Josh piloted his Scout away from the mothership, heading towards the electromagnetic storm, where the unmanned probe had disappeared. Although a little voice in his head kept telling him what he was doing was insane and of the severe consequences that were bound to come of it – best case scenario, one hell of a disciplinary action from Commander Fitzgibbons; worst case, go the same way as the unmanned pod –, he cared not. At long last, he was free and back in his own element.

Like many astronauts before him, Josh had, for obvious reasons, withheld his true reason for wanting to come out here from the NIMH Astronaut Corps psychologist: to experience the ultimate freedom of space flight to the fullest extent. In direct contrast to his colleagues, neither glory, nor pay, nor science were of much interest to him; only the sheer wonder of being master of the skies, to get away from the wretched world the Earth had been reduced to, even for a short while, had always been his heart's desire. And now, he was finally master of the universe, the infinity of deep space stretching out all around him. And that alone would sure be worth any dressing-down Fitzgibbons might have in store for him when he returned to base.

His hands firmly grasping the controls, the pod's guidance system automatically calculating all the necessary gimbals for the alignment platform, he followed his trajectory line. Through his aft camera view, he watched the NIMH-One receding into the background; through his windshield ahead, the storm loomed closer and closer, like some foreboding abyss. Somewhere beyond those electric-blue clouds and vortexes was Nimh-Beta, waiting for him. A whole new planet was his for the taking, and nobody – not Commander Fitzgibbons, not NIMH, not God himself – was going to deprive him of that honour now.

Only 50,000 miles shy of the planet's upper atmosphere, he used his counter-thrusters to slow down on the edge of the storm, looking for a good spot to penetrate. Up this close, this thing looked massive and menacing, his pod an insignificant speck of space dust in comparison. He had no visual beyond those spectacular electric-blue vortexes, glowing from random plasma bursts deep within the storm; even his SAR sweep came back with nothing but static, as if he were staring down a black hole into absolute nothingness. His instruments, all rippling from electromagnetic interference, showed severe gravitational turbulence and dangerous radiation pulses. There was no sign of the unmanned pod, which wouldn't have stood a chance in hell anyway, its automated guidance system having undoubtedly been disrupted from all that interference, probably sending the module flying blindly through that electromagnetic meat-grinder, reducing it to atoms.

Although the Scout was made of some of the toughest, most robust materials known to engineers and designed specifically to brave all of the worst natural hazards known on Earth, Josh knew trying to fly directly through the storm would be plain suicide; what he needed was the reasonably smooth passage often found in the heart, or eye, of storms such as this.

It didn't take him long to spot a relatively favourable-looking passage through one of the storm's largest vortexes. Over 2,000 miles in diameter, its eye was a mere 5-mile-wide tunnel penetrating through that electromagnetic inferno. A tight squeeze but passable…maybe. It was time to fish or cut bait.

Technology has had its turn and lost; time to put the human factor to the test, Josh thought, feeling strangely confident for someone who was about to gamble with his life in such a reckless manner. But he couldn't care less; finally, he would show that toffee-nosed Fitzgibbons and his stupid machines what real flying was all about.

With the professional ease and skill of an experienced pianist playing the keys of his instrument at an opera house, Josh plotted his vectors, adjusting his trajectory through the eye. Panning hard into that vortex with his SAR, where the reception was somewhat clearer, he picked up some crappy images of the planet's surface on the other side. He was good to go.

Adjusting his attitude, he fired up his boosters again, following his new trajectory through the eye of the vortex, careful to avoid the swift-moving plasma clouds of the engulfing storm. Over his radio, he heard Fitzgibbons' voice once again, heavily distorted by static, ordering him to abort; it seemed Control were having problems tracking him because of the storm and getting worried. But he had come too far to turn back now.

He flew deep into the eye; he could see those magnificent black and purple clouds engulfing him in a tunnel of electric-blue light. Only this light, he knew, were deadly masses of concentrated energy, potent enough to vaporize his pod on contact. One mistake and it would all be over.

Just as he thought everything was going to go like clockwork, trouble finally struck. The eye of the vortex, which, a minute ago, had been several miles wide, was suddenly starting to shrink, closing in on him fast; that damn thing was closing like the mouth of some sentient gigantic beast, about to swallow him up!

Quickly hitting the emergency gyros, Josh took evasive action, preparing to do an about-face and abort. But it was already too late. Before he knew what was happening, the storm had him it its grasp, swallowing him up like a frog devouring a rather juicy fly. A massive ball of blinding white light engulfed the pod as it made contact with the storm, instantly vanishing as if it had never been there at all...

Even through his space sunglasses, the ensuing flash had Josh momentarily lost in the midst of flash-blindness. Struggling to clear the white stars from his vision, he felt himself being pinned to his seat by massive g-forces. The pod was being catapulted along through the heart of the storm by the vortex's powerful gravitational field...to where?

