Stargazers

Canaan: Desert Research Station

Jameson Arthur stares out at the Canaan landscape and finds the vast, empty sands staring back. They glow orange in the midday sun, waves of heat distorting the dunes into various shapes so unrecognizable and yet familiar that he knows there is nothing to fear. He has his rifle at his side, safety on, as he reclines in his chair.

The sky is clear and powder blue with a rim of white. The research station itself is a sun-bleached black that does little to disperse the heat. At least, in his tower it is warm. The way the sunlight hits the windows combined with the small size of the room often leaves him feeling stifled. Even with the air conditioning on it is warm.

Some of the guards liked to strip down and enjoy the sauna-like warmth. Arthur never did, but he didn't see why any of them should be punished for it. Theirs was the only station for days, perhaps even on the whole planet. He didn't know for sure. No one came out here and announced their presence, so it was hard to get official numbers.

To his knowledge, Canaan wasn't a complete desert. It was warmer than most planets, located just slightly closer to the system's star. Close enough at least to keep parts of the planet so warm that they are uninhabitable. Near the poles he has heard of dense forests where life might flourish. Whatever could be found there was long since catalogued. That anything was found this far near the equator is often considered a miracle.

The Canaan Research Facility officially doesn't exist. This wasn't unusual for privatized military contractors like the one he worked for. Because of the Three-Party Accord signed just over a decade ago there are a lot of similar research facilities all across the galaxies. Anywhere uncovered ruins can be hidden from view there will be a corresponding facility to loot them.

Unofficially, the facility itself is funded by Republic wealth, old money that have a vested interest in the government's smooth operation. Officially, it is privately funded by anonymous donors. Either way, Arthur gets paid. He quit the politics of governments and military long ago and since has just been doing his best to draw a paycheck. It is hard enough to get work with his injury. He doesn't need something like opinions getting in the way.

What he does like about the job is the solitude. He sits alone for hours, staring into the wilderness. Sometimes he falls into himself, reflects on his life. Other times he does nothing at all but sit and bake in the tiny room, the tinted windows doing their best to absorb the sun's light.

A knock at the door draws him from whatever reverie he has, and he stands with his rifle at his side. When the next guard arrives, a small blond man with dark eyes and sharp shoulders. They shake hands. "See anything," the blonde asks.

Arthur shakes his head. "Nothing except the occasional mirage."

"Oh, good, then the shows on." The blonde enters the room and takes up the seat Arthur was just at. He sets his rifle to the side, safety on. "I hope today's episode is good."

"Honestly, it all seems a little random. The show's writer's must be drunk at the wheel."

The blonde laughs and waves, and Arthur waves back before leaving. He enters the hall and climbs the long ladder down into the facilities interior. It is cooler here, in the depths of the facility, and for that he is grateful. He keeps his rifle over his shoulder and makes his way down the hall where he can register it before he grabs a quick meal and goes for his bunk.

Twelve hours until his next shift.

-Stargazers, part 1-

The cafeteria is a comparatively large room within the context of the base. The walls are higher than most and, like the watch tower, there are windows looking outside. Outer walls obscure much of the sun however while still allowing enough light to see by. The air is cooler here, especially with the help of the air conditioner and closer proximity to the ground.