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Chapter 2

Much of my early training on survival techniques--which I had so easily forgotten over the years--had begun to surface. Maybe it was my subconscious devotion to continuing my life that willed that knowledge to the forefront of my mind. Maybe the fact that I had a lot of time on my paws forced me to find productive alternatives to an overwhelming boredom. Either way, two things I knew were true: Hoping for rescue would not make it happen, and wanting to survive was not the same as surviving. Whatever outcome I hoped to gain here, I would have to make it happen myself.

"Rule one of survival: Stay rational and stay sharp."

Okay. Simple enough. As one of my instructors once said, "Never allow yourself to believe that you will get an effect without a proper cause." Food and water will not magically fall from the sky no matter how much I want it to, no matter what comfort it would bring me if it did.

"Rule two of survival: There is a way of surviving any situation. The hard part is finding the way."

That would be the hard part. I made an inventory of my supplies and reasoned that acquiring water would quickly become a priority. Food could wait a little longer. Shelter was easy with the Nuara mostly in tact. I focused on working with what I had and with what I knew.

I started a top-down assessment of the Nuara's systems the day after I took care of my crewmates' bodies and buried the remains of the foxes that had died in the cargo hold. Though I knew even before I began that the Nuara would never fly again, I resolved to do everything I could to increase my odds of survival and ensure a speedy rescue. Our flight plan reported to command put our intended arrival at the Beta-Seven Long Range Sensory Outpost no later than the 20th of December. When we don't arrive as scheduled, Beta-Seven would most likely inform Frontier Command of our absence. From what I knew of this type of scenario, command would permit a two day grace period before declaring the Nuara missing in action and sending scout ships to survey our route. And that's if they had the resources to do so. If not, a single mid-sized cargo transport wouldn't be high on their list of priorities. I figured I had a good two weeks before a scout ship happened upon my distress signal. If I were lucky I'd catch the attention of a friendly ship passing through the area long before then.

The Nuara's main power could not be restored--the fusion reactor having been vaporized in the overload--along with any system that fed directly off main power. The ion propulsion drives and the anti-gravity stabilizers necessary to get the ship off the ground were both shot. Even if I could acquire enough power to maintain stable lift, the ion-drives had been damaged beyond any repair I could hope to perform here and the stabilizers would take weeks to fix, even by a dozen skilled mechanics.

We had been barely four days into our current mission when things had gone drastically wrong. Chief Campbell's scans had located a life supportive planet along our route and Commander Howard decided we needed a break from the monotony of subspace to get off the ship and let our fur feel the breeze. There were, of course, no objections from us. But when we dropped out of subspace and the jump drives were powered down, the core regulators failed to proportionately cool the fusion reaction.

From what the main computer could tell me, the reaction in the core had become unbalanced while attempting to adjust to the power-down of the jump drive. The power buffers designed to distribute the core's power to all of the ship's systems had nowhere to expend the mounting energy surplus, became overwhelmed, and burned like a broken fuse. Main power was cut immediately and the vital systems were forced to limp by on auxiliary. Commander Howard ordered me to land the Nuara before propulsion and life support failed entirely.

The core had to be purged from the ship before the chain-reaction caused a thermonuclear explosion, so Sergeant Hendrix had no choice but to vent the core's plasma just before entering the planet's upper atmosphere, hoping the superheated material would disperse and diffuse. It didn't. With the power buffers destroyed, and defensive shielding with them, the hull, already stressed by the friction of the planet's atmosphere, breached almost instantly. The engineering compartment was flooded with superheated gas and plasma and exploded twenty seven seconds before impact.

The computer stopped recording systems status after that.

Auxiliary power was now functioning, but on a limited energy reservoir. With a strict ration I could probably extend their supply for several months. I disconnected any systems I knew I wouldn't need or couldn't repair.

Fortunately, some of the Nuara's essential systems had been designed to operate independently of the main reactors, for this very reason. The communications computer was functioning, but the sensor array was not. I'd be able to push a signal no more than a lightyear or two without it; but it was better than drawing a big 'HELP' on a hillside or using a smoke signal. I recorded a short message and programmed the computer to transmit on all Lupine frequencies on a repeating cycle. Navigation was operable, though useless without the sensor array.

Life support and weapons were both working well enough, though both were pointless on the planet's surface. I disabled them to conserve power and possibly salvage what components I could to save other systems. I wish I had paid more attention during my mechanics classes in school. It's easy to ignore the workings of the complex equipment one uses, especially when there are plenty of trained personnel that are trained to understand it for you. Unfortunately, that wolf was now dead.

I decided to focus my attention toward repairing the sensor array, reasoning that if I couldn't get myself off this rock I had better do my best to communicate with someone who could. Little by little, with the aid of the schematics that Tech Sergeant Hendrix kept with his gear, I began the process of stripping useless systems for hardware and building improvised control circuits. The progress was slow-going. Aside from being written in a language I had virtually no experience with, Hendrix's technical manuals were written under the assumption that I would have all the tools, parts, and know-how with me. Hours of reading, tinkering, breaking things, and growling curses to nobody in particular stretched into days, and by the fifth day I came to realize I had no idea what I was doing and abandoned the project.

