9♦, 10♥, 3♠, J♥, 7♠, J♣
Atmosphere: Earthlike
Gravity: slightly lighter than Earth
Radius: 0.9 Earth
Dominant colors: rose-grey
Known life: megapede colonies, crystalline chorus
Cultural artifacts: scimitar monolith
Planet 001, was spotted while resting, just waking after a long journey from Earth. That’s not to say that the landing was smooth. I had prepared on Earth with a team, and not alone as I am. But that story is documented.
Following protocol, I established a base camp, but my eyes kept tracking a hole in the cliff. A cliff, perhaps, a half mile away. At dawn, I would go to it.
9♦: At first light, the hour uncertain, I packed my ruck and walked across the rocks until I reached the cliff. Now closer, I noticed the cliff was grey and mauve, like a melancholy rose. From the hole to my left, I heard a whip of wind. Bracing, I entered the hole, a space no bigger than a pre-teen. Crouching awkwardly, I stepped into the darkness.
After a time, I had noticed, or could not unnotice, the sensation of a gentle downward sloping. Loose rocks shifted beneath my feet. The light from my helmet bounced, shadows dancing chaotically. And then, a chitter.
Perhaps the chittering had been there all along. The sound, always just ahead. I pressed onward and downward.
Before long, a faint scurrying behind me. In my haste, I had forgotten the entrance, unguarded. If I had wondered about turning around, that thought fled on the wind’s whip. With a jolt of terror, I considered nearing a dead-end and thus facing the scuttering behind me, and just beyond my light. The only thought bleaker, was to turn around and face it now. I continued.
The path widened into a gaping hole. I looked down. I looked up. I looked at the cavernous walls around me. A creature, best described as a massive centipede, had suddenly filled, populated, multiplied hauntingly. No aspect of my light showed an inch of space not occupied by some part of the chittering, skittering beast.
And then from behind, a chitinous fury knocked into my ruck. Rocks shifted underfoot and I groped at the smooth walls, regaining my balance. The centipede, no, megapede moved along, some pinkish-grey rope — organic, unmistakably so — dragged behind it.
The beings deep underground: three antennae, more feet than I could hope to count – spindly things in such great number. No taller than a child and twice the length of a man. The walls squirmed with their presence.
Unnerved, I turned to leave the cave; concerned about meeting another megapede but with skin now crawling like the walls I thought it worth the risk. I returned to camp.
10♥: The following day, after a restless night, I returned to the Melancholy Rose. With fresh eyes, I approached the hole in the cliff, but now I was northbound. Nothing but rocks and cliffs ahead.
After a time, a long shadow broke before my feet. Dazed from the heat, and the sun, I glanced upward. An obelisk once reached towards the stars, but now crumbled. It was as though it were struck in two, with a long dragging curve towards the base. At a glance, it resembled a scimitar of stone.
From my bag, I retrieved charcoal and parchment. Placing the parchment upon the stone, I imprinted the obelisk’s swirling relief. Language or art or both, I could not say. For a moment I was a child, with graphite-coated fingers, imprinting the relief of a train at the Henry Ford Museum; and now I’m an adult, with charcoal-covered gloves, feebly imprinting celestial monuments. I have always wanted to feel small in a big world, but wonder is not without vulnerability.
From the rubble, I lifted a small piece of the ruin into the fading sun. The piece, no larger than a deck of playing cards, contained bits of the swirling characters. I placed this piece into a plastic bag and placed it in my ruck. I wondered if I’d have space for all the ruins I might find, and whether it was my place to collect them.
3♠: Heading east from camp, my back to my ship, I ambled forth. As I traveled, the sun did too, its rays obscured by the cliff. The air was cool, crisp, damp; I appreciated the shift. My gear felt light, my steps pleasantly weighted.
Fresh cycled air was one of the blessings of my new suit. Cycled within a range at least, if there’s nothing to work with, I simply won’t breathe. And like many, I enjoy breathing.
Barren steps for an hour, before shafts of charcoal looking like lightning struck trees. They could have been petrified trunks, mineral formations, or something beyond my limited knowledge. I touched one with my glove and was marked by crumbling ash. I wondered how something so fragile could remain upright, seemingly undisturbed. Perhaps it was not fragile at all. I thought of plant life on Earth, biological weapons capable of communication beyond the natural sight of man.
Just ahead, a stream. A slow rush of water, or something similar, was filtered between crystals of pink. Slow, steady, rhythmic, with a subtle bellow as the water rushed past and through. It was a dam. Chaotic rows of crystals were fixed straight across, smaller bits of pink swayed and bobbed in between. A delicate, tranquil chiming sound the outcome of this dance.
No life I recognized occupied this stream, just crystal where one would expect stones, smoothed over time and repetition. With a test tube and tongs, I sampled the liquid. It eroded neither the tube nor the tongs, and I was grateful. I put a stopper on the lid and added it to the case of tubes in my bag. Given further thought, sealed the whole kit in plastic as well.
As the minutes passed, the low bellow and gentle chime became a song, a chorus. I sat by the stream taking in the performance. With each gentle shift in the melody, I realized that perhaps the crystals themselves were the occupying life force – the song, a conversation.
I sat and lost time here.
