I'd spent the last hour doing a thorough inventory of everything I had. Which, admittedly, wasn't a whole lot. I had some bath supplies, a medical kit, and a pile of sheets that I'd stripped off the spare beds.

The toiletries were nonessential. The medkit, however, was invaluable. It had a variety of cloth and adhesive bandages, medical glue, antiseptic wash, painkillers and fever reducers, as well as some other things I didn't want to sully with my dirty fingers.

The sheets, on the other hand, I wasn't sure what use they would be. Maybe if my pants got trashed, and I had to resort to running through the jungle in a makeshift toga. I didn't relish the thought; it seemed like an invitation for alien leeches.

"Ugh..."

My thoughts turned instead to my food situation. Without the synthesizer up and running, I had nothing to eat. That wouldn't be an immediate problem, I knew. In theory, humans could live for a few weeks without food, so long as we had water. Which I technically did; I'd tossed a container outside, and already it had begun to fill with rainwater.

Compared to the horrible rattling I'd been stuck listening to for well over a week, the sound of the gentle rain against the metal exterior of the shuttle was almost calming. I sat amidst my pile of sheets, listening.

I'd never actually heard rain. Not real rain, anyway.

Without my noticing, I'd closed my eyes. I decided that I liked it. It sounded nice, and the smell it kicked up, while not exactly pleasant, wasn't awful either. It was something sweet and earthy. It also burned my nostrils. Taking in a lungful, my eyes popped back open, and I leapt from my pile.

And immediately staggered.

The blood rushed from my head, and my vision grew dark at the edges. I hunched forward, waiting for my body to adjust. It was the aftereffects of crashing, I figured.

When my vision cleared, I resumed what I'd been trying to do in the first place.

As quickly as my hands allowed, I undressed and squeezed outside.

Doing my best to avoid the mud, I stood in the ruined forest, only a few short feet from my hatch. I tilted my head back so the rain would fall into my face. It was gentle, more a mist than a downpour as it filtered through the leaves. I spread my arms wide, soaking in the wonderfully unique sensation. I was bathed from head to toe, my hair gradually clinging to my forehead and neck.

Unbidden, a laugh worked its way free of my throat. I didn't know what to compare the rain to. A shower obviously came to mind, but this was something else.

At first.

I was only outside for a few minutes when the gentle kiss became a heavy deluge. The rain clouds blotted out the remaining sun, and a chill slid into my bones. I carefully climbed through the door.

Now I had a use for at least one of the sheets.

I toweled off, feeling marginally better. I remained cold but was dry again, and I felt genuinely clean for the first time in a ages. I pulled my clothes back on, with the exception of my boots, and climbed into the nest of sheets in my loft.

Burrowing under them, I realized another concern; warmth.

The computer had said the temperatures were a comfortable average. But those could fluctuate from night to day, as well as season to season. Most concerning, as someone who had spent their entire life within the confines of spacecraft and stations, I wasn't prepared for anything above or below room temperature.

My hand moved outside of the covers, patting the wall of the shuttle. "I don't suppose you'll pop back online anytime soon, huh?"

The pod was dead-quiet.

"Didn't think so..." I sighed.

Well, nothing for it now.

I wriggled under the sheets, pulling my legs toward my chest to lock in a bit more body heat. I let my eyes fall shut, trying to drift off.

By this point, sleeping had become my only real escape. It was one of the few things I had control over. I could block out the lights, shut down my thoughts, and ignore my problems for a few blissful hours.

I wouldn't have the computer waking me either.

The realization almost hurt. It had been silly of me to think for even a second that the computer would keep me company on this planet. But what did it matter? It was a terrible conversationalist anyway.