If my cabin feels a bit claustrophobic, the mess hall is quite the opposite. Undoubtedly the most relaxing place on Turbine Station V, the room is abuzz with the conversation of weary crewmen.

The first thing I notice is the construction: it’s a large, glass dome that rises high above the tables, affording a spectacular view of the storm outside. Visibility is, of course, low, but the entire hall surges with the swirling vermilion fireclouds that race around it.

Looking upward, I see two of the fifty massive rotors that hold this station aloft almost 300 miles above the planet surface. Each blade is wide as a small highway, and longer than a house. They revolve in fierce silence beyond the glass, fending off all but the Red Spot’s strongest gusts.

A second-floor balcony serves as a modest lounge to overlook the mess hall, and I spot the commander standing at the top of the stairs. He motions for me to come up.

“Ah, Stanton,” he croons, “you made it! After all you’ve been through today, how about a drink?”