Marooned on Giri Minor
"To be completely honest," you say, "I think the best thing we could do is get a few hours of rest. If the colony site is only 8 kilometers away, it should only take us just a few hours to get there across even terrain. If we strike out at the crack of dawn, we can avoid the worst of the heat."
"I can abide by that decision," Andrade says.
The commander estimates on her WristComp that there are less than five hours before dawn, so the two of you lay out some spaces inside the cavernous cargo hold where you can each bed down for the night, along with all of the other survivors. To say these are makeshift arrangements would be an understatement; it is far from a comfortable rest lying on the floor, and the horrific events of the day are recycled in your dreams over and over. Your body may be in repose, but your mind is hardly at rest.
In a way this does resemble camping out, but to you the flames that light up the night are no campfire. The burning ship is a funeral pyre for Captain Siggo.
You must have fallen asleep despite everything, though, because when Commander Andrade shakes your shoulder to wake you, it catches you by surprise. "We've got a job to do," she says softly, as most of the others are still asleep. You lift your head. There is a faint glow on the horizon, telling you that the Girian sunrise is on its way.
The ship has ceased burning now, and so there is no further light--just a smudgy black cloud of smoke drifting over the desert. It smells putrid. As you expected, though, the morning air is quite cool; it prompts you to put on the jacket that served as your blanket overnight, as your standard-issue naval jumpsuit is not very insulated.
"Are you ready to do this?" Andrade asks.
"As ready as I can be, given the circumstances," you say.
She taps her WristComp and calls up the holographic map once more, hovering in the space between you. "I'm picking up what looks like a small village of structures, but no signs of life, no energy signatures. What we're doing is a long shot, but I don't see where we have many options. If people lived there, it stands to reason they left something behind. Even if we don't find a fully functional hyperspace transmitter, we still may find other things vital to our survival: food, water, shelter."
You nod your agreement. Andrade orients herself with the holographic map, then gestures toward the horizon. "There," she says. "The colony is in that direction." You see a distant but prominent peak where she's pointing, and you settle on that as the landmark to follow.
The terrain is indeed easy, but also very strange, unlike any desert you've ever seen before--but this place wasn't always a desert. Two centuries ago, when the human colony was established, this was a lush savannah of open fields, rich soils, and clusters of wind-twisted trees. But when the moon exploded and the planet tilted, life on Giri Minor was almost completely wiped out.
Some sparse vegetation is starting to reclaim the desert landscape, but the desiccated remains of weathered wood scattered all over the place remind you of what was lost. Above you is a tawny sky, perpetually hazy with airborne dust.
After nearly an hour of hiking, with the rising sun casting a long but faint shadow in front of you, a long rocky ridge develops on your right, almost paralleling your intended course. The commander confirms on her map that you will not need to cross the ridge to reach the colony site, but you move closer to its base to take advantage of any shade it may offer.
And after two hours have passed since you left the crash site, you decide to take a break on an outlying rock positioned in the shade of the main ridge.
You can tell your hiking companion is appreciative of this pause in your trek. "You've been doing well," you say, trying to sound encouraging.
She looks up and chuckles, then shakes her head. "I never was much for the outdoors." She assesses your condition, and notes that you've hardly broken a sweat yet. "Oh, to be young again!"
"But you're not that old!" you say.
"Ha! I have a son older than you, and grandchildren."
Her eyes spot the oto leaf emblem on the collar of your uniform, a bluish-green leaf shaped like a whale's tail, with an indigo stem; many people from your planet wear this symbol as a way of telling others where they're from. When Andrade sees it, she says, "So tell me of your homeworld, Usul."
"There's not much to tell," you say. "My family owns a small gava rice farm. If I was still on Usul, that's where I'd be. My family can trace its lineage all the way back to one of the original settlers from Old Earth. But I wanted to see the galaxy, so I joined the Astral Navy."
Andrade chuckles again. "And so here you are, seeing the galaxy. Thank you for the opportunity to rest, my young friend, but I think we need to keep going."
"I can abide by that decision," Andrade says.
The commander estimates on her WristComp that there are less than five hours before dawn, so the two of you lay out some spaces inside the cavernous cargo hold where you can each bed down for the night, along with all of the other survivors. To say these are makeshift arrangements would be an understatement; it is far from a comfortable rest lying on the floor, and the horrific events of the day are recycled in your dreams over and over. Your body may be in repose, but your mind is hardly at rest.
In a way this does resemble camping out, but to you the flames that light up the night are no campfire. The burning ship is a funeral pyre for Captain Siggo.
You must have fallen asleep despite everything, though, because when Commander Andrade shakes your shoulder to wake you, it catches you by surprise. "We've got a job to do," she says softly, as most of the others are still asleep. You lift your head. There is a faint glow on the horizon, telling you that the Girian sunrise is on its way.
The ship has ceased burning now, and so there is no further light--just a smudgy black cloud of smoke drifting over the desert. It smells putrid. As you expected, though, the morning air is quite cool; it prompts you to put on the jacket that served as your blanket overnight, as your standard-issue naval jumpsuit is not very insulated.
"Are you ready to do this?" Andrade asks.
"As ready as I can be, given the circumstances," you say.
She taps her WristComp and calls up the holographic map once more, hovering in the space between you. "I'm picking up what looks like a small village of structures, but no signs of life, no energy signatures. What we're doing is a long shot, but I don't see where we have many options. If people lived there, it stands to reason they left something behind. Even if we don't find a fully functional hyperspace transmitter, we still may find other things vital to our survival: food, water, shelter."
You nod your agreement. Andrade orients herself with the holographic map, then gestures toward the horizon. "There," she says. "The colony is in that direction." You see a distant but prominent peak where she's pointing, and you settle on that as the landmark to follow.
The terrain is indeed easy, but also very strange, unlike any desert you've ever seen before--but this place wasn't always a desert. Two centuries ago, when the human colony was established, this was a lush savannah of open fields, rich soils, and clusters of wind-twisted trees. But when the moon exploded and the planet tilted, life on Giri Minor was almost completely wiped out.
Some sparse vegetation is starting to reclaim the desert landscape, but the desiccated remains of weathered wood scattered all over the place remind you of what was lost. Above you is a tawny sky, perpetually hazy with airborne dust.
After nearly an hour of hiking, with the rising sun casting a long but faint shadow in front of you, a long rocky ridge develops on your right, almost paralleling your intended course. The commander confirms on her map that you will not need to cross the ridge to reach the colony site, but you move closer to its base to take advantage of any shade it may offer.
And after two hours have passed since you left the crash site, you decide to take a break on an outlying rock positioned in the shade of the main ridge.
You can tell your hiking companion is appreciative of this pause in your trek. "You've been doing well," you say, trying to sound encouraging.
She looks up and chuckles, then shakes her head. "I never was much for the outdoors." She assesses your condition, and notes that you've hardly broken a sweat yet. "Oh, to be young again!"
"But you're not that old!" you say.
"Ha! I have a son older than you, and grandchildren."
Her eyes spot the oto leaf emblem on the collar of your uniform, a bluish-green leaf shaped like a whale's tail, with an indigo stem; many people from your planet wear this symbol as a way of telling others where they're from. When Andrade sees it, she says, "So tell me of your homeworld, Usul."
"There's not much to tell," you say. "My family owns a small gava rice farm. If I was still on Usul, that's where I'd be. My family can trace its lineage all the way back to one of the original settlers from Old Earth. But I wanted to see the galaxy, so I joined the Astral Navy."
Andrade chuckles again. "And so here you are, seeing the galaxy. Thank you for the opportunity to rest, my young friend, but I think we need to keep going."