On the small Island now known as Last Hope, the last few hundred people that still called the planet of Cacen home watched and waited. Today was the day, the last hope of Last Hope. Sycamore Three. Everything rested on Sycamore Three.

Captain Keri sat in her quarters, working her way through her nerves. She had always been the intended leader of the Sycamore Three’s mission, but their mission was supposed to have been one of support. 

Sycamore One was the vessel more designed for first landing, and had been without doubt the largest structure made by hand ever in the history books. Housing just shy of one hundred souls and jammed with supplies and materials to build a new home, One had been dubbed the seed of survival. One never made it off the launch pad. The calamity claimed the vessel, crew and over twenty support staff during its fiery end.

Sycamore Two had been a bit more successful. A smaller and faster vessel, Two had been designed to close the gap between One and land a few short days after One. By design it held little in way of supplies, just enough to keep the crew of ten alive during the voyage.  These ten were the elites, the specialists. These ten were the ten people everyone agreed no new Cacenian society could do without. These ten were the heroes. Oh how the people had cheered as Two blasted off towards the sky. 

Of course with One being destroyed the decision had been made to stuff a little extra food into Two. The designers protested of course, saying the ratios would be all off but the leaders overruled them, stating quite clearly that Three would be at best two weeks behind Two, and that the brave souls aboard Two may well starve without the extra provisions. It was a logical argument of course.

It was suggested that both the need for extra weight and balance could be sorted by sending less than ten. The two pilots were needed, obviously, but save them maybe one or two could stay behind and wait for Threes’ mission to be successful. The trouble with elites and heroes and the like is ego, and not one wanted to miss out on the kudos being on Two would undoubtedly bring.

To the crowd, the sudden wobble and crash of Two came as a surprise, to the mission designers it was the only conclusion. Only one soul survived that crash, and as yet they have yet to wake.

Sycamore Three, in terms of size, was closer to One than Two. Designed to be the final support mission and equalling the sum total of everything Last Hope had to offer. It was slower than both One and Two, with an estimated travel time of around one Cacen season. Crewed by only five (well, technically four with one payload specialist), it was full to the brim of seeds and cuttings of everything that could make an alien planet seem more like home. And the payload, a top-secret device designed and known only to the Druids.

And so Keri sat, breathing in calm and out her nerves. In her quarters she could be the nervous wreck she was, but once she opened that door and strode out, she needed to be the calm and collected captain everybody needed her to be. If Three didn’t make it the long (and sometimes sordid) history of Cacen and any trace of its people would be lost forever.

With a final deep breath she rose, shook the doubt from her eyes, and strode calmly out to prepare her ship and her crew.