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I hit it three more times in quick succession.
The planet below is getting bigger by the second. I am about to crash nose-first at terminal fucking velocity.
There are manual controls on this ship. They are not designed to be used by the passenger, but are there for the techs to use when maneuvering the craft around for maintenance and repairs. The controls are nothing more than a flight stick and pedals tucked away underneath the base of the console.
I hike my gown up and slide into the pilot’s seat. Grabbing the flight stick, I pull back hard, trying to bring the nose of the craft up and away from the ground. I have to break this momentum. I have to get this thing to fly rather than to fall. If we can get back into orbit around this planet, that will keep me safe until I can get help.
But we’re already too low, way past orbital height. As the nose comes up, we go from a fall to a glide, passing over dense forest. I haven’t averted disaster, but I have slowed it down slightly.
There is a life pod of sorts on the bridge. It’s designed to withstand asteroidal impacts and weapons fire. It’s basically a big ball of cotton wool for humans. I rush for it as the front and side windows of the ship reveal an uncomfortably close view of terrain, tops of trees whipping past the glass.
I belt myself in the safety zone with seconds to spare and brace for impact.
The feeling when the ship hits the ground is like no other. It is a jolt hard enough to make every single molecule in my body rattle. Fortunately, I managed to get it to slide rather than simply crash, coming in at a shallow enough angle that we are more like a stone skipping across water than a stone being smashed directly into my face.
I stay conscious. I don’t know how. Bits of the ship are coming off, scattering into alien terrain. I can hear them being ripped off by rocks and other elements. When I open my eyes, I see the outer skin of the hull peeling off around me. The main structure is still intact as we hit something very large and hard, big enough to spin the ship around with its momentum. Now I am going sideways, my hair whipping across my face. The sound a ship makes when it is being deconstructed by force is enough to destroy all sense of hearing.
I don’t hear it when we hit the mountain. I don’t notice anything. One moment I am screaming along with the rest of the ship, and the next we are all completely silent.
An indeterminate amount of time later…
I open my eyes.
My dress is ripped almost completely off my body. My underwear is still in place, and my comfy, fuzzy white boots are still on my feet. My footwear has stayed on. That’s the only bright sign so far.
There is almost nothing left of the ship, and absolutely nothing left of the supplies. I find myself suspended in the remnants of the framing of the fuselage. Most of the strapping and all of the padding has broken away or exploded in the crash. When I move, I tumble out of the harness and onto the rocky ground below.
“I’m alive,” I mumble to myself.
“I’M ALIVE!” I repeat it louder, defiantly. It does not feel like I am supposed to be alive. It feels like I’m supposed to be a smear across the planet. “HELL YEAH! You see that? You see what happens when you try to kill me with accidents? It doesn’t work! I’m a SURVIVOR, baby!”
This surge of energy is adrenaline, my body’s response to chaos and carnage. It’s another system designed to keep me alive, just like the straps and the padding, except it’s straps and padding for the inside of you.
I need food, I need water, and I need more clothing. I need shelter, and I need some way to communicate with the outside world. My mind is perfectly clear, but I can tell I am hungry, thirsty, sunburned, and cold. I’ve been exposed to the elements for some time. It must have taken me a while to come around.
Looking back, I can see wreckage strewn through a jungle broken by the ship. The trees and foliage of this planet did a good job of slowing us down. They’re almost certainly the reason I’m alive. I figure if I pick back through the wreckage, I’ll find supplies.
It’s going to be okay. I’m going to make it.
Twenty-four hours later…
It’s not okay. I’m not going to make it.
I have managed to drink a little water that I found in a puddle. I know you’re not supposed to drink raw water, but I have found no other source and I do not dare leave the wreckage. If I don’t stay here, there’s no way they’ll ever find me. I can only assume as an envoy, rescue is imminent.
I can’t find anything to eat. I am literally starving, in addition to being traumatized and wounded. The initial adrenaline surge has long worn off, and it has left me aching and afraid.
And then I see him.
The Savage.
He has impressive horns emerging from thick, dark hair tied in a braid behind his head, and a big, bulky green body. Yes, he’s probably going to be somewhat hostile to a human, but I am a damsel in distress and that has to count for something.
He looks big and strong. He is moving past the wreckage of the ship, paying it no mind, acting as if neither it nor me exists.
I immediately decide to throw myself on his mercy. There is a chance he will kill me, but there is a one hundred percent certainty that this planet is hostile and will kill me. He is my only chance to survive, and I cling to the very idea of him.
“HELLO!? HELP!”
