text: (IP) Off the Grid With all of his tech broken, he’d long ago lost track of how much time had passed, and had given up trying. He sat on the old robot, a massive, hulking machine that had gone red from rust and disuse, observing his kingdom. When he’d first arrived on this planet, he’d been dumbstruck by the beauty of it all: trees so tall that their branches pierced the veil of the sky, their bark marbled with a dizzying array of colors, mountains that sparked and crackled, and valleys carpeted with lush blooms. It was sort of like Earth, but not, all at the same time. And with no way to contact his superiors, he’d distracted himself by exploring. If he was going to live and die on this planet, he might as well use his free time to map it. But the loss of his tech--the tech in his own body and in his ship--felt like he was missing a limb. There was a void inside of his chest that could not be filled, and he’d come to terms with the fact that he’d never come home, never see his family again. It had been so long that the pain had dulled to a slight throb. He barely remembered their faces; he found himself wondering if he’d been forgotten. And maybe, he thought with a twinge of regret, that was for the best. Callum had never been happy on Earth, but he had come closer than ever before, before the mission. But he hadn’t really had a choice in the matter: it was either go be an explorer in space, or stay on-world and face his crimes. If he’d stayed, he would’ve risked his family, and his lover. He’d left to start a new life on a recently discovered planet, and his loved ones were spared in the bargain. Even now, though, Callum wondered if he’d signed his own death warrant. But he had all the time in the world to think: He hid from the beasts that roamed the planet’s forests and mountains, coming out of his dwelling only to hunt for food and water. It had taken months for him to figure out what was edible or not; the most notable example had been when he’d eaten a handful of bright red berries, and had suffered hallucinations afterward. He’d made a sign around the bushes so he wouldn’t be tempted by the fruit again. Trial and error had helped, but not much. When he was alone, Callum spoke, to the sky, the flora and fauna, and the animals. He never imagined he’d be so tired of hearing his own voice, but it helped to temper the pain of his loneliness. He’d been in this place so long he barely remembered Earth: the salty tang of the ocean, so dark, deep and vast it could sweep you under and imprison you without you even knowing; the warmth of the sun on his face, the smile on his lover’s face. Before he’d lost contact with his superiors, he’d been almost done with his stint off-world. Callum had been so close, and here he would die, forgotten.