Osbert

  The decontamination area was utilitarian. That was a way to describe the total lack of comfort or privacy.

  Air scrubbers cycled with a faint rhythmic pulse, and the faint scent of antiseptic never quite masked the metallic tang of recycled air. The walls were matte white, because nothing showed contamination and dirt better.

  With half a kilometer in length, a couple of hundred meters in width, and a smudge more than a hundred meters in height, one would think the Salaminia would offer better spaces for such an important task.

  Nope.

  The bulk of the space allotted for quarantine was occupied by medical facilities, decompression chambers, and enough filters to provide cleaner air than the ship ever provided.

  Not that it mattered, since when it was operational, it was on a separate air loop anyway. Better to be safe than sorry.

  The liveable space was enough to accommodate ten people. The standard exploration team was nine people.

  Two pilots, six security, and one unlucky lead scientist. The tenth space in the quarantine zone was occupied by one of the doctors on board, and it turned out it was Damien’s shift this time.

  CMO Damien Bracken was a tall guy and quite buff, but nothing when compared with Liam, who was questioning me at the moment.

  - What was the bright idea at the end, Oz?- He asked - If you slipped and fell, we’d have to try and rescue you!-

  -I know, I know- I said, raising my hands in a surrendering motion -still, that sample was worth the risk.-

  Liam looked me sideways -Oh, really? How come some water is worth your life now?-

  -We need to know if there’s salt water mixed in.- Liam raises an eyebrow at that

  -And you risk me having to partner indefinitely with Vega for a little salt water?-

  I resist the urge to squint at him, blurting out his real feelings at me.

  - Liam, even considering four moons, that flood was anomalous. Salt water presence would explain it better.-

  Damien lifted a hand, blocking Liam from continuing.

  -Staff Sergeant, I understand you wanna chew him off for being stupid, but he’s alive. That means he’s under my supervision.-

  Liam exhaled through his nose, slow and deliberate, then stepped back half a pace. That was as close to standing down as he ever got.

  Damien didn’t lower his hand right away.

  -Fine- he said. -But we’re not done talking about it.-

  Damien replied calmly. -Later. When he’s not technically radioactive.-

  I snorted despite myself.

  Damien finally turned to me, eyes sharp but not unkind. -Strip down. You know the drill.-

  I complied, slowly peeling off the outer suit components and slotting them into the intake rack. The suit sealed itself for sterilization with a dull thunk.

  Damien moved efficiently, scanning my vitals as I stepped onto the platform. - Any notable symptoms?-

  - Pain all over, residual adrenaline.- I said. -And maybe wounded pride.-

  -That’s a dangerous toxin- he said dryly. - Pride blinds you to truth. You’d better purge that from your system.-

  Muscle soreness had bloomed in places I hadn’t consciously used; there was muscle and ligament strain, a deep, spreading ache the medscan flagged as microtears.

  The suit had carried me through the water and high gravity faster, but my body was now collecting the bill.

  Nothing irreparable it seemed, but Damien’s scan lingered on my right knee longer than I liked since it was almost locked out of motion.

  -Congratulations- he said. -You didn’t tear anything important like your Meniscus, but your suit just asked it very firmly to consider the idea. You’ll walk, you just won’t enjoy it for a while. -

  Liam leaned against the rail, arms folded. He was watching the process, not me.

  That told me more than if he’d been glaring.

  Behind the transparent barrier, the rest of the team went through the motions. Archer looked bored. Foley was humming under her breath—quietly, off-key. Lane was checking the weapons the recruits had stripped on the pavement, and the pilots were playing a hand of Uno.

  The first stage of decontamination took longer than usual.

  Mainly for the spores, they turned out to contain an explosive mix of nitrates and sulfates mixed with methane.

  Chemical sweeps came back clean, no weird substances to watch out for.

  Biologically speaking, scans fell within our tolerance curve. Nothing more aggressive than Smallpox, or the ol’ Black Death. Manageable stuff, really.

  Radiation exposure was negligible, even lower than Earth’s.

  Results within parameters were good results.

  And yet, there was the stuff that didn’t meet the picture.

  When we were clear of the initial hard quarantine, Liam and I went straight to the briefing room. Well, I was less straight and more limpy, but that's totally acceptable.

  The briefing room was one of several scattered through the Salaminia’s bottom spine, a place near quarantine where data was argued and analyzed for planetary missions.

  It was compact, rectangular, and built around a projection table that dominated the center of the room.

