Ask Arlen

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Plummeting through the predawn sky, all Qtzl could think of was that his family would never know what had happened to him. He would burn his epitaph across an alien sky alone, while the only eyes that would see him—alien eyes—would mark him as a meteor.

It didn’t happen quite that way. He managed to bypass his malfunctioning navigational array, regain control of the craft before it began to disintegrate in the atmosphere of the planet, and fire up his braking field. It made his descent more spectacular, but slowed the ship. He downed it in a labyrinthine maze of mountains and sat quaking, but alive, wondering what he ought to do next.

“Qtzl,” Ship said. “You are alive.”

“Indeed. Thank you.”

“Your vital signs are quite strong, though your respiration is a bit elevated. May I recommend that we attempt communication with any nearby comrades?”

“Do that.” Qtzl glanced around, discomfited by the sound of hissing from somewhere to the stern of the small craft.

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