R1 g111 first time entering A Dangerous Speck

Tears ran down my face as the sun set over Olympus Mons. Millions of other sweet and curious humans had seen the pictures. They began as grey, pixilated blobs; an 8-bit rendering of a world unknown. Earth was enamoured by this red flicker in the sky, and from tens of millions of miles away we threw our cameras at it, in hopes of catching even the slightest glimpse of our once and future home. 

We did. Now, the fjords and gorges below me are named, many sponsored by companies in hopes that first contact is made on “Silk’s Oat Milk Canyon” or “Goya Tofu Plateau”. First interstellar peace treaty signed on the shores of “Viagra Lake”. 

I wept with what little oxygen was left. 

Later, the world would watch the recording. A small bump to the left, no change in heart rate. A bleak system diagnostic report, running back and forth to the window. Screaming, cursing, crying, laughing. Heavy breathing, a waste of oxygen. 

After 87 million km, a mote of iron dust made a pinhole in my oxygen tank. I stood at the window for hours, watching the leak. There was nothing to see, as is often the case with the stories in real life. 

A grand adventure lay some 8600 km away. First contact with architects of the dazzling structures below. All we know is they landed here, and not earth. This seems kind. 

But that’s not my story. 

I end with a leak. 

And a sunset.