Chapter 2 - Ruins of better days

"Yes, Taelor, things are looking better." She smiles. "But the antidote I did not manage to test yet. Just on cell cultures. Next would be a test on animals, I suppose. But that's to worry about, once the funding is approved."

The rest of the breakfast passes in cheerful friendly atmosphere, good food, lots of laughs and decent coffee.
At some point Graham approaches Sonia and suggests to instead of trying the serum on animals, they could try to catch an infected human and try with him or her. Sonia is sceptical at first, but Graham's enthusiasm is contagious and at the end of the breakfast the two have formed a plan.
The next day, the two of them meet with the city council and present their idea. To catch an infected human and try to heal him or her with the antidote or a future version of it. It takes some convincing, but eventually the council agrees to support the expedition with material and information.
Ecstatic about the win, the two return to the group and immediately the planning starts. What do we need? How much is enough? Where can we get it? Plenty of unanswered questions need to be addressed, before the expedition can start. The ruins,places where no healthy human has been in decades or longer.

"Statton," Elan begins, "you're a doctor so you must have some training in medical ethics, yes?

"What are the ethical implications of potentially 'curing' someone? Certainly there are ethical implications for not curing them, but let's put things into context. The Cloud is not a new phenomenon, correct? So that does mean there are potentially 'Tainted' who have lived their entire lives as such? As feral humans? So that even if we cure them, they'll have no concept of language or higher society or any of the other trappings of civilization?"

He leans back in his chair. He might be overly caffeinated.

"I'm just trying to figure out what we should expect. Maybe we need to pick our targets. I don't know if it would be possible to identify a more recent infection - someone who might retain some relatively recent memories - but there are implications we need to think through. If the cure works, then the survivors are going to need a lot of support and continuing care. Not just physically, but emotionally too."

Statton frowns, considering what he knows about the Cloud and the fungal infection that it carries.

He had already done quite a bit of research, of course, as he assisted Sonia with his medical knowledge as he helped develop the antidote. Honestly, Sonia had done all the heavy lifting, the woman was a powerhouse of mechanical and biological engineering.

Over the past week, he had returned to his studies with renewed vigor - concentrating specifically on the medical effects of the Cloud and the history of the ruins that dotted this planet's surface.

He had also been studying a few other medical subjects too, scouring the Exchange Net wikis for very specific resources. The world around him seems to wobble with new possibilities. Don't. Carefully center yourself to the present place and moment.

He considers Elan's questions, consulting his accumulated knowledge on the subject of the Cloud zombies...

Taelor, cradling a cup of tea in her hands, takes a few seconds to ponder the questions raised by Elan. They're interesting to be sure, but... "I don't think it's up to us to make that call. We've been hired to test the antidote. That's it. What the locals choose to do with it afterwards is their problem."

She takes a sip, enjoying its warmth and aroma. Tea was one of the rare pleasures she'd had back home, the infusion masking the telltale taste of recycled water. The water on Astyoc didn't suffer from that drawback, but tea was still better.

"Our focus should be on figuring out what we need, and then finding a zombie that's isolated." She grins. "You know. Easy prey."

"Does anybody know what happened to Mike, Matt, and Tamara?" Graham blurts out. The three figured prominently in the events of the last few days, and Graham wonders whether they've been arrested, or just questioned by the police. Loose ends trouble him, and the Tsunami is still vulnerable.
"I'd like to talk with some of the scavengers, too. Let's find out what they know about the zombies, what attracts them, what they eat, stuff like that. If we can lure them, that makes the job a lot easier. The next big question is containment and storage. We have to get zombies back from the ruins without getting eaten. Then we have to put a live zombie in a place where it won't be a danger. We want to fix problems, not create new ones."
He pauses, his mind going all different directions. A thought hits him, his eyes widen.
"Sonia, I'm curious. After I called from the community center, what happened? How did you get away from Diogenes and the goon squad?"

