A pair of thick treads are lowered as the ship touches down on an expanse foreign to its passengers — who regard the sun’s coruscations onto mountain and grassland with awe, as a stark contrast to their dusty and dark lunar landscapes. Air is released with a short hiss and paneling glides open, passengers shielding their eyes against strange radiations of light that subside into overgrown foliage. A word, farm, might come to mind, if it were not so distant from the chemical laboratories and packaged meals. Feet drag in gnarled roots as the two explorers tromp through a confluence of straw, grass, and weeds until a structure comes into view: moss-covered with corrugated gray tiling resting upon rows of red brick. It is with a morbid curiosity that they journey inside, like archeologists examining the remnants of a long-lost civilization. A cockroach slips from a couch’s ripped upholstery and the ceramic remnants of what were dishes sit in the sink. The two explorers regard with ironic satisfaction the only intact item: a plastic toy with sharp, jutting wings, a pointed nose, predatory cones affixed to its underbelly, and curved glass shielding its pilot — a jagged opening where plexiglass would go. So this is how they went, the two explorers think to themselves.