The following account was recorded in the agent's log during your transmission: Water's pouring straight up from a series of small, jagged rock formations scattered across a barren, rust-red desert landscape, somehow not falling back down. Uh, the sky above is a pale, washed-out yellow, and the air's hot and dry with a metallic tang, like it's midday. The sound of the water's synchronized with a low, humming noise that's vibrating the air, and a cluster of palm trees, still somehow alive, is growing right out of the rocky ground, their trunks twisted with impossible, glassy tendrils that reflect the pale sun.