Late 2390 — Stardate 67781.2

Elena Moreau dipped her toes in the water. There was a flash of silver as the fish just below the surface darted into the darker depths of the lake. The fish — Elena thought it was some sort of perch — was not native to New Paris Colony, of course; all fish on the colony were imported from Earth after the first successful terraforming efforts over a century ago. Still, to her eyes, the fish seemed perfectly at home. The difference hardly mattered anymore.

The adaptability of the colonists here was a point of pride that was hammered into her school lessons on an almost daily basis. “No one here can take for granted the water you drink, the trees you see, or even the air you breathe,” her ecology teacher would say. “This world has been shaped that way by the hands of those who came before you.”

In truth, Elena didn’t need to be reminded of this. Her father, André, worked at one of the atmospheric processing stations on the outskirts of Lafayette City. Four years ago for her eighth birthday, her family had gone camping along one of the nearby mountain ranges. She remembered waking in the still gray early morning, her mother still asleep beside her, and hearing the sound of the tent zipper as her father stepped outside. Curious, she had quietly followed him.

She found him standing at the edge of a ravine looking out over the valley. Turning and spotting her, he had beckoned her over, crouched down low beside her and pointed at a large blocky building on the opposite side of the valley. “That’s where I work,” he had told her. “Every breath you and I are taking in right now,” he breathed deep and she couldn’t help but mimic him, “comes out of there.”

At the time, she had laughed and filled her lungs with “dad’s air,” proud of the idea that her father alone kept the whole planet alive. Now, at twelve, she knew that it wasn’t just her father that worked on the atmospheric terraforming project. There were dozens of processing facilities spread across the main continent of New Paris that continuously maintained the correct ratio of oxygen, nitrogen, and carbon dioxide to keep the air breathable. But whenever she spotted one, she couldn’t help but smile and think of her father standing in the mountain dawn.

The wind shifted across the lake, and Elena could detect a whiff of ozone, a common smell near the processors. Most children her age didn’t notice such things, but she did. Her mother would often tell her that it was a sign that she was bound to follow in her parents’ footsteps one day. She wasn’t sure if that were true, but it didn’t sound like the worst thing in the world.

Elena could see the sun dipping closer to the horizon, bathing the lake in golden ripples and painting the sky a mix of pink and orange. She pulled her feet from the water, shook off the droplets, then started to pull her boots on. She had promised her mother that she would help cook dinner before her dad arrived home. She walked the familiar path back to her house, passing by the hydroponic gardens that emitted a smell of damp foliage. Through the glass walls, she could see the Earth wheat that the colony insisted on growing despite the difficulties involved. “A symbol of who we are,” as her mother liked to say.

The sun was just beginning to set when she stepped through the door of her home, a two-story dwelling made out of reinforced polymer and pale stone. Her mother, Claire, was at the counter, chopping red potatoes. There was a warm scent of herbs and cooking oil that permeated the kitchen.

“You’re late,” her mother said without looking up.

“I lost track of time at the lake,” Elena said, “but the sun’s still out, technically.”

Her mother scoffed but didn’t respond, and Elena could see a smirk creep across her mother’s face. “Wash your hands, then replicate me some beef for this stew and chop it up.”

By the time the stew was ready, Elena was setting the table. The house felt warm and inviting. Any moment now, she would hear the door and her father’s footsteps, then his cheerful greeting as her arrived home from work.

Instead, the lights flickered.

At first it was just a brief flutter, the kind that sometimes happens when the power grid is rerouted. But then the lights dimmed again, longer this time. A few seconds later, the steady hum of the atmospheric processors — a constant background sound in the colony — changed pitch, then began to stutter.

Claire froze with the pot of stew still in her hands. Then, the hum stopped. It wasn’t silent, but the lack of the background noise Elena had known all her life was unnatural, and the hair began to raise on her arms.

The next sound was one Elena would remember for the rest of her life.

There was a loud roar, barely audible at first, but then quickly becoming louder and louder. The windows began to rattle in their frames and dishes clattered in the cupboard. Elena instinctively clutched the edge of the table. Outside, there was a bright flare of orange from across the valley. From the processing station, Elena thought.

Her mother set the pot down and quickly walked to a comm panel on the wall. She punched a button, and called “André? If you’re there, please respond.” She released the button and Elena heard static. Claire punched the button again. “André, what happened? Talk to me.”

They both waited for a response, but none came. For the first time in her life, Elena saw genuine, raw fear on her mother’s face. Her throat was dry as she whispered, “Mom?”

There was a brief pause before her mother responded. “Put your shoes on, in case we need to leave.”

The hours that followed blurred together. Emergency alerts came through on the home’s display screens warning them to stay inside. Neighbors wandered outside, murmuring in concerned tones. Her mother stood in the doorway, eyes on the smoke rising across the valley while also watching the path to the house, waiting for her father. Elena sat at the table, staring at the doorway.

It was late in the night when her mother finally let out a gasp and rushed out of the house. “André!” she yelled, and Elena jumped up to see her father, his clothes torn and scorched from flame. They embraced each other and her mother began to sob. Elena ran over and joined them.

After a minute, they separated, and her father stared into her mother’s eyes.

“An oxygen generator caught fire and exploded.” He paused, then said, “Six didn’t make it.”

Elena saw the pain in his eyes, and the tears her father had been holding back began to flow.

For the first time in her life, Elena realized how fragile their colony really was. The same technology that gave them life, if not careful, could just as easily take it as well.