The espadrilles

In a dim corner of a Marsport saloon, a gaunt stranger in rope‑soled espadrilles slides in, clutching a coin for a drink called Zwiff. He speaks of “soft, wet life” and then of a harder, metallic existence that might crawl out of suns hotter than ours. The bartender watches skeptically while the narrator, clutching his own cash, listens to the man’s unsettling theories about what lives beyond the edge of the galaxy.

The stranger soon turns to his own ordeal, describing a desperate repair mission on a tiny, earth‑gravity planetoid that sparkles under a double blue‑white sun. The ground shines like mica, and the trees—geometric, crystal‑like formations—rise from the glittering soil, blurring the line between mineral and organism. His tale hints at a hidden danger hidden in the planet’s uncanny beauty, leaving the listener to wonder whether the real threat lies in the environment or in something far more alien.