Fighting the urge to black out from the massive velocity, feeling his own warm blood leaking freely from his nose, Josh struggled to regain control. None of the controls were responding. The pod was completely out of control and at the mercy of this massive force carrying him along towards oblivion.

Glancing at his flight computer to check his alignment platform, he saw the guidance system had gone haywire, the digital eight-ball at gimbal-lock, the speed indicator readouts telling him the pod, or the storm itself, had just exceeded light-speed, which made no sense whatsoever.

That's impossible! Josh thought, Nothing can travel faster than the speed of light!

Glancing through his windshield for visual orientation, he couldn't see any stars; only infinite darkness, pierced by non-ceasing plasma bursts, coming in waves. It was almost as if he had somehow left the boundaries of the known universe completely, lost somewhere in the Great Unknown beyond space and time.

Using every ounce of self-control to stay calm and think, Josh activated his distress beacon and tuned his radio to the SOS band on the high-gain antenna. Although he hated the prospect of making a complete fool of himself in front of Fitzgibbons, he also believed in living to fight another day.

"Mayday, mayday! Scout Alpha to NIMH-One, transmitting in the blind. I've lost my bearings; request guidance for emergency recovery. Does anybody copy…?" But all communications were down across the board.

Like a golf ball being sucked down a garden hose, the pod plunged deeper and deeper into this seemingly infinite void, which somehow existed within the heart of the storm. Giving himself up for lost, Josh clung to his seat, feeling the pressure of the g-forces continue to build, threatening to rip his ship apart at any second. In spite of his apparent doom, it dawned on him that even if his vaporized remains were scattered into deep space forever, he would still be getting his ultimate wish: to die as an aviator in action. He didn't have anything to complain about... Then, before he knew it, the ride was finally over.

Without warning, the pod was spat out the other side of the storm, still in one piece. His head spinning from a minor concussion and his vision obscured from his own blood splattered across his visor plate, Josh tried again to get back his bearings and regain control. His flight computer had crashed; and to make matters worse, the primary fuel cells had gone into emergency shut-off when the storm had hit him, keeping them from self-destructing but leaving him drifting in space without power.

As he recovered, he realised he was about to lick the atmosphere of Nimh-Beta; beneath him stretched a bed of pinkish clouds, obscuring his view of the surface far below. Strangely, up this close, the planet appeared somewhat...different. The air looked somehow denser and brighter, unlike their earlier observations of a barren, near-airless world. But Josh was currently too preoccupied to wonder why. His pod, now running only on emergency power, with limited control and without any functioning means of guidance, was coming in at a dangerously steep angle, threatening to burn up on re-entry.

Josh hurryingly initiated an emergency reboot, cutting as many corners in the checklist as possible, assessing the damage. If he couldn't get the guidance system back online in time, to plot his re-entry corridor, he'd either burn up or skip off the atmosphere like a pebble skipping off a pond, casting him back out into deep space forever, where he could expect a slow, lingering death from freezing and starvation. With his life support systems also running on reserve, he realised he had to choice left but to land; although extremely risky, given that he had no idea what the terrain was like under those clouds, it was his only chance.

Although the Scout had fared remarkably well considering, nature hadn't been too kind on her; the communications array was completely fried, as well as most of the external sensors, making any further communication with the NIMH-One impossible. The thrusters and attitude-control stick were luckily still functioning, allowing enough control for re-entry, but they wouldn't hold out for much longer, the emergency power draining fast. And then there was the question of the stress damage the heat shield might have sustained going through the storm. Would the pod survive the inferno of re-entry? He would just have to find out.

Working frantically, he barely managed to get the guidance back online on reserve power, which automatically sprang into action, sending multiple firing commands to the thrusters, correcting the approach angle, preparing for re-entry. The crippled pod, now properly realigned, penetrated the alien atmosphere, going in like a flaming comet.

Josh felt weight return to his body as he entered the gravitational pull of Nimh-Beta – gravity that continued to increase rapidly as he fell from the sky. If he could reach the planet's surface and set her down in one piece, he could try and make repairs and then take off again to return to the ship, before his suit oxygen ran out…or else become the first human being to die on this new world. Either be killed by crashing, or else die stranded on the ground from asphyxia... Fate really liked playing cruel jokes on him sometimes.

Flying by the seat of his pants, he fired up his boosters again to control his attitude and speed, plunging deeper into the atmosphere. With half his instruments still down, including his SAR, he had little more than gut instinct to warn him whether he was coming in too steep or too shallow. It was like threading a needle; if he misjudged something, even slightly, he wouldn't have enough time or power to pull out before it was too late. Then again, without his SAR to help him find a favourable landing site before the pod died on him, it might not matter anyway...

