Xanaloth

Xanaloth

Xanaloth rushed up at me far too fast; I had three minutes before I
became a jam-like splodge on its hot and barren surface. Why wouldn't
manual kick in? Why didn't the computer compensate for the misfiring
jet? I decided to shut my eyes before impact. Two minutes to
go...
I could feel cold sweat trickling into my boots as I flicked uselessly
at the console. At least the radio was working, pointlessly bleating
its plea for help to the universe at large. One minute to go...
A change! The jet must have cleared. I'm slowing, but not enough.
Thirty seconds to go and Xanaloth seems more reluctant to greet me. Ten
seconds. I shouldn't be here! Xanaloth hit me...

I woke up in a tangle of metal and polycarbonate, already hot.
Xanaloth was a slow cooker of a world; a lonely, remote desert on the
edge of a furnace. Standing up slowly, I ignored the pain in my head
and surveyed the scenery. Blue sand and black rocks in all directions;
the horizon almost invisible in the shimmering air. It was easy to see
what had happened. Striking hard on landing, the ship had keeled over,
splitting open against a rock like an egg against the edge of a frying
pan.
Entering the remains of the control room, I saw that the radio was
still blurting its message on the emergency frequency. Rescue would
come sooner or later, though not for at least four months. I would just
have to sweat it out. Boring, no doubt, but things could be worse. They
got worse...
The ship's water system was damaged but still sufficiently operational
to sustain me. The food situation, however, chilled me rigid. Over half
of the rations had been crushed or contaminated beyond redemption. A
strict diet might see me through a couple of months but certainly no
more. How long could a man go without food? Probably not long enough
and the Orbiter probe had seen no sign of animal or vegetable life in
this world-sized desert.
Actually, that's why I'm here. I'm the scout for a scientific party
that wouldn't even have left the solar system yet. They always want a
human to say that the machines were right - as they always are, just as
they were right about Xanaloth: nothing but hot sand, hot rocks and hot
air.
I managed to eke out the food quite well, but after four weeks I was
squeezing the last dregs from the last tube. I searched the ship for
anything edible. I found a wad of paper and a little leather.
One afternoon, three weeks and two days later, I suddenly realised I
was dancing naked on top of the hulk, bawling Elvis Presley songs. I
slid to the ground and cried dry tears. I wasn't going to make
it!
A shadow fell across me. Surprised, I looked up and nearly had a heart
attack: I'd never seen a goblin before. Well, perhaps it wasn't a
goblin but that's the word that flashed through my mind. Four feet
tall, green, clad in some ragged plastic-like material, very long arms
and a face like a cow, it stood over me and screeched.
Shock subsided and I tried to think rationally. It couldn't be
Xanalothian, so it had to be a visitor. A visitor meant a spaceship and
food, perhaps even a lift out of here. I smiled and said "Hello."
It jumped backward. Definitely not a cow - cows can't do that. Then it
began to screech and whine again. I held up my hands gesturing it to
stop but it ignored me. "Shut up!" I yelled. "Let's think about this."
But it continued its merry racket without pause.
"I wish you were a cow," I grumbled. "I could do with a steak."
It grabbed my arm and tried to pull me upright. Reluctantly, I stood
up and it promptly scuttled to a safe distance, clearly disturbed by my
size. Good! I thought, it's clear who's going to be in charge round
here.
I followed Cowboy (well, what else could I call him?) For about half a
mile to where his spaceship was lying - intact but on its side: he had
tried to land on deep sand. He gesticulated wildly towards the sky and
pointed towards the ship with digging and lifting motions I guessed
that he wanted me to help him get the ship into a possible take off
position. If I did, would he run off and leave me? I had to take the
chance so gave him a thumbs-up sign, which seemed to amuse him
considerably. Wonder what it means where he comes from?
We began work on raising the craft. For three days we struggled, but
any improvement could barely have been measured in inches. We were both
far too weak. On the third afternoon I reached my limit and staggered
into the shade of the ship, where I slumped, eyes shut and chest
heaving. Cowboy slumped beside me.
"How do we get out of this?" I groaned turning to face him. But what
was the use: communication might have been easier if he had been a
cow.
He stared at me with those big brown eyes and screeched hoarsely. The
proximity of that cow-like face flooded my mind with visions of fat
juicy steaks; grilled, fried, braised with lots of onions and
mushrooms. I heard a voice and saw a huge T-bone hovering before me
telling me what to do. I fumbled surreptitiously for a weapon.
Cowboy rose and disappeared into the ship. I found a small rock and
lay back dreaming of steaks past and steaks future. Cowboy reappeared.
I glanced up, trying not to appear too eager, then ducked in panic, but
not quickly enough to completely avoid the metal bar.
I woke to the sound of clanging with a shuddering ache on the left
side of my head. A few yards away, Cowboy was hammering at a flat sheet
of metal already taking the shape of a frying pan. Beside him was a
small pile that looked suspiciously like a fire waiting to be
lit.
I tested my bonds. They weren't all that tight. Obviously,
Cowboy
had never been a boy scout. Minutes later, my hands and feet were free,
but I left the wires draped as if undisturbed. I called to him. He came
over to me with the nearly completed pan in his hands. Silly me - I
ought to have let him finish the job first.
Clambering to my feet, I swung the rock at him, but missed. Cowboy
screeched and stumbled away. I chased after him. A strange roaring
began in my head. Cowboy stopped and turned. I hit him. He screeched
loud and long, feebly pointing behind me.
The roaring grew louder and louder, flooding my mind, as I struck and
struck and struck. He fell and I pounded at him until, at last, he was
totally still. The noise stopped abruptly. Food, glorious food! I
slavered at the thought and scrabbled for the pan.
Then, all at once, the noise registered. Puzzled, I looked round.
There, a couple of hundred yards away, was a stubby, silvery tower,
just like Cowboy's spacecraft...

Have you ever had the feeling that you are in really serious
trouble?