I wake up as the first light of Impost's sun filters through the cracked windows of the pod. The purple sky is already brightening to a softer lavender, and I can hear the strange bird calls that seem to be this planet's version of a dawn chorus.
First things first—I need to get myself ready for the journey ahead.
I find the broken mirror from the pod's tiny bathroom and examine myself. My long black hair is a tangled mess from the crash and sleeping in the cramped space. It hangs past my shoulders, heavy and unmanageable. Back home, I always hated how it felt like it weighed eighty pounds after a shower, but I never had the courage to cut it.
Well, this new world calls for new decisions.
I pick up a sharp piece of the broken mirror and start cutting. The hair falls away in long black strands, and with each cut, my head feels lighter and lighter. When I'm done, my hair barely touches my shoulders, and I can't help but smile. I look like a different person—someone ready for adventure instead of someone hiding behind long hair.
I pack only what I absolutely need: the food scanner, water purification tablets, my red wood spear, two sets of underwear, and all the shoelaces from my various shoes. The laces will work perfectly as rope when I need to make camp. I also grab my lighter—the same one I've carried since I was a kid, back when I used to spend weeks in the forests around home.
Looking at myself in what's left of the mirror, I take inventory. I'm short—about five foot two—and slim but with muscle from all those years of outdoor survival practice. Short black hair, green eyes, tan skin from camping. I look ready for this.
The walk toward the mountain takes me deeper into Impost's alien forest. The red-barked trees tower overhead, their purple and yellow leaves creating a canopy that filters the strange sunlight into dancing patterns on the yellow grass below.
The wildlife is more active during the day. I see more of the colorful birds—some neon bright, others perfectly camouflaged against the trees. Several more of the red and yellow squirrel-creatures scamper through the undergrowth, and I'm starting to think of them as "Impost squirrels" even though they look nothing like Earth squirrels.
About midday, I encounter something that makes me stop in my tracks.
There's a rustling in the bushes ahead, and then a creature emerges that's unlike anything I've ever seen. It's about the size of a deer, but that's where the similarities end. Its body is bright yellow with red patches, and it has green stripes running along its sides like a zebra. Instead of antlers, it has purple horns that curl like a ram's. Most surprisingly, it moves on what look like paws rather than hooves.
We stare at each other for a long moment. It tilts its head, studying me with large, dark eyes. Then, as if deciding I'm too strange to deal with, it bounds away through the forest with surprising grace.
I make a mental note to add "deer-like creature with ram horns and paws" to my growing list of Impost wildlife.
The day passes quickly as I walk. The landscape gradually changes from flat forest to rolling hills, and I can see the mountain with the blue huts growing larger in the distance. By my estimate, I'll reach it sometime tomorrow if I keep up this pace.
As the purple sky begins to darken, I look for a good place to make camp. I find a sturdy tree with thick branches about fifteen feet off the ground—high enough to be safe from most ground-dwelling predators, but not so high that I'll break my neck if I fall.
I tie all my shoelaces together to create a makeshift harness, then secure myself to the tree trunk so I can sleep sitting up on a thick branch. It's not the most comfortable arrangement, but it's safe.
As full darkness falls, Impost transforms into something magical.
The entire forest begins to glow. Soft blue and green lights pulse from various plants, creating an alien light show that takes my breath away. Even the purple berries I've been eating emit a faint purple glow, like tiny fairy lights scattered throughout the trees.
I'm so mesmerized by the bioluminescent display that I almost miss the movement below.
At first, it's just a shape moving between the trees—something large enough to be human-sized, with lines of light running across its body. I hold my breath and stay perfectly still, watching as it approaches.
The figure moves with purpose, like it knows exactly where it's going. It's definitely bipedal and roughly human-shaped, but larger than me. Much larger. The glowing lines on its body pulse gently as it walks, providing just enough light to see its silhouette.
It's heading straight for my tree.
I try to decide whether to stay perfectly still and hope it passes by, or climb down and run. But before I can make a decision, the creature takes another step forward and immediately trips over a fallen branch.
It goes down hard with a sound that's remarkably like someone saying "shit," though it comes out as a harsh caw, almost like a crow's call.
I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing as the figure lies there for a moment, apparently stunned. Then it rolls over and looks up.
Straight at me.
Our eyes meet across the glowing darkness, and for a moment, neither of us moves. Then the creature lets out what can only be described as a yelp of surprise, scrambles to its feet, takes two steps backward, and promptly falls over another branch.
This time, it doesn't get up.
I wait several minutes, but the figure remains motionless. A giggle escapes me despite my efforts to stay quiet, but now I'm starting to worry. What if it's seriously hurt?
Carefully, I untie my shoelace harness and climb down from the tree, keeping my spear ready. My heart is pounding as I approach the fallen figure.
It's definitely alive—I can see its chest rising and falling. And it's definitely not human.
The being is much larger than me, probably close to seven feet tall and built powerfully. Its skin is a light purple color, and the glowing lines I saw from the tree are actually bioluminescent markings that run in intricate patterns all over its body, even extending to the sides of his face. Its hair is bright green and woven into long braids decorated with colorful beads.
It's wearing only what appears to be a simple loincloth, and I can see now that it's definitely male. He's unconscious but breathing steadily—probably just knocked out when he hit his head on that second fall.
I lean closer to study his face, fascinated despite my fear. He has high, sharp cheekbones and a defined jawline that could have been carved from stone. His nose is wider than a human's, and his lips are full and a darker purple than the rest of his skin. Thick green eyebrows match his hair, and I can see his eyelashes are the same bright green color. His ears come to subtle points at the tips.
He's undeniably handsome, but in a way that makes my brain struggle to process what I'm seeing. It's as if someone took an attractive human man, painted his face, and rearranged his bone structure just enough to make him clearly alien.
Curiosity gets the better of me, and I gently try to lift one of his eyelids with the tip of my finger. What I see makes me gasp softly. His eyes are oval-shaped rather than round, and the iris is a brilliant gold color that seems to shimmer even in the dim bioluminescent light.
Golden eyes. I wonder if all his people have golden eyes.
I poke him gently with the tip of my spear, but he doesn't respond.
This is it. First contact with an alien species. And he's unconscious because he tripped over a branch while staring at me.
The situation is so absurd that I have to cover my mouth to keep from laughing out loud.
But as I study his peaceful face in the glow of the bioluminescent forest, reality starts to sink in. This is a real alien being. There are people on this planet, and now one of them knows I exist.
What happens when he wakes up? Will he be friendly? Hostile? Will he even be able to communicate with me?
And more importantly—are there others nearby who will come looking for him?
Suddenly, staying here feels like a very bad idea.
I back away from the unconscious alien and quickly gather my things. I need to put some distance between us, but I also need to know that he's okay when he wakes up.
I find another tree about fifty yards away—close enough to keep an eye on him, but far enough that I can escape if things go badly. I climb up and settle in to wait, my spear across my knees and my heart still racing.
Below me, the alien continues to sleep peacefully in the glowing forest, completely unaware that his world is about to change as much as mine just did.
First contact accomplished. Sort of.
Now I just have to figure out what to do next.