LAST CHANCE FOR A PLANET

After months in a cryo-tube, they finally woke me. What a headache! Sheesh. And holy moly, I really had to go to the bathroom, after which I needed not so much a shower as a sandblasting. That cryo gunk is sticky and it gets into places you just wouldn’t … well, maybe you would … believe.

Then there was food. Never in my entire life have I wanted to eat a starship, including the cargo. Talk about an appetite. Not just me. Everyone had just been wakened at the same time and we all felt hollow.

T.S. Eliot was spinning in my head:

We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats’ feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar

Shape without form, shade without colour,
Paralysed force, gesture without motion;

Those who have crossed
With direct eyes, to death’s other Kingdom
Remember us-if at all-not as lost
Violent souls, but only
As the hollow men
The stuffed men.

I remembered more of the poem.

This is the dead land
This is cactus land
Here the stone images
Are raised, here they receive
The supplication of a dead man’s hand
Under the twinkle of a fading star.

I hoped the poem was not a predictor of explorations to come. Given the awful condition in which we left Earth, we needed to find a new home. A fertile planet on which crops will grow. Where the battered human race could remember its better self. We had not been superior to cockroaches in a long time.

Finally after eating for what seemed an eternity, we donned our lime green suits — the lightweight ones for worlds that are not hostile, merely unknown — and they opened the doors. We emerged. Into paradise.

Breathtaking. The colors were a bit odd. The plants were all kinds of colors, like a riotous flower garden. The whole planet was a garden. So we named it “Eden” — which I thought was a mistake. We got kicked out of Eden already. What do I know? I don’t make the Big Decisions. Way above my pay grade. I was just along for the ride. Before we got back on board the ship, I had a thought. I dawdled. Picked up the litter we’d left behind. Found a big piece of cardboard.

Must have been a box of some sort, but it would make a pretty good sign. I found a piece of wood to which I could attach it. I had a nail gun in my tool kit and a big marking pen. It hadn’t dried out and worked in the lower gravity of this new planet. New to us, but home to so much other life. Like Earth had been before we stripped her of everything but trash. I put my sign near where we’d landed. Hopefully future expeditions would land in more or less the same spot.

I wrote my message. In my best handwriting. Using huge letters so no one could miss it — or mistake its meaning:
72-gods-rules-in-eden

LAST CHANCE FOR A PLANET



Categories: Ecology, Fiction, Nature, Photography, Sci Fi - Fantasy - Time Travel

Tags: , , , , , ,

15 replies

  1. I loved sci-fi short stories as a kid. Little did i know i’d find myself living in one!

    Good story but as i’m sure you realise anytime you put up a sign telling people what to do it is like a challenge to the ‘average Joe’ to instantly be perverse and do exactly what they are being told not to do. The sign should simply read: “You better F##k this planet up like you did the last one! Or Else!”

    love.

    Like

  2. Marilyn, you are a HOOT. I LOVED this! OMG seriously, OMG Loved this!

    Like

  3. Sounds ominous, I’ve got my fingers crossed that we don’t mess up any further.
    Leslie

    Like

  4. People have such short memories. Eden might not stand a chance. Cryogenic goo sounds icky.

    Liked by 1 person

  5. Good one. Hope your crew did not contain politicians or builders. They will rebuild everything.

    Liked by 1 person

  6. If I were you I’d beware of sandblasting ’cause if the “Cryo- Gunk” can get into those… er.. unmentionable places, so will the sand with far more uncomfortable results.

    Liked by 1 person

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