The wind is like a rusty file, constantly polishing the concrete exterior walls of the "Rock" settlement. A Zheng stood on the observation tower, wiping the old telescope lens with a greasy rag. The world under the lens is an endless ocher yellow. Deadly silence and vastness, like the surface of a planet that has exhausted its vitality. There is always a smell in the air - iron filings, dried blood, and despair.
