After setting course for Raith's home planet—if a cure existed anywhere in the universe, it would be there—they realized they were running dangerously low on fuel.
They stopped at Fadama Station to refuel. While the ship was being serviced, Adam and Spam set off in search of supplies. Their shopping list was short but essential: drugs, groceries, and a signal jammer.
Every ship constantly sent and received signals, either to a station or a public repeater, making them easy to track. A signal jammer would let them slip through unnoticed. If they were going to disappear, they needed to start now.
They bought the drugs and equipment they needed to treat most of the crew, along with enough groceries to last at least a week.
At some point, Spam split—he hadn't merged with an existing split in a long time. It felt good to let Scorn out.
He handed the purchased supplies to Scorn. "Take these back to the ship."
Scorn didn't ask questions. He just nodded and left, while Adam and Spam continued searching for a signal jammer.
They found a few, but the prices were far beyond their budget. They had only a handful of Empiriom credits left—so Spam duplicated them. It worked at first, but after a while, the quality of the copies started to deteriorate.
Adam frowned. "We used to mix them with real credits. Now it's mostly fakes."
Spam waved him off. "They won't be able to tell the difference."
Adam wasn't convinced.
Eventually, they found a cheaper jammer in the sketchiest part of the station. The seller was a broad-shouldered man with sharp eyes. After some tense negotiation, they agreed on a price. Spam handed him the credits.
They turned to leave.
"Hey!"
Adam and Spam froze.
The man placed a real credit on the counter, then set one of Spam's copies beside it. All of the credits Spam had given him were fakes. He started speaking in a language they didn't understand—but his tone said enough.
As he spoke, he took a slow step toward them. Adam and Spam instinctively stepped back. That's when they noticed the others. Big, muscular men closing in.
"Lo keueuk ba droeeuh u bioskop tapi haa dibi droeeuh eu ba makaa ringa droeeuh keudroe," Spam said.
The man lunged at him.
Spam ducked, shoved him, and grabbed Adam's arm. "Run!"
"What did you just say to him?" Adam asked as they sprinted.
"I don't know, but it usually works on girls!"
Behind them, the gang roared and gave chase.
From the docking bay, Emac and the others spotted them running full speed, a pack of furious men right behind them.
"Go, go, go!"
The engines roared to life. Adam and Spam bolted up the ramp, barely making it aboard before the ship lifted off. The gang skidded to a stop, shouting and shaking their fists as the ship shot into the void.
The trip to Eden was uneventful—just the way they liked it.
From orbit, the planet was a vast expanse of green. As they descended, however, they saw a massive chunk of the forest was missing, a raw, barren scar on the land.
They landed near the clearing, where a group of people was already waiting for them. Without hesitation, they pulled Raith—still unconscious—out of the ship and carried him away.
The group led them to a large hut. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of herbs and damp earth. Sick and injured people lay on woven mats, tended to by quiet caretakers.
Adam and Spam tried to follow, but the moment the healers realized they weren't part of the treatment, they were ushered out.
With nothing else to do, they wandered off to explore.
Back in the hut, Raith slowly regained consciousness. There was no grand welcome, no moment of recognition. As soon as he was awake, he was assigned his old task: tree planting.
With quiet determination, he cleared weeds, tilled the soil, and began planting.
One day, a ship arrived—just like many before it. The Dressavians welcomed the visitors with open arms.
At first, the newcomers marveled at Eden's towering trees, their immense size and strength. Then they began cutting them down. First, it was one or two. Soon, the numbers grew. Cargo ships began camping on the planet, loading up the precious wood and leaving only devastation behind.
Frustrated, the elders organized a protest. They stood in front of the trees, encircling them, refusing to let the invaders take more.
Raith joined them.
The response was brutal. They were beaten, tossed aside like nothing. When Raith asked why they didn't fight back, some elders insisted they had to remain peaceful. "It will get better," they said. "They will see reason."
But things only got worse.
One day, during a protest, the loggers mocked them, jeering and shoving. The frustration boiled over. In a fit of rage, Raith pushed a young boy. The boy stumbled, his head striking a jagged root. Blood pooled beneath him.
Raith dropped to his knees, trying to stop the bleeding. It was too late.
Panicked, he hurriedly buried the body and planted a sapling over the grave. The weeks turned to months. The boy was never found.
Raith couldn't keep it to himself forever. One day, proud of what he had done, he confided in a friend, showing him the tree that had grown from the grave.
His friend reported him.
Everything changed. His people turned against him. Even the invaders, who had killed so freely, wanted him dead.
"They slaughter our forests without consequence," Raith argued. "But I created life from death. How many trees have they cut down? How is this worse?"
But no one listened.
One night, they burst into his hut. He barely had time to react before they grabbed him, dragging him from his bed.
He screamed, struggling. "No—!"
Raith jolted awake, drenched in sweat. He was in the medical hut.