As Sean explained, we have a new series we're working on (currently unnamed, so we'll just call it The Navigator/ Birth Once Again Series for the time being). My side of this tale is a continuation of one of my older stories, The Navigator. Stranded upon a freezing world he is challenged not only physically but mentally as he heads north, where he suspects the planet's tropics lie. I hope you enjoy the story as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Q-tool strapped tightly upon his wrist, P789 standard
handgun (more commonly known as the Helix) strapped to his belt, antenna pack
pulled tightly against his back, space blanket and four days left worth of
water and rations nestled together in the pack’s pockets along with the water
filter, a rope twenty-five meters long dangled below the pack coiled up like a
snake, survival knife loosely sheathed just in case, and flint and steel
beneath the knife. It was everything he could salvage from his escape pod, well
everything he could carry on him at least. He had to leave behind the portable
shelter in place of the antenna pack, an inflatable pillow in place of the
water filter, and the shovel for his knife, there was even a portable
entertainment system on board, just in case the survivors got bored waiting for
the rescue crews; luxury liners would do anything to make their passengers feel
comfortable even while stranded. The Navigator was a practical man, no need for
the extra baggage for just a few notches more comfort, well except for the box
of chocolate, nothing wrong with comfort food he thought.
Ten days ago he made the decision of what to bring with him
upon the dark-frozen waste. He would have no idea it had been ten days if it
wasn’t for his Q-tool’s clock, he hadn’t seen any trace of the planet’s sun,
only its enormous moon’s faint reflection of the sun’s light provided him with
his only light source, providing the land with a blue light as frigid as the
plant itself. The lack of solar light meant either one of two things to him:
one he crashed upon the planet’s polar region during the peak of its winter
cycle, which made the solution simple, just head north until the climate warms;
or two he the planet was tidally locked in with its sun which meant it would be
perpetually night here until he crossed the terminator line himself, and unless
he chose wisely which direction to take that walk would take him anywhere from
a few months to a couple of years years to make. He consider himself an
optimist (using statistical data of course), so he placed his bets on winter and
not the tidal locking, considering planets that could shelter life and were
tidally locked were a one out of sixty-three-million-two-hundred-fifteen-thousand-and-two-hundred-ninty-nine
chance. This data is why he loved his Q-tool so much.
Throughout his course he would stop atop the mountain peaks
and make a quick sketch of the landscape using both his hands and the Q-tool’s
built in peripheral cameras and radar to judge the distances. It was during
these breaks he would each a small square of chocolate, if there was anything
enjoyable about being stranded on the surface of a dead world it was this, he
felt like an explorer from the older days way before the Great Expansion when
humanity only inhabited a small piece of rock on the Sol system. Like Magellan
he was exploring uncharted territory and mapping it. But the thrill would
shortly vanish after he had finished his chocolate and after that it was back
to surviving.
According to his Q-tool he also learned he had been
traveling at a pace of twelve miles a day towards the projected north across
the land in which he dubbed the Inner Circle, a total of a hundred and twenty
miles of ice and stone. The only glimpse of life he encountered were patches of
moss and lichens growing on the underside of small boulders, not even a trace
of insects could be found. He knew he was going north because the Q-tool
measured the strength of the planet’s magnetic poles and through this data it
could determine which hemisphere he was on. It was a good pace until today when
he encountered a river colder than the land in which he stood. This land was
proving to be his personal hell more and more after each mile, so he named the
river Styx.
Styx was a long river, it stretched long ways as far as
the valley ran, and he thought he could almost see the planet’s curvature as it
disappeared into the white haze far into the horizon. Originally he thought
Styx was a lake or an ocean, when he looked long ways across the shore he couldn’t
see where it ended, it disappeared into the haze just like it did when he
looked across the shore. It was too wide to turn back and find an alternate
route, the river was just too long and wide that a couple miles left or right
wouldn’t make a big enough change in the river’s topography; it was now or
never if he wanted to head north. Not even his Q-tool could determine if there
was land resting on the other side. It wasn’t until the moon’s light reflected
at the perfect angle did he see the glaciers across the river, they were so
faint and snowy that they blended in with the haze like camouflage. They were
so far away, like mountains upon the distance of a desert. Oh how much he would
rather be in a desert environment than here!
But like they teach you in the academy, The Navigator had
to make do with what he had, which was defined as anything and everything that
can help you in situations such as this, and anything was defined as: tools,
people, and the environment.
He ransacked the landscape for anything that vaguely
looked like it could float, but there was nothing, desperation lead him to
gathering moss and weaving it together, maybe he could build a raft out of it.
After hours of flipping rocks on their bellies he only gathered two handfuls of
moss. Tired and freezing he gave up.
Lying next to the shore he used his flint and steel for
his first time igniting the brown fibers of the moss. The moss burnt faintly
like a candle, but it was the best sight he had since he crashed in the Inner
Circle. The heat was little, but the little warmth it provided gave him more
comfort than his chocolate, the smoke rising up from the embers reminded him of
the various camping trips he would take with his brother back before he decided
to join the academy, and the red light dancing across the rocky shore reminded
him of his evenings with Sophie surrounded by candles, when they were young and
still loved each other. He lied on his pack, eyes half open looking into the
fire. He could die right now and be happy, and then the fire died.
He stood himself up and cursed at the fire, kicking its
ashes into the river as if the fire had wronged him in some way. Which to him
it did, it had died during his only moment of comfort. After he had finished spewing
every curse worse and phrase he knew into the night’s air did he sit down,
panting and sweating beneath his many layers of clothes. The coldness was no
longer freezing his skin, but his heart to, maybe death would be an option, but
first he’d have to eat.
He tore a ration open, and chewed on the stale contents of
the small silver package. Each ration had enough nutrients and calories for
grown man to live on, just was meal a day was enough for one day. You would
expect something so healthy to taste decent at least, but to The Navigator it
tasted like cardboard sprinkled with basil and garlic to make more palatable.
He stared across the river like a scientist or philosopher in deep thought, but
he wasn’t thinking he was too fatigued to focus on a simple thought.
A small iceberg no larger than a car
floated by several meters offshore, then another, he could hear the water slosh
as the icebergs drifted down the river. An third passed and that’s when his brain
began whirling into action. Of course ice floats! He felt like a dumbass for
not even thinking of it earlier. He was too tired at the moment to get up, he
was looking at sixteen hours of no sleep at the moment, but he knew what he had
to do. Tomorrow he could set up a trap to catch the ice and bring it in land,
tomorrow he was going ice fishing.
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