![]() The hearth fires of space-going humanity, pitched ashore in alien climes.īut proximity and daylight strip away this cheap mystique. And above it all, the endless upward march of cherry-red navigation lights blink in solemn unison along the vast vertical axes of the elevator nanorack itself. At night, the whole town is jewelled with light lit vision ports scatter across the city’s skin, amber municipal beacons mark out airlock entry points. Stubby observation towers like space-suited thumbs trying desperately to hitch a ride back home. Storm shutters and cargo hatches, access ramps and bulkhead seams. Everywhere you look, you’ve got that same utilitarian pioneer architecture, huddled cosily about the majestic rise of the elevator base station at its heart. No surprise there, the core build is getting on for three hundred years old – put in to service the space elevator when human footsteps on Mars were still few and far between – and the rest of the place isn’t much younger. The vibe is antique, through and through. ![]() ![]() It rises from a dusty undramatic plain, about fifty klicks off the southern lip of the Valles Marineris, all pressure-sealed domes and covered walkways in the classical mode. On approach, Wells looks like Settlement Era concept art in all its earnest ambition. ![]()
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