The canyon is a step up from where our camp is set up now. We’re sitting out in the open, exposed to the elements. It could be only a matter of time before a sandstorm hits, and I don’t know that our makeshift shelters would offer enough protection.
Capping the sample tube, I stand. Tired from the heat of the sun relentlessly beating down overhead, I wipe the sweat from my brow and look longingly back at the rover. I can hardly wait to get back in the air-conditioned cab.
As I scan my surroundings, a disturbing thought occurs to me. I’m a botanist stranded on a desert planet. How crazy is that? Thank goodness we equipped each escape pod with survival seeds. When I became head botanist on the ship, that was one of my first suggestions to the Captain.
A few people on the council thought we were taking an unnecessary precaution, but I continued to push the idea after a horrible fire ravaged one of the biolabs on the ship last year. It wiped out almost half of our samples. I was afraid something similar could happen in the botanic lab and take out our entire seed inventory. The escape pods seemed like a great place to store extra seeds to be safe. I never imagined we’d need them in a situation like this. Like the rest of my crew, I got so comfortable with life on the ship, I never believed we’d ever encounter a problem we couldn’t handle. I thought the seeds wouldn’t be planted until we found a planet we all agreed upon to settle.
I shake my head in frustration. How wrong I was.
Now, as the only department head on our escape pod, I’ve been designated the leader. I’m not totally comfortable with my position yet, which is why I volunteered to scout for a new location alone. I need time to think and decide on our next step.
I’m not used to making survival decisions of this magnitude. This job entails so much more responsibility than simply making sure we grow enough food to keep our people fed. I never envied the Captain her position, but now I’m beginning to understand the stress she was under.
A soft scrape against the rocks behind me draws my attention and I turn toward the sound. Raising my hand to my brow, I shield my eyes from the sun as I try to determine the source of the noise. The angle of the sun casts long shadows between the canyon’s large boulders. I stand completely still, listening for any indication that something is watching me.
A cool, dry breeze whips through the canyon and I release a heavy sigh of frustration. Why did the ship's builders design the escape pods as one-way tickets? Even if any of the other colony vessels escaped the space pirates who attacked us, we have no way to get back to them.
To make matters worse, we took a vote last night and the majority decided to destroy the distress beacon, just in case the pirates are still searching the area for us. The escape pods were meant to fit at least fifty people, but in all of the chaos, we launched at only half capacity. We may be the last humans left. We might never link up with other survivors—if there are any others, that is.
Closing my eyes, I can still picture the terrified expression of my neighbor, placing her palm against the glass and holding her daughter as the airlock sealed shut between us. I pray she made it off the ship alive.
Surely, other vessels made it. We cannot be the only ones.
Fate can’t be that cruel, can it?
Yet even as I ask myself this question, my thoughts turn to Earth. We discovered recycling technologies, but not in time to save our planet. The generations before us poisoned our world beyond saving.
The escape pod was designed to be broken down for material to construct shelters. At least the technology that makes this possible is eco-friendly. We won’t be harming this planet while we build our settlement and start a new life here.
Huffing a frustrated breath, I return to my work, kneeling in the soft, crimson sand to gather another sample.
A soft, skittering sound behind me draws my attention.
Is my imagination getting the best of me again?
The strange sound grows closer.
It’s probably just the wind. Or maybe a cute, cuddly animal that wants to be my friend.
But my gut tells me this isn’t the case. Dread trickles down my spine as I slowly spin to face the noise. My eyes widen. This thing is definitely not cuddly. A panicked cry escapes my throat as an enormous creature stalks toward me on four legs. Scales cover its entire body, shifting from orange to red and back again as it blends into the surrounding rocks like a chameleon with each step.
If I wasn’t so scared, the higher-functioning part of my brain might be fascinated by such efficient camouflage. But the fight-or-flight part of my brain has taken charge as deep red eyes lock onto mine with a predatory gaze. Fear grips me in an iron vise, when I notice its snarling mouth full of shark-like teeth and lethal black claws. I reach for my blaster only to realize it’s not on my belt. Cursing my luck, I remember that I left it in the rover behind me. Even if I sprint, I doubt I’ll make it that far.
Slowly standing, I hold the creature’s gaze as we carefully circle one another. It lowers its head as if readying to charge. If it’s anything like a predator on Earth, maybe it will leave me alone if I try to appear bigger than I am. Straightening, I spread my arms wide as I face the beast, hoping and praying this strategy works.
It opens its mouth and releases a feral roar. Obviously, I’m only