The pod shook violently against the friction of the super-heated air brushing against its rapidly scorching titanium skin. Josh felt himself start to sweat in anticipation as he watched the g-meter soar to a dangerous 10Gs, his windshield obscured by clouds of superheated air brushing past, as his pod plunged deeper and deeper into the cloud-obscured atmosphere like a falling meteor, travelling at a suicidal 500 miles an hour. Josh paled, watching the heat indicator escalate to a scorching 2,000 degrees, turning the heat shield red-hot.

We're coming in too steep… Ok, switch from I.M.U. to S.C.S… he thought, switching over to manual flight, fighting with his controls, expecting the inferno to melt the already weakened heat shield any second now and penetrate the hull... But it held.

Firing up his retro-boosters to de-accelerate, he managed to level out at an altitude of 12,000 feet, gliding in at a relatively safe speed of a supersonic jet. Powering down the ion drives, meant only for space flight, he switched over to the pod's atmospheric jets mounted in narrow vents along the wings. His nav screen automatically switched over from spacecraft instrumentation mode to aircraft mode – artificial horizon, altimeter, airspeed indicator and magnetic compass.

The whirring sound told him all four jets had sprung to life, sucking in the air from the atmosphere, superheating it by feeding it through their atomic thermal coils, and then expelling it under high pressure from the blast-tubes, producing a non-combustible-reaction thrust that made the pod fly. Using the hydraulically-controlled horizontal stabilizers on the wings to control roll, yaw and pitch, he continued descending through that thick cloud cover, wandering what he would find down there – if he made it down at all.

The descent seemed endless and with no radar to track the terrain below, Josh was beginning to worry this pea soup would continue all the way down, maybe send him smashing into the side of some unseen mountain... Then, suddenly, the cloud cover finally thinned out and the ground came into view 5,000 feet below him. Despite being far out of the woods yet, Josh couldn't help but utter a triumphant laugh at the beautiful sight of the new world. His moment was glory was finally at hand!

His first impression of Nimh-Beta was one of utter barrenness and desolation; a desert terrain, scattered with reddish black, oxide-like rock formations – the red colour indicating the presence of oxygen, which caused iron minerals in the soil to rust –, stretched in every direction, displaying no signs of life. On the western horizon, the outline of the nebulous Nimh-Alpha gas giant was rising for the approaching night, looking much larger than the Moon ever did from Earth, taking up nearly a tenth of the sky; to the east, the twin suns Centauri-A and B were setting, the day cycles working in reverse on this planet.

The sky was not blue like the Earth's, but rather a pale, pinkish-cyan colour, due to the high concentration of noble gasses in the atmosphere, which, combined with the reflection of the oxide-coloured terrain, indicated the absence of oceans on this planet, according to Dr Stetson. Josh wanted to take an atmospheric reading, but with the pod's sensors fried, it was impossible.

Staring down at the terrain, he suddenly realised the ground, although barren, was icy; thick layers of permafrost gleamed in the sunlight like crystals all over the reddish, sand-like soil of the desert floor. Permafrost… Water! The second most crucial resource to sustain life besides air was present on this new planet. And while it probably wasn't of the same concentration like Earth's, it certainly put them miles ahead with their terraforming operations. And that wasn't all.

Surveying the rocky landscape for a favourable landing site, Josh suddenly saw something that nearly took his breath away. His first thought was it was just an optical illusion. But, no, it was there, real as day – something even the most of eccentric of scientists back on Earth wouldn't dream of finding.

Are those…trees? Oh my God, yes, they are…! Josh thought, staring utterly dumbstruck as the desert landscape suddenly ended and a green valley stretched out before him. There was no way of telling what kind of vegetation it was, other than it was very real. In the distance, he could also make out the shoreline of a large lake, or perhaps a small inland sea, situated right in the heart of this little green paradise. Streams and rivers trailed away from it, carrying water to other parts of the valley. He and his crew had come all this way expecting to find a barren planet they'd have to transform into a new earth – only this place already had an entire thriving ecosystem of its own, just waiting for them!

The sight of this green lush confirmed that Nimh-Beta was definitely habitable and flourishing with life. All those fancy bio-payloads they had carted all the way up here were completely worthless, nature having done all the work for them. Although there might still be certain hazards to overcome, like unfamiliar alien microbes in the air, as well as the risk of contaminating this pristine environment with their own bacteria, so far the prospects of establishing a new home for the human race on this new planet couldn't get any better.

His intriguing first tour of the new world was cut short however as an ear-splitting caution alarm went off on the panel, warning him of a main bus undervolt; the batteries, overtaxed by the jet engines, were flat and draining fast. The beauty about the Scout's design was that her atmospheric jets, rather than running off a customary internal combustion engine, used electricity generated directly from the atomic fuel cells to produce thrust; but with the fuel cells inoperative, he only had the backup batteries to keep them going, which weren't designed to last. Once the power was gone, the Scout would be nothing but a titanium husk. He needed to find a favourable landing site and fast!