  Its surface was a dense lattice of emitters and contact sensors, capable of throwing terrain meshes, atmospheric columns, or raw telemetry into the air with clarity.

  The table was already active, a scaled section of the wetland hovering above it in translucent layers, elevation in pale gray, water movement in slow blue vectors, pressure gradients ghosted in amber.

  Smaller data windows orbited the main model, pinned by invisible logic: suit telemetry, sensor feeds, and all the relevant calculus.

  Someone had left a physical stylus on the table’s edge, next to a scattering of data slates and a half-dismantled sensor housing that clearly hadn’t made it back to a lab yet.

  The room itself showed the signs of use; wall racks held portable scanners, sealed sample cases, and a tangle of cabling waiting for hands that knew what they were doing with the stuff.

  One corner housed a narrow bench cluttered with gloves, filters, and a field notebook someone still insisted on keeping in paper. So that was where the stylus came from.

  Kit was already playing with the data.

  It was fun looking at him with standard safety gear on; we had a recurring joke that he looked like a yellow penguin.

  -So, found anything interesting?-

  -Outside the killer flora?- He asked -Most complex carnivorous organism we identified yet on the candidate. -

  He shrugged - Methane pockets are likely a result of decomposing biological matter; plants actively collect and metabolize the gas to produce explosive spores. If they had come into contact with your body heat, and not the suit, they would have exploded. –

  -So, a plant became somehow a bomb hazard? What kind of explosion are we talking about here?- Asked Liam.

  I look at the data on the screen -Well, a firecracker basically. Really small one. Alone, we’re talking about a sting and in the worst-case scenario, a small burn. The real issue is the quantity and the methane pockets.-

  Kit nods in agreement. -Plants can release hundreds at a time, and if there’s a concentration of methane in the air, it becomes a small flashover. -

  Liam scratches his head - So, fire hazard basically. Won’t the plant burn as well?-

  -As long as they are alive, they are fairly fire-resistant.- Replies Kit. -They make for a heck of a kindling when dry.-

  -What about the other samples?- I ask

  - Nothing particularly worthy of attention, even though the botanists are fascinated. They’re already looking for practical applications without the explosive spores.- He answered -Ellian says that the soil is very rich in nitrates, so if we clean the native hostile vegetation, it is likely to be cultivable. It will be a matter of how much erosion we’ll be looking at once the roots are clear.-

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  I groan -Yeah, it’s a massive root system down there, I get why after seeing the flood. That reminds me, the last water sample?-

  -Salinity gradients are… non-existent. - Kit's tone is serious for once, final.

  I raise an eyebrow -So no salt water?-

  -Yup. All clean drinkable water, if you want, you can check yourself.-

  -What about mineral content? - I straightened slightly. - If there were multiple sources or subsurface channels with different mineral content …-

  He shakes his head -Nope, same source as the samples taken near the landing site and by drones in the cenotes after things calmed down. -

  -Care to explain why you seem upset by this? - Liam asked.

  -Because the flood had no right to be that fast.- Kit said carefully, making Liam raise an eyebrow.

  -Gravity can only account for so much, after all. If you want the quantity we saw, you need to have an additional source that’s influenced by gravity. A nearby water basin that rises in level, a hidden spring. I mean, nature is predictable.-

  I explain

  -So it wasn’t predictable? And it’s bad?- Liam asks, clearly dumbfounded.

  -Not necessarily bad.- Said Kit - This event is outside of the models we have. It means that there’s something in this world that compensates for what would be required or variables we aren’t considering. We have sent drones to the moons to analyze their composition and density, but until then, water bumps up in the list of threats for mission safety.-

  Liam nods - Got it, we avoid getting surprised by flash floods. - Liam didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push; he just acknowledged.

  Ellian appeared on the wall display a moment later; she looked tired. Looks like she had to do a double, maybe even triple shift.

  "I’ve finished a preliminary analysis of the samples from the moons." she said without preamble. "I’m transferring data to the room’s computer."

  I look at the data as it adjourns. - According to this, it would barely fit with a multiple lunar alignment. I wasn’t looking at the sky, but I don’t seem to recall one.- I look at Liam, who shakes his head.

  "Bianca has analyzed the gravitational models for these 72 hours, data is leaning towards an irregular resonance event." She replies.

