The closest I’ve ever come to hard science fiction. I wrote this back in college, and then polished it up a decade later when it was published by Apex Digest. It was originally called Star Vation, but I wisely changed the title.

Voice Module 195567

Record Mode:

Is this thing working?

Play Mode:

Is this thing working?

Record Mode:

This is Lieutenant Jehrico Stiles of the mining ship Darion. I’ve crash-landed on an unknown planet somewhere in the Eighty-Sixth Sector. Captain Millhouse Braun is dead.

I suppose I’m Captain now.

Captain Braun’s last VM concerned the delays we’d been having due to a micro meteor shower while mining Asteroid 336-09 in orbit around Flaxion.

A lot has happened since then. The Brain caught the Madness.

I told Mill a thousand times we shouldn’t have used an Organic, but he was willing to take the risks, as long as he had extra cargo space to carry more ore. You know the sales pitch. Why have an interstellar processor that weighs twenty six metric tons and takes up gads of space when an Organic Brain with nutrient pumps can navigate the ship while weighing only three kilograms?

Well, we did fit more ore on the ship. And now Mill and the rest of the crew are dead. When the Brain went bad it thrust the ship into Wormhole GG54 and I got spewed out here.

Mill and Johnson and the rest of the crew were fried when the Brain misfired the photon props. One moment I was watching them on the console viewer, drilling into the asteroid’s cortex, and the next moment they were vaporized and the ship was being hurtled toward the wormhole.

The trailer detached before I went through, sending millions of credits worth of iron on some unknown trajectory.

I survived re-entry because the ionic suppressors run automatically and not on Brain power.

The Brain wasn’t so lucky. It’s dead now, the nutrient containers smashed when we hit the planet’s surface. But the Brain had enough juice left in it to seal every hatch and cargo hold before its functioning ceased.

Nothing on the ship works. The com-link is dead. The homing beacon is dead. I can’t even open the steel doors to the pantry, and my unrefrigerated food supply is rotting away without me being able to get to it.

The oxygen systems have malfunctioned, but the planet I’m on has an atmosphere I can breathe. The nitrogen level is high, and I’m light-headed a lot, but so far I’m still alive.

The temperature is also hospitable to human life. A bit chilly, but mostly pleasant. Days last about forty hours, and nights about twenty.

I’m surprised this Voice Module still works. It’s got a crack in the case, but the batteries haven’t leaked. I figure without a recharge, I’ve got maybe two hours of recording time left.

I’ll have to use it sparingly. I’ve salvaged all I can from this damn ship, and I can’t find a lousy pen.

Voice Module 195568

Record Mode:

This is my fourth day on the planet, and I made an impressive discovery. The terrain here tests high for ferrite, making this planet worth a fortune. If no one has staked a claim, I could get funding and mine this place until it’s just as gutted as earth is. The planet is large enough that it might even end the Ore Crisis, perhaps for a few years.

The only problem is that I’m starving.

There’s a water stream nearby, brackish but drinkable. I waded in deep and searched for hours, but couldn’t find animal life in the water, or the surrounding area.

Plant life abounds. At least I think they’re plants. Maybe they’re fungi. They’re reddish in color, lacking chlorophyll, and they have appendages that resemble leaves. The landscape is littered with hundreds of different species, some as high as buildings, some the size of grass.

None have been edible. Everything I’ve plucked so far contains an acidic enzyme — concentrated highly enough to burn my fingers and my tongue. Swallowing any of it would tear a hole through my stomach.

But at least I have water.

I haven’t scouted very far yet, only a few kilometers. Maybe I’ll be lucky and there will something to eat on the other side of that big hill that splits my horizon.

Hunger is starting to weaken me. I can’t stay awake for more than seven or eight hours. Tried several times to pry open the steel pantry doors, but can’t budge them a crack. I think I broke my big toe kicking the panel in frustration.

I hope for rescue, but know the odds against it. If this is truly an undiscovered planet, then no one knows it exists, and no one knows that I’m here.

And I have no way to tell them.

Voice Module 195569

Record Mode:

My hiking boots were a gift from my mother, and came with genuine antique pig-leather laces.

I boiled and ate the laces this morning. My boots won’t stay on now, and I’ve got — I know this sounds funny — a terrible knot in my stomach. But there’s nothing else to eat. The only other organic thing on the ship is the Brain, and I’m not touching that. I’d rather starve to death. I’d rather die.