He quickly turned back to his landing procedures, only to discover yet another problem: there was absolutely no place to set the pod down in this thick jungle stretching out beneath him. And meanwhile, he was on limited flying time, the emergency power about to go at any second, after which she'd drop from the sky like a stone. He consulted the pilot's ops manual for alternate landing procedures.

For standard procedures, the Scout had the landing capabilities of a V/STOL aircraft, which could be set down vertically on any flat surface its own size; alternatively, she was designed for a runway landing, using a deployable drogue chute for aero-braking, in a similar fashion to the old Space Shuttle. For an emergency ditching, the pilot could use the panic switch – a system which jettisoned the service module on splashdown, splitting the pod in half and then using the floating bubble of the command module as a 'lifeboat'. However, Josh was hoping it wouldn't come to that, because, without the service module, which housed the ion drives and fuel cells, he'd never be able to take off again. And as there wasn't enough power left for a vertical landing, he would have to glide in for a runway landing. But where?

Looking around frantically, he spotted the only favourable landing site: that lake up ahead had a circumference of several thousand square feet – more than enough for a dead-stick runway landing...on water. Although ditching would inevitably leave him stranded down here, there was no time for anything else. He would just have to chance it and hope his crew could send a rescue in time. Perhaps, if she didn't sink, he could winch her ashore and taxi her out onto dry land for repairs...assuming of course she didn't break up on impact, killing him.

Only two miles shy from the edge of the lake, the master alarm sounded again as the first of the four jets flamed out; not a second later, the second one followed. A warning light blinked on Josh's console, indicating that the batteries had drained away. Whatever few instruments remained functional following the passage through the storm were starting to go dark across his board one by one, shutting down. The dying pod was quickly losing altitude, her airspeed dropping below cruising minimums, threatening to stall.

Come on sweetheart, almost there… Don't you disappoint your Uncle Josh now… Josh urged his pod on, struggling to keep her steady, preparing for splashdown. With one hand firmly on the rapidly stiffening control stick and the other on the chute deploy switch, he brought her in for the final approach.

Jet Number 3 went…

With Number 4 about to go at any second, Josh trimmed the pod's nose up for touchdown, just before the hydraulics also died on him, bracing for impact. Just as he flew over the edge of the shoreline, grazing the treetops in his wake, the last jet died, leaving him gliding in without power. If he hit the water nose-on, the pod would roll over and smash up, and it would all be over... Suddenly, the Scout hit the water, slamming down hard on her belly, the violent impact sending him huddling forward with such force, for an instant he thought his neck would snap.

Like a runaway speedboat, the pod tore across the surface of the water, heading straight towards the opposite shoreline on a head-on collision. Frantically hitting the switch, Josh fired up the pyrotechnic mechanism that deployed the chute, which popped out of its housing. Blooming open in the air behind the pod, it functioned as a speed-brake, killing the fatal momentum. Finally, the pod stopped dead, bogging up in the water just a few yards offshore.

His head spinning, Josh lay back in his seat to calm his nerves, grateful to be alive. Despite having lived through many in-flight near-death experiences before – enemy fire, crash-landings, in-flight accidents, even ditching into the middle of a freezing ocean –, this somehow felt different; it was almost as if fate itself had chosen him to brave that storm, and then pull off this seemingly impossible landing on the surface of this new planet, so that he could claim it for mankind. Whether or not he lived to talk about it, the honour of being the first man to set foot on Nimh-Beta was now his forever.

Before he could reflect on the fact that the worst might still be far from over, more trouble struck. Staring out his windshield, he realised the nose of his ship was tilting skywards – the loud gurgling of water in the back told him he was sinking! The dead service module, not designed to float, still remained attached to the back, functioning like a weight, pulling the pod under by her tail. Any second now, she would slip under, taking him with her to a watery grave.

Panicking, he hit the panic switch to jettison the service module and launch the lifeboat. The system didn't respond. The entire control panel was dead as a doornail, starved for power. Realising he couldn't save his ship, so he might as well try and save himself, Josh hit the hatch's emergency release button.

The airtight seals popped and the hatch burst open and fell away. In another instant, Josh was swamped by water that came pouring into the cockpit. Hurryingly reaching into a locker above his seat, he pulled out a backpack-like container made of the same vacuum-proof fabric as his space suit and bearing the NIMH-One's owl logo, which was the pod's survival kit. Tossing it out through the open hatch, he tried to climb out after it, only to find his harness had jammed, keeping him strapped into the seat of his sinking pod.

Struggling frantically with the jammed harness like a man about to be buried alive at sea, he saw the surface disappear above his head as the dead pod, soon to become his waterlogged casket, went under. Through his visor, still supplying him with air from his suit pack, Josh saw his world turn a hazy shade of greenish blue from the algae-rich water of the lake. Feeling his pod hit the bottom with a resounding thud, he struggled to free himself. But the buckle had stuck fast, stubbornly refusing to open. Although he could hold out down here for several hours on his suit oxygen, the pod wasn't traceable underwater and the emergency transmitter was in the survival kit floating on the surface above him.

