Sergeant Argjend Gjebrea knew that any catharsis on his part could be lethal on this alien world. Any indigenous life could hunt him down and make short work of him. So he salvaged the pods, and came away with some supplies for a long wait, including, among other things, rations, a canteen with water, a first-aid kit, a trench-coat, and a standard-issue Heckler & Koch USP Weltall pistol, specially built to survive the stress of cosmic exploration. He had four 15-round magazines (counting the one already loaded), it had a laser sight, integrated suppressor and ammo counter, and was chambered for caseless 9×19mm Parabellum. He also took Ardita’s dogtags, to remember her.

Suddenly, there was a massive roar in the air, as though he were witnessing the Tunguska Event. The boom quickly gave way to the high-pitched squeal of inner-ear tinnitus. Once he could hear properly, he looked towards its general direction, and found that the Përballim had touched down. For a large object, it was surprising he had missed its descent.

So he paid his last respects to Ardita, buried her, and set off out of the barren forest. His neuro-optic interface (AKA his “HUDcom”) was scanning for any flora that wasn’t hibernating for the winter. He noted some lichens growing on one side of a tree. His HUDcom scanned it for its chemical composition. Imagine his surprise when he saw it had the same compostion as Iceland moss (Cetraria islandica), without anything toxic to humans. This he scraped off with a field knife, collecting it in his satchel, for later consumption.

A blizzard flew in. Gjebrea nearly froze-- the trench-coat wasn’t adequate protection against the cold, but after a decade of being suspended in cryonics, he still had some traces of cryoprotectants flowing in his veins, and, well. . . he simply had gotten used to feeling cold. There was a particularly loud sound overhead, but the blizzard blew too hard to see what it was. Twice he heard a sharp sound-- a twig snapping, for instance-- but upon inspection, found nothing.

The blizzard dwindled down after a few minutes, granting Gjebrea decent visibility once again. He searched the HUDcom’s databanks for setting traps-- specifically, snares. Once he found the precise passage, he set about twisting some copper wire pulled out of Ardita’s pod and tying it around small-trunked trees. This he would leave alone until evening.

He checked a nearby river. The HUDcom showed the ice was about ¾ centimeters thick, so walking across wasn’t the best idea. It was thin enough, however, to make ice fishing practical. After sharpening some long sticks into spears with his field knife, he managed to get five fish out of the river. The HUDcom found these species in particular to resemble rainbow trout (Oncorhynchus mykiss).

Once he returned back at camp, he salted the trout, then decided to take a moment to try for radio contact. As crazy as the idea sounded, he thought there would be other humans on this planet. „Kjo është Rreshter Argjend Gjebrea. A është ndokush atje? Mbi.“ (This is Sergeant Argjend Gjebrea. Is anyone out there? Over.)

No response. „Ç'kemi? Çdokush atje, ju kopje? Mbi.“ (Hello? Anyone there, do you read? Over.)

Again, silence. Gjebrea sighed, setting the radio down. He looked over Ardita’s graveside. Such a beautiful woman, such a skilled soldier. --And now she was gone.

A pang of survivors’ guilt went through his heart. He would have cried, but his soldier’s strictness forced him to suppress such sadness. All he could do now was reflect on her past.

You served with me in the 751st Armed Infantry Division. We first met each other just prior to the Third Battle of Zamenhof. The two of us worked well with each other-- Zamenhof, Tatlin, Dragash, Korçë-- but beyond that we were nothing more than brothers-in-arms.

That changed aboard the Përballim. There, you not only acknowledged my hidden secret, but also even encouraged it; I daresay enjoyed it. Oh, Ardita. . . .

If only you were still here, for just a moment longer, so that I may see your beautiful face one last time. . . .

Why, Providence? Why her, and not me?

He sighed, his breath forming fog around the filter. A small tear ran out his right eye. It hit the corresponding eye window, then ran down to the bottom of the respirator.

Oh, Ardita, if you only saw me this way. . . .

I won’t ever leave you. I love you.

