The viewport on the right side of the cabin showed the lunar surface.
That alone would have been enough. The grey expanse stretching in every direction, the craters sharp-edged and shadowless in the way that only happened without atmosphere to blur them, the texture of it ancient and undisturbed and nothing like photographs had ever made it look.
Several staff pressed toward that side of the cabin without meaning to, drawn by the same instinct that had pulled them to the observation room an hour ago.
Then someone on the left side said, quietly: "What is that."
It wasn't a question. The voice had lost the inflection questions required.
They turned.
The far side of the moon stretched below them, and built into it — or onto it, or perhaps grown from it, the distinction stopped making sense at scale — was Lunar Base Sanctuary.
The first thing that registered was the light.
