By Starlight's Refuge
By Alexander Desmarais
CHAPTER 1
As the sun began to rise, casting a soft glow on the bioluminescent flora surrounding me, I couldn't help but feel a sense of awe. The harmonious blend of nature and technology that defined New Eden was a sight to behold. Solar panels gleamed in the morning light, green roofs blended into the rolling hills, and pathways lit by glowing plants weaved through the settlement. It was a testament to the ingenuity and determination of the settlers who had built this colony from scratch.
I stood nudely on my balcony, a solitary figure against the backdrop of the awakening colony. My journal was clutched tightly in my hands, and my expression was thoughtful, reflecting a deep sense of responsibility. My duty was to document this place's history and preserving the settlers' stories for future generations. But for now, I would describe the sunrise.
As I gazed at the scene before me, I couldn't help but feel a sense of hopeful anticipation. This place was still a new beginning in its fifth generation, and it held a chance for humanity to start anew and build a better future. As I listened to the gentle hum of the colony coming to life around me, I knew I was part of something extraordinary.
I took a deep breath, filling my lungs with the fresh, clean air of New Eden. It was a moment of stillness and tranquillity, a brief respite from the hustle and bustle of daily life. As I stood there, surrounded by the beauty of this place, I felt a renewed sense of purpose and determination, and I began to write,
As I placed my pen on a fresh page, my thoughts turned to the settlers who had come before me. They had faced countless challenges, from the harsh terrain to the unpredictable weather, yet they had persevered. Their stories were a testament to the human spirit, and it was my duty to ensure that they were not forgotten.
I began to write, my words flowing smoothly onto the page as I described the scene before me. The colours of the sunrise, the hum of the colony, the feel of the cool morning air on my skin. I wanted to capture every detail and paint a vivid picture that would transport the reader back to this moment. Even if it were only my own personal records.
As I wrote, I could feel the calling: I was a historian, a guardian of the past, and it was my duty to ensure that the stories of New Eden were told accurately and with respect.
I paused momentarily, my hand hovering over the page as I considered my next words. Something else needed to be said, something that went beyond the physical description of the sunrise. The spirit of the colony, hope, and determination drove the settlers forward, even in the face of adversity.
I took a deep breath, my mind racing as I tried to find the right words. Finally, I began to write,
"The sun rises over New Eden, casting a warm glow on the landscape. But it is not just the light that fills the air, but a sense of hope that seems to radiate from every corner of this place. This is a colony built on the dreams of those who dared to imagine a better future, and their spirit gives us the strength to carry on, even in the darkest of times."
As I finished writing, I felt a sense of satisfaction. I had captured the essence of New Eden, the beauty of the sunrise, and the spirit of the settlers. But there was still so much more to explore, so many more stories to uncover.
I closed my journal, tucked it safely under my arm, and placed my pen in the pocket on my forearm. As I turned to leave my balcony, I couldn't help but feel a renewed sense of purpose. I had a duty to the settlers, and I was determined to fulfill it.
I wandered into the warmth of my small living quarters, feeling the prickle of warmth against my bare cold skin, and moved towards the worn bookshelf along my bedframe. My fingers traced the spines of countless volumes, each a testament to a lifetime of observations, moments captured in ink. Nestling my recent musings among them, I felt a familiar satisfaction. They were the silent witnesses to my life's work, every word penned with care.
A quick glance at the digital clock confirmed the day was just beginning. I made my way to my workspace, a well-worn desk scattered with tools of my trade. The professional notebook, far less personal than my own journals, sat next to the sleek surface of my digital tablet. Beside them, an electronic voice recorder – all essentials for capturing New Eden's living history.
My gaze fell on an old photograph perched on the corner of the desk. Time-worn faces looked back at me from beneath a thin layer of dust – the first settlers. Among them were familiar features, softer but just as determined. My ancestors. I felt their eyes on me, silent reminders of the legacy they had entrusted me with.
With a deep breath, I turned on my digital tablet. It hummed to life under my fingers, its glowing screen revealing notes and audio clips from previous days. There were voices captured in those files – settlers sharing their hopes and fears, dreams and disappointments. Each one was a piece of New Eden's puzzle.
I started organizing my thoughts for today's interviews. I carefully crafted questions that would invite stories rather than just answers and jotted them down in my notebook. I wasn't just collecting data; I was gathering narratives that painted an authentic picture of our existence on this alien planet.
In the quiet introspection that followed, I considered what this work meant to me and New Eden. It was more than recording dates and events; it was about understanding us – humans adapting and evolving in an environment far from our birthplace. My role wasn't just about preserving history but about making sense of the human condition within this new context.
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Every story I recorded, every piece of history I preserved, was a link to our past and a guidepost for our future. I was not just a historian but a storyteller, custodian of dreams, and beacon of understanding in an ever-changing world. And as daunting as it could be, I wouldn't have it any other way.
After deciding to start my day early, I got up from my desk and wandered over to my dresser.
As I stood in front of the mirror, I took a moment to assess my appearance. My androgynous features were a blend of softness and strength, a reflection of the person I was and the person I am becoming. I imagined a penis between my legs and what the weight might feel like. I do this task daily as a physical reminder of my masculinity. Just because I was born the wrong gender and with the wrong anatomy didn't make me any less of a Man.