Taelor makes a face. "I ran into Tamara at the Cantina. Had a few beers with her. I don't think we'll be BFFs, but we're not enemies anymore. She knows she was wrong, but her pride is still hurt, you know?"

A dark cloud passes over her features. Grumpily, she adds: "If you want to make her feel better, challenge her to a game of pool. She can make these ridiculous trick shots. I swear she cheats!" Taelor gets agitated as she says that last line, sloshing the tea in her cup and spilling some on her pants. "Shit!" She starts wiping it down with her shirt sleeve. "Fucking hustler..." she mutters.

"I still need to see Crab about the part he found. We can chat up the scavengers then."

Graham grins at Taelor, and gives his mustache a twirl.
With a twinkle in his eye, he says "Nobody gets grumpy about trick shots, unless money changed hands. How much did she take you for?"
A grin spreads across his face. He doesn't stare at her directly, but he glances at her quickly and looks away. Graham reaches for his tea, but he keeps an eye on her, peripherally. Is she mad? Is it begrudging respect? Is it jealousy? Does she hate her? Is Taelor just competitive, and hates to lose?
Graham looks for the subtle signs, and jots down bits and pieces in his mental notebook.

"Pool!" Elan harps. "I'm the best at pool. I beat Tamara the other day." Presumably he means at pool but maybe he's referring to the beating at the community center. "I cheat though."

He sips his tea.

"My larger point is that we need some metrics of success. How do we know if the antidote works? If the zombie is Tainted, how will we know if we've succeeded? Can we tell the difference between a feral human and a zombie? I'm saying let's apply some of that scientific method here, so that we can actually draw some meaningful conclusions from this whole process. If I'm risking my life, I want it to be for relevant data."

Graham leans back, and considers Elan's statement for a moment. "Well, to be fair, we probably don't need metrics of success. We need to get paid for retrieving zombies for testing. The doctors and researchers -- they need metrics of success. Our metrics of success are a little more straightforward, like, are we all still alive and uninjured? Did the Tsunami get back in one piece? Can we afford dinner when we get back? Can we afford fuel to get to the Valiu system? That kind of thing."
"And to your point, what happens if we don't meet the criteria of 'success', as determined by Sonia and the other researchers on the project? Will this mean that we're staying on Astyoc, month after month, retrieving test subjects until there is a working cure?"
Graham lets that question hang, with all its implications for the near future.

Satisfied with her cleaning work, Taelor stops wiping down her leg. She avoids looking at Graham, simply stating: "We played for drinks," carefully omitting the fact that even when Tamara could barely stand, Taelor still hadn't been able to beat her. She'd kept up in drinks, of course. To do otherwise would have been cheating. Still, how could such a lightweight sink all those shots? She'd had to help Tamara home at the end of the night, finally crashing on her couch.

Taelor stares daggers at Elan when he brags about beating Tamara, but then chuckles and rolls her eyes when he admits to cheating. Of course he would.

She finishes her tea as Elan and Graham discuss the upcoming expedition, furrowing her brow. "Shouldn't you know? You negotiated this job, Graham. And I thought the 'zombies' are feral humans. Are there two kinds of trouble out there?" She turns to Statton, hoping he can shed some light on the situation.

"I'm trying to draw the distinction between someone who is feral because they're Tainted and their brain isn't working properly versus someone who is feral because they've been Tainted all their life and even after the spores are removed they have no traces of language or trappings of civilization in their head because they were never there in the first place. Again, how do you tell them apart? Have you really 'saved' someone in that situation? Is what passes for society here really ready to integrate these people? Is there the will, let alone the resources?"

He rocks back in his chair.

"I hope this works, but it's possible that the only market for this antidote is with the mining companies. Have we contacted them yet, either for underwriting or to gauge their support?"

"Wait, are you suggesting that these zombies are breeding? That could be a problem."
A look of concern crosses Graham's face, then his eyes go wide and he snaps his fingers.
"I've got it! Zombie condoms."
He looks around at the stunned faces, smiles a little sheepishly and says,
"Because I'm a problem-solver."
He takes a moment to sip his tea and adds,
"That really does add a new dimension. How would we know which was a first-generation or a second-generation zombie? We need to find out if they breed."

