Grak crash binary sun

Grak stepped out of the wreckage. The vague shape of the Minibilp-5 shuttle was still there--a triangular pizza slice of twisted metal and cracked white thermal tiles. As he worked his way out of the many airbags that had saved him moments before but were now a restraining nuisance, the gravity of the situation finally worked its way in.

Of course Grak's homeworld was a little heavier than Earth, but this world was another beast entirely. This was no mildly pudgy Earth, this was a proper super-earth, and he felt it in his bones. The space suit weighed down on him with more than what he'd weigh on his own world--and after spending the past few months under the mediocre gravity of the Belief In A Lower Power's tumbling front end, he was not prepared. After he escaped past the maze of warped structure and balloons, he collapsed onto the ground.

He rolled over to get a look around. The lighting was a bright, harsh gold, the sky a creamy blue. A few clouds hang in the distance, glowing brightly like vast lampshades. The sky and terrain seemed to be a bit too bright, even for the harsh bright sun that was there. He squinted his three eyes, before pulling the golden visor over his helmet. He looked at his wrist computer and tapped at it.

"Atmosphere Analysis Complete," said the computer in a voice that was technically speaking english--but was doing so in a voice that Grak much preferred to the human default--this was a rougher, rattlier, higher pitched voice than humans can usually stand to speak or listen to. "Atmosphere is composed of 97% nitrogen, 2% oxygen, 1% helium, and trace gases, partial pressure of oxygen: mildly hyperoxic for Traddin life form. Nitrogen partial pressure is above safe limit!"

This planet was alive, then, if there was oxygen, and Grak would be able to find something to breath. He checked the oxygen in his suit--he'd have a day before he'd have to figure out how to breath in enough nitrogen to down an elephant. But first he had to figure out how to stand this place--well, how to stand up in this place. He rolled over, searching for a handhold on the wrecked shuttle. Nothing he could find that didn't risk puncturing his suit. He rolled back onto his front, and tried to push up. No dice. He rolled onto his back, and sat up. That was it, he couldn't do this while wearing the suit. He tapped some more on the arm computer. "Equalize the pressure inside and outside of the suit," he said. The computer protested, then complied after a few more taps. Grak turned on a music player as he waited for the suit to equalize.

Thirty minutes later, Grak popped off his gloves. He prepared a breathing mask to keep him from the nitrogen narcosis, getting only high pressure helium and oxygen from the suit's tanks. He took off his helmet and squinted, the harsh golden light returning to its full power. With great difficulty he took the legs off, then the torso, and finally he was free. He stood up slowly, after a few false starts, and managed to stand.

The air was hot and very dry. It was draggy and dense, fluidlike in a way normal air isn't. Sounds were deep, muffled. He staggered past the cockpit door, dragging his life support backback behind him. He glanced at his wrist computer, and noticed the 57 degree temperature. He wouldn't survive in this temperature for long. He inspected the front of the shuttle, making his way to the other side. Then he saw the Sun again. This sun was huge, glaring orange, and low in the sky. And it was rising. He ducked back into the relative shade of the shuttle, and looked at the first sun. Still a harsh yellow glow, and clearly several hours from setting--it would only get brighter and hotter from here.

It was at this point that the heat of the situation hit him. Two suns. No shade. Stranded on a wilderness planet with the nearest hope of rescue stranded with a broken warp drive no doubt half a lightyear away by now.