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His arrival upon Beta Hydrii III had been inauspicious enough. He had no memory of the journey, having spent the 21 light year voyage in suspended animation. His first reaction upon awakening, as the medical crew of the Argo Navis clustered solicitously around their passengers, was a vague sense of excitement.
It was not until Chastain strode carefully down the ramp of the shuttle which had transferred them down to the surface, that this vague excitement crystallised into something tangible. The excitement he felt, purely and simply, was the excitement of stepping onto a worldthat was totally alien. True he had been off Earth before, but this was different to the two years he had spent at the Cydonia site on Mars, and the eight months on the moon. The yellow sun that beat down upon his head like a fierce blow lamp, was not the sun that he had known all his life.
And once darkness had fallen, if he looked upon the night sky, the stars he saw would not form the familiar patterns he knew from childhood. He made a mental note to ask one of the astronomers here to point out his home star.

Thinking back, Chastain smiled at his naivete. He had been so keen and innocent. His first steps upon a planet that had only been discovered in 2035 seemed like a great adventure. And, like all adventures, he had expected it to end happily. As these thoughts rose up in his mind, another feeling, this of homesickness, emerged from the core of his being. He wanted to go home.
At almost the same instant, the box in his arms grew warm. To Chastain, it seemed as if his thoughts of home had awakened something inside the box. He let out a single barking sob and made as if to throw the box from him. Then, convulsively, he clutched it tightly to him.
Gasping for breath, the box under his arm, he stumbled off into the jungle.

The cavern the survey team had found took Chastain's breath away. It was difficult to discern whether it had been carved or formed naturally. It soared in an enormous arch high above his head, like some monstrously alien cathedral. Slowly, Chastain strode into the depths, his feet echoing in the oppressive silence. At some time in the past, part of the roof had caved in and rubble lay strewn across the floor. It was in the midst of this rubble that Chastain found the box. He stood there for long moments staring at it. He had never seen anything so unusual, so utterly alien. Made of a metal he did not recognise, he was struck by its beauty. Asymmetric designs had been carved into the lid and sides by an alien craftsman of immense skill. The sheer alienness of the design caught and held his eye.
Slowly, he reached out and took the box. The metal was cold to the touch but soon warmed, as if something inside had awoken!

Chastain could not understand how he managed to keep his feet moving. Weak and debilitated by disease, exhausted by lack of sleep, something he could not identify kept driving him onwards. Step after step he went on, tripped by tree roots and snagged by creepers.
At no time did he consciously think of where he was going. His course seemed to be random. All he could think about was the fact he wanted to get home. Every time the thought entered his mind, the box in his hand seemed to grow warmer. New energy would flow into his tired limbs and he would struggle on.
Chastain knew, in his heart, why this happened. The creature in the box also wanted to go home!

The texture of the box under his hand felt warm but not unpleasant. His hand began to caress the rough metal, marvelling once more at its strange beauty. Without warning, he felt a strange pressure inside his skull. The pressure soon grew to pain and he screamed out loud. All conscious thought was pushed aside by an insistent whisper that assailed from all sides. A whisper that consisted of a single word.
"Home!"

Home!
That single word echoed through Chastain's head in refrain that never seemed to end. That single word was the compulsion that drove him onwards when every muscle in his body cried out for rest and all he wanted to do was lie down and sleep.
Breathing heavily, he rested against a tree and took the water bottle from his belt. Shaking it, Chastain was dismayed to hear how empty the bottle sounded. Carefully, he raised the bottle and poured a few drops down his throat.
Slowly, Chastain pushed himself upright and set off, once more, through the jungle. On and on he went, putting one foot in front of the other. At no time did he question why he was punishing his body in this way, nor did he question his destination. The overwhelming compulsion that pushed him on had turned him, almost, into an automaton: a mindless creature that acted without thought.

Chastain held the box up to the light once more and marvelled at its alien perfection. The warmth in his hand and the whispering voice told him how special his find was. Possessively, he held the box tight against him.
"What have you got there?"
Chastain turned to see Strong facing him. Strong's face was alive with curiosity as his eyes stared at the box in Chastain's hand.
"Let's have a look," said Strong, reaching out to take the box from Chastain.
Red rage exploded within Chastain's mind. Screaming defiance, he launched himself at his friend, hands shaped into claws. The next thing he knew, when the red mist had cleared from his sight, was that he stood, looking down upon Strong.
Strong lay there motionless, his body broken by Chastain's savage attack. Strong's head lay at an awkward angle, the neck snapped clean through.
For a few moments, Chastain stood there and looked at the body. Then, with a cry of fear, he turned and fled into the jungle.

Though he remembered it in perfect clarity, Chastain felt nothing with regard to Strong's death. Every feeling, every emotion had been stripped from him in his headlong flight. Chastain had no knowledge about who he was fleeing from, or where he was fleeing to. He knew his companion in the box would supply the answers when necessary. Until such answers were forthcoming, he would press on. It was all he could do.
A sound from up ahead made him pause, caution overcoming all else. Carefully, he made his way slowly forward until he reached the edge of a clearing. Peering through the undergrowth, he saw a makeshift wooden hut.
Instinct told him that he had reached one of the perimeter guard posts. Excitement grew within him; the posts usually had a small shuttle, a shuttle which could get him off this forsaken planet.
Taking a deep breath, Chastain edged his way to the perimeter of the clearing, careful not to make any noise. As he had expected, the shuttle stood on the packed dirt by the side of the hut. Better still, he realised, the guards were out of sight.
Inhaling another deep breath, Chastain broke cover and ran, hell for leather, across the clearing. Almost as soon as he had emerged into the open, a voice barked a sharp order from near where Chastain had been hidden.
"Halt, or I'll shoot!" Ignoring the command, Chastain bowed his head and doubled his pace. I'm going to make, the thought passed through his mind, I'm going to make it.
Without warning, he was bowled over by something slamming into his back with incredible force. As he hit the ground, he saw the box land on a soft clump of grass nearby.
Moaning with pain, Chastain attempted to crawl forward, his hand reaching for the box. With a cry of despair, he saw the guard who had shot him bend down and pick it up.
Chastain's last thought, as his vision began to fade was that, now, he would never go home!