Lucky Starr

Bigman never tired of the stars. 

They were never as clear as this, looking up from the sands of Mars, or through the dirty cover of a dome. The ship's viewscreens weren't windows, but they felt like glass; a thin layer between him and the void. 

There are humans out there, he thought. Spreading. Like yeast in brewing beer. He thought of the first time he took a shower on Earth; how the water never seemed to end. How he ran from the bathroom, fearing it would flood. That. 

He'd talk to Lucky about it, maybe. An endless, brewing pot. 

“It’s not funny, you know!” Bigman’s stub nose wrinkled as he glared at Lucky. Anyone else would have gotten much worse than just a glare.

“Well.” Lucky smiled at Bigman. Why did the man have to be so disarming? So charming? Bigman knew well to keep such thoughts to himself, of course. He knew what the man thought of him. He was no Councilman, no great scientific mind. Not like Lucky, not like Wes. “It is a little bit funny.”

Lucky put the lid on, and rolled the pot full of Bigman into the kitchen the Council needed to infiltrate.