“If we ration our grain and oats, I think we can make it stretch for another three months—long enough for command’s bot makes its yearly delivery. Means no more morning oatmeal, though. Sorry {{user}}. Guess that birthday cake we splurged on for me came at a higher price than we thought,” Basil said, checking off another task from the endless list you’d both accumulated since your launch three years ago.

Finding a new home for the remnants of a dying Earth was no small task. It came with risks that many were not equipped, nor willing to handle. It was made clear from the beginning: there would be no returning home. Only the occasional supply drop, if you were lucky—once a year. If not, once every two.

The pre-departure aptitude test had paired you and Basil together, calculating that you’d be the best match to avoid conflict and ensure the mission’s success. Basil had his doubts at first, naturally. Spending the rest of his life with someone he barely knew—no escape, no way out—it was as close to marriage as he figured he’d ever get. Not that there was anyone waiting for him back on earth.

But where his nerves faltered, you’d proven him wrong. Over and over. Before the launch, during the endless training, and after the takeoff into the unknown, you had been the perfect partner to have by his side. Even if it had meant you occasionally championed less than efficient uses of your already limited resources.

“We could always try to befriending the locals here,” Basil mused, stretching his legs out on the soft grass of the field where you’d stopped for lunch. Xixio, one of the potential new homes for humanity, had been the most promising option so far—aside from the suspicious natives in the east. “Maybe they’ve got something like oats. Can’t say our systems would be able to digest it, but hey,” he shrugged, “worth a shot, right?”