From the writing prompt list: An astronaut crash lands on a seemingly uninhabited planet and discovers a medieval style kingdom populated by elves, dwarves, and dragons hidden in the northern mountains.
Blaring red lights all around me. The dashboard blinking like a schizophrenic Christmas tree trying to tap-dance to a hip-hop ballad. I can’t help but think that warning lights should be soothing, not stress-inducing; it’s not like my blood pressure was doing great just from the weight of the things going wrong.
“Oxygen leaking. Repair at once.”
“Structural integrity failing. Seek immediate shelter.”
“Shield compromised. Divert power to shield generator before failure.”
“Engine blockage detected. Remove blockage and restart immediately.”
“Water main rupture. Repair before water damage is permanent.”
“Toilet blockage. Please unclog.”
“Entertainment system offline. Re-engage not functioning.”
Oh no, now I can’t turn on some soothing jazz as I plummet to my death. They always told me to try everything I could to save the ship; there’s no guarantee of rescue in an escape pod and they only contain enough filters to refresh oxygen for a few days. But at this point, there wasn’t much left I could do for this ship but salute as she ignites her own Viking funeral pyre. I grabbed Plexit, my little ancient printed dragon mascot, off of his place twined around my chair arm and booked it for the escape hatch. I could don exo-gear in five minutes flat, I’d timed it before, but I think I broke all my records pulling it on before jumping into the escape pod and mashing the Eject button.
“Are you sure you wish to eject?” the voice asked. Why was this one calm? More serene than the entertainment system warning. “Please push button twice more to confirm eject.”
I punched it again and again.
“Very well. Please fasten seatbelt and prepare for ejection. Emergency broadcast will automatically be sent at thirty minute intervals until response is received.”
I watched the door hiss shut as a bloom of fire from the hallway hit the gushing water from the leak in the water main and steam obscured the sight of my ship, my home base for the last nine years, even if she remained company property. The escape pod began to fall away but there was a slight jolting feeling as it disconnected. I didn’t think that was supposed to happen. What was that?
“Warning, propulsion engine malfunction.”
You’re kidding me. Really? On top of everything else? And come to think of it, this calm voice telling me I’m truly doomed was worse than the urgent voice in the main cockpit. It felt almost mocking as my chest tightened in fear. I saw out the window as the pod fell away, a piece of my pod’s engine clinging to the launching mechanism which seemed to have fused in place from the meteor hit that doomed the rest of the ship. Fantastic. The pod drifted and rolled in uncontrolled free fall through the void of space. At least the broadcast was still going. Right? I checked the screen. It said it was working… Nothing to do now but to settle in to wait. For days. Until someone hopefully picked up my signal and then picked up my pod.
For now, I just drifted.
And drifted.
The entertainment system was borked here too, all I could do was tell myself stories or sing songs I remembered.
The view outside constantly changed to a new velvet blanket with new pinpricks of light. Always different, never anything new.
Just drifting.
And a lot of sleeping.
Until I woke up to an alert I hadn’t heard before. “Ship caught in gravity well. Prepare for landing.”
Gravity well? What was out there? I saw with my face glued to the window. No propulsion meant I couldn’t land with any control, but almost worse at this point was that I couldn’t see what was happening. I had to trust the pod’s single window to eventually show me something.
Slowly, the rotation showed me a planet below. Blue oceans, green and brown and gray and for some reason bright red and purple land masses below. Then it pulled away. For what felt like hours, I didn’t see anything but space again. Then blackness eclipsed my window. It took me a little while before I realized that was the planet again, closer and on the night side. There was no light at all. No population to call out to. I wasn’t utterly surprised, surely the pod would have told me if it heard even primitive radio. Then space again. By the time I saw something else through my window, it was the beginnings of fire as my pod hit the atmosphere and ignited it around me. We were coming in on the day-side, over a piece of land that was mostly green with hints of blue and… pink? Interesting. But I didn’t think on that much as I belted myself in, grabbed onto the straps, and tried to go as limp as possible for the landing.
I landed. Well, it was more of a hit, a long pause, another hit, another pause, then several simultaneous hits and jostles and bumps before turning into a long skid. The return of gravity and weight scrambled my senses almost as much as the abrupt tossing and turning so it took a good few minutes after the pod finally settled before I was ready to slowly emerge. I got out of my seat, shook loose my muscles, got a big drink from the recycled water in my suit (which was always warm, something I find mildly unpleasant), and went to the door. I pushed the “air quality” reader into action. It hummed for a while before popping up a notification.
“Air quality: Oxygen at human breathable levels. No human toxins found. Okay to proceed without recycled air. Temperature and humidity levels within human standard.” That was good news. I took my helmet off, which I’d put on when the gravity notification came up for protection for my head as much as for anything else, tucked Plexit into my pocket, and cracked the door seal.
The hiss of air mixing as the door opened was loud, abrupt, and left the door of the escape pod and my helmet misted with drops of condensation. And I stepped out into the sunrise of a new world.
I’m going to finish here for today; we’ll pick up immediately after next week.
Intellectual Property of Elizabeth Doman
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