Morals are what make us human.

Voice Module 195570

Record Mode:

I met my new neighbors today.

They are only knee-high, and somewhat resemble the extinct species called dogs. They’re covered with a short, rough fur, have pointy ears and yellow eyes, and walk around on underdeveloped hind legs.

I was sleeping in what used to be the control bay, dreaming about food, when I felt something poke me in the ribs.

I opened my eyes, startled, and found six of them in a circle around me. They spoke to one another with high pitched yaps.

None wore clothing or carried weapons. And even when I stood, towering over them by some five feet, none seemed afraid.

One of them yipped at me in what might have been a question. I said hello, and it cocked its head, confused by my voice. I can’t recall reading about any life form like these back in school. For all I know they are an undiscovered species.

They half-coaxed, half-pushed me out of my ship and led me further than I’d previously scouted, over the hill.

They took me to their home. There were no structures, just a collection of holes in the dirt. When we arrived, dozens of little brown heads popped up out of the holes to stare at me.

A short time later, I was surrounded.

A kind of collective humming sound rose up within the group, and they all came to me, holding out tiny paws to touch my legs. They took turns, their eyes locked on mine.

For a moment, I felt like a god.

When I reached out to touch them they weren’t afraid. And when I did pat a head their dog lips turned into grins and they wiggled their tails.

It was like being around dozens of well-behaved children. For a while I completely forgot how hungry I was.

Voice Module 199571

Record Mode:

They eat the plants. Somehow they’re immune to the acid content. They eat many different varieties, raw. Then, out of their droppings, new plants grow.

Nature’s perfect symbiotic planet. Ironic that I’d wind up here, considering how my own species has trashed the earth, and the planets of the surrounding star systems.

Perhaps this is a penance of sorts.

I stayed for most of the day in the village, watching the puppies play, patting small heads. I’ve counted eighty-two dog people in this settlement. Maybe there are other settlements, elsewhere. Staring across the huge landscape with nothing to see but kilometers of horizon, I have to wonder.

Later I left them and tried once again to pry open the metal door that locks away all of the food in the ship’s pantry. Once again I was unsuccessful.

Voice Module 199572

Record Mode:

I’m dying. My clothes hang on my body like sheets, and I know I’ve lost at least fifteen kilograms.

The dogs seem to understand that I’m deteriorating in some way. They try to do funny things to make me laugh, like cartwheels or jumping on me, but I can’t laugh.

In fact, when I look at the dogs for too long, I start to salivate.

I wonder what they taste like.

Like that synthetic meat, locked away in the ship’s pantry?

I’ve never had real meat. Could never afford it. My father had a cat steak once, and said it was delicious. My grandfather remembers when he was young and there were still a few cows left, and he used to get meat on holidays.

What do these little dog people taste like?

If I wanted to I could wipe out the entire village in just a few minutes. They have no weapons. They don’t move very fast. Their teeth are rounded. I could kill their entire population and not even get scratched.

But I don’t. I can’t. I won’t.

Voice Module 199573

Record Mode:

I ate the Brain today.

I thought it would be rotten, but there was no decay at all. I have a hypothesis why. Decay is caused by bacteria, and perhaps this world has none.

I boiled the Brain, picked out the glass shards, and ate with my eyes closed, trying not to think about what it was.

But I did think about it.

It shouldn’t matter. After all, the Brain had ceased operation. Tissue is tissue.

Even if the tissue is human.

Besides, the volunteers who sign up for the Organic Processor Program are elderly, near the ends of their lives. Running a starship gave a brain donor dozens of extra years of sentience, of life.

And, important point, this one did go mad and kill my crew and destroy my ship.

It owed me.

There wasn’t any taste to it. Not really. But when I was finished eating, I cried like a child.

Not because of what I had done.

But because I wanted more.

Voice Module 199574

Record Mode:

I can’t eat an intelligent life form. Not that the dog people are particularly intelligent. No tools, no clothing, no artificial shelter, though they do have a rudimentary form of communication. I even understand some of their words now.

I can’t eat things that speak.

But all I’ve consumed in the past fifteen days were two shoe laces and a soggy, very small Brain.

