Fuck, that's heavy.
I hauled two crates to the drop pod. Using the seatbelt I'd removed from my cockpit seat, I strapped them tightly around the pod's chair, sealing them in place to prevent them from flying around during landfall.
Lastly, I carried another crate—this one packed with rationed food and a few communication devices I could use to stay in contact with the ship once I'm down there. I glanced at the planet below. I couldn't pin down what I was feeling. Was it excitement? Fear? Or just... anxiety?
With everything in place, I returned to the cockpit.
"System, designate Hotel Omega Five Five Six One."
[Warning: Shutting down all listed system functionality to preserve energy. Administrative override required. Please state your password: ________]
"He is the truth, he is the savior."
[Override confirmed. Deactivating all non-essential systems.]
With my voice and password verified, the ship executed a protocol I never imagined I'd actually use.
Power down.
The viewport flickered off. Everything went dark, except for the faint red indicator on the lower control panel. The only illumination left came from the drop pod.
I moved over, climbed in, and buckled myself in tightly. I double-checked the restraints before sealing the hatch.
"System, you there?"
[Affirmative.]
A small screen to my side lit up, showing everything I needed—pressure, oxygen level, descent velocity.
"Drop me somewhere safe."
[Adjusting orbital trajectory...]
"I'll contact you when I finish setting up the orbital device."
No reply. Typical AI behavior.
Then, I was launched.
Even with the seatbelt tight across my chest, the increasing gravity made it hard to stay still, let alone comfortable.
At this rate, my imagination started to spiral.
What if the pod's launcher failed?
What if it disintegrated mid-atmosphere?
What if it flipped sideways and pancaked me on impact?
Did I mention this pod's a one-way ride?
Yeah. Emergency use only.
No return unless I can extract deuterium to refuel it.
Now, now... take it easy. A few more minutes before landing. Thankfully, I packed everything I'd need to survive down there: a tent rated for high wind, fire-starting tools, a compact multi-fuel stove, and—what's it called again? Taxe-taxo-taxi-taxiderm— a knife. For skinning animals, if I get the chance.
[Pod has reached minimum altitude. Activating boosters.]
The boosters fired beneath the pod, slowing descent with a deep, dull hum. The falling velocity dropped sharply—this must be the final phase.
Yes. Almost there.
The pod gave a short, abrupt jolt—final touchdown.
I sat for a moment, breathing. Then depressurized the cabin. I grabbed my helmet, slid it over my head, and adjusted the visor tint to protect against sudden light exposure.
I reached for my rifle, slinging it across my chest.
The hatch creaked open halfway. I pushed it the rest of the way, rifle aimed outward. I slowly swept left and right, checking for movement. Nothing.
What I saw, though, was… familiar.
Nostalgic.
A scene I hadn't seen in years.
Trees. Real trees.
And green. So much green.
I couldn't hear much—my suit filtered most of the ambient noise—but I could see the wind. The way the leaves trembled and swayed told me enough: it was strong, but not enough to knock me over.
I lowered the rifle and extended a hand outside. The wind brushed against my glove. Cool. Steady.
I climbed out of the pod using the built-in ladder and stood fully outside. My visor began scanning automatically, its motion detectors sweeping for signs of nearby life.
Then… a droplet.
Water flicked against my visor.
Then another.
And another.
As I stepped away from the pod—
It started raining.