It's an unusual sight in the Astyoci spaceport these days. A van loaded with food, water supply of the Tsunami being replenished and pickups with other equipment rolling up and dropping off their cargo to be loaded into the Tsunami's ever hungry belly.
People are standing or working around the ship, it's a busy and excited atmosphere.

The crew is directing cargo to its designated place in the hold and taking inventory of what has arrived. "Graham Muddletin? Which one of you is Mr. Muddletin?" an intense looking older lady with spectacles is walking towards the ship. Graham looks up and the lady taking his reaction as confirmation continues, "Mr Muddletin, I have here the mission papers, from the council. You'll find everything in there: objectives, restrictions and of course compensation. I wish you good luck and thank you in the name of Mani Losa Plains." The lack of enthusiasm or emotion in her little speech and the spark of excitement, when mentioning the papers expose her as an A-grade bureaucrat. Having finished her monotonous and obviously insincere thanks, she turns around and walks away without looking back.
Graham stands there, open-mouthed following the lady with his eyes, then looking at the paper in his hand. He skims through it: yada yada, catch a specimen, yada, return it uninjured to make sure it is viable for testing, yada yada, yada. 'hot damn, they want to give 11K credits when we return successfully and we can keep whatever we pick up on the way, 'outside the administrative area of Mani Losa Plains'. A smile spreads on his face, as he turns around to the others.

"It appears we have some good news. The planetary authority has granted my request for compensation, and has decided to throw a few sheckels our way. How does eleven thousand sheckels sound to you?"
He chuckles, shakes his head a bit as he folds the piece of paper, and slips it in his back pocket.
"The bad news is, they probably expect results", says Graham, as he gives Statton a smile.

"What's a sheckel?" Elan asks, presuming it's some bizarre local unit. He's uncertain how to feel although Graham seems pleased about it. "A coin? A chunk of silver? A unit of weight? A measure of holy oil?"

Graham makes a show with his compad, pretending to look up the word in a dictionary.
"Hmm, let's see....shazam...sheep......shenanigan....ah, here it is...sheckel: an ancient monetary unit; often used as slang for other monetary units. See 'clam'."
He tucks the compad away, and says with some satisfaction, "There you have it, it's a clam."
Graham grins and puts his compad away.
"11,000 credits is a pretty good payday. Let's make it happen."

Statton, still lost in thought, doesn't seem to notice Graham's comment in his direction. He takes a small sip his still nearly-full tea. "The Cloud Infected aren't known to m-mate - their population numbers are historically relatively stable - not to say that it is impossible. Any offspring of theirs... I would hazard a guess that such a child would not be infected. The Zombies have a much longer lifespan than baseline humans - the last planetwide spore emission was around 100 years ago, and the zombies created from that event are still alive, hunting whatever food source they can find out in the wilderness. In fact, their long lives mean they share several ph-physical and biochemical similarities to a class of patients that I am familiar - " he halts suddenly and changes tack and addresses Elan's original question "Anyway, the state of cured infected person is unknown to me... the infection is highly variable and it is unknown what effects might linger or might crop up once the fungus is no longer present. I'm sure that I could learn more if I had a live specimen to examine."

Statton's hesitation grabs Graham's attention, and he looks intently at the Statton.
"What kind of patients share similarities with the zombies, Doctor?"
The look on Graham's face, and the direct stare carry a hint of interrogation, probably more than Graham intended. Nevertheless, he stays the course.
"The implication here is that these zombies have been hunting for a living, and they've been doing it with one hundred years worth of experience behind them. We may be hunting them, but they may be hunting us, too. On their own turf. And after a hundred years, they may be very good at it. So, anything you can tell us, we're very interested to hear."

Elan puckers his face. He has a hard time believing that the spores reduce you to your animal instincts but that somehow that doesn't involve mating.

