Just Right?

Goldilocks was dead.

A world just right for life, scientists promised, neither too hot nor too cold.

Once the probe had returned showing images of a habitable zone in Proxima Centauri, it was all systems go. They had been wrong. Liquid water no longer existed here.

Collins knew transforming this landscape into an Earth-like one was impossible for him. Soon, he would die like the others. The radiation which soaked the planet and boiled off the last of the water was killing him.

Following the crew burials, his hands bled. More familiar blisters had formed and burst. He headed back to the Southey.

On the ship, B.E.A.R, humanity's robotic savior was busy. After using lasers to explore beneath the surface, she gathered, sifted, and processed mineral samples.

Collins moved slowly; his vision impaired by whorls of silt particles. Large amounts of x-ray and ultraviolet radiation bombarded this little sphere. Yet its hostile surface environment still held beauty. The unspoiled terrain stretched miles ahead, an undulating vision of terracotta. Mesmerizing. The falling dust rapidly erased his footprints, the only blemish on the sandy ground.

If you could forget the radiation, ozone-poor atmosphere, and lack of water, the planet had possibilities. He grimaced. The pain was escalating; blood flowed from his dry gums. Not long now.

As a blueprint for life, it was too soon. Maybe the future would be another story.

Funny, that's what humans always thought.

He smiled.