Six years have passed.
Z-75 is no longer the same red hell that Valeria found.
The skies, once laden with toxic particles, are beginning to clear thanks to automated atmospheric restoration work.
The former human structures are now active science stations, with sensors monitoring the planet from a safe orbit.
But none of those machines know what it was like to live here.
None of them has felt the weight of silence after losing a friend.
Valeria no longer wears her old uniform.
She now wears light armor adapted with pieces she designed herself. On his left arm, a hand-embroidered badge: a small drawing of Zara with a space helmet.
With that symbol, he has hunted down every zombie that was left.
Valeria sits next to a hill, the same one where she buried Zara years ago.
In his hands, a package sealed with the logo of the Planetary Confederation:
"Preparations for the arrival of the first human colony in 90 days."
She doesn't open it.
He simply leaves it on the altar, like someone who leaves flowers on a grave.
Voiceover (log recorder):
—Captain Valeria Núñez's final log, stardate 7410.01. I confirm: Z-75 has been cleaned. No hostile biological activity is detected in the last 14 lunar cycles. The atmosphere is 67% compatible. Initial reports of terraforming have been successful. This planet can be colonized.
But for me... This planet is a graveyard.
Valeria looks at the horizon: a new purple dawn spreads over the mountains of rust and glass.
Z-75 was a safe place, but now an empty place that would soon be colonized.
For Valeria, that sandy planet was a constant reminder of the friend she had lost.
"We did it, Zara," Valeria said, her voice barely a whisper in the alien wind. He looked at the sunrise, but found no comfort in its beauty.
Victory tasted like defeat, because Zara wasn't there to share it.
And even though he had won, in his heart, he felt like he had lost. Because in a universe full of wonders and horrors, nothing was more painful than loneliness.