Space Desert 101

We crash landed about eight months ago. It’s only an approximation because I’ve lost count of the days. The crew split up the first time someone mentioned cannibalism casually as if were an option. None of wanted to become the next textbook Donner Party. 

Now I spend most days discovering new species to observe their main form of sustenance, and then I typically mimic them by eating whatever they couldn’t finish. The lizards know where all the good stuff is. There are a couple of mammal-looking creatures that are covered in hair and tend to scavenge during the late afternoon. All the little creatures, though, generally have a lack of taste buds. It would be like eating at a restaurant that was given rave reviews by reviewers with no sense of seasoning.

I dug a small enclave on the side of a hill next to a wall of cypresses that only has one way into the hole and one way out. Then I cleaned it up as much as possible by covering the ground in a couple of layers of cushioned debris. The hill keeps away most adverse weather. I thought about trying to create some sort of knife-like tool as a method to hunt protein, though the process became too tedious after trying to hit two rocks together over and over.

The small things of convenience that civilization provide hit me the worse first. I missed not being able to order pizza, going to a big store on the corner with all the hard parts of preparing food already done, and talking to other people. I never thought I’d miss talking to another person until I experienced complete isolation.

Occasionally I would use the little critters as entertainment to talk to, but the conversation was all one sided. They never challenged me, which seemed nice at first because they didn’t have the verbal fortitude to combat my linguistic might. But invariably the self-realization that I was talking to myself and projecting my thoughts onto these lesser conscious creatures seemed all too depressing to continue. 

The captain of the ship died in the landing. I believe it was in his contract that he would be responsible for naming this strange land that we came upon. I asked him what he planned on calling it, but he responded that he didn’t know. He wouldn’t know until he saw the place. It would be too presumptuous to name a discovery that could be great, could be awful, could be somewhere in between, before even seeing what it all looked like. He didn’t even have a few rough drafts saved up. He simply intended on naming this land the first thing that came to mind, no matter how horrible, wonderful, or plain it might come out. 

I believe the succession of the naming responsibility fell on the first mate, and then probably some of the higher members of the crew, possibly a few of the scientists, whichever guy was responsible for making sure the restrooms were cleaned, and then may around the last, or near the last, there would be me. Unlike the captain, I had come up with quite a few reserved names in case I was called upon to name the place. Keep in mind that I’d never seen this place when I came up with these names. No one had. They were back burner sort of names that I knew would never be used. Gregotia. Fanalicka. Vosylianopical. Key Tone Island. x-3190p. Though my secret fantasy would be that it would be named after me. Fresno.

But now I no longer knew where any of the crew that survived the crash had gone to, nor did I know whether or not any of them were still alive. The basic maintenance of living became more and more a fruitless endeavor. I woke everyday thinking this might be the last. No one would know I died here. No one would care. My body would decay after months of these alien creatures feasting on my deceased being. I started to become more morbid the longer I stayed in this forsaken land.

I tried venturing out ever so much on a hesitant scale to possibly make contact with either an indigenous population, or maybe even some of my remaining crewmates. Perhaps they’d given up the notion that it could possibly be a good idea to eat one another. Hopefully after months of continuous isolation they’d made the realization that it would be best if we stuck together. And while I hoped that whatever, or whomever, I discovered would be friendly, at a certain point I no longer cared. I simply wandered as far as I could comfortably go without losing track of my base camp.

The first few times were more exploratory, to make sure the land I occupied was not as finite as a mole hill nor as infinite as space. The land was a bit more desolate than I anticipated. It had all been sterilized and smelled of a foreign chemical agent used to eradicate any semblance of micro-organic life as a means to protect the inhabitants from all alien virus. I couldn’t imagine being sick in a place I didn’t recognize, with no semblance of health care in sight, or at least none that I recognized. 

To that extent, I had no idea what I would say to the first alien I met. I don’t imagine they’d be able to understand me. But maybe they were advanced enough that they had some sort of ultra-cool technology that could translate any and all languages throughout the galaxy, and somehow, despite no reasoning for it to work, English was categorized in it and this imagined being would be able to understand my pleas. Though if somehow it could even possibly understand me, I didn’t know if it would treat me amicably. Certainly I was always trained to come in peace. It was the universal message of interstellar media: always travel in peace of other creatures so as to not to disturb their ecosystem. But if they attacked first, then…?

Months of malnutrition had done nothing for my strength, though that’s not to say that I was very strong to begin with. And in terms of any logistically savvy fighting skills, I dare say I would more than likely be at a disadvantage if I came across any hostile life forms. The less terrain I recognized, the more cognizant I became of how vulnerable I truly was. But then, contact.

“Hello,” I called out. “I come in peace.”

The creature didn’t budge. I took a step forward, intentionally making a scruffing sound against the ground to make the alien aware of my presence and movement. Still, no response. I thought for a brief second that perhaps the creature was deaf, or maybe even dead and just positioned upward before some sort of ceremony to commemorate its life. I called out once more, again reiterating that I came in peace.

“I know,” the alien responded. “What in the hell? Put the stapler down and get back to class.”

The alien sounded like Mr. Everret from gym class. It even mimicked his attire and mannerisms. But I knew the truth. Somehow this world had the capability to transplant familiar memories of mine as a way to put my guard down. But I remembered the ride over here. I remember losing my crew one at a time as they all descended into an alien world devoid of pleasantness and camaraderie. These aliens were reading my mind, infiltrating my thoughts to make me think I was back home, enjoying another day at school. But I knew the game. Play along until they all had their guard down. I holstered my laser gun and retreated back to my enclave, seeing nothing that I recognized.