Four: Human Planets

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I was grateful that, whatever planet this was, at least it was a human-settled planet, and I could read a lot of the text that was left, printed on street signs or the walls of buildings, or printing on the vehicles. As I walked, I had to marvel at the similarity of the vehicles to the cars and trucks and other things I knew. I had to wonder who had settled this planet.

Over the centuries, there had been thousands and thousands of colony ships that went missing, and there would always be some piece in the news outlets about some long-lost colony or expedition that was just found. It was, in fact, so commonplace that not many gave these news items much attention anymore. And this was clearly a planet colonized by the crew of one of these lost ships.

I stopped by one of the broken-down cars.

It had caught my attention because this one was colored red, and had lines indicative of some kind of sports car. It even looked very close to the car I had. Or rather, what I used to have. I imagine my ex-wife has it now.

I ran a finger along its streamlined flank, making a deep groove in the thick patina of dirt and dust on it.

Beneath all that crap, the car’s colors were still bright. I was intrigued. I tried to open the door but couldn’t budge it, of course. Too many years. 

Disappointed, I left the car and decided to continue on, but, seeing how dark it was getting, I decided to look for shelter instead.

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I walked down the street and found yet another large truck. This time it didn’t have the tube-shaped trailer, but a squarish cargo container. But it was still big.

With all the energy I had, I pulled the back door open with a loud metal screech, and climbed up and into the metal box. Using my solar-powered flash, I noted there were no animals or whatever that was using it as a den or something, and it was extremely dry. Thank God. I then used the side of my boot to push part of the one-inch layer of detritus out of it, or at least enough to give me room to lie down. Then I struggled to close the metal door so that there was just a foot or so of opening to hide me from whatever predators were out there, whether imagined or real. With a great earth-shattering metal screech, the door finally moved, leaving me just the opening I wanted.

I sighed, took off my pack, unrolled my makeshift bedroll and settled in for the night. 

I looked up at the corrugated ceiling of the metal shipping container, marveling at how human technology seemed so similar to each other, even though billions of miles, and hundreds of years, separated them from each other.

A sad thought.

I felt this isolation, especially during the night.

In the distance, I heard the howling of some wolf-creatures that I first encountered a few days after I found myself on this planet.

I brought out my pulse rifle just in case, hoping I won’t need to use one of the precious cartridges. I only had forty-eight left, and I need to conserve them. I could use the utility knife that came with the pack, but I was realist enough to know I wouldn’t survive a wolf attack if I only had the knife.

What I needed was some kind of bow and arrow, imagining myself to be a reincarnation of that twentieth-century superhero called Rambo. Superhero… Was Rambo a superhero? I didn’t know. I doubt anyone knew anymore. These twentieth century figures all ran together in my mind.

But Rambo’s bow had the advantage that its arrows could be recovered and used again and again, or even make some from scratch. I imagined I knew enough about bows and arrows that I could fabricate my own arrows.

As I was thinking these things, I fell asleep.