Here There Be Giants

“Control! Control! Come in, Mission Control!” Co-pilot Scott Card was on the bounce, standing beside Comm Officer Starling’s console. He was on the comm instead of her because Starling was leaning over in her chair dead from the last strike the transporter ship had taken. Frantically, the co-pilot kept trying, “Damn it, Control! This is SS4398TC MOYA calling in an SOS!”

Anxiously Commander Jeffrey Orson started sweating as he listened to his co-pilot attempting to raise mission control over the comm. All that was coming back over the radio was a bunch of staticky white noise, making the commander think they were on their own out here. Fearfully, he watched more space trash hurtling towards them, pounding the ship and causing impossible hairline cracks in her invaluable hull.

The navigation systems were destroyed when the last bit of debris struck Moya, and they were floating around with no propulsion in fathomless space. The ship still had its precious life support, but that wouldn’t do them any good if they couldn’t raise a rescue. The onboard intercom was going off with worried demands from the colonial passengers on what had happened. A zigzagging pattern had appeared on the port screen, and as Commander Orson gazed at it, the crack grew bigger.

The commander and the remaining crew watched as more litter careened toward them. Bracing themselves for the impact, they each began to pray to their gods for a miracle. As they were hit, they could hear a grinding noise deep in Moya before they were sent spiraling out of control into unending space.

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Moya crash-landed on a wintery frozen planet that offered no comfort within several miles of the crash site and with a thin oxygen-based atmosphere. What didn’t burn up on entry, burnt up completely after they had landed. Of the sixty passengers and a small crew of fifteen, twenty-five survived. Commander Jeffrey Orson didn’t understand how he had survived when so many of his cabin crew hadn’t or how they’d been so fortunate to land on an oxygen-based planet. He didn’t dwell too much on it though- he was mostly thankful to be alive. How long they’d survive was up to the gods, though.

After much discussion, the remaining survivors decided to walk south, hoping to find warmer terrain and a stable place for the emergency beacon to emit a rescue signal. They gathered their remaining supplies into bundles, layered on as many clothes as possible, and began the frigid trek. Trudging through the freezing tundra, they slowly made their way in what they hoped was the direction to warmer climes.

As Jeffrey led the group, he remembered the day he had been assigned to transport the colonists to their future home planet. He was one of twelve commanders selected to pilot the newest space transporters off the assembly line. He had felt so honored to be chosen for this special assignment. Jeffrey had excitedly told his wife that he was helping the Earth expand into new territories, and getting a firsthand view of the growth of the new frontier. His family and friends had thrown him an amazing party on a hover yacht to celebrate him being one of the few commanders chosen, complete with a holographic Ozzy singer and a Replicator buffet. It all seemed so long ago. Now, he just hoped he lived to make it off this god-forsaken planet and to see his wife and the Earth again.

As they made their way south, behemoth-like rock formations that resembled furniture rose from the terrain. If it weren’t so cold and blustery, they might have stopped to explore the natural-looking sculptures, but as it was, they plowed on. As far as the eye could see, there were only more rock structures, snow, and ice- no trees or grass. Some of the boulders were monstrous in size, as big as mountains. If it weren’t for the blowing smoke coming from Moya in the distance behind them, they wouldn’t have been able to see how far they had traveled because of how similar the land looked.

Days turned into a week, and they still hadn’t found a place warm enough to stop and set up the beacon. The ground was as rocky as it was frozen, making it as dangerous as it was slick. They lost five more people along the way, including co-pilot Scott Card, who slipped and fell off one of the mountain-like rock sculptures they had to climb. Supplies were running thin, as was morale. The commander knew they would need to find shelter and food soon, so he pushed the remaining survivors on.

It was nearing the eighth day when the survivors noticed a difference in the air. There was an odd crackling sound which boded ill for the group. Yet the air felt a little warmer. Patches of brown, grassy-looking growth were poking up through the snow and ice in places. What looked like a type of deer with six legs was seen in the distance, grazing on the grass-like growth. When it saw them, it flicked its many antlers and quickly disappeared.

Invigorated with the new sights and the warmth in the air, the group quickened their pace, hoping to reach an even warmer climate soon. They tried to ignore the ever-increasing crackling sounds around them and what may be causing the noise. Keeping their eyes peeled, they looked for anything that looked edible to add to their dwindling supplies as they went.

On the ninth night, they were fortunate to find a cave large enough for them all to crawl into, and it opened up with ample space for them to stand in. Jeffrey made haste to start the first fire they’d had on this icy hellhole so that they could eat a decent, tepid meal. Using the little light they had left, they checked their bodies for frostbite and changed their frozen clothes, re-layering them to hold in their body heat. They were almost warm as they lay down and slept that night.

During the night, the small group was woken by a loud racket of sounds– crackling, popping, and snapping. There was also a loud growling noise mixed in with the cacophony. At times, the ground shook with a mighty quiver, as if it was coming apart. The din was so loud, that no one could fall asleep again.

With the sunrise, the survivors rose to check out their surroundings, since it was close to dark when they came upon the cave. If the area had any available resources for survival and the emergency beacon worked, then a base camp would be set up here until they could be rescued. The commander had already decided with the nearby mountains, a water source should be close by.

The commotion hadn’t gotten any quieter with the coming day, but the group had grown accustomed to the many different sounds. They didn’t notice when the tumult began to get even louder. The surviving travelers did notice when the ground began to roil and shake. They stared in utter disbelief as the mountains around them began to move.

Commander Orson watched as three colonists were flattened by a colossal foot. He stood in shock as a half-frozen giant grabbed a running Ensign Swifton and ate her. He was goaded into running for the cave’s shelter when a different Brobdingnagian’s foot narrowly missed him.

They were on a planet of ginormous ogres, with nowhere to hide, for the cave they had slept in the night before was straightening out. It was another titanic monstrosity, standing up.

Commander Jeffrey Orson prayed to his god as he was plucked up and held over the maw of one of the monstrous beasts. As he was dropped into the large orifice, he had time to think about how bad it smelled before the world went dark.