Moissan Station


Moissan once housed the very pinnacle of food replication technology. Here would flock the gastronomes and connoisseurs of fine dining from all around the galaxy to partake in endless feasts of culinary delight. During the Catastrophe, the mighty machines that generated food for thousands of denizens and guests alike fell silent. When the dust settled and the survivors found themselves cut off from the rest of humanity, they found the machines had decayed to such a state as to leave them with no means of producing viable nutrition. Thousands succumbed to starvation in the first cycles. The dead were buried beneath the rubble and detritus of the station's ruined cities. Soon, however, survivors noticed that the decomposing corpses promoted growth of vast fields of mushrooms and spores, many of them edible. Many attribute the survival of the station to this grim harvest and, now that Moissan has rejoined the rest of humanity, the fungus provides a steady source of trade and revenue.

Chronicle Text

Moissan Station was once a thriving location for galactic gastronomes. Behemoth food processing machines churned out exquisite works of edible art for thousands of salivating visitors. Then the machines died, and the people starved. Their mass graves soon invited forests of mold and mushroom, fungus and spore. Slowly, achingly, Moissan, the patron station of death and rebirth, of continuity and sacrifice, began to prosper once again. By cultivating the forests of micelial product they saved not only themselves, but helped to provide a base nutrient for the first rations that would feed a post Catastrophe galaxy.

Arrival Text

You have arrived on Moissan Station, Ser. Be welcome and nourish your soul.


System: Alpha Centauri A
Affiliation: Gaule
Level: 7
Legal: 4 (Weak)
Orwellian: 10 (High)



A large squat building that houses the vaults and credit exchange depots of the station. A small number of men and women go about their business, making deposits or withdrawals.

The thick regocrete walls of the bank exude a stoic security that is mirrored in the various staff members who help people with their transfers and deposits. A number of private vestibules around the building allow for some privacy while conducting one's business if needed. The building itself is decorated in the colors of the Gaule Protectorate, lending a slightly militaristic motif to the area.



Inmates peer through the bars of a large building at the edge of the station’s populated area. Guards stand outside the entrance, garbed in light combat gear with weapons hanging at their sides.

The brig is surrounded by a tight razor-wire fence that leaves little space for outside recreation. The inmates’ only portals to the outside world are window slits so narrow that a child would be hard-pressed to slip a hand through. A patch of various types of fungi creep up the side of the main building. A particularly bio-luminescent strain casts a fey light over the nearby area and even into some of the cells themselves. Prisoners consider themselves lucky to be placed within the 'Shroom-lit' rooms.


Clones (Cloning Center)

Rows of blue-tinted vats extend down the length of the cloning center. Uniformed technicians walk between them, stopping occasionally to take notes and inspect their fluid levels.

Cloning vats dangle from a ceiling thick with various patches of bio-luminescent spores and mushrooms, bubbling as the sapphire liquid inside gurgles. A few clones drift lazily in scattered tanks, their prune-skinned bodies twitching softly as they wait to awaken. Every few segments a clone technician comes through with a spray bottle and some thick rags. When they’re done, the vats shimmer, reflecting the colors of the rooms lighting mingled with that of the spores above.

Available Clones


Decommissioned Area (The Fungal Fields)

The air is putrid and hung heavily with the weight of constant decomposition. A thousand varieties of fungus grow here, clustered close. The soil is particularly calibrated for the growth of the mushrooms: being a shallow layer of dirt over a vast mass grave system.

The mushroom forest towers to the roof of this part of Moissan, billowing its canopy across the full reach of the district’s ceiling. The varieties of fungus are myriad: many glow with eerie bioluminescence while others, small and quiet, dot the paths that weave as mazes through the forest itself. Processing plants are deep within the maze, some rigged for dehydration, some for paste making, while others for simple packaging for quick export. The zone had been the area which the inhabitants from Before brought the remains of their beloved dead after the decimation caused by the levels of hunger that struck the station so harshly during the Catastrophe. Native Moissans take the death of the physical form very seriously and have made a cultural effort to revere those that have passed.

Government Center

The government center in Moissan is a drab and utilitarian building. Some threadbare wall hangings with fraying edges adorn the main hall.

