The harsh twilight burns through the greenhouse’s glass roof, casting stark shadows through the maze of untrimmed vines, an ethereal rippling play of red, green and black. But the ground that lies beyond the glass is muted, mottled greys of different shades outlining the rocky landscape. Nothing moves on the outside except the wind, but dusk is a time of calm, when even the screaming winds go silent. The stars, bright and unfamiliar, are coming out to play.
A man stands, leaning against the wall beside the airlock, listening to the rustling leaves, movement imparted by the faint air circulation from the vents inset into the ground. He is watching the sunset, but not quite; the star itself is too bright to look at directly, even at dusk. Without the glass, the man would have been blinded, UV rays burning his skin in an instant and killing off all the plant life in a split second. But the habitat is shielded, and climate controlled; these defenses allow Earth natives to live on this planet.
There are no natives on this planet. But despite the burning heat and bitter cold, the ionizing radiation and arid wasteland, the implanted lichens had taken to the rock, beginning the aeon-long task of converting the rock into soil. All according to plan.
The timescale was beyond the scope of the humans, but it was the goal of the facility: to further the expansion of the human race through the terraformation of this planet. The humans were brought here in a sleeper ship, which still orbited in the sky above, some humans still onboard, still frozen. But those who were awake were in this habitat.
The humans chosen for the trip were masters of their craft. Only the best of the best were chosen for this trip, for the fate of colonization was not something to be left in the hands of amateurs. This planet is to act as a stepping stone to the world beyond, and these early steps are crucial to the expansion of humanity. Everything has to run perfectly smoothly to the highest efficiency. Otherwise, the cumulative chance of failure would be too high. Nothing could be left to chance.
And the humans could not be trusted. All simple tasks are automated by the habitat AI, with additional modules embroidered into the tapestry of code when spun or required. All citizens conform to a strict schedule for optimal productivity, working towards the betterment of the habitat, of a future where people can live on a lush planet.
Except one. His job has been replaced, and finds calm among the green leaves and whispering breeze, trying to avoid the badgering of the habitat’s AI, telling him to return to cryogenic storage. The greenhouse is too valuable to damage to remove the man here, but there is no food. He would have to leave.
Greenhouse 13 airlock doors primed. Ventilation systems at the ready.