Resurrection Log: Ź̷̼͖ý̶̧̡̩̫͉͔͇̓̈́̋̎̽̌͐͛̈́̎̒́̐̍͠r̴̢͓̖̲͙̲̮͋̉̓̾͒̑͜͠ͅa̵̡̨̦͍͉̳͎͕̞͔̲̺̰̩̩̽͑̆̈̌́̏͝g̵̼͈̟̗͔͋́̈́̀͆̀̚ą̸̯̽̈́̑͒͑́ṙ̷͙̝̥͔̳̜̗͖̦͉͓͕͗̈́̇̇͂̐̍̒̍̔d̸͇̞̥͓̠̈́͒͋̌̐͝ ̶̨̧̛͔̲̻̖͚̠̣͔̻̰̫̒̇͐͜͠T̴̠͓͔̦̩̻̼̖̽͆̍͆̓̊̽̔̚͠ơ̷̶̵̸̸̸̡̛̛̬̖̰̦̦̮͚̗̞̻̻̞̻̙̘̘͈͈̭̲͙̪͍̭̭͉͚̤̅̾̽͋̀̑̋̆̍̉̇̉̈́̿͋͒̇̊̓̂̿̿̑̈́͆͑͌̂̌̑̆̉͘̚͜͜͝͝͝͝͠ţ̷̢̢̛͙̩͎̥͈̝̖̈̄͛̄͊̆̓̈́̊ͅͅȩ̸̠͍̱̖̺̣̖̄̉̔͜ņ̷̡͓̘̥̠̖̝̺͈̥͔̲͊k̴̛̯̫̪͑̽̔́̅͂̿̂͋̉̂̕͘͠y̵̟̟̰̪̻̼̖̌̽̇̓́̍̃͒̾̕̚͝͠r̵̢̨̠͉̼̲̲͛͒̂̽̄͐͌̏͘͘͝a̴̛̰̙̫͂͐̓̐ḿ̷̡̛̤͙͕̼̱̻͙̔͌̓̈̏͑̔̈́̓͘̚ą̸̧̧̯̺̫͈̞͎̻̤̫̂͐̐͘ņ̷̨̱̖̟͖͚̣̂͌͗̌̾̔́̕ ̶̨̨̲̘̭͚̣̝̞̲͔̦̽̾̏̄̒́̚͝K̷̖̻̘̣͐̽̀̅͛͜͜͜ṟ̴̛͇̺͈̲͉̤̰̰̥͉͓̜͑̈́͌̔̍̓́̕ą̷̼̄̾͊̓̽̾͊̈̒̍̍́̉̚͝l̸̨̞͇͈̖͔̘̜̱̦͈̊

Year 76,589 of the —Mother of Ruin—

M:6 D:15

Day 971 of Cycle 3

[transcribed memory/thoughtstream generated by Ṁ̵̢̘̭̬̙̘̦̳͓̺͈̪̒̂ǫ̵̨̛̠̫̻̐̋̓͗͗͗̏̎͂̿͌̕t̴̜̪͇͕͚́̓͐h̴̯͍̼̦̯̝̜̝̤͂͋͆͌͗͝ę̸͉͖͕̜̤̘͙͎͚̈́̏͒̒̄̏̃̋͘̕͘͜ȓ̸̢̨͍͉̱̮̞͔̋̇ ̴̡̛̱̳̘̠͎̫̩̪̦̠̦̣̀͒͛͊̚͠G̷̰̹̝͆̈͜į̸̧̟͙̰͖̳̯̈́̒͜͜g̶͉̗̹̻̟̰̞̭̠͉͙̈́͊̌̈̈̓̐̒̕ạ̵̧̧̘͖͔̟̝̳̅̇̂̂̅̓̇͛̓͋̊̏̇̕t̵̮̉͒̋̄̑̇̌̀̅͑̋͋r̶̻̟͗̋̀̆̿̃̔̄͒̎̊̈́̚o̵̪̦͇̫̾̋̊̾̋͗͗̊͊̄͜͠͝ḡ̵̛̰͎̇̐͒͋̊̀͝ẗ̶̡̮̠͈̗̗̃͛̈̊̾ḩ̴͍̖͖̥͈̻̪̖̤̰̥̣̋͌̚ř̵̝̤̩͈͎̤͎̯̤͔̝̬̖̓̏͐̀̿̊̂̈͋̕͝͝ĭ̴̡̡͙̺̪͕̻̺̥̫̭̜̺̳̃̂͊̓́̅̈́̎̀̽̀̚ͅṃ̵̨͇̺̪̤̄͜ȧ̵͓̟͖̞̩̤͙̩̖̠̝̣̔ź̶̡͇͍̝̳͚̱͖̳͖̬͓̋̂͜ ̸̢̺͚̍̎̈́̂͛̂̐͐̊̕̚͜͝͝Ȉ̵̢̹̜̞͆̃͗̅̈́̋͒̅͝Í̶̡͓͓̰̥̤̗̱̀͛́͆̒͋̂͠͝I̴̟̞̪̯͍̟̿̂̐̌͑̎̅̋͐͆̍́]

