Lott looked out at the base, as the Commander continued.

“Clean, as far as we can tell. But we take no chances – full hazard gear, standard arms.”

“But Sir,” asked one of the platoon, “they are all dead… aren’t they?”

The Commander flashed data to their plants; figures floated before their eyes. Census record: 3026 personnel; identified: 3026; mortality 100%.

“So..,” the soldier broke off as more data appeared: total casualties: 3107; unidentified: 81.

“Off-census?”

The Commander nodded.

“Suppose we do find someone alive?” said Lott.

“There are no survivors.”

“But Sir – if…”

“There are no survivors.” A moment’s silence.

“Sir.”

*

Lott walked silent corridors strewn with plastic-shrouded corpses; no signs of life. Coming to a closed bulkhead, he dialed the master release code and stepped through.

He found himself confronting a young woman. Alive. A moment’s shock before he reacted, raising his weapon.

“I’m sorry.”

She saw the gun. Watched a finger press the trigger. Heard the explosion.