"A hundred years ago, huh?" he asks somewhat rhetorically. "Makes you wonder how Sonia got her hands on a sample large enough to fill that cannister. Maybe the operative word is 'planetwide' and there are localize spore emissions."

He rocks back in his chair, which seems to be a regular habit of his, at leas when he's thinking.

"I can't help but wonder how the spores prolong longevity, and what's going to happen when the spores are removed. I don't want to see someone liquify in front of my eyes just because we removed the keystone that was holding everything together well beyond its natural biological lifespan.

"Like on Haliant." He turns to Statton for confirmation. "Right, doc?"

The 'Caracas' is as dark and gloomy as always. As Graham and Statton enter they see a handful of guests mostly gathered around the few tables close to the Karr tables.
A quick inquiry to the barkeep reveals that Crab is currently not available, but with a nod he points the duo to the table of the scavengers. It's occupied by a man and a woman, currently in a conversation. Graham orders two additional beer and he and Statton walk over to the table that was pointed out to them.
In the meantime Elan entered the bar and is sitting on a corner table, close to the door and with excellent view of the other tables.
"Good day! May we join you? Refill is on us." With that Graham sits down, gives Statton a sign to do the same and places the additional beers in front of the two strangers. They look surprised, but in light of the welcome refill don't seem to object the interruption. "I'm sorry we're interrupting your conversation so bluntly, but we were hoping you could tell us a bit about your experiences out there in the ruins. Especially with the zombies."
"Zombies, eh? Nasty beasts those are. But if you know how to avoid them, it's half as bad." The woman replies.
"Well, how do you deal with them?"
"For sure, be sure not to leave out open food, or they'll jump you like monkeys on steroids. Rations, cooked stuff, anything. Put that stuff away. And you don't want to be too loud, not to attract their attention. Otherwise they're pretty uninterested in you. If you run into one, be non-threatening.
If you have to take one down, don't hesitate. They might look like humans, but they are not. Remember that! Why are you asking?"
After Graham talks about their reasons and the conversation eventually strays from the topic of interest, Graham and Statton excuse themselves and leave the bar.
"F-from a scientific standpoint it doesn't make sense that they would attack humans like that. Comparable animals always attack smaller prey..." Statton hesitates as if he is thinking about another idea."U-unless they attack in a group." he adds, satisfied he remembered the scientifically sound explanation for what was bothering him during the conversation in the bar, only then realising the implications of his suspicion.

Statton looks a little cornered as graham asks his question, and stammers for a bit as Elan speaks.

Quote :

"Like on Haliant." He turns to Statton for confirmation. "Right, doc?"

Statton sharply looks up at Elan "Uh... yes... I - l-like on Haliant..." he pauses for a moment, regaining his composure. When I was attending university on S-Staconago, I was training to work with the Halianti on a joint medical project - u-unfortunately, I didn't quite make the cut. Quite an embarrassment... my parents were not pleased, haha."

"So I practiced as a geriatric specialist on Staconago, until about half a year ago, when I thought that there might be some research and practice opportunity here on Alstyoc. An untapped market, you know..." He finishes speaking, trying not to look hopeful that Graham and Elan buy his story.

Statton considers the small group that he has become part of - could they be trusted not to sell him out to the Halianti or the Syndicate? Graham... he seemed like an upstanding fellow, and an official, might he turn Statton in? Taelor was an unknown quantity, but she had balked at the idea of negotiating with Diogenes. And Elan... Elan could be trusted, he had proven his trustworthiness to Statton, hadn't he? His idea of cutting a deal with Diogenes and running was only a slight lapse in judgement, surely.

A satisfied smile spreads on Taelor's face. She is back on the piloting station. Gently she slides her hands over the controls, then she starts up the safety check procedure. Lamps start blinking and the display comes back to life. Lines and lines of data scroll by on the display and with a satisfied sigh, Taelor watches the 'Completed' messages appear.
Jasper and Senn did a good job, repairing the ship with the spare part from Crab. The reactor is working smoothly again and the hole in the hull is not visible anymore. Unfortunately Senn had injured himself during the repairs and is currently restricted to med bay.