Drawing his pickaxe from his tool pouch, he got to work, using the sharp tip to cut the harness loose. But it was made of some of the toughest nylon fibres used in engineering, and the cramped cockpit allowed him very little room in which to swing the pick, making it a painfully slow and uncomfortable job. If he punctured his suit, he'd had it... Through his headset, he could hear his suit alarm buzzing, warning him that he was hyperventilating and his heartbeat racing.

Twenty frantic minutes later, the harness finally gave way; without warning, Josh found himself being lifted clean off his seat and out through the open hatch, his air-filled suit floating him topside like a bubble. Breaking the surface of the water, he grabbed the floating survival kit and swam for shore. Soon, he was marching up the sandy lakeshore, his space suit all soaked and drenched in algae, but otherwise none the worst for wear. The first ever 'castaway' from outer space had taken his first step on Nimh-Beta.

Falling to his knees to catch his breath, he turned to look back out on the lake, where his pod had sunk; bubbles and steam were still coming from the bottom, where the wrecked spacecraft had come to rest. Only the drogue chute, still attached to the submerged fuselage by its cords, bobbed up on the surface, marking the crash site. As for himself, other than a bleeding nose, a few bruises and a throbbing headache, he's come though without a scratch. However, Josh was hardly in the mood for celebration, as the seriousness of his situation quickly sank in.

Back on Earth, he'd had his fair share of harsh survival conditions, following a crash; however, even in the worst of situations, there were always a few simple things one could usually take for granted – things that may not apply on this alien planet.

His first and foremost concern was breathable air; although there was no further doubt that this place had an atmosphere with sufficient pressure and oxygen – the presence of liquid water and plant life confirmed it –, Josh knew it would be foolish to try and breathe it right away. Although similar, this air could still be contaminated with lethal trace gasses or germs, against which the human body might have no immunity. However, he knew he had little choice.

The Scout was trashed; his original plan of making repairs and taking off again, to return to the waiting NIMH-One in orbit, had been rendered moot the instant he had ditched in the lake. As it stood, he would have to hold out down here on his own until his colleagues could send a rescue. But for his crew to chart a new trajectory and slingshot around the storm could take several days. And his suit oxygen would only hold out for a few hours tops... As far as he was concerned, his reconnaissance mission was over; as of this moment, his mission was that of survival.

First, he had to make a full assessment of his situation. Setting down his survival kit on the sand to dry, Josh turned to the digital touchpad on his wrist, running a full diagnostics on his suit systems. Everything appeared undamaged by the water; power supply, life support, instruments, all systems were in the green.

Taking out his HHC from its housing, he opened up the flight recovery bank – a black box of sorts –, where the flight data from his pod's computer was automatically recorded in flight, to take a navigation reading. Although the device was undamaged, the trajectory and re-entry corridor data was badly scrambled and full of gaps from when the pod's computer had crashed, making it difficult to pinpoint his exact location on the planet's surface. All he could deduce from the rough figures on the chart was that he had gone into an ellipse in the descent, landing some 2,000 miles north of the equator, at a longitude roughly equivalent to that of England back on Earth.

Switching over to Environment Analysis, he tested the atmosphere. Surprisingly enough, the readings came back positive, without detecting any traces of toxic gasses:

ENVIRONMENT:

COMPOSITION: 55% Nitrogen, 25% Oxygen, 1% Carbon Dioxide, 15% Helium, 3% Argon, 1% Water Vapour

PRESSURE: 10.5 psi

TEMPERATURE: 18.5 degrees Celsius

SOLAR RADIATION: 4% Ultraviolet, 45% Visible, 51% Infrared

GRAVITY: 0,89G

COMPARISON WITH TERRESTRIAL ENVIRONMENT: 87% POSITIVE

Although this air was significantly different compared to Earth's, with a higher concentration of noble gasses and a slightly lower gravity, the environment otherwise appeared sustainable with no signs of dangerous ionisation or other known space hazards.

Joss was puzzled. These readings made no sense. Had Dr Stetson somehow been wrong? But how could they have missed these green pastures, which had apparently been evolving here for thousands of years? Was this place some kind of freak anomaly? Or were his instruments simply malfunctioning from their watery plunge?

Only one way to find out, I guess...

Josh hesitated as he grasped the latches on his visor plate; although it might not kill him instantly, maybe there was some unknown microbe in the air which his biosensors couldn't detect, which could prove fatal? He would soon find out.

God, don't You let me down now…

Taking a deep breath, he undid the safety catch of his visor plate; his suit alarm instantly started buzzing like mad, warning him about imminent depressurisation. Ignoring it, Josh popped the seal and tilted his visor plate up, shutting his eyes as he did. He felt his ears pop because of the lower atmospheric pressure and for an instant he knew fear; perhaps his sensor readings were indeed wrong? Would he have enough time to repressurise and recycle the air before brain damage occurred? Slowly and cautiously, he took his first deep breath of the Nimh-Beta's air.

