“Get this Captain, the database describes planetoid CXZ-ANDR-137 as a lush jungle world…”

I gaze out over the horizon, lined with innumerable white symmetrical peaks; there are no signs of life here, only an uncomfortable stillness. “Some jungle,” I respond. I look down at the remains of an unnamed astronaut at my feet. It’s hard to not look at the strange peak protruding from its skull, nice and symmetrical – just like the peaks in the distance. Robyn has put away their data pad and is brainlessly swiping away at the fine powder covering the solar panels of the distress beacon my dead astronaut is leaning up against.

“Well, go ahead and switch it off, not much we can do for the poor sod anyway. Let’s head back to the ship, doesn’t look like there’s anything else this place has left to offer.” I gaze at the horizon again; it looks like an old, withered corpse wrapped gently in a cloth.

 A slight breeze, the peaks around me seem to wave slightly. Robyn gets excited.

“A breeze! See there’s some atmosphere left here. Besides, our friend here,” Robyn nudges the corpse, “isn’t wearing a helmet, and we aren’t exactly space-walking like during moon training.”

I know Robyn wants to take off their helmet. I glance at the astronaut again, looking like they’d been speared with that little colorless peak protruding from the skull. I sigh. Something about this place tells me it’s best not to, but I relent.

“Fine, go ahead, but if you feel a strain while breathing, get your helmet back on.”

“Roger that!” Robyn excitedly replies as their helmet quickly comes off. The next few moments were marked with Robyn rubbing in my face how breathable the air was. I keep my helmet on.

We descend.

With every step, a small puff of white erupts from the ground, but the ground itself was… squishy? It seems to give a bit with our every step and bounce back – like walking on a tightly woven spider’s web.

As we plod down the slope, I try to hail the ship. An unexpected voice answers.

“Sung? Where’s Irons?” I ask.

“He’s in the infirmary, were you able to find the signal?” Sung responds.

“We found the signal, but too late. We’re on the way back. Why is Irons in the infirmary? Are you both okay?” I ask.

“He went for a walk by himself,” Sung replies, “came back complaining of a migraine; I gave him some meds to help him sleep it off. I’m fine though.”

“Was he wearing a helmet when he went out?” I ask cautiously, nervously looking at Robyn. We are almost at the bottom; I can see our buggy.

“Don’t think so, he said that he trusted the ship’s computer over your gut before he left. Wait– what’s that noise?”  I can hear Sung’s voice fade over the radio, confusedly muttering that Irons shouldn’t be up as she moves away.

We arrive at the buggy. As we get on, I tell Robyn about Irons, and that they should get their helmet back on. Reluctantly, Robyn complies.

I gun the buggy, but as we round the last peak to the ship, the ground rumbles and the lights of the engines light the sky as the ship ascends

without

us.

I hail the ship with my radio.

“Need… space, too claustrophobic, need… to get… higher.” I hear Irons mumble incoherently. His voice drawls, as if talking through a stupor.

“Irons, bring the ship back down!”

“No, get high– “, Irons’ voice cuts out to the sound of metal hitting flesh.

Sounds of a struggle, I just sit and watch helplessly, Robyn is holding their head complaining of a migraine. The ship seems to start back down. I sigh in relief as Sung’s voice comes on the radio announcing Irons is out cold. But the relief is short-lived. Sung’s voice turns to terror – and the ship nosedives.

Too late, I react too late. The ship plows through the ground, a dense fog of white smoke hiding the flying shrapnel. Robyn takes the brunt of the debris; I seem to get out unscathed.

Robyn’s shredded body hangs over the side of the buggy. As I recover my senses, I rush to the crash. Sung or Irons could’ve survived.

I search the ship, Sung is dead, neck broken in the impact. Irons hangs, impaled on some of the mangled frame. Strange growths begin to protrude from his body.

I run to the only place I know.

The distress beacon.

Halfway up the peak I start to feel what I pass as a migraine, a great pressure in my skull as if my brain is expanding. I make it up and switch on the beacon, hoping someone is out there amongst the stars. I sit down next to the skeletal astronaut, my vision now going blurry from the pressure in my head. I notice it then. A small tear in my suit, enough to expose me to the environment.  Exhausted, I collapse against the beacon as I feel a pulsating writhing as whatever is inside me visibly spreads under my skin. The open air of the peak grants a strange comfort.

Irons’ body flashes before my eyes, his ramblings ringing in my ears; my mind teeters to thoughts of Earth and the mushroom that zombifies insects, driving them high into the jungle before sporulating. A flash of insight, but it’s too late, my will is giving way to the fungus. My head now feels as if it’s about to burst.

“Have to… turn off…”, I cobble together in my mind as my skull erupts in a shower of white and everything goes dark.

DC al. Coda