Through the cockpit’s cracked viewport, the shimmering surface of Orbor-7 loomed closer. Vast salt flats stretched as far as the eye could see, glowing faintly in the intense heat. In the distance, massive dunes shifted lazily in the wind, occasionally giving way to rough rock formations that jutted like broken teeth.
“Altitude dropping,” IND-E announced, its voice utterly devoid of urgency. “Prepare for imminent… something.”
“Something?!” Zog shouted, his hands gripping the controls so tightly that his circuits buzzed. “Be more specific!”
“Fine,” IND-E sighed. “Prepare for imminent catastrophe. Better?”
Blip braced himself against the console, his tail wagging furiously in a way that suggested panic more than joy. “This is it. This is how we go out—crashing into a planet full of robicidal cacti. Just the way I always dreamed.”
“Focus!” Zog barked, slamming his fist on the console. The ship groaned in protest, tilting violently to one side as another panel exploded in a shower of sparks.
“Structural integrity at 62%,” IND-E said helpfully. “Not bad for a ship held together by duct tape.”
As the surface of Orbor-7 rushed toward them, Zog’s mind raced. He didn’t know how to land a ship. He barely knew how to fly a ship. But he did know one thing: they couldn’t afford to crash.
“IND-E, initiate landing thrusters!” Zog shouted.
“Thrusters offline,” IND-E replied, its tone far too casual. “Also, one of them fell off about three minutes ago.”
“What?! Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I assumed you had more important things to panic about.”
Blip barked sharply, pointing toward a button flashing red on the console. “What about that one?”
Zog stared at it. “I don’t know what it does!”
“Neither do I,” Blip admitted. “But it’s red, and we’re desperate.”
Zog hesitated for a fraction of a second before slamming the button. The ship gave an almighty lurch, tilting forward as the remaining thrusters sputtered to life. It seemed as if they might pull off a smooth landing for a moment—until the ship’s rear end dipped, slamming into the salt flats with a loud crash.
The Indifference skidded across the glowing surface, kicking up clouds of salt and sand as it spun wildly. The cockpit was a blur of sparks and noise, Zog and Blip tumbling helplessly as the ship ground to a halt, tilted precariously at an awkward angle.
Silence. For a moment, the only sound was the faint hiss of steam escaping from the ship’s undercarriage. Then, IND-E’s voice crackled through the speakers.
The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
“Well, that was… something. Congratulations, Captain Zog. You’ve successfully discovered a new form of landing: the crash-n-skid.”
Zog groaned, peeling himself off the floor and adjusting his dented helmet. “Is everyone okay?”
Blip staggered to his feet, his sunhat askew. “Define ‘okay.’”
A small panel in the corner fell off with a metallic clang, prompting IND-E to add, “Structural integrity at 31%. A new record.”
Zog sighed, looking out the viewport at the shimmering salt flats. “We made it,” he said, his voice a mixture of disbelief and exhaustion.
Blip snorted. “Yeah. Now, we must survive the heat, the cacti, and whatever else this lovely planet throws at us.”
Zog adjusted his suit, his trusty towel tucked securely under one arm. “Let’s hope this thing holds up.”
“Hope?” IND-E said, almost laughing. “Oh, good. Let’s rely on that.”
As the two prepared to disembark, the ground beneath the ship began to shimmer ominously. The landing might have been over, but the chaos was starting.
The official mission briefing, such as it was, had been vague to the point of uselessness. Zog had pieced together a few details from the crumpled leaflet and SPAZE’s overly cheery commentary:
1. Data Collection: Gather samples of the planet’s surface, atmosphere, and, if possible, any signs of life (preferably the kind that wouldn’t try to kill him).
2. Cultural Observation: If the sentient cacti proved friendly, Zog was expected to “document their unique way of life” and potentially establish diplomatic relations.
3. Survival: Though not explicitly stated, it was heavily implied that making it back alive would be considered a bonus.
In short, Zog’s mission boiled down to “Go there, look around, don’t die.” There wasn’t much to go on, and as he stared out at the planet through The Indifference’s cracked viewport, he couldn’t help but feel woefully unprepared.
Orbor-7 stretched before him, a vast, shimmering wasteland bathed in a hazy orange glow. The atmosphere was thick with heat distortion, causing the horizon to ripple like a mirage. The surface was an endless expanse of salt flats, their crystalline structures sparkling under the oppressive twin suns that hung low in the sky. Here and there, broken spires of rock jutted up like crooked teeth, their shadows stretching long across the flats.
The salt flats weren’t entirely barren, though. Dotting the landscape were clusters of strange, towering cacti. They were a sickly green, their surfaces covered in spiny protrusions that seemed to shimmer faintly as if coated in some reactive film. The cacti stood unnervingly still, but every so often, Zog thought he saw one of them shift—just slightly—out of the corner of his eye.
The air shimmered with heat, and an occasional gust of wind kicked up clouds of fine, sparkling dust that clung to every surface it touched. A distant mountain range loomed on the horizon, its peaks glowing faintly from what appeared to be embedded minerals.
Beneath it all, the ground seemed to hum faintly, a low, vibrating pulse that Zog could feel through his boots. It was as if the planet itself was alive—or, at the very least, trying to remind visitors they weren’t welcome.
“This is…” Zog trailed off, struggling to find the right words.
“Terrible?” Blip offered, his visor reflecting the glowing salt flats as he stepped down the ramp. His sunhat tilted slightly in the gusting wind.
“Hostile?” IND-E added from the ship’s speakers. “Robicidal, even.”
“Hot,” Zog finished, adjusting the straps of his makeshift thermal suit as a bead of condensation dripped from his helmet. The beverage chiller strapped to his back released a soft gurgle, working overtime to keep him cool.
Blip sniffed the air—or pretended to, given his lack of a functioning nose. “Smells like burnt circuits and bad decisions. Perfect place for a vacation.”
“Why would anyone want to live here?” Zog muttered, eyeing the distant cacti warily.
“They wouldn’t,” IND-E replied. “Which is why you’re here. Congratulations, Captain. You’ve officially reached the middle of nowhere.”