Many of the rooms within the government building are empty and closed up, a testament to fact that only a fraction of Moissan's population survived through the dark days after the Catastrophe. Some of the fungus that proliferates throughout much of the station can be seen creeping in through doors and windows of the grey building, adding splashes of yellow, red, and green where a particular spore type grows.

Most of the visitors to the building are travelers to the station. However, a small number of staff are native Moissanians, quiet and stoic men and women who have survived through the harshness of starvation until civilization found them again. Oddly enough, these people do not seem to suffer any effects of malnutrition but look healthy and fit despite their more reserved demeanors.

Info Hub

Holo screens illuminate the area as news sources flow like a river of data from one terminal to the next. Occasionally, some government drone will adjust a particular metric or record another before buzzing about their duties.

Syndicate Services

A number of recruiters, both in physical as well as hologrammatic form, interact with would-be members or peruse applications on the wall of terminals that lines this room.

VIP Lounge

Soft music and soothing lights drift through the atmosphere in the lounge. Robotic waiters clad in shiny (but not too shiny) chrome wheel between Citizens, dispensing smooth looking beverages.


The ground floor has patrons gathered around tables, drinking and talking. There are stairs in the back leading up to rooms.

Bar (Spore Bar)

Spore is the name of Moisson Station's most popular bar. The sign is a mushroom cloud lit in various shades of purple and blue.

The interior of the bar known as Spore is lit in various shades of violet and lilac, matching the sign outside. This lends the entire establishment an atmosphere of soft velvet awash in these psychedelic hues. Patrons drift lazily about, matching the dust motes that catch the strange light as they waft around the bar. A mobile neon menu is projected onto the walls and moves slowly about, pausing whenever a patron waves their hand over it. The drinks on display are all concocted of various mixtures of fungus distillate.


Hotel Rooms

The guest rooms of the inn are very secure. Just the place for a good night's sleep.

  • 1 day: 58.4 cr
  • 5 days: 233.6 cr
  • 10 days: 408.8 cr
  • 30 days: 1051.2 cr


This is the right place if you are looking to socialize.

Employment (Employment Center)

The walls of the job center are covered in ads from the station’s mushroom processing plants. Several posters show messages of togetherness and community.

The boards of the job center are lined with ads urging station residents and visitors to seek out employment with one of the local mushroom processors. “Help us make life out of death.” “Hunger kills, death nourishes.” There’s more on the job board than just work fliers, though. There are pictures and handwritten notes among the “hiring now” signs. One image shows a young boy, smiling brightly as he clutches a toy. There’s writing on the back. “You went so soon, you shared your life and saved our own. Love you forever.”

Side Jobs

This is the right place if you are looking for quick and easy jobs.

Name Description Credits Statistic
Corpse Collection Recent gaps in our stock have led to temporary openings in our corpse collection division. We're willing to pay credits for any dead bodies. Bring out your dead and earn today! 30 Intelligence
Corpse Unloading "Need credits? Got muscle? Help us unload incoming corpse coolers so we can transport them to their final resting place in the recycling district. Our work crews can always use an extra hand!" 20 Strength
Customer Assistance Our customer complaints center has really high turnover. We need temporary workers for customer service shifts. 30 Social
Pod Mucker The Cloning Center is looking for individuals with a good work ethic and willingness to get their hands significantly dirty. Visit our facilities for walk-in work. 5 Stamina


Mixed among the more common stores are the booths of the mushroom vendors. Loudly lauding the quality of their fungi, they hand out small samples to the visiting merchants, ship captains, and collectors.

The floor and many surfaces of the market are covered by patches of various type of spores and mushrooms. The oddly shaped, colored, and occasionally even luminescent fungi lend an almost fey ambiance to the area. The various vendors and buyers in the area seem to take their presence in stride, even carefully stepping around the patches so as not to crush the eukaryotic organisms. The mushrooms that grow and cover many of the surfaces on the station serve both as a reminder of the hardship that followed the Catastrophe, as well as a symbol of Moissan's salvation.



Here you can find many things sold by different vendors.

Storage (Moissan Storage)

A large and broken carving from a bygone time displays a smiling family all holding fist-sized diamonds. The carving as well as the storage lockers are covered with various strains of bio-luminescent fungus.

The light from a number of fixtures on the walls struggles to push past the dense spores that grow over the area, much like the rest of the station. In contrast, the bio-luminescence provided by a number of the spores washes the room in all sorts of fey hues and lends the entire area a soft and sylvan feel. Travelers moving to and fro and accessing their lockers do so quietly, almost in unconscious reverence to the strange and organic light show on display.

