Floth has a wind so bitter it reminds me of my mother. Nothing like Ursa 29’s operatic baritone; or Tau Ceti k’s gusts so frisky they’d smack your ass every time they kicked up. The locals say it’s Flothyska herself, checking in to see if we’re looking after her only child.
Well. We aren’t. We cooked this planet like the last three. In record time, too, Turns out Floth’s got oil. And even though we’ve been renewable since Earth 2, a few dorks with nothing to contribute got hard over a finite resource and drilled straight through.
Usually we’d just leave; adopt the Flothysks and strike out on the black sea yet again. But the Flothysks said no! Burnt our ships. Laughed about it. So we get to die with the planet for once, like we should’ve light-years ago. It’ll be nice to see mom again, anyway.
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