Despite my excitement to reach Elysian, I was disappointed that we were unable to linger long on Nerapluma. The plunaradad, the species responsible for its construction, have done wonderful things with our contributions. Most of the structures and apparatus they grow resemble their own anatomy—murkily translucent, billowing and gelatinous forms, aglow with bioluminescent patterning. They’re also adept in the manufacture of medicines, which constituted the bulk of our acquisitions there.

With the ship’s cargo hold entirely packed, we departed the habi-ring, Jack C at the helm once more as we set course for humanity’s second chance. By this time, my tentacle had healed itself entirely.

Upon arrival we entered orbit to await landing clearance, and several of the ship’s inner panels took on the role of windows, displaying images of the planet below. I found it quite beautiful…a symptom of my human additions, no doubt. Though of course the churning teal seas appealed to the ancestors in me, I found myself drawn also to the strips of ragged blue and greenish land-masses, the swirling gray clouds, and the numerous dramatic peaks that were tall enough to pierce them.

Beside me, Lore bobbed up and down as she shifted her weight to the front of her feet and back again. [This is a human expression of anticipation.]

“You do not fear the Warp?” I queried, pointing my eyes at her.

“Are you kidding? I’d be living down there already if I could, but Rin won’t let me till I’m eighteen.”

“Ah. I see.”

Humans have, depending on the culture of their origin, various ages at which they declare their offspring adults, and therefore capable of making decisions regarding the course of their own lives. With these humans, at least…that age was eighteen Earth-years. It was heartening to encounter a human with an attitude such as hers.

“I’m gonna spend all of my time on the ocean. Get a job on a seafaring ship. Then maybe I’ll get an aquatic Variation.”

“It is unfortunate your species has not chosen to further develop the base technologies we provide towards self-modification,” I informed her. “You could change yourself in the ways you wish, without having to rely on a force as chaotic as the Warp.”

Lore scrunched her lips together, frowning.

“But…I also just…want to be down there, you know? It’s so beautiful and exciting. A world no one can kick us off of. Do you…” she pointed her eyes at me. “Do you think if we did get better at changing ourselves, we could become immune to the Warp? Only change in the ways we want to?”

“You would have to get much, much better at changing yourselves,” I replied. “Your species is extremely primitive in that regard.”

“Oh,” she said, though at first it sounded as though she’d just sort of…squeaked. I looked down at her to find that her eyebrows had squished closer together, a peaked ridge of fur. Her lips had turned downward at the corners, and she sniffed.

I had distressed her.

“But yes,” I amended. “If your species chose to advance toward such a goal, they could almost certainly reach it. Eventually.”

She sniffed again, but bobbed her head up and down.

“We better,” she said.

We gained clearance for entry not long after, and began the descent. It was uneventful, despite the tumultuous conditions. Jack C is an exceptional pilot. By the time customs had done with us, it was some hours into the night in Markaria, the second most populous of the planet’s seven settlements. A cold, heavy rain issued from thick cloud-cover overhead. And while I found this pleasing, a small part of me—a human part, no doubt—wished to find someplace warm and install myself there.

But even had I been fully human, I think I would have taken my time to appreciate the view. The Mr. Astley was perched high upon a docking tower, and the port itself was positioned at the peak in elevation. The settlement—in truth, a proper city now—was laid out below us, and though it was still crude in many ways, I found it marvelous to perceive.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

There were trees, everywhere. The foliage of which, where sheltered from the deluge, emitted a blue mist. And in the places where there were not trees, there were buildings. Great earthen mounds lush with plantlife and dotted with colorful windows. Towers of biocrete lined in tiers that overflowed with growth, balconies aglow with lumicell art.

Rin and Jack had business to attend to before we could leave the spaceport—most of it in regards to the distribution, transport and replacement of their cargo. And Punjibar, of course, wished to stay with the ship. Grayman remained behind to attend to something I couldn’t recall.

The rest of us set out to wander the spaceport and put foods in our mouths while we waited. Finding things to consume was easy, because as I far as I could tell, the place was a market as much as it was a port. Open to the air, but roofed in bioglass. The rain made a pleasing sound on the luminescent panels overhead, the clouded night sky visible through the water droplets and faint violet glow of the glass.

