Under An Alien Sky

One last rock. You pulled the lever, and your wonky rover–excavator hybrid bent down, grabbing the large stone and pulling it out of the hole. As soon as it left its bed, the mass started floating, smoothly gliding up before drifting back down. You bumped it with the machine’s hand, letting it bounce to the side where you’d been collecting all the other rocks.

You sat back, looking proudly at your work. You’d made it just in time to still see the two planets in the sky. That was your sign that it was time to head back to base.

You jumped up and made your way to the other rover, built for transportation. The drive back wasn’t very long—good practice was to keep everything close to home—but it still took a considerable amount of time. The problem with living on a new planet was that there wasn’t anybody before you to build streets, lights, or signs you could normally follow to know where you were going.

Poles and boxes were scattered across the landscape as an attempt at landmarks, but if those were all you had, it was hard to tell which direction you were facing. Fortunately, the people smart enough to build the rocket that shot you up here were also smart enough to build a solid GPS system.

When you started seeing the trees, that’s when you could finally relax. The whole planet was like a sea of islands, with deserted land instead of water and small patches of plants serving as islands. Your base was built next to the largest one you could find.

You parked the rover outside and walked in, sealing the door behind you with an exhale.

“Water system looking good?” your teammate asked. He was pouring himself a hot cup of coffee, glancing at documents on his tablet.

“I’ll install it tomorrow. The hole is done,” you answered.

“Good.”

“Are you guys leaving today?” you asked.

“Yeah. I’m reviewing the last papers before we get on the ship. The other crew should arrive shortly after we leave.”

“At least Sakura will stay,” you laughed. “It would be quite lonely.”

Your friend chuckled and set the tablet down. “It’s just five of us already—we couldn’t leave you here alone,” he said, taking a sip of coffee. “She actually volunteered to stay.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah. She said she liked the atmosphere.”

“Huh.”

“It’s really nice, especially compared to how hectic things are back home. You can’t even breathe there.”

“I remember.”

“Anyway, you should get some sleep. You’ve been working on that hole forever.”

“You’re right. I’m exhausted.”

You dragged your boots back to your room, fatigue slowly building in your back and shoulders, pulsing with pain. You placed your palm on the wall. A light flared, tracing the shape of your hand, and the door clicked as it slid open.

Your room was less of a living space and more of a functional nook. A small desk cluttered with spare bolts and a machine you were trying to repair took up most of it. There wasn’t much room for decoration—just a plant near the “window” and a science poster.

You stripped off your dusty jumpsuit, tossing it toward the sanitizer channel embedded in the wall. The suit was sucked into a tube and sent off to be cleaned.

Then you climbed into the pod. The gel mattress hissed as it contoured to your spine, and the lid slid shut with a pneumatic click. As cooling mist circulated, smelling faintly of ozone and mint, your eyes grew heavy. The last thing you saw was the status display: Optimal Recovery Cycle Initiated.

When the pod hissed open, you opened your eyes and stretched yourself awake. Your joints didn’t ache anymore, and the stiffness in your lower back was gone.

You sat up, listening for any sound, but the base was deathly silent. No muffled arguments over logistics, no electric hum—nothing at all. You threw on a fresh shirt and stepped into the main hub.

The table where your teammates had been sitting was cleared. Chairs were pushed back into place, plates and cutlery put away. Through the window, you could see that the transport ship was gone, leaving only a trace of dust on the landing pad.

You walked toward the comms station. “Sakura?” you called out. “You still around?”

You waited, listening to the hum of the air recyclers. Then the greenhouse door hissed open. Sakura stepped out, wiping her hands on a grease-stained rag. She smiled and stopped in front of you.

“They’re gone,” she said. “Left about three hours ago, while your pod was doing its magic. It’s just us now.”

You rubbed the back of your neck, trying to ease the awkwardness settling between you. “Right,” you said. “Well, it’s not bad. We can focus—you know how loud they could get,” you added with a forced chuckle.

Sakura only smiled.

You cleared your throat. “I’m gonna grab some food before I finish the water system. Have you eaten yet?”

“I am not hungry,” she said flatly.

“Suit yourself,” you muttered, heading toward the kitchen to grab the usual prepackaged meal—but Sakura stopped you.

“I prepared a meal for you,” she said.

You turned to look at her. She still wore that calm, satisfied smile. She gestured toward a small table in the corner. You hadn’t noticed it before, but a tray sat there.

“Oh. Thank you, Sakura. You didn’t have to.”

You sat down. Normally, you’d be staring at rehydrated mash and protein shreds sealed in plastic bags. There wasn’t much food to go around—only a few plants from the greenhouse, carefully tended by Sakura, and even those were scarce.

In front of you stood a pyramid of perfectly diced protein blocks, with greens arranged neatly on the side. Real vegetables. Even the water was filled exactly to the brim.

You were intrigued. First came astonishment—she must have spent a considerable amount of time preparing this. The second thought followed quickly after: why? You couldn’t bring yourself to ask.

Sakura was always precise in everything she did. That was why she was here in the first place. You just hadn’t realized the extent of it.

She moved closer, almost gliding instead of clumsily bouncing like you still did under 0.8 gravity.

“It looks… really good,” you said. “Thank you.”

Sakura smiled, watching you with expectant eyes. You picked up the fork and took the top cube from the pyramid as she stared you down. You took a bite. It was warm. It tasted like it always did, really.

“So,” you said, chewing slowly. “Must be weird, huh? Just the two of us. Gonna miss the Captain’s jokes.”

Sakura pulled out a chair and, instead of sitting across from you, took the spot right next to you. “The jokes were very bad,” she said, chuckling.

“True,” you hummed.

“They were distracting.”

“Distracting from what?”