The shadows from the charcoal grove were stretching long and I knew I had to return to my ship. But before returning, I marveled at the faint glow produced by the crystal creek. I bowed slightly and thanked it for its company. In that bittersweet moment, I turned my back to the scene and departed.
J♥: South of the Melancholy Rose was a sprawl of sand, shifting, dusty, grey, with flecks of Pantone’s “Rose Shadow” – likely the color of the year at some point to come or some point that was. The whole planet seemed grey and rose, swirling, dancing, chiming. It was a child’s ballet inspired bedroom, wonder, movement, possibility, and the beauty of what could be – or perhaps, what once existed, I still hadn’t decided. The only signs of life I had encountered were the aptly named megapedes and the crystals of song.
With each step, my boots sunk and I recalled a time on Earth. Sneakers on the beach of the Atlantic. Sneakers never worked, but neither did the dirty wet feet forced to reenter them. Clean toes, hot sand, frigid old waters, a laugh, a splash; caked soles, a frantic brushing, a pair of socks, and a round of Skee-ball at the tired, wilting pier. The days were long. And good.
Time slipped. After an hour or days, I encountered yet another scimitar of stone. Swirling reliefs of even greater wear. Looking around, I spotted the culprit. Wind and sand likely polished the surface.
Reaching into my ruck, I extracted the bit from the first relic I encountered. The design seemed similar, but I was uncertain of if it was the same writer or even the same language. I mused for a moment on lands of different languages but the same pillars towards the heavens. A sort of unity in worship. Songs I’ve sung never knowing the words and never caring to. Perhaps a lifted spirit was enough for me. And maybe enough for them.
Or maybe they waged constant war until nothing was left. What do I know?
I looked into the sand for a half-buried piece, a convenient crumble of a specimen. After a short while, I found a smooth pebble that was in fellowship with the scimitar. I placed it in plastic and labeled it with a number two, for future labeling and analysis.
Sand gusted. The only sound a fine, dry rain of grey-rose grit. Shaking off yet another memory, I returned to the ship feeling lonelier than I arrived.
7♠: Beyond the desert, further south, loomed a mountainous peak. That was my destination. The desert silence gripped tightly. The world had settled into place, frozen and still. Sand sifted silently beneath my feet as though the planet had lost sound, muted.
I stepped with caution across the desert, towards the peak ahead. Even from a distance, it carried the same grey and rose tones that had embodied my journey. I wondered if within, a pool of rosen lava brewed. I secretly hoped it did. I wanted to step to the peak and see the residue of eruption, pink trails like rivers that once flowed down its sides.
I reached into my ruck to make note of potential geophysical seismic testing. The zipper echoed and cut into the scene. Taking a knee, I started to pull out my notes. All of the awkwardness of a cough during a symphony with none of the atmosphere.
An eeriness settled. I thought of kids and ouji boards, working themselves up for a fright. I had always avoided that sort of thing. I knew I would see something, my mind always sought meaning even if there was none, reaching out to nothing at all.
I looked around nervously. Every grain in place, secure in its lattice, unbothered. Just as oceans have waves, deserts do too. This desert had always been silent, but silence moves, it jostles about, just quietly. I slowly zipped my bag back up.
I started to return to the ship, feeling both foolish and alert.
Then rain, from behind me. I turned and watched the sky rain sand or perhaps lift sand into the sky and pour it back down. The vision was at first blurry, developing definition in time. A lift and pour of sand was occurring, like a vast waterfall stretching across the expanse of the desert. The desert was lifting itself into the air. My attempt at deduction was a waste of time; that scene was approaching me rapidly.
I turned and walked ahead.
J♣: Sand whipped wildly just behind me. The lift and pour, the sound rebounding back into the air again like a bouncing ball. A game of jacks where the ball bounces away and I must pick up pieces like heavy boots in shifting sands.
Slow and steady. One-two. One-two. No room for panic here. Keep the pace brisk but not frantic. Determined and controlled.
I stumbled. One-two. One-two. One – I stumbled again, catching myself on my hand.
Looking back, I noticed a bit of mauvey-rose. Something long, smooth, and cylindrical. Against my better judgement, I retraced my steps. Sure enough, a few steps back, more of this stuff. Half hidden in sand and half released by the storm was something vine-like.
Searching within my bag, I retrieved a scalpel. Uncertain of what to expect I gave it a gentle poke. The vine recoiled, slithering back into the sand and out of sight. I muttered an apology and offered a slight bow. It was not my intention to startle the poor thing. With a shiver I recalled the chittering megapede from the cave, the one in hot pursuit, the thing it dragged in its jaws.
Picking my feet up higher this time, I resumed my one-two. In a deep effort to avoid not just the storm but also my skittering friends, I returned to the ship promptly.
When it was time to leave, a feeling more than a fact, I put my samples in storage. In the end, I was mere memorabilia for an experience beyond words – the snow globe that never can never represent the family outing at the zoo. I logged my time spent, which was roughly three weeks, and plotted a new course.
Straightforward enough, but it all felt unresolved. What of the scimitar and communication and unity? What of the crystals and their celestial song? Much like Earth, Planet 001 would take a lifetime to explore, and I only have so many lifetimes to give. So, I must not ruminate on what could be on this path. Instead, I must move forward.