The Scientist's Folly

Disclaimer; this is my first attempt at ANYTHING science fiction and it is way out of my comfort zone. Definitely let me know any criticism, constructive or otherwise!

I carefully guide my spacecraft to the glowing orb ahead of me. I have been searching for a place away from everything, away from my guilt, from people, from pain. My eyes burn with held back tears as I contemplate why it finally came to this, why it came to me fleeing the very atmosphere.

An accident, a careless, stupid accident. All in the name of greed.

A flashback comes quickly and without warning, as they have done since it happened. I choke back a sob as I watch hundreds of fellow scientists in the munitions lab stream out of the lab; as I hear their screams; as I feel the heat pulsing as they succumb to the flames I caused with my experiment. How was I to know it would break the containment chamber I so carefully built?

The project? Greek fire. I had read the myths, read the historical accounts of the liquid fire that the Greeks hurled across the water, mystified over the secret ingredients lost to time. In my greed, I imagined the bidding war over my new weapon; millions, if not billions, would be gambled on this experiment. All the warlords and dictators in this new world order would lust for this fire, just as the ancient Greeks did, but created with modern technology. I kept the project secret, and to all who mattered I was solely working on the weapons that the military required of us as contractors.

What I didn't know was that the lethal combination I concocted had the complete properties of liquid, its heat seeking a small crack in the join of my heat-proof test chamber; nor did I realize the duct above was for building supply air and not exhaust as I assumed. I stood behind my screen and unleashed my hell. The liquid flame burst from the crack in the join and sucked into the duct, releasing into diffusers throughout the building, spilling from vents and fume hoods and coating every occupant with my fatal liquid. I was lucky in that my side of the shield held up and that I was able to dart through a side door. I was also lucky that my research was destroyed; the guilt of causing this was too much and no person should have that power.

I'm back in the craft, eyes succumbing to tears as the memory crashed around me. I wish I had never seen those dollar signs, never felt that greed. I knew before the devastation my invention would wreak, but I never expected it to hit close to home like this, to slay the people I joked around with and shared ideas with. It is better this way, for me to leave the planet, not just because I am top of the most wanted list, but also because I don't trust myself and my greed around living souls.

I am full of regret and pain, haunted by these memories.

I lower the craft to the surface of the glowing planet, the first I have stumbled upon that has a suitable atmosphere and soil components that are not dissimilar to Earth. I had in the back of my craft a multitude of seeds as well as MREs and freeze dried food to tide me over until I can grow a suitable amount of food on this planet. I do not know if there is life here, if there are plants or animals or humanoids. If I die, I die, and I know that was meant to be that way to atone for my sins. I know I will face death, whether by creature, starvation, thirst, or the ravages of time; and I know that I will face my judgement then. My stomach tightens at that knowledge, a fear that lives in the back of my mind always.

My craft lands, and boldly exit the craft without a space suit, apathetic to the risk to my person as I dully contemplate my fate. My feet hit solid ground, and I hold my breath as I wait for the atmosphere to cripple or kill me.

Nothing happens. I breathe out, whistling as the held breath escapes my lungs. I take a deep breath in to test the air, and other than a slight tightness, I am fine. The tightness reminds me of the tightness one feels after smoking a few cigarettes, and as a lifetime smoker I am already used to this. I think regretfully about my dwindling supply of nicotine patches that are in the craft, which will unfold into a dwelling that will serve me until I can find enough resources to build or manufacture some kind of homestead for myself.

I glance about, trying to catch a glimpse of any potential resources. I seem to have landed in the middle of a large plain, odd colored grasses bending and dancing in the wind. So I have grass for flame and for weaving clothing and baskets, maybe even configuring some kind of raft if I can find water, sturdy enough reeds, and edible aquatic life forms. Maybe there is something with meat here. Something not too dangerous, for if I am injured, there is no one in sight to save me.

Reality strikes me hard as I realize how truly alone I am, the life to which I have condemned myself proving to be lonelier than I thought. I pray hard to anyone who will listen that I will go mad one day and start speaking to the voices in my head and seeing people who are not there. The idea brings some kind of comfort, but I freeze as I realize that the voices I hear will probably be the people my greed killed.

With a cry of anguish, I sink to my knees in the new ground, the soil blessedly familiar to what we have on Earth. Maybe there are humanoids here, and I am just in their version of the Great Plains. I let myself dream and hope for salvation, but despair is louder than hope; a tragic opera resounding in the theater of life.

I am alone.