Christmas Day, 2146.
Another helium-3 tanker makes its way down to New Cytheria from high orbit around Venus. Tourist hotels, fractional refineries and various other pieces of exoarchitectural riffraff stand like erectile hairs. For the ten thousandth time, a diner in the Morgenstern Grill (Trans Solar Hilton, Spinward Promenade) comments on the contrast between the deco resort architecture and slapdash container ships that service it. Everyone ignores him. Friends and families sip white wine and watch the sun rise across the bronze glow of the clouds. Resort, city, and ships take on the glow of molten gold in the morning light. A toast is mumbled as the baffling radiance hunts down the shadows between the spires. New Cytheria glows like a jewel.
Merry Christmas, everyone.