I have a few solar matches left. I could spit-roast one of these doggies using a piece of pipe.

What did my grandfather call it? A barbeque.

The village has named me. When I come by, they yip out something that sounds like “Griimmm!”

So to the dog people I am Grim.

They sleep next to me and hug my legs and smile like babies.

Please let a rescue ship find me tonight, so I don’t have to do what I’m planning to do.

Voice Module 199575

Record Mode:

I ate one.

When I awoke this morning I had such a single-mindedness, such a raw craving to eat, that I didn’t even try to fight it.

I went to the dog people’s village, picked up the nearest one, and as it yipped “Griiimmm!” with a smile on its face, I broke its neck.

I didn’t wait around to see what the others did. I just ran back to ship, drooling like a baby.

Then I skinned the little dog person with a paring knife.

It was delicious.

Roasted over an open fire. Cooked to perfection. I only left the bones.

When I was done, the feeling was euphoric. I was sated. I was satisfied.

I smacked my lips and patted my stomach and knew how grandfather must have felt. Real meat was amazing. It made the synthetic stuff seem like garbage.

Then I noticed all of dog people around me.

They stared, their eyes accusatory and sad. And they began to cry. Howling cries, with tears.

When I realized what I had done, I cried too.

Voice Module 195576

Record Mode:

Two months on this damn planet, and that’s according to these sixty hour days, so it’s more like half a year. I haven’t recorded anything in a while, because I haven’t wanted to think about what I’ve been doing.

I’ve eaten fifty-four dog people so far.

I’ve stopped losing weight, but I can count my ribs through my shirt. One a day isn’t enough nourishment for a man my size.

I try to make it enough. I have to ration. And not because of any moral reason.

The population is dwindling.

I don’t know why they haven’t run away. Packed up and left.

But they haven’t.

They don’t fear me. Maybe they don’t understand fear.

The young puppies still hug my legs when I visit the village.

Everyone else stays inside their holes.

I try not to take the young ones. Instead I dig with my hands and pluck the adults from the ground. They don’t fight. In fact, they try to hug me.

I think I’m a little insane at this point.

When I grab them, and they look at me with those sad eyes and say my name…

Sometimes I wish they would run away, leaving me to starve. So I couldn’t kill any more of them.

It’s like eating my children.

Voice Module 199577

Record Mode:

There are just three left.

They don’t even go underground anymore. It’s almost as if they’ve accepted their own deaths.

I wonder sometimes if I deserve to live when so many have died.

But the hunger. The terrible hunger.

I know when my food supply here runs out, I’ll have to search for more.

More children to eat.

How can something that sickens make my stomach rumble?

Voice Module 199577

Record Mode:

A ship!

I saw a ship orbiting.

It was night. I was staring at the constellations, trying to remember my astronomy so I could pinpoint where I was in the galaxy.

One of the stars moved.

It circled the planet twice in three hours. I hope against hope it’s a manned ship, not a damned probe. Please let there be people on board. I can’t last too much longer.

There is nothing left to eat. I’ve consumed the entire dog village, boiled their bones and eaten the hides, hair and all.

I’m so thin I look like a skeleton with my face.

Voice Module 195578

Record Mode:

The ship landed several kilometers away. I ran most of the way to it, my euphoria bordering on hysterics.

It turned to hysteria when I saw the ship.

Nothing human made it.

It was spherical and grey, like a giant pearl. At first I thought it was some type of meteorite. There were no portals or exhausts, just smooth grey curves, reflecting the world around it.

I hadn’t gotten within a few steps when it opened. A hole just sort of appeared in its side. Small and blurry at first, but soon several meters wide. I hid behind an outcropping of rocks.

Then something came out of the hole.

It was twice my size. Vaguely humanoid, but lacking a head. Six yellow eyes stared out from behind the clear visor encircling its chest. The eyes moved in different directions, scanning the terrain. No arms, but under the trunk of the body were four legs, thick and each ending in three long toes.

Its skin appeared reptilian; black scales that shone as if wet.

On the lower half of its body, it wore a bizarre version of pants. Above the eyes was a large and impressive mouth. I instantly thought of old hologramsI’d seen depicting sharks. The rows of triangular jagged teeth encircled the top of the creature like a bastardized crown.

