Today we wanted to share a speech we overheard at Host Station between an old man and his little grandson. He was being a bit overdramatic for our taste. But still, he held pretty close to the facts.
"Back then this station was just a fuel depot, youngster. A cluster of tanks and docking rings between Earth and the Moon. Almost nobody lived here.
Then the sky closed.
A satellite collision caused another one, and that started a cascade nobody could stop. Over months, Earth wrapped itself in a shell of shrapnel. A tiny scrap would go through a pressure hull like paper. And there were billions of them. Billions.
People named it after the man who had predicted it decades earlier: the Kessler Belt. Old fella's warning had been ignored, because cleaning up costs money. And every nation and company wanted someone else to pay first. They squabbled until it was too late.
Every attempt to clear it made things worse. You cannot punch a hole through orbital debris without creating more orbital debris. And above seven hundred kilometres, nothing comes down on its own. Not for centuries. That damned Belt will outlive me, you, and probably your grandchildren too.
So, just like that, the Moon was alone.
Oh, we still talked to Earth. Radio went through the Belt fine enough. We saw the news, called our families, watched the funerals we couldn't attend. What we couldn't do was get there. No resupply. No machine parts, medicine, soil. No replacement crew.
Shackleton-3 was a mining outpost built to send helium-3 up the line. Feeding itself wasn't in the design. But for eleven years, everything Shackleton-3 needed had to come from Shackleton-3.
We rationed water by the gram. We turned half the habitation modules into greenhouses. Soy. Potatoes. Algae. Three things on a plate, then the same three things tomorrow, then the same three things... for a decade. We cannibalised broken landers for parts we couldn't manufacture, and when the parts ran out, we manufactured the manufacturing.
Truth is, half the time we had no idea what we were doing. So we improvised. Hoped for the best. Yet, people died who didn't have to. A lot of people. Your Great-grandmother Graça.
But we were still there when the first unmanned ships began threading the Belt. At first, most shipments couldn't make it. Still, some did.
I was fourteen when the first cargo run made it through. They gave me an apple. I cried. Sweetest thing I'd ever had.
On the way up and on the way down, every ship passed the same old place: the fuel depot at Lagrange 1. It was waiting, sitting there, tanks locked.
And when we finally felt mad enough to expand again, Host slowly started turning into what you see now."
#VerseProject #SpaceSim #Worldbuilding #IndieGame #Gamedev