  • Small: 146 cr
  • Medium: 350.4 cr
  • Large: 876 cr


Carts filled with processed mushrooms roll along the steel floors of the station’s massive port, loaded by grimy workers onto waiting cargo ships marked with ration corporations logos.

A cadre of uniformed workers make their way to a freshly landed ship, wheeling out large containers that spew forth a steady mist of chilled air. The older, more experienced workers chat amicably as they push the empty refrigerators. The junior staff are quiet as they drive their grim burdens forward. A procession of carts loaded with processed fungi passes them heading the other direction.

Much of the area is covered with different patches of molds and fungi, a colorful coat that Moissan wears proudly, a reminder of how close the station came to being devoid of life. The many different types of eukaryotic organisms that grew out of the mass graves around the station during the Catastrophe were like a vast and tiny forest of life for the survivors.



A bustling river of humanity with endlessly branching tributaries flows from the shuttles arriving here, through the processing gates, to crash onto the banks of eagerly awaiting locals receiving visitors from near or far flung parts of the galaxy. A number of travelers post the usual glazed looks of those recently harangued by any type of transportation system created and run by the human species. They drift with a mixture of existential confusion and relief through to the station beyond. Always, they are scrutinized by security or some type of subspecies therein.

Docks (Les Docks)

The docks are full of private vessels, mostly owned by high ranking military elite or visiting dignitaries. Their ships sit like expectant birds of prey, hulls glossy and seemingly untouched by time or wear.

Shipping Bay

The Galactic Parcel Service shipping containers are heavily guarded. If you have goods delivered, this is where they will be stored

Local Shuttles

A steady stream of shuttles land and take off at regular intervals, taking or bringing in travelers from around the local system.

Travelers utilize the various waiting areas while they keep an eye on the screens announcing arrivals and departures. Children run, playing between the different lounges and an android representing Benevolent Dynamics walks to and fro, helping people with inquiries and travel issues.


This station has rebuilt sufficiently after the Catastrophe that they have created a safe and pleasant residential district.

Many stations still have the bulk of their population living in ruins, or in a handful of private residences. This station has managed to rebuild sufficiently that a safe, secure residential area has been established. Guards patrol frequently and disreputable sorts are run off quickly.


A vast and ruined city filled with mass graves covered by debris and detritus. The whole area is covered in hundreds of different kinds of mushrooms of every color and size.

Broken buildings rise from the a station floor stained in multiple hues by the many colorful and often bio-luminescent fungi, climbing up toward the glow of the fusion tube. While many of the streets closest to the habzone have been kept a little cleaner, the fungi in the ruins are encouraged to grow as much as possible, drawing life from the thousands of corpses buried beneath.

Fungus farmers move between the fields of fungi, processing the grim harvest that once saved their lives and now provides a viable export for the rationing corporations of the galaxy. Scientists can also be seen moving between the fields, taking samples in order to further facilitate the growth of Moissan's most important product.


The Wrecks

Cycle-upon-cycle of neglect has taken its toll on these areas. Dehumidifiers were offline for so long that the dank and humid conditions gave rise to vast colonies of corpse-fed fungi, many of which contain powerful hallucinogens that send consumers on a crazed and surreal mental trip. Many of those scavenging here do so whilst under such influences.

Despite incessant pillage since Catastrophe, the Wrecks still have plenty to offer the careful forager. Such theft of station property has been de facto legal for so long that authorities now regard it as an unofficial recycling effort. Many a station Governor has come to power promising to reclaim the Ruins; and all have left office with the ambition unfulfilled.

The Wilds

Ever-present dangers deter Moissan's foragers from this area despite the presence of some impressive fungal specimens, their roots thriving on the reliable supply of corpses provided by warring gangs.

Moissan's Wilds feature claustrophobic rock chambers of bulbous fungi, forming structures taller than even the lankiest of Belters. Syndicates use their fleshy crevices to hide items and supplies. In the heat of battle, their globular forms also provide vital cover against many weapon types.


This is security division for the station. Guards often rest here and prisoners are questioned here.

Sick Bay

The sick bay reeks of disinfectant and lacks even the most basic of decorations other than various health and safety related posters.

