Pat was a rookie planet scout. She grew up on a farm planet that was the largest grain supplier in the local cluster of inhabited worlds. Someone with not such a great poetic imagination named the planet Wheat. And the name got stuck for obvious reasons.

Gru was a veteran planet scout who looked for planets rich in resources, mainly metals. Iridium and gold were on the top of the list; copper, cobalt, and nickel were also pretty good bargains. Iron? If you found lots of it, then yes. And here he found lots of it. But something went wrong. His craft was still in orbit, he was sure. But the landing unit failed and nearly crashed. Gru underestimated the gravity of the planet. At the last moment, he managed to shoot a sounding rocket with a ping zeroed in on his craft’s location in orbit. He hoped that the rocket was able to relay the signal and that his orbital would be sent out a distress signal. He hoped…

“Well, listen, Gru, my friend.” Pat was not swayed in the least. “What I have been watching is the color of the sky. It has not changed a bit in the past few days. At least, from the time of my… hm… landing. It remained this pale purple-blue color. Not even clouds. Well, there can’t be clouds under these conditions anyway. So, today, the color is deep purple down in the east. And there is some sort of haze there. What do you think has caused it, eh? A hurricane?” Pat stretched the last word again, then she quickly turned around, waving her hand.

A tall man and a slim woman were walking on the sand of a deserted beach. The Milky Way Galaxy looked the same on this planet as it did on any other planet they had been to. It stretched across half of an unpolluted sky dipping one sleeve below the dark watery horizon. Its reflection shimmered on the calm ocean waters. Hundreds of stars were dropping like tears from the cold space: the shooting stars. It was quiet, except for a breeze that gently blew cryptic whispers into the ears of those who cared to listen. And the man and woman did listen.