Kwan TinguiLeung Soey, a man stiff-jointed, overweight, and white-haired at the age of seventy-three, stood beneath the roof tiles on the stone pavilion in the Garden of Peace. All the brown and gray stone had been mined from an asteroid and cut into shapes with smooth, polished surfaces. The pavilion, on a small hill, marked the highest spot in the park.
Beyond the billowing green trees in the distance, he could see the inward surface of the space colony curving upward. If he kept his gaze low, he could forget that he lived inside a giant cylinder called Zhang-E, slowing turning in space as it orbited Sol in the Asteroid Belt. He had escaped the rigors of the Chicago Chinatown as a young man, but as he got older and more weary, he sometimes wondered what Earth felt like now.
“Ah Soey, d
