrates jerkily around a pole.
The Vorgalan watches you, picking his huge nose, clearly having little else to do than run his eyes over your body.
And here, deep within the belt, is Port Luskar. Somewhere between a large rock and a dwarf planet, it may have once been a moon that swung out of orbit billions of years ago. Pockmarked and scarred by constant impact, it nevertheless features a sprawling space-port outside of the clear control of the Orion authorities. Smugglers, black market operators, political intriguers, people traders, and a thousand other oddities are crammed in here. Always passing through. Always looking to deal - or preferably double-deal. Its not a place to spend lots of time. But it is a place to get a fresh start.
Your ship hangs in dock, amid hundreds of others, as the Vorgalan Dock Master picks his nose. Its not a pretty sight. Looking like a goblin from earth fairy stories, but with an enormous curving nose that takes up most of its face, a Vorgalan is practically all nose, and as he roots around with a hopeful finger you try not to look too closely. Finally, though, he secures your small ship and lets you into the station proper.
Its a bustling 24/7 place of concrete and metal and neon. Alien crowds justle and jostle, calling out in a hundred languages. You could do almost anything here. To your left lies a shopping street with merchants plying their trade on small floating counters. To the right is what passes for a central hub, where jobs and contracts might be found. Ahead of you, through the crowd, is a narrow black door guarded by a couple of bouncers. Above them a neon outline of a woman, looking vaguely human, gyrates jerkily around a pole.
The Vorgalan watches you, picking his huge nose, clearly having little else to do than run his eyes over your body.