A gargling noise burst into Mayer’s helmet.

 

“Today, we witness the birth of a protostar. Meanwhile, for your delight, local Chard food is being served in the main atrium. Everyone at the constellation Monoceros wishes you to have a great day.”

 

Most of the crowd moved inside, giving Mayer a chance to walk to the front of the platform. The clink of his magnetic boots on the metal floor reverberated up his legs. This gravity was tough, even for someone used to hard physical labor mining on asteroids. Mayer needed to be outside on the platform: he wanted to witness this with his own eyes, and — he shuddered — he’d tasted Chard food before.

 

Within the gas cloud, a jet of matter like a jellyfish spun across his view. This birthplace was a holy site to the Chards, and Mayer stood in the regulation Chard Custom of Awe, his arms wide and his head back, knees flexed.

 

He’d promised his mother they'd see the birth of a star together, a dangerous adventure. This was the ultimate joy ride in space. The death rate for tourists here today could be ninety percent. He loved those odds, made him feel alive, gave him a twist in his gut. When she’d died, he’d had her ashes brought to him all the way from Mars, pressed into a glass globe. The cost was eye-watering, but his mother was worth every universal token.

 

A few Chards mingled around. Mayer watched them, fascinated. They had a sauntering gait, their feet gripping the metal with thousands of small suckers. He gave a greeting, waving one arm and raising a magnetic boot. The nearest Chard responded with the correct talon wave and foot paddle. Mayer dipped his helmet in thanks.

 

With their simple breathing apparatus strapped to their scaled backs, the Chards looked fragile. He was used to seeing them in full EVA suits on mining planets. How he missed the camaraderie on those missions! He scoffed at the cruise liners for retirees, the boredom of sailing past Mars and Jupiter, drinking synthbeer. Now and then, he needed excitement, an adrenalin rush, like that first footstep on a new planet. Would it be soft shifting dust or a thin crust of rock above a cavern of ammonia gas?

 

Mayer’s fellow nebula tourists clumped back onto the viewing platform. With a single smooth motion, a dome of plexiglass descended. The Chard group displayed their pleasure by emitting gas, which swirled in a yellow haze. Mayer chuckled to himself. He’d experienced Chard emissions before and only just lived to tell the tale. He was safe and warm within his favourite spacesuit; the pungency of his own sweat was as good as smelling his mother’s home cooking.

Mayer, as an honoured guest, was moved to one side. A Chard bowed as he took Mayer’s glass globe. The Chards took center stage, demonstrating a traditional celebration dance involving hand waves and leg movements. They herded tourists into the centre of the circle, pulling them in tighter to the dance.

 

Outside the dome, gas was massing on one side of the nebula, a thickening that suggested an ionized protoplanetary disk, a proplyd. Mayer’s eyes tried to spot the moment it came into being, but the brightness dazzled him. Beside him, the dance was growing frantic. Arms and suckered legs whirled around. The Chards were glowing like the proplyd — a cloud of gas surrounded them.

 

A warning klaxon came through his helmet channel. With reflexes born of long practice, he flicked his tether into a hook. As the plexiglass dome rose, the new cloud of matter flew past Mayer. He caught a brief glimpse of tentacles, melting spacesuits and a glass globe before a wind caught him and ripped him off the platform. His tether held tight as he was pulled into the edge of the stream.

 

As abruptly as it had arrived, the wind dropped, and Mayer’s boots thumped down hard. When he looked up, he was alone on the platform. Above him, the stream of essence of Chard sparkling with color shot out and merged into the nebula. Mayer threw his arms wide, his head back, and flexed his knees into the Custom of Awe, and gave thanks for the new star, his mother, and his own survival.