A sterile odor fills the air, thick enough to burn your eyes. Despite the smell of cleaning fluid, the walls are stained with a thin layer of mold. The waiting room is filled with patients who cough and wheeze as they wait for their turn with the facility’s scant medical personnel. A harried-looking receptionist fields their questions, doing his best to ease the frustrations of the people who have been waiting the longest. Advisory notices warn about the dangers of “Spore Lung” and urge farmers to purchase proper air filtration equipment. One notice, dwarfed by all the others, claims that "The body is the final gift, consumption of the vessel liberates the soul."



Pulsing music overpowers the noise of men and women working out. Every few segments the song changes and the sounds of their exertion fills the air until the next one starts.

A man pushes a weighted barbell into the air, his voice rising into a strained groan. Releasing the heavy metal, a loud clang fills the air and drowns out the music for a brief instant. Around the room, others toil similarly; lifting weights, running on treadmills and pushing themselves until their chests are heaving and their skin brims with sweat. On a wall near the door, you find a bolted plaque. “A healthy body for a healthy soul. A healthy soul is a gift we leave behind."

You must have minimum combined physical stats of 33 to avoid injury at this gym.


The university is sparse and industrial, housed in a building in the mushroom processing district. Its walls are the same dull gray of the nearby processing plants; the buildings could easily be mistaken for one another.

Drab and square, the station’s university is small and poorly maintained. A line of people stretches out its doors and onto the street, waiting for their turn to use one of the automated nanoshot course injectors. A sign of cracked, mold-blackened plastic is screwed onto the wall outside the door. “Step 1: Insert credits. Step 2: Insert arm. Step 3: Select desired course. Step 4: Wait for injection.” Below these instructions, in smaller print, is a warning. “In the case of malfunction or injection failure, do not attempt to remove your arm manually. Staff will be sent to assist with needle extraction.” Several of the automatic injectors are out of order and appear to have been that way for some time.




  • The Fungal Fields (Decommissioned Area) was originally known as Memory Mushroom Forest.

"Galactic Destinations" Introduction

“And when I ate you, we would grok together and nothing would be lost and it would not matter which one of us did the chopping up and eating.”

Valentine Michael Smith

This time period corresponds to a tradition from Before that venerates the spookier folktales and mythoi of our ancient cultures. Today we bring you a report on the ghoulish mystery that surrounds the station known as Moisson! Read on to discover more about the rumors of this alleged dark harvest.

Moisson station resides in the Alpha Centauri system. Once, it was known to house the very pinnacle of food replication technology. Here would flock the gastronomes and connoisseurs of fine dining from all around the galaxy to partake in endless feasts of culinary delight.

But when the Catastrophe struck, the mighty machines that generated food for thousands of denizens and guests alike fell silent. Worse still, when the dust settled and the survivors found themselves cut off from the rest of humanity, they found the machines had decayed to such a state as to leave them with no means of producing viable nutrition.

Thousands succumbed to starvation in the first years, their bodies littering the streets. The rest of Moisson’s grim history fell into darkness. Nobody truly knows what happened in the decades that followed until humanity began collecting its scattered remains and Moisson rejoined the fold.

Recently, there have been reports of the station’s dead disappearing. Bodies plucked from the morgue before they have had a chance to be cremated, clinics losing the deceased hours after they have passed, and similarly ghoulish tales. The unifying theory so far is that the dead are being eaten! Such an activity is, of course, considered criminal, but investigations have thus far been unable to yield any clues. All manner of grizzly hypotheses have begun to surface, though none have been corroborated.

Some claim that a cult of corpse eaters has sprung up out of the hunger-ridden darkness of Moisson’s recent past. There are also more grounded theories stating this, as many of humanity’s darkest acts, involves greed and profit more than anything else. There are even those who defend the activity, stating that there exists on the station a secret sub-culture of honoring one’s loved ones by consuming their flesh.

Clearly, the truth of the matter will only be reached with a more thorough and in-depth investigation than is currently being provided by local authorities. No doubt such an investigation will yield facts that delve into far more than just circumstance, touching upon the darker aspects of the human psyche when faced with need and desperation!

Let it be said here that those who live their lives where life hangs by less than a thread understand the dreadful algebra of necessity, which has no mercy.

Terry Pratchett

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