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You’ve already seen several people on your way outside, that’s enough of that for today. You decide to see what it’s like to experience nature. Steeling yourself for the arduous hike, you take the first heavy steps toward the garden, barely even going two meters with each step. As you walk, sunrise hits you, appearing from out behind the ground above you. It’s suddenly daylight as you step onto the garden path.

You walk through a grove of trees--ten meters tall at least, magnificent, huge organisms, never meant to live in a place like this, yet here they are. You wonder how they pulled off such a thing, even on the Moon it’s difficult to cultivate an environment where such large plants can thrive. And these are not the only living thing here. Past the trees the path goes through a field of flowers, all sorts of colors and shapes, growing on tall plants. And flying above them, crawling over them, are insects. You recognize a lot of genera--butterflies, grasshoppers, bees. Such a complex ecosystem maintained in such a hostile environment.

Ahead, you see a group of kids in light green uniforms. Having decided on solitude, you divert from the path to avoid company, and walk out into the field. Your hands brush against the plants here. The flowers are soft, stimmy to touch. Back home, you would only see such things in an arboretum or an agricultural zone, and people would yell at you if you tried to touch anything. Plants are delicate, and a precious resource. But nobody’s stopping you now.

While you’re distracted, night falls again. You might have already lived more days since you’ve arrived here than you did in your entire life on the Moon. Under starlight, the ecosystem drastically changes. The insects that had been flying around you settle down and rest, and a new guard of them rises, creatures that glow with bioluminescence. With these insects around you and the stars above, you would think you were in the æther if it weren’t for the inertia pulling you into the wall you stand on, your new “gravity.”

At the far end of the field is a body of water, a pond, situated right at the edge of the habitable strip. Beyond it is glass, and looking ahead you see the stars reflected in the water’s surface, just as if there were a real horizon. When you imagine Earth, it’s just like this--starry horizons in the short night, bodies of water several thousand kilometers wide separating continents, creating all sorts of trouble for the people who live on them you’re sure. But the image is beautiful.

Then a strange sound startles you. It’s another animal, one you’ve only heard in a trip to an aviary you once took--birds. Looking to your left, you see them gathering beside the pond. And another organism is with them--a girl. She has a purple dress, making her one year ahead of you. She looks taller than you, and her light brown skin is about the same as the feathers of the little birds gathering around her. They act friendly, like they know and trust her. Her hair is in a braid reaching halfway down her back, black except for strands dyed with fluorescent green that almost glows in the faint light. But her eyes do faintly glow, with a pale blue light, a sure sign of ocular implants. Neither she nor the birds have noticed you yet.