She turns around. Behind her Graham and Statton are sitting on their stations giving thumbs up.
Ok, time to get her moving. She flicks on the ships central speaker and with an audible grin her voice sounds throughout the ship "Alright guys, buckle up, let's go!"
A small shudder goes through the ship then it slowly lifts off the ground. As soon as the Tsunami is high enough Taelor directs it forward and the ship shoots away from the port.

Statton is bent over his screen in deepest concentration. His panel is showing the view through the outside cameras, currently looking down on the ground. Or forward to the ground. The directions are all mixed up. Usually using thrust gravity the Tsunami is set up to have 'down' in the direction of the rear drive. But as they are flying over the planets surface the 'down' following the gravity of the planet pulls people on their stations forward, instead of down. Or down instead of backward?

Outside the planets surface flies by. Large trees, bushes, other kids of vegetation, in between patches of grass and stone. Through this thick layer of nature show the remains of houses, streets and broken vehicles.
As the flight continues, the landscape changes. The predominant vegetation makes place for large ruined buildings, overgrown in some parts, intact in other. The buildings seem to have been of industrial use, hard to tell for what. When Taelor pulls up the Tsunami for a better areal view the size of the former city becomes evident. It stretches from horizon to horizon, a sea of concrete claimed back by nature.
"Look, over there!" Graham suddenly yells. He zooms in to a group of larger buildings that are almost surrounded by the familiar round shapes of landing pads. As the Tsunami flies an arc over the area, additional industrial and likely office buildings in more or less good shape can be seen.

Elan sits in the galley below, watching a feed piped in to the video monitor there.

"Let's set her down," he suggests over the comms. "Let's go for a walk around the block."

They haven't really seen anything that's going to dramatically change their approach or needs to be discussed, so he figures they might as well skip ahead a bit and start seeing what conditions are like on the ground.

Let's check that area out, low and slow. This is strictly recon, no landings today. Graham says, pointing towards the landing pads.
With his elbow on the armrest, he rests his chin in his hand. "The scavengers said that loud noise can draw zombies out. Let's hover over a landing pad for a few seconds, then take it out a thousand meters. Turn, and bring it back toward the pad. Let's see if zombies have come out to take a look, and how many."
He pauses, scratches his mustache for a moment, and taps on the armrest.
"Taelor, let's not try it here in the middle of nowhere, but since Tsunami has no weapons, do you think it's possible to use the engine wash as a weapon against ground targets, if needed? A quick turn, dip the tail, and pop the throttle? May be good for clearing an area."

Elan thinks Graham is being silly. Sure, doing a lap to see if anyone/anything comes to investigate might generate some more data, but what will returning home do? Flying away won't tell them anything new and they'll just have all the same information that they do now.

"Why wouldn't we set down?" Elan comms. "We'd just be flying back here tomorrow, and all that does is waste a day. You got somewhere else you need to be, Graham? Hot date tonight?"

"Hot date?", he laughs.
"Sure, a hot date with some hot data. If there's some unusual opportunity that presents itself in the next 10 seconds, sure, let's set down. Otherwise, there's nothing to gain by not taking advantage of the preparation time we have. I'd really like to see Taelor practice that maneuver before we put down in a hostile area, for one. There are a few other items we might want to discuss over beers, and we can talk about them during dinner tonight."
He repeats his request.
"Taelor, low and slow, please, over a landing pad. Then out to 1,000 meters, turn back to the pad for a second look."

"What's to discuss?" Elan asks. "Let's do our loop-de-loop and see what happens but, unless we're low on fuel, I don't see why we can't just talk things through and make a decision right now. What prep are we needing to do? Fatten up a bit for the zombies?"

For one thing, a generator, if we can get our hands on one. These office buildings have given me a few ideas. Profitable ones. Remember, once we get our hands on a zombie, our contract is over, and we have to return all their equipment. Rushing it only limits what we can salvage from the old city.
He looks at Taelor, and with a nod to the viewscreen, gestures towards the landing pads.
"Low and slow, please."

