Lagrange

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“We live in an age of true space exploitation,” Commodore Tottson said, winding up his formal speech. “An age where ordinary people can and do live out their entire lives in habitats such as this magnificent Lagrange station without ever stopping to think about the fact that they are immersed in the most hostile environment ever colonized by Mankind.” The distinguished explorer smiled, displaying a perfect set of teeth that contrasted nicely with his midnight-black coveralls and coffee-colored features. The Commodore was a very handsome man, with graying hair. His uniform looked as if it had just come from the tailor shop, and his shoes were so perfectly polished that they could have been used as shaving mirrors. “It is said that even the most impressive of technological miracles becomes commonplace over time,” he continued, “and perhaps the truest measure of our triumph is the very normalcy of Lagrange’s lifestyle. Merchants can spend their days thinking about buying and selling, not about where their next breath of air is going to come from. We attend our temples and churches and mosques on holy days, free to contemplate sacred texts instead of worrying about orbital decay. Children may go about the terribly serious business of growing up without fear of sudden power failures. Most of our citizenry has never put on a vacuum suit in their lives, and probably will never have a need to. Indeed, Lagrange’s accidental mortality rate is far lower than that of Oslo, Nairobi, or Chicago.

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