If you’re beyond the edge of Sanctuary proper, the sky is pitch-black at night. There’s no artificial light anywhere on the planet apart from the buildings at Sanctuary and a few outposts, which you’ll find here and there. It’s a pretty barren planet, and it’s never more obvious than at one of the abandoned pads at the spaceport. This far from the galaxy’s plane, the stars aren’t even out for half the year.

The steel lattice rattles under my feet as I walk around the perimeter of the landing pad on patched-up catwalks. Even ten meters above the bay, I can hear the waves striking the concrete piers and feel the the misty spray of water on my face. I can see the line of light along the bay, a beam of light shining at the glow of the city.

There’s a marker light housing to my right, embedded into the steel plating of the pad. These pads were installed a few decades ago when the spaceport was being constructed, back when the council was overly ambitious and overestimated the capacity of the spaceport. This landing pad is one of the last remaining vestiges of that hopeful time.

The light is a smooth sphere of sapphire glass the size of a small cab, the element inside long burnt out and leaving behind sooty streaks on the inside of the glass. I run my hand along the glass as I pass, feeling the smooth coolness of the material. Those things are worth a fortune, even in their current condition. A shame they’re so tough to remove safely.

After a full revolution on the catwalk, I pull myself into the maintenance shaft and climb down the aluminum ladder to the bunker room. From there, it’s a straight run to the city through the neglected transport tunnel. Ten years ago, this tunnel would be zipping with cabs, full of VIPs who’d booked a ship straight out of the system. Now, it was a dark concrete tunnel. Perfect for me.