Marooned on Giri Minor
Andrade says, "I hate to say it, but I need to be the one who goes to that colony. I am a communications officer, after all, so if we find some ancient transmitter there who else here would know how to use it?"
Lieutenant Nimjey steps up beside her. "I'll go with you, sir," he says.
The commander then turns to you. "Starman, what you've done here tonight has not gone unnoticed. I was impressed by how you took charge and made sure everybody got off the wreckage safely."
"Thank you," you say.
"I know this isn't much of a ship anymore," she continues, "but you're the last crewmember, so I guess that makes you the captain now. Therefore I'm entrusting you to organize a camp and gather whatever useful supplies you can scavange from the remains of the ship."
"Understood, sir," you say.
"Commander, I think we need to get going while it's still nighttime," Nimjey says to Andrade. "I don't think it would be wise to cross the open desert in broad daylight, given our limited provisions." You can sense that Andrade has a reluctance that she's trying to hide--she's hardly the most physically fit officer you've seen--but she knows what her duty is.
Andrade and Nimjey make a quick search of the few items that were salvaged from the ship before it caught fire, and claim a handful of things that might help them on their trek: a plasgun, a basic toolkit, some packaged NutriRations. Nobody has any water; the ship's storage tank burst upon impact, and its contents have already bled into the desert gravel.
"I hope to see you again soon, Starman," Andrade says to you. "Whatever you do, keep these people alive."
"Yes, sir!"
You know better than to ask when she expects to return; nobody can know the unknowable.
When she and Nimjey set off into the night, you assess your situation. The ship is still burning, casting its light on your band of survivors: besides yourself, there are eleven people, including two stunned children, two people who are still unconscious and suffering from unknown injuries, and three people with obvious bone fractures. Currently several of these people are sitting on the ground, still completely dazed by all that has just happened, and blankly watching the ship burn.
But not everyone. Others, like you, have taken charge. Dr. Munro, for instance, has been busy tending to the injured--one of whom, you now realize, is her husband, Ander Dyo. He is lying on the ground, using someone's jacket as a blanket.
"I see they made you captain," he says affably as you approach. "I'm sure we're in good hands."
"Fractured femur," Dr. Munro explains, "but he's had worse. I may have a PhD in xenoanthropology, but I do have some basic medical training."
"That's going to be very helpful," you say. "I think our priority should be getting everybody into that cargo hold first for shelter. Then we can start treating injuries."
As you and Munro are talking three other people step up, a lieutenant and two non-coms. You realize that everybody here in a military uniform outranks you, but all of them--even the officer--seems strangely deferential.
"OK, you heard the captain," the lieutenant shouts, "let's get everyone into the cargo hold before the sun rises!" The two non-coms pick up a piece of scrap metal and use it as a stretcher to carry those who can't walk, and even the children help by carrying some of the personal duffel that had been carried out of the passenger cabin.
You arrange a living space as best you can inside the cargo hold, with one corner reserved by Dr. Munro for her collection of wounded passengers. No one has found yet more than the most basic of medical supplies, so for the passengers with broken limbs she has to improvise splints out of found objects, and then sedate them if the pain becomes too much to bear. One of the two people you found unconscious in the passenger cabin has since awaken, but the other's injuries appear to be more grave.
"I did find a stasis device," she tells you, "so he's stable for now. But the stasis device isn't made for continuous use. We might get three days out if it, if we're lucky."
By the time the sun rises seven hours after the crash, you are asleep against a duffel bag, with Yiggy and Easa snuggled next to you. At midday the desert temperature rises, and even the shade inside the shelter is barely tolerable. This is when it becomes evident you have a new and pressing priority: finding water.
You believe you see green vegetation in a range of small mountains maybe 4 kilometers away. Where there's life, there's water, right? From where you stand the hike to the mountains does not look like it would be that long or difficult. But would it be wise to split up the group?
« Go Back Lieutenant Nimjey steps up beside her. "I'll go with you, sir," he says.
The commander then turns to you. "Starman, what you've done here tonight has not gone unnoticed. I was impressed by how you took charge and made sure everybody got off the wreckage safely."
"Thank you," you say.
"I know this isn't much of a ship anymore," she continues, "but you're the last crewmember, so I guess that makes you the captain now. Therefore I'm entrusting you to organize a camp and gather whatever useful supplies you can scavange from the remains of the ship."
"Understood, sir," you say.
"Commander, I think we need to get going while it's still nighttime," Nimjey says to Andrade. "I don't think it would be wise to cross the open desert in broad daylight, given our limited provisions." You can sense that Andrade has a reluctance that she's trying to hide--she's hardly the most physically fit officer you've seen--but she knows what her duty is.
Andrade and Nimjey make a quick search of the few items that were salvaged from the ship before it caught fire, and claim a handful of things that might help them on their trek: a plasgun, a basic toolkit, some packaged NutriRations. Nobody has any water; the ship's storage tank burst upon impact, and its contents have already bled into the desert gravel.
"I hope to see you again soon, Starman," Andrade says to you. "Whatever you do, keep these people alive."
"Yes, sir!"
You know better than to ask when she expects to return; nobody can know the unknowable.
When she and Nimjey set off into the night, you assess your situation. The ship is still burning, casting its light on your band of survivors: besides yourself, there are eleven people, including two stunned children, two people who are still unconscious and suffering from unknown injuries, and three people with obvious bone fractures. Currently several of these people are sitting on the ground, still completely dazed by all that has just happened, and blankly watching the ship burn.
But not everyone. Others, like you, have taken charge. Dr. Munro, for instance, has been busy tending to the injured--one of whom, you now realize, is her husband, Ander Dyo. He is lying on the ground, using someone's jacket as a blanket.
"I see they made you captain," he says affably as you approach. "I'm sure we're in good hands."
"Fractured femur," Dr. Munro explains, "but he's had worse. I may have a PhD in xenoanthropology, but I do have some basic medical training."
"That's going to be very helpful," you say. "I think our priority should be getting everybody into that cargo hold first for shelter. Then we can start treating injuries."
As you and Munro are talking three other people step up, a lieutenant and two non-coms. You realize that everybody here in a military uniform outranks you, but all of them--even the officer--seems strangely deferential.
"OK, you heard the captain," the lieutenant shouts, "let's get everyone into the cargo hold before the sun rises!" The two non-coms pick up a piece of scrap metal and use it as a stretcher to carry those who can't walk, and even the children help by carrying some of the personal duffel that had been carried out of the passenger cabin.
You arrange a living space as best you can inside the cargo hold, with one corner reserved by Dr. Munro for her collection of wounded passengers. No one has found yet more than the most basic of medical supplies, so for the passengers with broken limbs she has to improvise splints out of found objects, and then sedate them if the pain becomes too much to bear. One of the two people you found unconscious in the passenger cabin has since awaken, but the other's injuries appear to be more grave.
"I did find a stasis device," she tells you, "so he's stable for now. But the stasis device isn't made for continuous use. We might get three days out if it, if we're lucky."
By the time the sun rises seven hours after the crash, you are asleep against a duffel bag, with Yiggy and Easa snuggled next to you. At midday the desert temperature rises, and even the shade inside the shelter is barely tolerable. This is when it becomes evident you have a new and pressing priority: finding water.
You believe you see green vegetation in a range of small mountains maybe 4 kilometers away. Where there's life, there's water, right? From where you stand the hike to the mountains does not look like it would be that long or difficult. But would it be wise to split up the group?