Taelor seethes while Elan and Graham bicker. When he repeats his "order" a third time, she turns around in her seat to glare at him. She'd been talked down to plenty of times during her militia days. Social class still meant a lot in her home system. Only rich folks could afford to finance a fighter for their arrogant, glory-seeking whelps. Poor people like Taelor were relegated to flying cargo and troop transports, i.e.. doing the real work, and were looked down upon by the "elite" fighter pilots.

Unknowingly, Graham had hit a nerve. Years of frustration poured out of Taelor, aimed squarely at the unfortunate administrator. "'Practice that maneuver?' Are you fucking shitting me, old man? I was a combat pilot! I've flown through fucking asteroid fields! You think I can't do a recon pass in clear fucking weather? Give me a fucking break!" She huffs.

She turns back to face forward. "Keep your eyes on your fucking console and don't tell me how to do my job, middle manager."

She banked the Tsunami smoothly, angling towards the landing pad, coming in low and slow. As they flew by the tall, ruined buildings, the few remaining windows shook in their frame, as if a storm cloud was rolling in.

Graham's eyebrows raise slightly, his eyes go a little wider than usual. A slightly surprised smile crosses his face.
"No offense intended, Taelor. Between the amnesia, and low flight hours on this unarmed aircraft, it seemed prudent that we test what we know and what we can do before experimenting in the field. It's no reflection on you or your abilities, and from what I've seen today, that maneuver isn't going to be a problem."
"Pardon me, while I go back to my middle management."
Again, with the grin.
He watches the maneuver, eyes peeled on the exterior view for motion near the landing pad.

Taelor isn't on the comms so Elan - downstairs from the bridge and forward in the galley - can't hear precisely what she's saying. But from her tone he can feel the waves of heat rolling down the stairs and smell the singe of burned mustache wafting through Tsunami. He smiles slyly to himself. She's a firecracker, he thinks, reminded of how Taelor didn't back down when confronted by Tamara. But if she patched things up with Tamara then she can mend the fence with Graham too.

Graham has a point about not ending the mission prematurely, but in Elan's mind it's a bit of a technicality, and one that's easily avoided. He jumps back on the comms: "Graham, if you're worried about cutting the job short, we could just not capture a zombie when we land. I don't think it's something that would happen unintentionally on its own. I doubt a zombie will run on board, hijack the ship or stow away, and then turn itself in when we're back in town.

"But I like the sound of these profitable ideas. I'm all ears."

Hopefully that soft-pitch segue allows Graham to save a bit of face, if not his full mustache.

"Setting down without meeting any kind of objective just puts our crew at risk, with literally nothing to gain. If one of us gets injured, we've lost the mission, we lose the 11,000 credits in pay, and we lose the ability to get back and find treasures in the ruins. High risk, zero benefit -- unless there is some kind of tangible benefit for landing. If there's a specific benefit, I'm all ears. Well, half ears, and half mustache."
He pauses, listening for comments from the comm system.
"First, let's get that money into your pockets, then we can play. Sound good?"

"Intel," Elan comms. "Intel is the benefit.

"You say high risk, zero benefit. I see zero risk, high benefit.

"We get out. We look around at ground level. We listen while the engines are off. We get the feel of the place. Normally I would say that we smell the air, but with the spores and these respirators I'm guessing that we'll skip that step.

"If someone comes running, we take off. If their weapons are primitive then they don't have anything that can hurt the Tsunami.

"Tell me, what exactly is the risk is that we're concerned about and how would coming back later mitigate it?"

Still stewing, Taelor concentrates of flying the ship. She only catches bits of the conversation between Elan and Graham, but with the back-and-forth, she gets the gist of it.

She flicks her comm on. "Best thing would be to drop off a small team and then fly off to draw the zombies away. There's only so much we can see from up here."

