Thousand+ Words for Nov. 25, 2025

The Planet's Purple Landscape Baken under a Giant Red Sun, Impossibly Close, Blazing....

The planet's purple landscape baked under a giant red sun. impossibly close, blazing with orange streaks. A speck in the sky got larger and took shape as mechanisms fore and aft fired their jets, slowing it and bringing it down. Finally, in a churn of dust and smoke, it touched the ground and stood there silently as the dust settled around it.

The Founders watched from a distance and waited for the one that had been foretold to emerge.

After a time, the two men inside the spacecraft completed their landing checks, conducted an inventory of the ship's supplies, and converted the ship from transfer to capture mode. They had made the traditional radio call--Knoxville, Quarry Four has landed--and they completed the necessary reports and transmitted them by pulse radar. Those duties done, the men could now prepare themselves for the historic steps out into the unexplored, mostly unknown purple planet.

Commander Roger Mixon suited up in the cramped space of the ship where the suits were stored. "You know, Drew," he said, "even if we don't discover anything down here, the mission's already a success."

"How's that, Rog?" his crewmate Andrew Hamilton asked.

"We put that module in orbit. That will relay data for years to come on."

"Sure," Hamilton answered. "But there's a lot more to do out there."

"Right. Have I got that boot clamped?" Hamilton checked it for him. "Okay, now the helmet." Hamilton guided it down to the commander's head and he snapped it to the neck piece and plugged in the electronics. "Radio check, one two three," Mixon said into his mouthpiece.

Hamilton stepped over to the board and raised a microphone arm. "That's affirm, radio responsive."

"Right, I've got you too. Okay then, I'm transferring life support to the suit now." Mixon pressed a couple of buttons on the suit's forearm and boxes on his back and at his waist began to buzz and breathe. "Lights are green on life support," Mixon said.

"Roger that, we are green on life support." Hamilton responded.

"Okay. I'm ready to enter the lock now," Mixon said.

Hamilton knew the procedure exactly, and knew what it required of him. "On my way now, Commander. Good luck."

"Roger that," Mixon said as he waited for Hamilton to get into position in the command chair to direct his excursion onto the surface of the purple planet.

After a few moments, the radio in Mixon's helmet crackled again. "Command chair is on and ready. Receiving your vitals and data link clearly now."

"Entering the lock now, and cycling," Mixon reported.

"Entering and cycling," Hamilton repeated.

"Opening the outer door now."

As the Founders watched, a seam appeared in the silver skin of the ship and opened and the silver-suited Roger Mixon stepped onto the purple surface, raising purple dust as he settled down on the spongy soil.

Shall we greet the human? Founder 41 thought to Founder 5.

Destroy him! thought Founder 17.

Perhaps we should challenge him? Give him a test to prove himself? thought Founder 2.

No, Founder 5 answered back. Let us observe for a while. Founder 5 was the oldest founder now, and was obeyed.

Let us show these new intelligences our power, Founder 8 thought. Founder 8 was the difficult one, the one who answered the occasional explorers from other worlds who arrived on the purple planet with anger and offense.

Calm, Founder 8, calm. These puny beings come in peace, in curiosity. Let them get a little closer to knowing.

"The surface is firm, but spongy," Mixon said. "My indicators are green, I'm going to site Experiment 1."

"Experiment 1," Hamilton repeated.

"I've got an amber on suit temperature," Mixon said. "Looking now, suit heater is at 85 percent." The automatic system would trigger an amber warning light on any system that fell to or below 85% efficiency.

"Eighty-five percent on suit heat, understood, and checking diagnostics," Hamilton answered back efficiently. "Computer shows your heating adequate to continue the excursion. Raise suit temperature control to 53, I say again, five three."

"Raising to five three," Mixon responded as he manipulated the controls on his left forearm with his right index finger. "Five three on suit heat," Mixon said.

"Confirmed." Hamilton and Mixon both knew very well that if heat failed, his chances of making it back to the ship were slim. If the system continued to degrade, then there would be a point at which the mission would have to be abandoned, but they weren't there yet, and both men knew it.

"Maintaining amber on heat," Mixon said, and he started again to step forward into the cold purple dust.

He's cold, thought Founder 11. We could warm him.

Yes, Founder 5 replied, but not yet. He doesn't need our help yet.

He will, Founder 14 thought.

Stupid creatures! Their hull is puny, and their organs are weak. That's not their natural state, Founder 6 thought. It's a sort of a shell they make around themselves, and the warmth comes from an artificial device they built, not from their own bodies.

Founder 11 thought nothing in reply.

"Hamilton, Mixon here, I've got a red on the suit heat now," the commander said calmly. "Can you evaluate?"

"Evaluating. Suit heat is down to 41 percent." Both men knew this was a mission-canceling event; not as bad as it could be, but Mixon would have to drop what he was doing and return to the ship. Now. "That's a knock-it-off, then," Mixon said, using the formal language to announce his decision to abandon the excursion. He turned around and took a step in the direction of the ship.

Now? thought Founder 11.

No, thought Founder 5. Let us let him handle it for now.

I've looked into their future, thought Founder 14. They don't make it.

Founder 28, who had been watching silently, finally spoke up. If these two survive, others will come.

Others will come whether they survive or not, Founder 5 replied. Let them look around and let them find nothing. Then they will not return.

Their future isn't terminal, thought Founder 11. Not yet.