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Welcome to Sutler-47! A brightly sign-posted fueling platform and motel slowly orbiting the Sutler system’s dying sun. Built to the same archaic specifications as a million more across the stars. Things here are a little too quiet-that’s when the shrill ping of a distress signal flashes across your ship’s monitors. This is the rock and roll future of yesteryear that never was—and nobody wanted. It is an intergalactic age of cowboys, outlaws and bandits playing on an interstellar stage. It is a time of hyper-capitalism and a cut-throat gig economy. Unreliable trash-heaps carry scrappy underdogs to their next gig, and corporation freighters lumber across the horizon laden with an empire’s bounty. These are the music-fueled, moon-age daydreams of a rebel space age. These are your ORBITAL BLUES.