That's when I started exploring.

On day ten I moved out of the Nuara and into my camp. If the Nuara was ever set upon by bandits I didn't want to be asleep inside when it happened. I slept during the daylight hours to avoid the heat, set out that afternoon with a day's worth of rations and a rifle, and hiked due north. After about an hour I turned east, walked for another hour, headed south for two, and so on until I had made a large box around my territory. I marked my progress the best way I knew how. That's right: I peed on things.

My ancestors would have been proud.

I learned two important lessons that day: One, that I was not as good at land navigation as I thought I was. By the time I found my camp again it was nearly morning.

And two; I was now the ruler of an empty, dry, and useless kingdom. The terrain was mostly a rocky, tan-colored soil that kicked up easily in a light breeze and stung my eyes and nose. The vegetation was sparse, mostly low shrubs with long thorns and two to three meter tall trees that were scraggly with rough pealing bark and no greenery whatever. None of the plants looked remotely edible, and I found no trace of any animal life I could hunt.

Most discouraging was the fact that I found no water at all. It was for that reason that I set out the next evening for a low mountain that rose above most of the surrounding desert. But the five hours of climbing and just as many hours of waiting for the sun to rise yielded little more than a good view. My desert extended forever.

When I finally returned home the evening of December 12th I was already exhausted, disgruntled, and sore. My little scare at the Nuara didn't help either. I collapsed on a pile of rags in my lean-to, quickly giving in to my fatigue. I thought briefly before falling asleep that I'd next awake during the peak heat of the day and laughed to myself.

***

12 December 2357 Midday

My fur itched terribly. I snarled and shifted in my bed, still only half asleep, and scratched at the little insects that had made a home of my pelt. The air in my lean-to was hot in my nostrils. Was that stench me? Gods, I needed a bath.

The sun was high and bright outside. I stretched my limbs and padded over to a spot on the ground where I had cleared away the rocks and flopped down, rolling around on my back and rubbing the dirt into my fur down to the skin. It was burning hot. It felt good, in a painful sort of way. Primitive as it was, these dirt baths worked well at rubbing the crud and sweat out and keeping the damn bugs off. I got up and shook, throwing up a plume of dust, and I felt a hell of a lot better.

I had breakfast (vacuum-packed fruit) and took a short walk to a spot on the other side of a hill in the bottom of a draw where I had put a chunk of meat ration. I had dangled it from a low branch two days before to see if anything would come by and take it. It was still there, albeit dry and unappetizing. I crouched down and sniffed the ground for anything new, anything strange...anything alive.

Nothing.

It didn't make sense to me. Why, on a world that seemed so well suited for animals--at least as far as a breathable atmosphere--with plenty of vegetation, should there be absolutely no sign of something greater than fleas?

Gods, I had to get off this rock before it drove me mad!

I was panting heavily under the sun when I reached the Nuara and climbed into her cockpit. I awoke the communications computer from standby and checked the logs for transmissions from passing ships, and if not a message then something, however small, that would assure me that someone was out there.

The logs were empty.

"Damn it," I howled. "Damn it all to hell!" I hit the terminal with a balled fist as hard as I could. Pain shot up my arm. I hit it again, dealing with the sting by howling out the frustration I had kept inside since my last outburst. It was not fair! It was just not fair how helpless I was!

I hung my head, defeated, breathing deeply. I was mad. Furious with Commander Howard for wanting to come here. Furious with Sergeant Hendrix for letting the core overload. Furious with Laura for leaving me alone to suffer and die, alone. It was entirely their fault this had happened to me. This was not supposed to happen. This was...There were...

Something was wrong. I could smell it in the stale air of the ship. It was strong, too; a recent scent that I was sure I recognized from somewhere, but couldn't pin it down. It was probably another liquid spill, but it didn't smell chemical. It was more subtle, kind of earthy. I took a flashlight from a tool cabinet and tip-pawed across the deck, following the scent to the cargo bay. It was quiet, the air was dusty and calm, and everything seemed undisturbed.

I sighed. I was loosing my mind.

"You're a stupid fool, Nate, you know that?" My paw was throbbing and was starting to swell. "Yes, of course you do."

I forgot about finding whatever had spilled in the hold and made my way to the second storage room where Laura kept her medic supplies, which included a few cold packs and anti-inflammation hypo-sprays. I opened and closed my paw, extending each digit painfully. While I was sure my paw wasn't broken, I knew it would get painful soon if I didn't do something about it.

I was looking down at my puffy paw as I set footpaw into the store room, but a sudden shrieking cry from within the dark compartment broke my concentration with a frightened yowl of my own. My head snapped up in time to catch a blur of motion coming right at me. I didn't even have time to think before my skull took the full force of something solid, spinning me around, dropping me to my knees. Before everything went black a dark figure appeared above me, the rubber conduit raised for a final strike that I knew was meant to finish me.