A story from Myerific

It was cold down on the surface. With the scientists still asleep, Jim Fozan was roused awake by the wind. He couldn't seem to adjust to the sound of the howling. He couldn't place why it upset him, but it didn't seem to phase the rest of the expedition. So, he wasn't about to start complaining, he did, however, miss the comfort of his bed. His bed and his wife. He missed her too; well, most of the time. She stayed on Terra. Ember had always hated the idea of space; he lived for space.
The rest of the expedition was largely a civilian group, aside from himself and Jones. All they were concerned with was that the Tablets were on this planet, after a century of research and the code had just been broken, it had to be here; they hoped at least. And they mamaged to convience the Government that this was indeed the case.
If he was supposed to protect these scientists, it'd be nice if they would actually listen.


The next morning, Fozan paced the extra chamber of the spaceship teporarily designated as the scientists' work room using every ounce of his strength to keep himself shaking some sense into Ferdinand Bemok, one of the leading scientists, an energetic and frail-looking man who apparently needed this expedition to earn his doctorate in xenoplanetary archaeology.
"So you're saying these tablets could literally be anywhere in the largest continent on this planet?"
"Yes"
"And this continent is thirty-million square miles of canyon, rainforrest and desert?"
"Yup"
"And it just so happens that there are about four trillion animal species living there with their own specialized ways of giving you an agonizing death."
"Affirmative."
"And we're just jumping in."
Ferdinand looked up from his stack of papers.
"You know, Foz,"
"Don't call me Foz."
"On the planet I come from, we have balls -- the men at least -- and because of those, we don't worry about a few obstacles, we leap over them. Like men."
"Look, we're not having this conversation because I'm worried about a fer gigantic poisonous rodents, sentient plants or the occasional hurricane-force wind, it's because we've been here for a week and you're only just now telling me how much you don't know. I have a good feeling there's more you're not telling me and keeping secrets from me can and will jeopardize the success of this mission and, you know, the future of your balls."
"Hey, man you're going to have to take that up with Dr. Fitzgerald, he's the archaeological supervisor. For all I know, he told you everything." The insincerity in his voice made Fozan's fingers involuntarily curl into fists. Before he could say more, Fozan heard the muffled sounds of an assistant screaming from the next room and Jones saying something about a stolen canole and calling someone a "pigfucker" or something to that effect.