It Sorta Worked
Jul 28, 2010 7:10:10 GMT
Post by duetros on Jul 28, 2010 7:10:10 GMT
Bzzzt... bzzzzt.. bzz.bzz... bzzzt.
The lights inside the cramped ship flickered in unison with the off-putting buzz. A man appearing to be no older than 20 sat motionless, strapped tightly into a seat. His eyes were open, yet showed no sign of occupancy as he stared at a series of small, blank monitors before him. The ship had a direction set before a grazing shot set the entire mainframe haywire, and now the ship was flying itself without anyway to disarm or change the route. Not that it particularly mattered. Duetros had no destination, no plan, and no idea where he was going. Not being in control wasn’t a big deal to a Davu; It was something he never had before. Being without food or water for a week? Fine. Not ideal, but not life-threatening. Being in a ship that could collapse at any given moment? This was the source of Duetros’ stress. He did not outwardly show it, even though he was completely alone. Internally, he was concluding he could in no way prevent his demise. He suppressed the fear, and instead focused on being ready to react to whatever was in store for him.
The ship was windowless, a hastily constructed scrap-heap that somehow survived take-off, shots fired at it, and the general wear-and-tear of space flight. With the monitors out and not projecting any data or images, Duetros was flying blind. He could not have known that his ship was coming upon Eden, a world whose conditions were favorably hospitable to his kind. He assumed that when his ship began groaning and rattling with a dangerous intensity, that this was the end of his life. Instead, it was very much a beginning. The ship began to disintegrate as it entered Eden’s atmosphere. It did a lot more than that when it slammed into the sands of Albandia. Duetros was thrown around violently as the ship exploded into hundreds of pieces. The chair itself shot out, clearing a few hundred yards before slamming into the desert and skidding to a halt. A severe-looking gash on Duetros’ forehead gushed blood. Despite the gruesome appearance, he was in much better shape than he thought he’d be. He’d definitely survive, and the wound would be fully healed in a few hours.
In the distance, he saw the smoke of the wreckage from the impact. Slowly, he released himself from his restraints, his muscles angrily nagging at him for the landing they’d been put through. It wasn’t until then he actually noticed the heat. He surveyed his surroundings, best described as an expanse of nothing. Beads of sweat dotted his brow as no sign of water seemed imminent. He hesitated on what to do next. His family could be in more dire circumstances than he, and he was desperate to find them and what happened to them. However, he was in an unfamiliar place, and would be needing supplies before attempting to mount any kind of rescue. As fate would have it, he appeared to have landed on a desert planet. He had not seen Eden from space. He began wandering aimlessly, lost in deep thought as he tried sorting out the mess he had stepped into.
The lights inside the cramped ship flickered in unison with the off-putting buzz. A man appearing to be no older than 20 sat motionless, strapped tightly into a seat. His eyes were open, yet showed no sign of occupancy as he stared at a series of small, blank monitors before him. The ship had a direction set before a grazing shot set the entire mainframe haywire, and now the ship was flying itself without anyway to disarm or change the route. Not that it particularly mattered. Duetros had no destination, no plan, and no idea where he was going. Not being in control wasn’t a big deal to a Davu; It was something he never had before. Being without food or water for a week? Fine. Not ideal, but not life-threatening. Being in a ship that could collapse at any given moment? This was the source of Duetros’ stress. He did not outwardly show it, even though he was completely alone. Internally, he was concluding he could in no way prevent his demise. He suppressed the fear, and instead focused on being ready to react to whatever was in store for him.
The ship was windowless, a hastily constructed scrap-heap that somehow survived take-off, shots fired at it, and the general wear-and-tear of space flight. With the monitors out and not projecting any data or images, Duetros was flying blind. He could not have known that his ship was coming upon Eden, a world whose conditions were favorably hospitable to his kind. He assumed that when his ship began groaning and rattling with a dangerous intensity, that this was the end of his life. Instead, it was very much a beginning. The ship began to disintegrate as it entered Eden’s atmosphere. It did a lot more than that when it slammed into the sands of Albandia. Duetros was thrown around violently as the ship exploded into hundreds of pieces. The chair itself shot out, clearing a few hundred yards before slamming into the desert and skidding to a halt. A severe-looking gash on Duetros’ forehead gushed blood. Despite the gruesome appearance, he was in much better shape than he thought he’d be. He’d definitely survive, and the wound would be fully healed in a few hours.
In the distance, he saw the smoke of the wreckage from the impact. Slowly, he released himself from his restraints, his muscles angrily nagging at him for the landing they’d been put through. It wasn’t until then he actually noticed the heat. He surveyed his surroundings, best described as an expanse of nothing. Beads of sweat dotted his brow as no sign of water seemed imminent. He hesitated on what to do next. His family could be in more dire circumstances than he, and he was desperate to find them and what happened to them. However, he was in an unfamiliar place, and would be needing supplies before attempting to mount any kind of rescue. As fate would have it, he appeared to have landed on a desert planet. He had not seen Eden from space. He began wandering aimlessly, lost in deep thought as he tried sorting out the mess he had stepped into.