By Gavin Biddlecombe
“Come on guys, open up.” Neil stood on the platform outside of the sealed door, speaking to the inhabitants through his radio. “This isn’t funny anymore.”
“What’s the password?” said one voice, distorted by the electronic hardware.
“I’m not playing this game again. Let me in or I’m telling.”
“Is this because I ate the last chocolate pudding?”
Neil stopped pounding on the door and pressed himself up against it, hearing the muffled laughter within. Leaving them to it, he climbed back down the ladder and jumped off at the last rung, the dusty ground crunching under his boots as he landed.
He moved away, ignoring the deep boot-prints left behind and sat on a nearby rock, surveying the dark, empty landscape ahead of him. Fiddling with the radio settings on his suit, he looked back at the sealed door and began his next transmission in the hope someone would hear.
“Houston,” he said, “we have a problem…”