Portobelo is a Colonial outpost seven jumps from the Cyrannus System and on a route towards the Borellan Sector pushing the boundaries of the red line. A planet in the 'Goldilocks band', it has a light atmosphere and stable gravity. The world characterised as dry and windless, flat but for steep mountain ranges and deep valleys caused by some long ago series of asteroid strikes.
Portobelo while referring to the planet is more specifically the name of the main settlement; a small frontier 'town' with a wireless station and not much else around it. Thought to hold a good amount of ores, mining has not taken off with finds in asteroid belts in nearby systems proving easier to get at. A small population of prospectors and 'colonists' have settled the world because of its lack of regular interaction with the rest of Colonial society and the powers that control it. The world has a few native plant and fungus varieties that are considered edible or non-threatenning to human life.
The town is based around the 'wireless station', a post office of sorts from which news is delivered and sent over the air waves and out across the stars. Two hotels and a bar and dancing hall surround the centre of town which to the north opens out into still, cleared and forever dusty landing sites. A small tower and a series of sorry looking shelters house the town's shuttles and it is considered a sad area of the place at noon, though at night the guidance lights change the atmosphere and are something to see on their own merits. Most of the inhabitants live to the south in tight housing clusters over the top of underground or semi-recessed shops. Much of the wide open streets in this area are plastered with tire tracks or advertisements and directions to a ramp, set of stairs or hole underground that promises to take you to a cool shop selling something you need to have- for cubits you don't have. Portobelo has Tylium silos out to the near north west and a few homesteads doting the world, but most of the population gravitates around the township where fuel, feed and a firey local beverage are compelling factors. No machine shop makes the world highly dependent on supply ships for parts and equipment. There are some six hundred and seventy four souls and most call themselves 'prospectors' or 'landowners' as all land has already been claimed without much survey.