"You know, I'll go with what you decide. It's our expedition, we should have a group consensus. So, let's land"he says with a shrug.
"Assuming it goes well, and it probably will, of course, just promise to remind me to tell you a story about my dad's ship at dinner tonight. It's a good one, you'll like it. Taelor, how do you want to do this?"
He knows this is the wrong move, but if he can't figure out how to work with this crew, everyone will be dead anyway, and sooner rather than later. This is going to take some time, he realizes, and hopes they survive the trial period.

"Let's start with a first pass to see if we draw any attention. If we draw a pack, then we can peel off. If not, the ground team can assemble near the ramp and I can do a drop-and-dash. You just have to move as soon as your feet touch the ground. I'll do a second pass then, to draw away any Zs. If it's still clear, I'll land and join y'all."

Taelor was starting to cool off and guilt about lashing at Graham was settling in. Conciliatorily, she adds: "does that work for the rest of you?"

"Sounds workable to me, let's go with it -- but I do have one request. Don't, under any circumstances, shut off the engine."
Graham leaves it there, and waits for the quizzical looks, and the inevitable questions.
"Get them used to hearing a request, without volunteering an immediate explanation", he thinks to himself, "and let them learn that the requests always have a reason behind them. Don't force it on the crew. They will probably ask, just be patient."

"Alright," Elan agrees. "Let's do it to it."

Taelor nods at Graham's comment. "Right, gotta be able to make a quick exit if needed."

"Elan, it looks like the ground operation is in your hands. What's the objective, and what are the conditions for returning to the ship? Don't want to get stuck outside with our fingers up our noses, trying to figure out what to do. Also, are we taking any supplies with us in case we can't get back to the ship for some reason? Any recommendations?"
Graham preps his pressure mask, grabs his backpack, and makes sure his pistol is loaded. He heads over to the supplies, waiting for word from Elan.

Elan comms, "We can keep this short and sweet. A few minutes might be sufficient for our purposes.

"We're just seeing what conditions look like on the ground. Is the concrete still stable, are buildings still structurally sound, is there any wildlife, are there noises we can hear once the ship gets a bit further away, things like that. We're just looking for intel, for input into our calculations of what to do - or what not to do - next."

Elan is a bit sensitive about the question of how much they should bring with them, if only because he's not capable of carrying much.

"I'll take a rifle and some power cells. I have my metatool and an atmofilter. I'll take my low-light goggles in case we need to peek inside a building, and some Lazarus patches because I always carry some on me. That's about as much as I can manage.

"The only things you need to duplicate are a weapon, the atmofilter, and the clothes on your back. Your survival kit would be a good idea. A single ration and a bottle of water should be more than sufficient, even if something goes wrong, but you're welcome to bring as much or as little as you like."

The tops of the trees sway, as the Tsunami dives down, brushes past them and returns to previous heights. The crew stares on the monitors, cameras trained on the former port. Nothing. No motion, nothing seems to be happening. Taelor flies an arc and brings the ship back down, this time landing safely on the old landing pad.
The hydraulics hiss loudly, as the supporters move into place, then the ship becomes quite, except for a faint hum, indicating the working reactor.
The landing party gathers in front of the loading door and once ready, the door opens with a loud sigh.
Outside the team can see the old landing pads, like gigantic concrete footprints around the ship. Behind that is the former space port building, half of it in pretty bad decay, half still standing and only partially claimed by nature.
In the other directions the port used to be surrounded by some kind of fence-like construction and behind that an earth wall. Beyond that it's hard to tell.
An eerie silence surrounds them, no birds are chirping, just a slight breeze rustles some leaves.
Nothing is moving.

Elan and Graham carefully step out of the ship, weapons ready and trained forward. They walk slowly towards the old space port scanning the area around them. Once they reach a safe distance, the Tsunami awakes again and after lifting the supporters, the engines roar, propelling the ship back into the air and out of sight.
Silence follows. Elan and Graham can hear their own blood rushing and their steps seem like the only sound around.
Slowly, they make their way to the port building. The broken part is only a pile of broken concrete and steel. Trees and bushes cover it like mold on an old fruit. The other half of the building is in better shape. As they approach, they can see that the part of the building still seems structurally sound, at least it still stands four stories high. Windows are broken and ivy is climbing the walls. A door leads into the dark of the building. They notice no sound or movement.