My chest scars told a different story. They were a lasting reminder of the medical removal of my breasts, one of the first steps in correcting my body to match my identity. The scars were a reminder of the pain and struggle I had endured to become the person I am today. But they also served as a symbol of resilience and, like in my writing, my determination to live authentically.
I reached for practical, dark-washed synthetic jeans and slipped them on, followed by a simple, long-sleeved cotton shirt. I chose a sturdy pair of boots, their soules worn from countless hours of fieldwork.
I ran a hand through my short black hair, ensuring it was neat and tidy. Satisfied with my appearance, I grabbed my digital recorder, notepad, and satchel and filled it with essentials for the day. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for the interviews ahead.
As I stepped out of my living quarters, I used my thumbprint to lock the door and wandered down the stairs. Level after level, I strolled until reaching the ground floor. The daily task was easy in the morning, as I was heading down with the assistance of gravity, but after a long day, the 6 flights up felt like a hundred.
Finally reaching the building's front door, I stepped out into the awakening colony with great purpose. I was Eliot Thatcher, historian and storyteller, and today, I would continue to document the living history of New Eden. I would listen to the stories of its people, preserving their experiences for future generations. And in doing so, I would honour the legacy of my ancestors and my own journey of self-discovery.
I stepped out into the cool, crisp morning air, inhaling deeply and taking in the sights and sounds of the colony coming to life. The first hints of dawn light filtered through the canopy of alien trees, dappling the path before me in shades of blue and green. Strange bird calls echoed through the underbrush, harmonizing with the low hum of machinery in the distance.
I made my way down the dirt path, worn smooth by countless footsteps over the years. Tiny bioluminescent mushrooms dotted the edges, their pale glow fading as daylight approached. The path wowned through a copse of towering trees, their bark etched with intricate spiralling patterns that always fascinated me. As I passed, I let my fingers trail over the grooves and ridges as an old image of an earth tree populated my memory, a stark reminder that I may have been born here. Still, this planet was only the first among the world's this colony would one day call home.
The path opened up ahead, and I caught glimpses of the colony's central hub through the trees. The administrative buildings were simple in design, crafted from local stone and wood, and meant to exist in unity with the environment. Solar panels topped many rooftops, steadily absorbing the new day's light. Amongst the buildings, in the center of a vast square, was the market.
As I approached the market center, I took in the sights and sounds of vendors setting up their stalls for another busy day of commerce. The square was already abuzz with activity as shopkeepers wheeled carts laden with goods while chatting with their neighbours. Brightly coloured awnings went up one by one, adding splashes of vivid hues to the shops' rustic timber frames and local stonework.
My eyes were drawn to a fruit stand being arranged by a cheery, white-haired woman I knew as Clara. She hummed softly to herself while stocking baskets with exotic produce from New Eden's orchards. I recognized the teardrop shapes of ruby gleaners, their pinkish skin covered in delicate fuzz. Next to them were emerald-green citri fruits, perfectly oval and smooth. Clara winked at me as she piled chroma berries into a crate, their juice staining her hands crimson.
I waved in return and continued wandering through the stalls, inhaling the mingled scents of spices and baked goods. Nearby, a wisened gentleman was grinding aromatic beans with a hand-cranked mill, capturing the precious New Eden coffee in a glass jar. Across from him, a baker slid fresh loaves from her brick oven, the golden crusts cracking as they cooled. My mouth watered at the sights and smells.
I wandered over to the square's center, where maintenance workers activated the community fountain water display after its weekly cleaning. I stopped to observe as they removed the large faucet lid from the ground and engaged the fountain's high-pressure water flow. This fountain was the settlement's historic centrepiece when first founded. The colony's very heartbeat resided here when the original pioneers discovered freshwater five generations prior. Though plain, the grey stone fountain was lovely. Water started gushing from its base as the workers finished their job, spilling tunefully into the encircling pools. The water's melody blended with the vendors' voices in a calming refrain. I continued on, nodding greetings to the friendly vendors and shoppers. My mind turned back to the interviews ahead today. Each person here had their own story to tell, their own unique experiences as colonists in this world. Their narratives wove together to form the rich tapestry of life in New Eden. I would listen closely today, gathering the threads of their stories to be preserved for the future.
People were starting to emerge, ready to begin their daily tasks. I spotted a group of technicians doing maintenance checks on a series of small hovercrafts, prepping them for the day's needs. The low hum of their engines joined the chorus of background noise that was the heartbeat of any thriving community.
I made my way past the central hub, returning nods and smiles to the occasional passerby. My destination today was the botanical gardens, located on the far side of the colony, where the manmade forest gave way to open plains and grasslands. The gardens served many purposes - research, education, and pure aesthetic appreciation of the planet's exotic flora, but primarily to increase the oxygen percentage in the atmosphere.
The path sloped downward as I left the central colony behind. All around me, the landscape opened up to reveal sweeping vistas. The plains were dotted with alien plants and flowers in a dazzling array of shapes, sizes and colours that never failed to amaze me. Herds of grazing animals, their hides mottled shades of gray greens, browns and blues, wandered through the knee-high grass.
As I gazed into the distance, the botanical lab came into view beneath the ascending sun, a massive contemporary structure situated among the expansive, sweeping greenhouses and outdoor plots of the botanical gardens. Their glass roofs sparkled drops of dew not yet evaporated by the dawn sunshine. I hastened my stride, enthusiastic for the day to come. My initial interview would furnish a crucial firsthand report to append to the continually developing chronicle of New Eden.