As odd as its appearance was, it seemed to exude a kind of peace. I felt as if I were looking at a fellow intelligent being rather than an enemy from space.

I took a step toward it, and it reared up on its two back legs and waved its front legs at me, making a snorting sound. I suppose my appearance unnerved it. My features probably were just as strange and grotesque to it as it was to me.

“I won’t harm you,” I told it.

“I won’t harm you,” it repeated, imitating my voice perfectly. It lowered its front legs and took a cautious step forward. I also took a step.

“Zeerhweetick,” it said.

I tried to imitate the sound as best I could. It relaxed its legs and squatted when we were within a meter of each other. I also sat down.

“I won’t harm you,” it said again.

I recalled my astronaut training. Intelligent Lifeforms 101 was an entirely hypothetical class about the possibility of communication with an intelligent alien life form. It was in the curriculum because the World Assembly demanded that all space travelers have that training. They believed if we ever did encounter a new race, the first meeting between species would set the tone for all future relations. Making first impressions and all that crap.

Everyone considered it a joke class — we’d visited hundreds of planets, and never encountered any life form smarter than a cockroach.

Now I felt like that was the most important class I ever took.

I began by using words and miming motions. Pointing to myself I said, man. Pointing at its ship I said, ship. And so on.

It watched, and repeated, and within an hour it had picked up several verbs and began asking questions.

“Man here long?” it said in my voice. Then it pointed to the ground.

“Fifty cycles,” I said. I flashed fifty fingers, then pointed at the sun, slowly moving across the horizon.

“More men?”

“No.”

“Ship?”

“Broken.” I pulled up a nearby weed and cracked it in half, illustrating my point.

It gestured at its own ship with a three fingered leg and also yanked a plant from the ground.

“Ship broken.” It ripped the weed in two.

“Man,” I said again, pointing to myself. Then I pointed at it.

“Zabzug,” it said, pointing at itself.

“Hello, Zabzug.”

“Hello, Man.”

And so began mankind’s historic first communication with an intelligent alien species.

I was so excited I wasn’t even thinking about the other intelligent alien species I had just finished devouring.

Voice Module 195579

Record Mode:

After communicating for several hours, Zabzug and I went back to my ship. He moved slower than I did, sometimes tripping over foliage. One time I helped him up, getting my first close look at those teeth on his scalp. How he could imitate me so perfectly with a mouthful of fangs like that was anyone’s guess.

“Thank you, Man,” Zabzug said after getting back to his feet.

I smiled at him. His teeth twitched, which I took to be a smile too.

He was very excited at the sight of my ship, and began speaking rapidly in a series of grunts and snorts. I sat and watched him explore it top to bottom. He stopped in front of the pantry and stayed there a long time, snuffling, trying to open the metal door. Liquid poured down from his head and over his eye plate like tears.

“Hungry,” Zabzug said. “No eat long time.”

“Man hungry too,” I told him.

He beckoned me over and we struggled with the pantry for a while, not budging the door a centimeter. Zabzug’s drool smelled like a sour musk, and being right next to him made me realize how big he really was. Three times my mass, easy.

And those appendages of his had incredible strength behind them, putting huge dents in the thick steel door.

But it was all for nothing. The pantry stayed closed.

Voice Module 195580

Record Mode:

Zabzug explained to me how he crashed by drawing a very detailed schematic in the dirt. His ship runs on a bastardized form of fission, using a refined chemical to help control the reaction. I guess the chemical could best be described as a form of lubricant, as oil was used in combustion engines back on ancient earth.

So basically he’s stranded here because he ran out of oil, stalled, and got sucked into the same wormhole as me.

We made some limited talk about putting my power supply into his ship, but the parts were so fundamentally incompatible that it proved impossible.

Zabzug tried eating some plants, doing me one better and actually swallowing a few. He became violently ill. I must admit to some perverse amusement at watching black foam erupt out of the top of his head like a volcano, but that only served to remind me how hungry I was.

Two intelligent species, meeting for the first time in history, each with the capability of interstellar travel, and both starving to death.

It might be funny if it were happening to someone else.

Voice Module 195581

Record Mode:

After a week together, I consider Zabzug a friend. He’s told me much about his planet, which seems to be located in the Hermida Galaxy. Like humans, his species have used up their natural resources, and have begun scouring the universe for food, fuel, and building material.

