Wash's Gift. (narrative)
The City wished to keep the promise it had made to Hoban Washburne. Not because it felt badly for the man, though it did - despite not exactly knowing what the feeling was, but because it liked to keep promises, and it liked to see the citizens happy. The ramifications of Hoban crashing his space vehicle into the barrier and almost getting himself killed were widespread. Rippling through the community and touching everybody.
Which was decidedly not good.
It began construction on the idea it had come up with as soon as it found a suitable place. When it was finished, the City deposited a strange looking key into the pants pocket of the pilot. It would recognize his touch, and only work for him. It would also recognize if he was alive, so nobody could do something foolish like try to take his hand and use the key. It wasn't that what the City was giving him was so important to the general scheme, it was that the City wanted Wash to have a place that was truly his own.
The key would open a door that Wash would be able to find as soon as he began to look for it, no matter where he was within the wall. If he wanted the door, the door would be there.
On the other side of the door, a long series of stairs. Curving and bending. Twisting, always headed down. At the very bottom, a ladder. Simple steel. It would take him to a porthole. The porthole would open up - using the key again - onto another ladder, which would take him into a cockpit.
A perfect replica of the one on his beloved ship, Serenity. Just the cockpit, though. Every button would be there. Every switch. Outside of the window - space. Endless space. Where the City moved, Wash would be able to see the new stars, the different planets, his view would be unencumbered by anything. If he moved the steering mechanism, the cockpit would swivel, and he would be able to give himself a panoramic view.
The city hoped that it was what the man wanted. It was the best it could do.