Luna

Luna

Luna is Earth's near companion and Sol's courtroom moon — regolith domes, ice-mined tunnels, and the Arbitration District where the Solaris Federation keeps calendars that still matter to the arm. Vacuum waits outside every airlock; inside, carpet hush and clerk shoes on basalt tile sound like civilization pretending gravity is a choice.

25-point residency is club membership with a view of Earth that never gets old and never gets cheap. Earth-facing districts sell protocol and terrace cocktails; far-side stacks run logistics, ice harvest, and the polite fiction that Luna is not a planet but absolutely is a planetary state. Tesla sky lanes thread dome canyons on the inner face — self-driving fliers the sealed system treats as normal — while federal judges thread precedent through disputes that start on Mars and end in headlines.

Luna is where law lands when wealth wants gravity without weather. Concord approach corridors anchor here; permits are genealogy; and a denied guest-of-guest invitation can strand a Corridor crew faster than a busted ring coupling.