Still no gates. But there's Skaia, all clouded over. You like it much better that way.
And there's Prospit in close orbit. That's where your dead sister's murdered dream torso is. You wonder if the kingdom has gotten around to having a... what do the humans call it again? You forget. Some sort of ludicrous cadaver festival. Just the typical kind of sentimental horseshit cooked up by races of people who actually live in each other's proximity. They often exhibit such bizarre tendencies that result from esoteric things like "culture" and "tradition." Aliens are so strange.
You guess Jack Noir could still be up there too. You'll have to catch up with him later for a debriefing. He has been very useful. You may need his service again some time.