Thixotropic world

As cryo-pod specialist, I was the first to be woken up by the computer. I remember initiating the thaw cycle manually for the other four crew pods — then just a blank. Next thing I knew, I was on the bridge and an automated landing sequence was in full progress. All the touch controls were unresponsive.
It was hairy. Extreme winds caught the ship in the upper atmosphere. Wild gravity shifts. Electrical storms. I must have fainted. When I came to, I was out on the planet’s surface. The ship was jammed into the sand, venting slightly, the doors open. Must have been quite a landing. Thank you, computer.
Next thought. How the hell did I get out here?
No suit. The briefings said we might be able to go unsuited on the surface but it was a long shot. Is this even Gliese 581g, or were we way off course?
When I went back inside the ship, the crew were dead. Just smoking gas and fluids in the pods. I must have failed to complete the sequence. Some specialist, huh? Should have left it to the computer.
*****
Jake was gone. Just oily vapours in the pod. Horrible. A grim landing, too. Lucky that Skip was at the controls or we would never have made it. A hard landing, half buried in sand. No way we’re going to get off here again and the follow-up mission is years behind us. We’ll do what we can to survive but it’s not looking good — we can’t go outside without our suits. The briefings said it might be possible, but there’s no way we can breathe out there. Supplies are limited and there’s been damage to the ship. Something in the atmosphere is blocking our transmission, too, so we can’t even warn Earth.
Read more science fiction from Nature Futures
Anyway, first we must suit up and give Jake a decent farewell.
*****
There are four of them. All in suits. They’re standing over a trench. Sombre. Looking down.
I rush towards them, calling out.
Who are they? Can’t be the crew. They were dead. I saw them rotting in the pods. Have they stolen our suits?
They disappear like mist. I run through them. Look down at the trench. A small cross.
‘In memory of Jake’.
I bend down and touch the earth. My grave. It fades away. I’m alone again. But I’m alive?
*****
“Gliese-2 reporting. Earth, be advised. Remote sensing confirms that Gliese-1 has crashed. Repeat: Gliese-1 has crashed. Our scanning systems report no survivors. There is an unknown energy field around the planet that their older software might have failed to detect. This makes any attempt to land too hazardous. We aim to study the field further but will then divert to Target B. Please advise all following Gliese missions also to proceed to Target B. Gliese-2 out.”
*****
They couldn’t see me. I tried everything to attract their attention. After what must be ten years or more of me struggling to survive in this wilderness, Gliese-2 lands and the crew are like ghosts. My hand passes through them.
There must be some way I can contact them. They’re not staying either. Why the hell not? They come all this way and then leave? I’m going to get on the ship before it takes off. Should be easy — they can’t see me!
*****
“Gliese-2 reporting. We managed to land on Target A to search for the crew of Gliese-1. No survivors. We are now back in orbit. Earth — we could not contact you from the ground owing to interference. Both the landing and the launch back to orbit were tempestuous. We were lucky to survive. This planet is not suitable for settlement. Repeat: Gliese 581g is not suitable for settlement. Advise all following Gliese missions divert to Target B. Gliese-2 out.”
*****
“Gliese-2 here again. I hope somebody receives this. Things have changed. I am now alone on the ship. In deep space. I am crew member Peter Miller. Cryo-pod specialist. The hull walls seem thin to my touch. There’s just cold empty space outside. Wait, back up a bit. I’m so tired. Not sure what I’m saying. I put the other four crew in the sleep-pods and was running final checks before I followed them in.
“Then I saw somebody. It was a man. How? He was there briefly and then he was gone. I searched the ship. I ran full diagnostics. The computer found nothing.
“So, I went to wake up the Commander. She was dead. They were all dead. Just smoke and gas in the pods. Looked as if somebody had tried to open them without going through the proper procedures.
“My God. I’m alone. It’s 42 years to Target B and I dare not go in the pod. I dare not go to sleep either. I see him continually. He flickers in and out of vision. The lights fizz as he passes. Is he behind me now? No, but he was, I’m sure he was. Over there in the corner? No. Or was he? Earth — I’ll be more than 70 years old when I reach Target B. I can’t stay awake all that time.
“And now, everything I touch is turning to, what? Air? Mist? The ship is dissolving. I can’t even feel my own body. Wait. There are four more of them. Look. All in spacesuits. They’re coming for me …”