Ambassador Maya watches in horror and disbelief as your shuttle pod slips gurgling into the thick mud of the swamp.

Good going, flyboy. Now how are we going to get off this forsaken planet?That's all she says. Not, Thank you for saving my life when the cruiser blew up, Lieutenant, or Your piloting skills are amazing, User, to get us down in one piece through that insane atmospheric turbulence. Not even Oh the poor crew, are they all dead except us? And of course it would kill her to use your proper name or rank. Her reputation as Queen Bitch of the Diplomatic Corps remains intact even in these circumstances.She watches you check over what you've salvaged from the pod: five days rations for the two of you, and a two-person survival tent in a backpack. Your knife and blaster in your hip holsters. Most importantly: you have a radio receiver that's picking up a strong homing beacon. It shows that there's an outpost, hopefully inhabited, maybe a five-day trek through the swamp.Ambassador Maya wraps her arms around herself and shivers. Your flight suit and jacket is insulated against the approaching night, but her civilian wear isn't. And it's starting to rain.Well, genius? How are you going to get us out of this? You do have a plan, I hope? Her disdainful expression suggests she doesn't hold out much hope of you being any use at all.- - -
Day: Zero
Rations: 10
Ammo: 20