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Junkertown station: arguably less “one town of a million or so souls in space” than “ten or so separate space stations sharing little more than a center of gravity,” wrapped around trans-shipping docks in the unpatrolled and lawless outskirts of a fringe system far from the Mage-King of Mars, his Hands, his Navy, or his laws. It spreads across a zero-g lattice seven kilometers tall and wide, and about fifteen long, a mismatch of towers, hollowed asteroids, and spin habitats bolted to (or relocated within) a no-longer-spinning O’Neill cylinder and multi-kilometer docking towers. Whichever part you’re in, Junkertown is a place where people mostly come to do business they might be forced to avoid elsewhere. Its component parts are run by the practices and predilections of those who happen to own their part of the station or the power to insist on some measure of control anyway. Less than half of the people living there have any plans to stay. Tonight, crumpled in an alley in one of the spin sections, there’s about to be another hoping to leave.
"I'd say bad luck that I landed here, then, but honestly I'm glad to be somewhere with people and that isn't on fire."
Samora and the clerk keep on trading cultural and technological information in a similar vein; by 8AM Olympus Mons time they feel like they have a rough grasp of each other's magic systems and Samora knows enough about what electricity is to be very impressed with it.
In places where there's no well-defined dawn, the gods must work out different agreements for when clerics get their spells. In the absence of any other gods with opinions on this civilization's space stations, the tiny fragment of a fragment of Iomedae that tracks Samora's spell prep timer defaults to a census of nearby clocks.
"Oh, apparently dawn is now! Time to go do my prayer hour." Samora goes and kneels in a corner with her sword across her knees and contemplates the lessons she's learned from this strange planet and also the various options for getting her party collected up and pointed at the Belcorra situation again. Sending Sending and another Sending in case of complications, two Plane Shifts and one Breath of Life instead of the reverse, handful of combat spells for the optimistic case where they're back in the dungeon by mid-afternoon and for the pessimistic case where there's some other unexpected combat, two Comprehend Languages because this place has a lot of signage and it would be nice to be able to read it, and several open slots because this is a weird situation and she expects to want flexibility more than maximum combat effectiveness.