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Ben held the model ship close to his chest as he made his way through his grandfather’s home. To him it was magical, full of things he recognized the importance of mixed in with things that seemed outlandish and exotic: Paintings of old starships, alien masks on the walls, trinkets from worlds lightyears away... It was, in actuality, a modestly sized home, but the retired merchant spaceman had used the space well. Ben made his way to the bedroom his grandfather slept in. He knew the old man was awake from the light under and around the door. A polite knock and he entered.  His grandfather looked up from the aged leather tome he was studying, always preferring physical print to the headache-inducing electronic screens. His hair was white and fleeing, his mustache well-groomed, and he was dressed in his favorite maroon silk robe, made from the threads of a Velusian spider.   “Can’t sleep, shipmate?” the old man asked. The young boy shook his blonde hair. Thunder rumbled outside, but