Author: Julian Miles, Staff Writer

The fizzing sound stops as the skies turn from vibrant blue to dull purple. A golden sun sinks from view on the horizon.
“The sunset always takes my breath away.”
To be correct, the lack of heat excitation causes the Moatalbana moss to stop emitting oxygen. But the play on words is amusing.
Hanna punches my shoulder, then hands me a breather.
“Good joke. Made me smile.”
“Thanks.”
I pull the straps into place and take that first wonderful hit of full-oxy air. Every night it’s the same. Says a lot about the excitement levels of my days, but I’m here to observe, not become a viral sensation.
Settling next to me, Hanna points to the thin yellow line that’s appeared along the horizon line with the departure of the sun.
“Okay, describe that to me.”
I think I have the words.
“Algae growing on mats of floating seaweed. It fluoresces briefly with the departure of the sun. There’s a study underway to find if it emits or attracts anything.”
We never found that out, either.
“How’s the study going?”
I glance sideways and grin.
“Not thrilling.”
She chuckles briefly, then sighs.
“Story of this planet.”
Ontabalmy is a tired world. A few million years older than Earth, it used to host an advanced technological culture, thousands of years ago. They even looked like humans: news that stunned everyone across human-inhabited space. Which isn’t a big area, to be fair. Three planets, four if Ontabalmy is approved for colonisation.
“It’s a truth. This place is peaceful and benign.”
“Apart from humans being unable to breath after dark?”
“Largely benign, then. Certainly better than Mars. Better sunsets, too.”
She twists to look at me in surprise.
“How do you know that?.”
I smile. I don’t, but –
“An interstellar being of mystery, me.”
I see the edges of teeth in the wide grin behind her faceplate. Her eyes flash with amusement.
“You’re too charming to be real. Explorers are independent types. Rough and ready. Direct and devoid of whimsy.”
“There’s nothing that indicates we can’t also be well mannered.”
There’s a pause. Her expression turns thoughtful.
“True, but being convivial could encourage proximity. We’re still unclear on deeper social mores and mating behaviours.”
I rest a hand on her shoulder.
“That’s our mistake. They’re not all well-balanced, socially adept gregarians. Most of them are anxious, awkward, and stressed. They’re all making it up as they go along, trying to compensate for lives lived in virtual isolation due to their society’s dependence on digital interaction. If we become smooth-talking, socially competent caricatures, we’ll stand out more, not less. Clumsy and unsure, hesitant and slow to trust. That’s the way we need to be.”
She leans in until her mask rests against mine.
“You mean we’re alright as we are?”
I’d nod, but that would break the moment.
“We are. We’re humans, now.”
She sighs.
“Not the last of the Ontabalmins.”
I pause, then laugh softly.
“There’s your proof. You said ‘Ontabalmins’, not ‘Corodatillu’.”
She leans back.
“Is this really it? After four thousand years, we’re awake?”
“Briefly. It’s not like we can do anything except live a while, give a little, then die out. The chamber survival rate was worse than predicted.”
Hanna takes my hand.
“Two out of twenty thousand pairs? I’d say that’s a catastrophe that claimed its creators, not ‘worse than predicted’.” She stops, then smiles. “But… A second life where we know each other from the beginning. I’ll take it, no matter how short.”
I place my other hand over hers.
“Let’s live. Anything else is a bonus.”