He’s much better at learning English than I am at learning his language. He’s gained such a mastery of it that he made his first joke.

We were resting near his ship, talking as usual about how hungry we were, and Zabzug told me, “If you weren’t so ugly, I’d consider eating you.”

Funny guy, that Zabzug.

Voice Module 195582

Record Mode:

Zabzug is starving too. His skin has lost its luster, and his eyes are glazed.

We still have animated talks, but the silence often lasts as long as the chatting.

I’m hesitant to tell him about the dog people, about what I consider my genocidal crime.

But they’re all I can think about.

I finally spill the story. Hopeful he won’t judge. Hopeful that he might know where to search for more.

To my surprise, Zabzug seems to know what I’m speaking about, and he’s able to draw an exact picture of their species.

“Hrucka,” he told me. He awkwardly explained that the hrucka were like pets to his species.

It made sense. Evolution doesn’t create just one species of animal in an ecosystem. The hrucka must have been put here.

Or stranded here.

Which might mean that somewhere, on the planet, there’s another ship like Zabzug’s.

He’s very excited by this prospect, and we decide to conduct a search first thing tomorrow.

Voice Module 195583

Record Mode:

We searched for three days.

We didn’t find anything.

Voice Module 195584

Record Mode:

Zabzug came into my ship at night as I slept. The viscous drool from his mouth dripped onto my face and woke me up. In one of his appendages he held a sharp piece of pipe, the one I had been using to roast dog people. Upon my awakening, he yelped and dropped the pipe, hurrying from my ship.

I suppose he’s having the same problem that I had with the dog people. Respect for an intelligent life form versus the overwhelming need to survive.

But he’s in for a surprise.

I’m going to eat him first.

I stayed awake the rest of the night, standing guard with the pointed pipe. He had the strength advantage. I had the speed advantage. We both seemed to be of similar intelligence, and both had the ability to use tools.

His eyes might be a weak point, but they were always covered by that face plate — Zabzug even wore it to sleep. His skin was covered with scales, and though they looked moist, they were hard, almost metallic, to the touch.

The vulnerable point was his mouth. It was crammed full of sharp teeth, but maybe I could jam something down his throat and into all the soft parts inside.

At the first peek of sunlight I’ll go to Zabzug’s ship with my spear.

What does alien lizard taste like?

Voice Module 195585

Record Mode:

He didn’t come out all day, and I couldn’t find a way in. There isn’t a seam on the entire ship. No cracks or ridges or anything to pry or beat open. After several hours of trying, I decided to just wait. He’d have to come out eventually.

He wanted the same thing I wanted.

Voice Module 195586

Record Mode:

The bastard ate my hand.

Chomped it off at the wrist. I fell asleep, waiting for him to come out.

But I got him…haha…I got him…jammed the pipe down his throat, into the soft stuff.

Dead. He’s dead.

Zabzug, my friend, is dead.

I used my belt as a tourniquet for my hand, but it didn’t stop the bleeding.

I had to use the solar matches to close the wound.

The pain…so much pain in my wrist.

But the hunger…the need…is even stronger.

I’m going to cut him open now.

Voice Module 195587

Record Mode:

I’m full! What a wonderful feeling! For the first time since I landed on this planet, I’ve eaten until I’m ready to burst.

I’m so happy I don’t even notice the pain.

Voice Module 195588

Record Mode:

Zabzug lasted for a whole month.

Some parts were delicious.

Some parts, not so delicious.

I ate everything. The inedible parts were boiled into soup until every calorie and nutrient was leeched out.

I even gained a few kilos.

And now, with the last of the soup gone, with the hunger pangs returning, I am afraid.

Voice Module 195589

Record Mode:

Four days since I’ve eaten anything. Zabzug had stretched out my belly, and I drink a lot to keep it full, to try and fool it into feeling sated.

My belly isn’t fooled.

I’ve managed to get into Zabzug’s ship, using a key. It’s a tiny sphere he’d been keeping in a pocket. When it touches the ship, the portal opens.

I’ve fully explored the interior, trying to gain an understanding of how it works. The vessel is a marvel of engineering, with a navigation system light-years ahead of ours. The technology is even more valuable than the iron-rich planet I’m stranded on.

