Personally, I was more taken by the view through the transparent dome. Millions of asteroids of all sizes, colors and compositions filled the sky in a slow dance against a backdrop split vertically between unfiltered stars and the empty blackness of Intergalactic space. It was the kind of view that made a contemplative person reflect on his place among all that the universe contains.

We had been there no more than two minutes before my appreciation of the glories of the cosmos was rudely interrupted by the arrival of that paragon of arrogant narcissism himself, the former Lord Lumar D’Orneo.

Decked out in a costume that would have embarrassed any self-respecting circus clown, he was the epitome of deluded fashion blindness. There must have been two dozen bright, clashing colors among his puffy pants, curly-toed slippers, wide sash belt, balloon-armed pleated shirt, and lopsided beret cap. It's been said that he fancies himself an artist and trendsetter, but I don't know of anyone who has actually copied his flamboyant dress for anything other than a joke. Perhaps among a certain set on Villalba there were some who took him seriously back in his day, but if so they would never admit to it now.

His body, and especially his face, had been tweaked into the idea of physical perfection. He was neither too tall nor too short, too thin or too muscular. His facial features were based on mathematical models that supposedly describe the ideal masculine form: firm chin, full but not over-full lips, strong slightly-arched nose, protruding but not angular cheekbones, large brown eyes, and medium-weight eyebrows. His hair, what there was of it not covered by his cap, was short, tightly curled and a golden blond, which almost completely matched his skin complexion. He was known to be at least 130 years old but looked 25.