Karine’s oxygen was nearly empty with the relay station nowhere in sight. An amber fog followed the trio of crashlanded explorers, blanketing the thicket of jade-green jungle ahead and below. The tangy smell in the air, throbbing flora, and cawing fauna were ever-present.

“This is a Green Paradise,” the Captain of Flight, Patr, had been the first to remove his oxygen mask, “we are the eyes on the Rim, guiding the seed ships to new lands.”

“Patr,” Karine called, “how long have you been out of oxygen?”

When Patr faced her, his face was sunken, hollow, ghoulish. He seemed to have aged a hundred years in mere hours. “The oxygen you carry is poison, Karine. Abandon it.”

Patr climbed up the trail, leaving Karine in her tracks.

“Something has happened to him,” Loris said, approaching Karine, “he’s been muttering ‘bout a Green Paradise for hours.” Karine at the Captain of Logistics, “He’s losing his mind.”

“I’m almost out of oxygen,” Karine said, ignoring the Captain of Logistics implications. “Will the relay station will have reserves?”

Loris adjusted the flechette rifle on his shoulder. “Doubt it. The spaceport we overshot was old, very old,” the Captain of Logistics squinted through the amber fog. “GPS mapping and predictors are wildly off.”

Karine nodded. “We should keep going then.”

The farther into the tangled growth, the faster Karine’s oxygen depleted. When they emerged from the jungle, finding a flat plateau, Loris’s oxygen mask was unconnected, dangling limply around his neck. Karine looked at her own tank’s gauge, watching the red arrow approach a red E. She held her breath for a moment, before inhaling, hoping to save air.

“The seed ships should land here!” Karine saw Patr pointing to an outcropping of mossy stones and rotting tree stumps.

What sort of storm, or beast could have cleared this area?

“Patr,” Loris said, approaching him, “we need to keep going, we need to reach the relay station to tell the others not to land. The air isn’t any good—our readouts were wrong.”

“NO!” Patr’s voice was erratic, shrill. “We need to tell the Rim. This is a green paradise, ripe for settling. They will shower us with honors—look…”

Karine followed Patr’s gloved hand towards the valley they’d come from. A tangled column of wispy smoke emerged, a reminder of their uneven emergency crash landing.

This isn’t real. None of the system checks or training modules prepared us for a botched pre-seeding exedition.

The Captain of Engineering and Science both went up in flames in the crash.

“Patr,” Loris said, taking another step towards him, “we need to warn the seedships not to land here. This place, something… is… wrong.”

The air was ungodly humid even at the plateau. Mossy lichen covered every inch, with amber smog everywhere.

Karine’s attention snapped away from the valley, as Patr drew his belt gun. Reflex drove her off the impromptu trail, ducking as she went.

“Don’t you hear them? They’re going to steal credit—we will be nothing.”

“Easy Captain,” Lois said, taking a half step towards Patr, one hand extended. When Karine saw the Captain of Flight's face, it had changed again. Patr’s skin was taught, cracking. His lips peeled back, wheezing air sucking with each breath.

Loris had a similar appearance, though not as severe.

“Captain, please put the gun away,” Karine called out.

What happened next seemed to both happen all at once, and over the span of a century. Bullets flew from the belt gun, striking the Captain of Logistics once. Twice. Three times.

The crack echoed, silencing the hum of the jungle for the briefest of moments.

Loris’s body collapsed where he stood, the flechette rifle falling to his feet, his data pad slipping from his fingers. Karine reeled with a horror she had never experienced.

“Let’s go,” Patr said reaching for the data pad, handing it to Karine, “The Captain of Logistics was purposefully taking us astray. Assistant Communicator Karine, you are now Captain of Logistics—lead on.”

Patr’s face looked nothing like the captain she had known. The air’s amber-green tint imprinted itself on his skin and hair. Karine saw her reflection in the data pad, noticing, behind her oxygen mask, she remained unchanged.

Though not for much longer.

They reached the relay station after another hour. Emergency power was available—in minimal amounts—but all clean oxygen was vented long ago. The communication terminal was operational, though in a different language. Patr shoved Karine aside after she adjusted the remedial settings.

“We… need… tell them… A… green planet ready… for… for seeding,” he labored, typing into the data pad, connecting it to the main terminal. “This… call it… Patr… ‘r Patr’s World!”

Karine’s oxygen was empty before walking into the relay station and was already categorizing the effects of this planet’s air.

I’m losing my mind.

Her hearing was beyond heightened and a consistent pumping of adrenaline made the hairs on her neck vibrate. Her heart hammered, and her mouth was dry. Something was pushing her toward her desires and impulses.

It was exhausting.

But is going to make this easier.

Patr typed, muttering to himself.

Karine grabbed the flechette rifle, pressed the butt into her shoulder, and aligned the barrel with the Captain of Flight. She was no security professional, having only remedial training.

Mostly knowing how to point and shoot.

The power of the weapon surprised Karine when she pressed the trigger. The gore that showered the communications terminal after did not.

Whatever was in the air steadied her. She peeled the datapad from Patr’s frail body and sent a ‘DO NOT LAND’ command, as the last of the emergency power dissipated.

Relief came after, but the energetic pulse continued. If any vitals scanners were operational they would have told her what she already knew: her metabolism was maxing out.

When Karine stopped at the viewport, looking out and waiting for the end, she saw not a great green paradise but, instead, an endless green wasteland.