If I can get off this rock, I’ll be the wealthiest man in the universe.

The first thing I’ll do is get a limb graft…no, the first thing I’ll do is have a banquet. A feast that will last a month. I’ll gorge myself like the ancient Romans, purging between courses so I can cram in more food.

Such a beautiful picture.

Voice Module 195590

Record Mode:

My wrist isn’t healing right. It doesn’t seem to be infected, but the wound keeps opening.

I think it’s a symptom of starvation. My body is conserving its energy, and deems healing unnecessary.

I’m so weak it’s an effort to even stand up.

I have to do something. If I stay here, I’ll die. Perhaps there’s food somewhere else. I’ve scouted at least fifty kilometers in all directions, but I need to pick one and keep moving.

I decide to follow the sunset. I’ll leave tomorrow.

I have no other choice.

Voice Module 195591

Record Mode:

I don’t know how far I’ve traveled. Perhaps a hundred or a hundred and fifty kilometers. I’m in a desert now, and ran out of water a few hours ago.

My tongue is so thick it’s hard to speak.

I fear sleep, because I don’t think I’ll wake up.

Voice Module 195592

Record Mode:

I can’t move another step. Thirst is worse than hunger. I’m hallucinating. Hearing things. Seeing things. I even had a fever-dream, imagining a space ship crashing in the distance…

Voice Module 195593

Record Mode:

A week has passed.

Obviously, I didn’t die in the desert. I was rescued. Well, sort of.

That ship I’d imagined I saw — it really did exist. A salvage ship, which had made a run at retrieving the trailer full of ore we’d lost.

They also got sucked into the wormhole, and were spit out here.

Their ship is damaged beyond repair. They’d been here for only a few days, and saw my Voice Module unit glinting in the sun.

They listened to it, unfortunately.

Marta, the woman, said she didn’t judge me. She understood.

The man, Ellis, didn’t say a word to me.

I received fresh water, medicine for my wrist, and synth rations.

“We have enough synth rations for a month,” Marta told me. “And we’re hoping for a rescue.”

But all three of us knew that a wormhole rescue has never been attempted. It’s suicide to go near those things.

I eat, and drink, and try to regain my strength.

I’ll need it.

Voice Module 195594

Record Mode:

I got them while they slept.

Ellis, with a large rock to the head.

The rock made a mess. I smothered Marta. Not bloody, but it took a while.

One month rations for three people equals three months rations for one person.

I’m sorry I had to kill them. I truly am.

I’m not a monster.

Voice Module 195595

Record Mode:

Is this thing still working?

Play Mode:

Is this thing still working?

Record Mode:

It’s been…how long has it been since I used this? Many months. Perhaps years.

I stopped shaving, and my beard reaches my chest.

Where did I leave off? I think it was with Marta and that guy, I forget his name. The one I killed with the rock.

It was for their synth rations. I paced myself, ate small portions, but still finished them too quickly.

I knew what was next. I knew it from the beginning.

When the rations were finally gone, I ate the people I’d murdered.

Humans, it turns out, are the best meat. Better than dog people. Better than alien lizards.

They sustained me for a while, but then they were gone too.

I began to starve again.

Days, maybe weeks, passed, and I began to whither away. Though I knew hunger well, it didn’t make the pain any easier.

At night, I watched the skies. Watched them with a yearning. Hoping for another ship to crash on this planet.

And one did.

Astronomical luck?

Hardly.

Only one survivor this time. Angela something. She explained.

The ore-filled trailer from my ship, the Darion, didn’t become lost in space. It’s in orbit around Wormhole GG54, daring salvage ships to try and take it.

Many ships have tried. None have succeeded. They get pulled into the wormhole and pushed out here.

It’s a giant, baited trap.

According to Angela, five ships have already been lost.

There’s a good chance they’re somewhere on this planet.

I asked Angela how large her crew was.

She told me there were seven. All dead.

When I killed her, that made eight.

Eight.

Mmmmm.

But that’s not enough. It’s never enough. I always run out.

I need to find those other ships. And I think I can. The Organic Brain on Angela’s ship is still functioning, and it created a partial topographical map of the planet.

The map pinpoints the other crash sites. Some, only a few kilometers away.

I need to move fast. There may be survivors.

The longer I wait, the thinner they get.