The Object

The light here on this world was old, greasy. Its redshifted glow, bounced, amber-like, from ancient edifices of strange origin. Huge blocks of crumbling concretions. Dust devils slinked and scuttled, dry rats of wind-blown granules hunting for food. Although, here, there was none.

The worlds' star hung fat, and gibbous in the dry sky. Red. If you held your hand up, you could see prominences lumber ponderously into its corona. Arching back on themselves as the magnetic field lines snapped and whipped.

It was here, at the edge, that they found the object. Partially embedded in the regolith.