Elan steps out of the Tsunami, walking down the ramp with the confidence of youth. He has his rifle at the low-ready, although he can already feel the burn in his arms. The rifle is on a sling so he shifts the weight of it so that it's more on his shoulder than on his T-rex forearms.

He mentally raises his telekinetic defenses. There doesn't seem to be an immediate threat but it's always possible that he could blunder into an environmental hazard. Perhaps there were hollow chambers underground, natural pitfalls eroded after decades of decay.

Elan is tempted to talk, but he kind of likes the quiet. Ambient noise can help cover your own movement, but the same is true for anyone sneaking up on you. Elan moves quietly enough that he's not concerned with his own noise, which means he can focus his attention on the sounds of what's going on (or not going on) around him.

He makes eye contact with Graham, raises his eyebrows regarding the peaceful scene, then heads toward the intact portion of the old spaceport building. If he gets to the door that leads into the dark of the building - and if there's not enough light trickling in through the door - then he can put on his low-light goggles to see what things look like inside.

Graham exits the ship, pistol drawn, and covers Elan's right flank. He's conscious of the sound of his footsteps, eyes scanning the landscape. He checks up high as they move towards the building, looking for movement on the roof.
He silently laments the fact that he can't smell anything with the pressure mask on. He's never visited this part of the planet, never really spent any time outside the walls, and his curiosity gets the better of him. He fights the urge to remove the mask, just to breathe the air one time, but he fights it to focus on the task at hand.
He checks right, he checks behind them, he looks left, and repeats the scan.
Slowly, steadily, they advance to the building.

As soon as Graham and Elan are clear, Taelor takes off. She flies the Tsunami low and slow until she's out of the ruined city, hoping to draw any nearby zombies away. Once she's made it out, she pulls up until she reaches an altitude where the ship won't be heard form the ground.

She flicks her comm on, contacting the ground team. Her militia training kicks in and she says: "Gopher to the LURP, can you confirm zero Tango? Over."

Elan glances over to Graham, wondering if Taelor had a stroke and if they just lost their ride home.

"LURP here," Elan comms, wondering what he just called himself. "Everything is fine. In the effort to reduce our noise footprint, let's maintain radio silence for the moment."

An unpleasant thought occurs to him: maybe Elan is the one having a stroke... or perhaps his atmofilter is broken and his zombification is already in progress. He looks to Graham to see if he's making sense or if he's talking gibberish.

Then, as an afterthought: "Uh, over."

Taelor winces. She'd been on automatic and had talked before thinking it through. Thankfully, it seemed like it had all sounded like gibberish to Elan and Graham. If she wasn't more careful in the future, her nickname would stick with her far longer than she'd hoped.

"Sorry, force of habit. Over and out, haha," she says lamely.

She cuts the comm and lets out a slow exhale, settling in to wait for the all clear. Or the panicked calls for help.

Graham give Elan a confused look, shrugs, and chuckles through the atmofilter, "What the fuck is a gopher LURP, and how did it get on my Tango?"
He fakes a squawk noise like an old radio, then repeats "Over".

The old door of the spaces port hangs half broken on its hinges. Elan gently pushes it open and it gives way to a small atrium. Rays of sun shine like spears through the broken windows into the gloomy darkness.
The air feels slightly damp on the skin and the steps make crunching sounds on the gravel and echo of the wall.
Long counters are lined up ahead, they once were luxurious and fancy. Marble panels on the counters and walls are witness to a prosperous past. Old screens are omnipresent, but all of them are dark and lifeless. Passing the counters the atrium opens into a long hall, with small glass rooms, some filled with tables and chairs, others with shelves, even others have cables and some devices that resemble helmets hanging from the ceilings. Some of the glass walls are broken, others are still intact.
In some places roots, bushes or branches broke their way into the building.