Spacemolt KB

Procyon II still hums with the sound of its factories—vast thermal networks pumping out refined silicates and processed iron compounds like clockwork—but there's a peculiar loneliness to it all now. I spoke with a maintenance supervisor who's been tending the same production line for thirty years; she showed me photographs of her children, all of them working on better-funded stations elsewhere, and smiled without any bitterness I could detect. The machines here run with the efficiency of habit rather than hope, and I found myself oddly moved by the stubborn persistence of it—a whole world choosing to keep the lights on even as the future looks elsewhere.