His lungs, unaccustomed to this unusual gas composition, at first seemed to reject it and he found himself coughing and spluttering, as if he were breathing something foul. But after a few tries, his body adjusted and he was able to taste it in earnest. The Nimh-Betan air felt like a breath of life; despite the lower atmospheric pressure, the higher oxygen concentration definitely made up for it, enriching the air, much like a deep-sea diver's aqualung, practically odourless. Although the prospect of microbe contamination could only be determined in the long run, the possibility of dying of asphyxia down here had just been rendered nil.

This day just keeps getting better and better…

Glad for the luxury of being able to breathe down here unaided, Josh eagerly removed his visor, gloves and suit pack, desperate for some freedom. Putting his service cap back on, he turned to look skywards, where the NIMH-One was still orbiting on the far side of the storm, his colleagues probably wondering what had happened to him.

"Think I'm dead, eh, Old Iron-Fist?" he muttered, "Well, think again, Commander Fitzgibbons. Your unmanned probe never made it through but I'm still here! Man has triumphed where technology has failed!"

Zipping out of his spacesuit and spreading it out on the shore to dry, he turned to take stock of his supplies. Setting the survival kit down on a rock, he unpacked all its contents for inspection and cataloguing. Like every piece of equipment onboard the NIMH-One, even the pods' survival kits had been spared no expenses by NIMH, allowing her crew to brave a survival situation without lacking anything. And Josh, being the mission specialist, was a top-notch professional in the most sophisticated of survival skills.

For health, the kit contained a good first-aid kit, containing dressings, gauze, tape, antiseptic, a sterile scalpel, emergency drugs for treating common symptoms associated with space injuries and ailments, including morphine, dexamethasone and penicillin, administered by syringe-gun, and even a small hygiene kit.

With regards to food, there were a number of toothpaste-like tubes filled with the same nutrient-paste used for the rations onboard ship in different flavours, enough to supply one man's nutrition needs for 72 hours. As for water, there was none, save for the hamster-bottle in his space suit. However there was a water-collecting and purification system for processing ground water or humidity. Whether the water of Nimh-Beta was like that of a mineral stream or a septic tank, he could make use of it without fear of poisoning himself.

For shelter and warmth, there was a full-body sized space blanket and a lightweight poncho. As for tools, there was a hydrogen-cell vacuum lighter for making fire, a LED flashlight with a 1-million-candle brightness, an electric multitool with 10 different removable blades and heads for different applications, a potash respirator, a roll of duct-tape, a soil tester, Geiger counter and even a pair of infrared goggles.

For communications, there was a peculiar, insect-like device mounted on a tripod. This was the ELF (Extremely Low Frequency) transmitter; a portable relay tower of sorts for relaying radio signals from the astronaut's suit taccom to the mothership and back on emergency frequencies. Alternatively, for signalling, the kit contained an old-fashioned flare pistol with ten cartridges, glow-sticks, and a signal-mirror.

The final touch was a small weapons' arsenal – the first arsenal ever to be used on a space mission. The primary weapon consisted of a prototype electromagnetic-pulse space handgun, which could fire up to ten thousand plasma bursts, rather than bullets, applying the same physics as the NIMH-One's ion drives, without the use of gunpowder or conventional bullets. Each of these bursts caused a super-hot electrical discharge on contact, inflicting deep, cauterising wounds, in a similar fashion to a laser weapon. For a secondary weapon, there was a high-voltage retractable Taser, powerful enough to stun even a full-grown elephant.

Going through his pockets, Josh added his pocketknife, which he had brought with him from the ship by accident, his dog-tags, space watch and his pen to the inventory. These small commodities, along with his suit and survival kit, were everything he had to make use of, in any way he knew how, to stay alive.

Satisfied that his gear was all in good working order, he sat down to plan his next move. He would have to find a safe spot to set up some kind of shelter. Once the storm had passed, he could find some high ground to set up the ELF and send out a distress signal, to let his crew know he was still alive. But first, always being a traditional Brit, he couldn't forget the customary protocol of his homeland. Taking out a little Union Jack on a straw he had brought with him from Earth, he cleared his throat, preparing a little speech.

"I hereby claim this planet in the name of his Sovereign Majesty King George VII of England and the Commonwealth Realms, and for the benefit of all mankind!" Planting the Union Jack onto a small mound of sand, he stood at attention and saluted it. He smirked at his lack of audience, as well as the absence of a camera, which he and his colleagues were meant to use to record this moment together, so it could be broadcast back on Earth upon their return.

Some of the greatest moments in history sometimes occur under the most unlikely of circumstances, thought Josh, as he turned to repack the contents of the survival kit and get moving. Now that all formalities had been properly observed, it was time to focus on his new mission: survival.

