Ad Astram in Perpetuum

Bigman never tired of the stars. 

They were never as clear as this, looking up from the sands of Mars, or through the dirty cover of a dome. The ship's viewscreens weren't windows, but they felt like glass; a thin layer between him and the void. 

There are humans out there, he thought. Spreading. Like yeast in brewing beer. He thought of the first time he took a shower on Earth; how the water never seemed to end. How he ran from the bathroom, fearing it would flood. That. 

He'd talk to Lucky about it, maybe. An endless, brewing pot.