Ramot is lush, green and quiet. An hour into their ramble, the captain lets them take off their helmets.
The explorers sigh giddily. Each inhalation rejuvenates oxygen-starved tissue; each exhaled breath rids them of years of cramped living inside stasis-space capsules.
Tangy chlorophyll overlays the scent of fresh cool mud. It has rained recently. The explorers marvel at the dispersing clouds.
Unseen, the engineer plucks a wildflower. His gloves do not rot nor pick up any signs of toxins. He casually overtakes his colleagues.
It is evening before the captain discovers the crimson token tucked into her braid.