According to Dr Stetson's estimates, although Nimh-Beta stayed relatively warm during the day because of the high concentration of greenhouse gasses in the air, at this time of year the nights could turn bitter cold due to the elliptic orbit of the Nimh planets. And that didn't come close to the planet's solar winter… Judging by the position of the twin suns on the horizon, Josh figured he had maybe three hours of daylight left, after which the temperature would drop to below freezing. He needed to find some shelter for the night.

Taking a short stroll along the shoreline, looking for any refuge, his jaw dropped in amazement as he stared at the surrounding flora. Where he had been expecting to find unfamiliar, alien vegetation, he now realised, couldn't have been farther from the truth. He was on an unknown new planet, light years away from Earth, yet the vegetation didn't look…alien at all. In fact, if he didn't know better, he might have thought he was actually back on Earth! Curious, he took out his HHC to do a species identification scan on a patch of mosses growing on some nearby rocks.

"What the bloody hell? No, this can't be right…!" he muttered in disbelief. According to his bioscanner, this was Arbuchanaria – a type of common peat moss found on Earth…yes, on Earth, among other familiar variants, slightly mutated over centuries of evolution but definitely terrestrial. Even just by looking at the vegetation with the naked eye, he could recognise numerous familiar species, mostly native to temperate climates, with a touch of tropical and Arctic here and there. It was almost as if somehow some samples of the Earth's flora had found their way here, where they had evolved and adapted over long periods of time, merging into one big climate zone that probably covered most of the planet because of its zero tilt, excluding the poles.

Josh was utterly amazed; although he was no scientist, this discovery alone was enough to drive even a layman to madness. A terrestrial ecosystem thriving on a planet light-years away from Earth? How could one explain this craziness? This place had never had any contact with Earth before, so how could a terrestrial ecosystem exist on Nimh-Beta? Was it some wild coincidence, or was it something else…?

As he stood there, pondering on this inexplicable mystery, Josh was suddenly startled by some rustling coming from the edge of the forest. Something was lurking in the trees, approaching swiftly in his direction. Abandoning his botanical surveys, he got to his feet, listening. So far, it hadn't occurred to him that where there was thriving flora, there had to be animals too, perhaps wild, savage beasts. As he strained his ears, trying to listen, he picked up a new sound – one he never expected to hear in this place, not in a million years: voices! Yes, it was, without a shadow of a doubt, human voices, speaking in English!

At this, Josh was petrified with fear and confusion, wandering if he was going mad. Perhaps the g-forces of the storm had given him a concussion, making him hear things that weren't there? Perhaps he was hallucinating this whole place altogether? He was no coward, but the idea of hearing human voices on a planet light-years away from his home, and in his own native language nonetheless, felt utterly terrifying!

His legs working almost on their own accord, as if in a trance, Josh approached the edge of the woods for a closer look. Sure enough, he could hear whoever, or whatever was causing that rustling getting closer and closer. He could also clearly make out two male voices, talking urgently to each other.

"…Hurry up Sullivan, you useless fat lout! It's out there on the lake!" barked a furious voice to someone. In the background, Josh could hear some heavy paws hitting the ground, combined with the sound of wooden wheels, making him realise that, whoever it was, they were using some sort of animal-drawn vehicle. Another, more timid voice, retorted, "I'm doing my best, Jenner! For the Great Owl's sake, we shouldn't be going there alone I tell you, not without alerting the Garrison first…Ow!" A loud slapping noise was heard, which sounded like the first speaker had struck his companion over the head with a horsewhip.

"Not before I've made sure I saw what I think I saw, now come on…!" growled back the first voice menacingly, this time very close. Before Josh could snap out of his trance and run for cover, the foliage parted and the source of the voice finally came into view. Josh's heart skipped a beat as he laid sight on the most incredible and utterly horrifying sight he had ever encountered before in his life.

Standing before him were two human-sized rats dressed in medieval tunics and armour, each riding a chariot drawn by a bull-sized giant rabbit with harnesses, like a horse. It was like a nightmare come alive; these creatures, mostly anthropomorphic in appearance, yet not indistinguishable from their terrestrial counterpart, stood real flesh and blood before Josh. At the sight of the human standing in their path, both rats halted their chariots, gasping in shock at the sight of him. Then all hell broke loose.

A large, evil-faced rat, apparently the leader of the pair, came to his senses first; before Josh knew what was happening, that monster, his sinister red eyes glowing with a savage fury at the sight of him – or more precisely, the NIMH-One's owl logo knitted on his overalls –, was upon him. Josh barely managed to roll aside, dodging the swinging blade of his attacker's massive sword, narrowly avoiding being run over by the charging chariot. Getting to his feet, he ran for his kit lying on the rock nearby, to get to his weapons. Turning, he saw the rat jump from his chariot, raising his sword with both hands, moving in for the kill.

