Where We
Take Root

Walking to the lab always brought Hale a quiet kind of joy. Nothing loud or all-consuming—just the small, steady sort that carried him through the first few tasks of the morning shift. Not that it was ever really morning out here. The greenhouse greeted Hale with its familiar warmth. Humid air, heavy with the scent of crushed leaves, tomato vines, and clean, mineral-rich water washed over him as the hatch sealed shut behind him. Beneath it lingered the faint smell of warm plastic and humming electronics—a reminder that every living thing here survived by the grace of machines. Rows of emerald stretched beneath the cool glow of grow lights, their leaves trembling gently in the steady breath of the ventilation system. Pumps murmured under the walkways, carrying nutrients through a maze of translucent tubing. All of it color-coded, of course. Beyond the glass, space was silent and unforgiving. In here, life flourished.

Most of the plants Hale cared for had been altered in one way or another, but his favorites were the accelerated varieties. They grew quickly enough that, if you watched patiently, you could almost see them growing in front of you. Preparing a world for its future colony meant nurturing life long before anyone knew exactly where it would one day take root. The station drifted in its stable orbit for that very purpose, its small crew ensuring the next home planet would be ready before its people arrived. Working out here among growing things still felt like a privilege to Hale. Delta was an isolated posting—two years stationed around a barren planet, preparing the world no one would call home for hundreds of cycles. Most of the crew counted the days, but he counted the seedlings.

The isolation suited him, he thought. The greenhouse had become something quieter than a duty; he’d come to see it more like home. He came here even in his free time, relaxing among the plants. His old home was a long way behind him now, and even before Hale and the crew had left Earth, many of the plants and species he loved and remembered were already gone. Adjusting the flow valve on a hydroponic tray, he watched nutrient solution pulse through the roots of a New Pine. Only three weeks ago, this tree had been a tiny sapling; now it was well on its way into adolescence. At this rate, it would be comfortably mature by the time the colonists arrived.

Hale skimmed the morning report: power reserves held steady, life support remained within tolerance, and the hydroponics network hadn’t wavered from standard parameters. Just another shift. The next report beeped through, this time from Command:

ICS DAEDALUS STATUS REPORT
Cycle: 2496.5
Time: 12:23 PST
External sensors: no anomalies detected
Internal monitors: no anomalies detected
Communications: 243 incoming; 241 processed
          

Hale frowned. Two unprocessed messages? He was still considering them when Karu crashed into him, clinging to the tray of samples she was carrying in a gravity-defying swirl as she righted herself in a motion that wouldn’t have looked out of place at the ballet. She placed the samples on the desk as though nothing had happened before dropping herself into the chair beside him.

“I still have nothing from Sector 12 about the newly adapted fertilizer I ordered. Have you had anything from them? It’s been three cycles already, and I’m cutting things fine as they are,” she croaked, clearly exhausted from another all-nighter.

“Nope, sorry. Only comms I’ve had today are status reports. Maybe they’ll get to you by the end of the cycle,” he said, hoping he’d lessened the stress somehow. “By the way, did you rea—” A loud, clear beep rang out, cutting off the thought and signaling an incoming communication. Without hesitation, Karu hit accept on the screen attached to the back of the desk.

“WHAT TIME DO YOU CALL THIS?! I expected it to take a little time, but—” Something cut her off. Hale could faintly hear a frantic voice coming from Karu’s earpiece. In the next instant, red and blue lights began to flash, and a deep, booming sound shook the entire lab, followed by a sickening groan of metal on metal and the most violent shaking he’d ever experienced.

“Karu, what was that?! What did they say? What’s happening?” Her face had paled. “Karu, what is going on?” A huge, resounding blast and an automated voice blaring over the intercom answered him:

INTEGRITY BREACHED, LOCKDOWN INCOMPLETE, BACKUP SYSTEMS INITIATED…

Though Hale was sure the voice had continued, he could no longer hear anything besides the blood rushing in his ears. He racked his brain, desperately grasping at memories of manuals and procedural drills—anything at all that might help him make sense of the blaring alarms and warning lights. Nothing. His mind was a complete blank. As the panic began to set in, his joints went rigid. A tremor followed in his limbs. Please, not now, he thought. The trembling intensified; he was struggling to control his movements and, worse, losing focus. Breathe, he reminded himself. Just breathe. Nothing worked. What was it his professor had said? Name something you can see. Right. Flashing lights. My desk. Something you can hear. Alarms. Beeping screens. Alarms. This wasn’t working, but he couldn’t allow himself to spiral any further.

Just as he thought he’d suffocate under the weight of the panic, Karu grabbed his face. She was shouting something fragmented and unintelligible.

“…no sense! They aren’t ev… phase three wh… undred more cycles!” Try as he might, her words were lost on him. Visibly frustrated, Karu turned back to her controls, frantically checking everything she had access to in the system. “…ven if they accelerated testing, there’s no way…” More than confused, she seemed distraught. Angry. Incredulous. What could possibly be happening? Hale’s thoughts had fractured—none of them staying long enough to be useful as his mind raced. “How can it be here?!” Gripping the panel with one hand and typing rapidly with the other, she had managed to find a way to monitor the station’s main systems. Focusing his eyes took almost more effort than he could manage, but what he saw on the screen pulled him right back to the reality of the moment.

“Does that say our orbit has destabilized?” Impossible. Once Delta had settled into her orbit, nothing short of something the size of a small planet should have been able to do that. Hale was certain the briefing had stated explicitly that there were no rogue bodies in this quadrant. Karu ignored him, frenziedly pushing buttons and flipping switches Hale had no names for. For a moment, he watched, captivated by her determination. He’d admired that about Karu since they met on their first day of training.

All sense of direction fizzled away as the chaos intensified. With the alarms still blaring, every light went out at once, and anything not nailed down flew around of its own accord. He caught a glimpse of an explosion on the far side of the lab before he lost consciousness.