It was the year 1957. The conflict between Rebels and Imperials had ushered in a new era for both sides—an era of exploring distant planets in search of intelligent life to forge alliances. My mission was etched in my memory: to explore Proxima B for any signs of life, whether intelligent or not. I spent countless days at the Rebellion headquarters, absorbing vast amounts of information from supercomputers. Subsequently, I underwent simulations to prepare for a successful landing on the planet's rugged terrain.
Following extensive preparation, the long journey commenced, accompanied by ample supplies of sunflower seeds and vodka.
Upon landing, I was greeted by a desolate landscape, dominated by a vivid red hue and a sun larger than our own. A pang of disappointment washed over me—it seemed evident that intelligent life wouldn't be found here.
Amidst the barrenness, a glimmer of hope emerged in the form of faint footprints, though uncertainty lingered; could they be mine? I pressed on until I found myself atop a mountain, pausing to gaze once more at the peculiar red sky. And then, a beacon of promise emerged—clouds! Their presence hinted at an atmosphere and water, potential precursors to life. I shouldered my backpack and descended the mountain. After much time, I stumbled upon an abandoned village. Yet, upon arrival, I was met with lasers, a beating, and subsequent arrest by aliens. My emotions teetered between elation and terror.
Thanks to the data transmitted from Rebellion computers, I could communicate with these extraterrestrial beings. Eventually, they released me from confinement and began sharing insights into their way of life. What struck me as utterly perplexing was their adoption of a system similar to the one my homeland aspired to establish—they were communists.
This revelation astounded me. I recounted the similarities and differences, explaining how in my homeland, efforts to implement such a system faced opposition from other nations. Their curiosity led them to inquire about life in these "other" countries, a nerve-wracking conversation that I navigated, divulging all they sought to know. Their intrigue was palpable.
I soon realized their curiosity wasn't mere interest in our way of life but stemmed from encountering a system different from their own. It was astounding; I recalled learning as a child that Marx proposed a sequence from Feudalism to Capitalism, eventually reaching Socialism and Communism. Yet, on Proxima B, communism existed since the inception of their civilization.
Then chaos erupted—a colossal war ensued. The planet plunged into turmoil as factions vied to establish Capitalism, sparking relentless conflict. I found myself embroiled in jungles and traversing peculiar tubes connecting their dwellings instead of roads. A constant sense of guilt weighed upon me. Due to the accelerated passage of time on their planet, I witnessed the war's swift conclusion. They collectively deemed the conflict futile; armed with weaponry that risked their own destruction, including a form of zombie-like creatures targeting adversaries. Fortunately, the madness subsided.
As the war ceased, it became apparent that my time on the planet was drawing to a close; my supplies dwindled. Their sustenance proved toxic for me due to their unique sun rays. Their beverage, akin to star dust mixed with Proxima's sugar, was equally incompatible with my constitution. I appealed to them for assistance in aiding the Red Clan on my home planet, but they regretfully declined, ashamed of their past conflict and fervently desiring to prevent a recurrence. As a parting gift, they presented me with an imitation of my beloved drink, vodka, christened "space vodka"—vodka infused with star dust, much like their own water. My inaugural space mission concluded, an indelible experience that would forever stay with me.