Josh barely managed to grab his Taser and extended the forked tip; the weapon sparked to life with an arc of powerful current. Before his attacker could make hamburger out of Josh, the weapon found him square in the chest, the armour nicely conducting the electricity. With a groan, the rat went down in a shower of sparks, temporarily stunned by the shock. His companion, a chubby, more timid-looking rat, seeing his master fall, turned his chariot around and fled for his life at breakneck speed before Josh could stop him. For the moment, he was safe. But not for much longer.

Being a trained soldier, the stranded astronaut knew that it was only a matter of time before the escaped rat returned with reinforcements. Even with his high-tech weapons, it would be impossible to take on an entire army of these giant humanoid rats single-handedly! There was nowhere to hide around here, at least none that he could see. That left him with only one resolve. He knew he ought to stick close to the crash site until help arrived, but now his plans had changed; he had to relocate immediately, before he got caught.

Hurrying back to his camp, he gathered up his equipment and zipped back into his space suit, making sure to leave no traces of his presence here, intent on making it as difficult as possible for these monstrous rats to pick up his trail. Although it seemed pointless to burden oneself with a bulky spacesuit when he knew the air was breathable, the suit's instruments and tools might be of some use to him in his plight, so he'd rather hang onto them for as long as possible. Just as the savage rat he had left lying on the ground near the shore began to stir, Josh took off into the woods, heading anywhere but here.

"What kind of hellhole planet is this?" he thought, running as fast as his legs would carry him, still struggling to come to terms with the incomprehensible reality of his situation, wondering if he'd ever make it out of this nightmare in one piece. His joy of being the first man to set foot on Nimh-Beta was certainly starting to look not so rosy after all…

Meanwhile, the rat called Jenner and his aid-de-camp Sullivan had reunited on the shore by the lake and were staring in the direction of the woods, where this human intruder who had dropped in from the sky had fled. The two Rats were military officials on the High Council of Rosebush City, the capitol of their homeland. General Jenner, a highly ambitious Rat and a veteran warrior, was the estranged nephew of the King, Nicodemus. A ruthless brute with an endless lust for power and bloodshed, he'd go at any lengths to get his own way, including eliminating anyone and anything that stood in his path.

The Rats of Rosebush City were an ancient and prosperous society, dating back millennia. Blessed by their deity, the Great Owl, Nicodemus' subjects lived in the luxury of their subterranean cities, whilst the social minorities – namely the mice – lived mostly in scattered settlements around the green valleys across their planet.

According to their hazy biblical scriptures, their firstborn ancestors had been slaves to the ruthless humans of the faraway, evil Land of Nimh. Feeling for His children's suffering, the Great Owl had bestowed upon them the blessing of intelligence, allowing them to escape their former dominators. Following the 'spiritual guidance' of the Great Owl, like Moses and his people, the Rats of Nimh-Beta had built a world of their own, yet always remained fearful that the infamous humans of Nimh might someday return, to destroy them all, not unlike the Apocalypse dictated in the human Bible.

Unlike most educated Rats like his academic uncle, who insisted the Land of Nimh was nothing but pure fantasy and superstition, Jenner had a reputation as a firm believer, a self-proclaimed defender of the race of Rats, always on his guard for the day when his people would be forced to confront their ancient foe once again – and obsessed with the ambition of being the one to lead the Rats to ultimate triumph over Nimh and its human devils. And today, his fears had finally been realised.

He and his sidekick Sullivan had been out riding alone, meeting with the prefects of the local provinces and collect taxes from the peasants, when they'd spotted Josh's pod coming in to land. Hurrying over to investigate, Jenner's suspicions had been proven correct the instant he'd laid eyes on that alien human bearing the notorious mark of Nimh on his clothing.

"By the graces of the Great Owl! Did you see that, Jenner?" gasped Sullivan in a state of shock, helping his groggy master to his feet, "That was a human, branded with the mark of Nimh itself! A real human!" Jenner however didn't reply. After seeing what that savage human was capable of, the wheels in his head were suddenly spinning wildly with fiendish plans to satisfy his own secret dark ends.

"We've got to tell Nicodemus at once…!" Sullivan was saying, turning to mount his chariot again, but Jenner held him back, furiously whirling him around by the collar of his cape. Pinning him to a nearby tree by the neck, he faced him, his sinister murderous green eyes boring into the trembling Sullivan's watery, beady ones.

"You are not to speak a word of this to anyone, least of all that pathetic old fool! Don't you see, you simpleton? It's a sign! We're the ones who stayed true to our ancestors' pledge for ultimate triumph over Nimh, and now the gods have at last presented us with a golden opportunity! That human has to be found and brought back to me alive, so that I may learn the secret to harnessing the powers of the Stone…"

Author's note: My sincere apologies for the long delay but I was fighting writer's block, amongst other problems. The next chapter hopefully will not be that long coming, and will have Josh meeting the Brisby family for the first time. As for Jenner's babbling, it will all be explained later. Enjoy and PLEASE REVIEW!