However, Mara looked worried despite clinging tightly to Sinclair. She continued asking questions.
“Sinclair, sweetheart, you nearly fell for his promises... I was worried about you.”
“Yeah, I felt a strange intoxication... I could barely think,” her husband admitted, struggling to recall the details of the encounter, but it was all hazy in his mind.
“I believe it was the spores or some other airborne substance that poisoned you. Otherwise, you would have shot him in the head from the corridor, right?” Mara attempted to find a logical explanation for the bizarre events of the past few days, seeking solid ground amidst the uncertainty.
“Maybe. Or perhaps I touched the slimy remnants of his damn ‘children,’ and they contained some toxin. The truth is, Mara, you seem to be immune to this shit.” Sinclair hugged her tightly by the shoulder.

The small shuttle they had left in orbit was their sole means of escape from the planet, and they hoped it was still operational. Sinclair’s handheld communicator, tucked away in his pouch, appeared to be in working condition, but the reliability of the signal was uncertain. One can never be certain about such things.