Some snow crunched behind him. Not taking any chances, he grabbed his pistol and pointed it at the source. He was shocked to find what appeared to be a bizarre cross between a horse and a mosquito, snarling at him. „Qëndro larg!“ shouted Gjebrea. „Unë do të xhiruar!“ (Stay away! I’ll shoot!)

The creature took no notice of his warning. It pounced on him. Gjebrea shoved it off. It landed with a wham! against Ardita’s pod. The creature stood up, dazed from the impact. Gjebrea opened fire. Three 9mm armor-piercing rounds ripped through the creature’s heart, making short work of it.

He holstered his pistol, and investigated the corpse. It was a ghastly sight to behold. He noted the eyes had blue scleræ, with white gradients, and no sign of irises or pupils. The blood was flourescent green, and extremely thick, with the viscosity of honey. The “hooves” had massive holes cut out of them, akin to Swiss cheese, as did the wings. . . if those were wings. The mane and tail had jagged, bat-like edges on it. Its upper jaw had two fangs that were visible even when the mouth was shut. He scanned the corpse with the HUDcom: no, it wasn’t edible. Pity. So he took photographs of the corpse, using his HUDcom, to document his findings.

Now he was more nervous than ever. If a creature like this was present on this world, then there was no telling what else there was. Nervously, he decided to check his snares, noting the sun’s position.

Of the five snares he set, two had caught rabbits. These he freed from their death-clutch (while also resetting the snares). Then he noticed a shard of cloth by the riverbank. He picked it up and, using his HUDcom, found it to be cotton. Unheard of outside human society, it pointed strongly to sapient life on this planet. That creature he killed at the campsite may be an example of such. Or it may just be a wild animal, since it did not heed his words. Then again, they definitely wouldn’t speak Albanian, but they should recognize attempts at communication. Or perhaps they didn’t consider spoken words to be communication, in which case what was the norm? Pheromones? Telepathy? . . .

All these thoughts distracted Gjebrea, and he tripped on a stone, getting a large gash on his left hand. „Mallkonte atë,“ he said, examining the wound. (Damn it.) He proceeded to clean it (which stung) and wrap it in bandages. It wasn’t the best patch job in the world, but it had to do.

There was more rustling in the bushes. Gjebrea drew his pistol, but whatever it was, it was gone in the same instant. Gjebrea calmly, slowly reholstered his pistol, and took a look, unsure of what he had seen. There were fresh hoofprint tracks in the snow. A small orange feather was found in the tracks, still warm, as though it had just fallen off. He noted that the tracks were consistent with a juvenile equine species, with signs of horseshoes. No doubt there was sapient life here-- now the next question was: Are they civilized?

Back at the campsite, Gjebrea skinned the rabbits, then started a fire to cook them. While they were roasting, he tried again with the radio. „Kjo është Rreshter Argjend Gjebrea. A është ndokush atje? Mbi.“ (This is Sergeant Argjend Gjebrea. Is anyone out there? Over.)

Radio silence answered his question. Gjebrea shook his head, and set it down. Disappointment wrought his mind as he roasted the rabbits over the fire. It took a good long time, since the melting snow threatened to extinguish the campfire, but Gjebrea managed to cook two rabbits over the fire.

Eating his fill was rather complicated. He would draw a breath, then quicky pull his respirator off, shove in as much food as he can, strap the respirator back on, and swallow. Very inefficient, but better safe than sorry. He would have turned to the rations, but they were all labelled:

Për të konsumohen vetëm kur ka ngrënshmet të tjera të çdo lloji janë të gjetshëm.

Or, in English:

To be consumed only when no other edibles of any kind are procurable.

Drinking was much more simple-- fill his canteen with water, then use the respirator’s drink tube. Virtually no risk, except to make sure there was no air inside the canteen.

Once he had his fill, he decided to call it a day, now that the sun had completely set, the planet’s sole natural satellite taking its place. He had a sleeping bag set up inside his pod. Once inside, he sealed it off from the elements. The internal heater kicked in, and Gjebrea was soon fast asleep, having completed his first day on this world. How long would he remain here? No one could say. Next Chapter: First Contact Estimated time remaining: 16 Minutes