  Liam nodded. -So that massive flood was our old friend Murphy knocking to remind us he’s out there?-

  -Maybe- I agree. -Second landing should be way above the waterline just to be sure he won’t knock back.-

  -No problem.- Kit said. -We’ve already found an interesting place.-

  -What about your knee?- Liam asked.

  -I’m mostly fine now, got three full days of recovery in quarantine.-

  Ellian hesitated just long enough for me to notice. "I don’t recommend escalating yet. There’s no breach of protocol. No loss of personnel. No confirmed hazard outside modeled parameters."

  -What does the captain think? - The question Liam spoke brought an awkward silence.

  -In other words- he sighed -You nerds want to go meddling with this planet without alerting command.-

  -Well…- Kit started only to be silenced by Liam’s glare.

  I clap my hands - I believe that a minor anomaly like that is beneath command. We will have to notify the colonists if we greenlight this planet, but as long as we plan around it, we can still collect valuable data. Besides, Liam, if we get bureaucracy involved, we risk having to twiddle our thumbs for the full quarantine period.-

  -Fine- He seemed to deflate - I would have a hard time with the two recruits I brought to train on planeside operations. But we leave water collection to the drones this time.- He shoots me a glare that makes me shiver.

  I leaned back against the bench, raising my hands -You’re the security and safety guy, Liam. I wouldn’t dare cross you.-

  I would be allowed back into my quarters only after the full quarantine, which would also mean that a full down shift would begin.

  Kit would take the lead on another 40 days of exploration, with another security team, while we’d handle support and extended monitoring.

  The Salaminia deployed drones in overlapping grids, skimming the wetlands at varying altitudes. Sensor buoys dropped into channels we’d walked through less than a day earlier. Seismic pings mapped subsurface voids and flow paths.

  The second landing was delayed another twenty-four hours.

  That was more out of caution, not fear. And to allow me to limp less.

  While stretching my legs, I found Liam alone, punching a suspended sandbag that he had had installed in a corner of the quarantine area. Each strike was measured. No wasted motion.

  -Still mad?- I asked.

  He didn’t stop. -No. Why would I need to be?-

  -Concerned?-

  -Always.-

  -That’s an… interesting trait- I said.

  He paused, finally turning to look at me. -You really think I was mad just for the water sample?-

  I considered lying.

  -I think it’s because I endangered myself-

  He studied me for a long moment, then nodded. -Yes, but you also endangered the group. I would have to order to rescue you. Somebody could have gotten hurt, or even died. -

  I nodded because there wasn’t anything else to say that wouldn’t cheapen it.

  Liam was stating a fact, the same way he did everything else.

  -I hear you, no more recklessness. - I said. And this time, I meant it in the way that mattered.

  He held my gaze a second longer, then gave a short nod and turned back to the bag. The rhythm of his strikes resumed, steady and controlled. Maybe he burned off stress through motion.

  That, too, was part of how we survived.

  The flood was a reminder to pay attention.

  Our models were tighter now. Landing zones adjusted. Timelines refined.

  I glanced once through the viewport as I passed, at the blue and red curve below us, silent, waiting.

  Since we earned a next time, we’d do better.

  \\ Elsewhere //

  The sun had gone to sleep and risen again; through it all, the metal eye above the sky did not move.

  She had watched it through the long dusk, through the shallow night, and into the next drawn-out morning. It neither blinked nor drifted. That alone had been enough to make her uneasy.

  At first, she had believed they were searching for her.

  That had been the pattern before: the eyes in the sky came first, then pressure, then fire and hunting squads.

  Instead of fire or challenge, smaller things had fallen away from it: metal spheres, cautious and numerous, drifting down to touch water, grass, earth, air. They took pieces, and they withdrew.

  That was… different. Hunters did not behave like this.

  There was a shared memory among her kind for such actions, the way attention felt before a world was challenged.

  This behavior belonged to those who tested, who measured compatibility, those who wished to know whether a place could hold them without breaking them.

  They were not seeking her.

  They were evaluating if the planet could be subdued.

  That realization unsettled her more than the pursuit would have.

  The Primacy had also tested worlds first. They had listened, in their way.

  They decided what could be bent, what could be silenced, what could be taken faster than it could heal. They had called it progress. Balance had never entered the conversation.

  These new ones had seemed different, but difference was not safety.

  They seemed ignorant of the leylines, that ignorance might save them.

  Or doom her. She could not tell yet.

  But she knew what she would not allow.

  There would not be another nest violated, even if that meant another losing war.