Shosho and Tursa seemed to be in some manner of meat-consumption competition, while Lore couldn’t stop touching knick-knacks we encountered in the various stalls. I learned that phrase from her, knick-knack. I quite liked it. V followed along, mostly silent, fidgeting with something in one hand and regarding everything else as though it might leap out and attack him.

Many, many eyes pointed at me. I was unsurprised. Though there were plenty of non-humans on Elysian, almost all of them were members of fellow “homeless” species, and only those who could tolerate the conditions of the world, at that. Few of my own kind are desperate or mad enough to frequent a planet with such a high population of homo sapiens. Our curiosity and drive to expand our genetic horizons will take us far, yes. But it’s a large galaxy.

“Hey!”

A shout from Lore pulled me from my thoughts and the blur of sensory deluge.

“You should try this on!”

Lore was waving at me with one hand, pointing to a large and dark piece of fabric clutched in her other. Nearby, a wary little servo-drone bobbed in the air, ready to reclaim its owner’s merchandise if necessary.

I went over to the young human. She had found a garment which she insisted would “look amazing on me,” and as I approached, she flung it out in my direction. I caught the item with my tentacles, examining it. It was black, mostly, with subtle threads of a deep, metallic gray color woven throughout, forming geometric and spiraling patterns that were only visible to my eyes from certain angles.

Pieces such as this are common finds in mixed-species markets. Large, simple swathes of fabric which can be worn a number of ways, by nearly any body configuration, or tailored into something else. I find it quaint that—although most Integrated species are able to fabricate nearly any article of clothing they would like—many seem to prefer things which were made, as humans would say, by hand.

“It’s a cloak!” insisted Lore, though it was at least a thousand different things. “Drape it around your shoulders!”

I did.

Oh.

Oh.

I cannot describe just what it was that was so…so gratifying about it. Part of the appeal was the feeling of it flowing over my arms and tentacles and shoulders as the wind caught it up. Rather like the skin of a living amphibian without the stickiness. And of course, a great deal of it was how it looked. I cannot tell you why it was aesthetic, only that it was.

What was more, it could hide my tentacles, when I wanted it to.

“Lore,” I said, extending the appendages in question outward to further perceive myself. “I am magnificent.”

She laughed.

“Yeah!” she affirmed. “You’re absolutely killing it.”

“It was not alive to begin with,” I informed her. Lore giggled some more, and I attempted to nudge the servo-drone, before remembering that it was most likely human-made and called out to it instead. Its agitated bobbing ceased at once, the glow of its abdomen shifting from orange to green as we completed the transaction. Credits successfully transferred, I did not turn—but instead swept around to regard Lore once more.

Her face was awash in the blue illumination of her phone.

‘They’re done,” she said, slipping the device into the central pocket of her oversized hoodie. “Gotta go back to the ship and get our stuff.”

Gathering Tursa and Shosho from a nearby food-stand, we made our way back. My cloak flowed majestically behind me, and at one point I caught Tursa staring at it with her eyes, no doubt jealous of my acquisition. I smiled.

A little over an hour later, our entire crew—with the exception of Punjibar—had piled upon the underground transport-system the Makarians call the Down Train. It was cramped and rather full. Careful not to invite aggression by using my eyes, I observed the passengers around me with interest.

There were several unwarped humans, of course. Newcomers and visitors. And a number more whose Variations were not visibly obvious. One, however, watched me with eyes that extended from his sockets at the end of stalks. His skin shifted color and patterning by the moment, but largely favored pastels. Another hovered above her seat with her legs folded, a floral-smelling purple mist emanating from her skin—which in itself was remarkable, looking rather more like it was made of shifting, crystalline sands than ordinary cells. A third had darkly translucent flesh and organs, his jet-black skeleton visible through the white tangle of his nervous system.

At a stop in central Makaria, Jack C and Jack V got off. They had family to visit, and would be meeting us back at the spaceport when the time came to leave. We were here, after all, for three reasons. First, to deliver medicine and other goods…already done. Secondly, to acquire unique Elysian items to trade elsewhere on behalf of the residents (for a small commission, of course), and third—for everyone to “stretch our legs and touch some grass so we don’t all lose our shit and start murdering each other,” as Rin put it.

We disembarked the Down Train at one of its furthest stops, close to a rocky shoreline. The buildings there varied in size, but none were so tall as those nearer Central City. Our destination awaited at the crest of a hill—a rambling structure of biocrete dappled in patches of moss, penned in by fruit and palm trees and overgrown gardens.

I had learned the story of the place already. It had belonged to Rin’s parental group, once. But they’d moved on. Now, it was the land-bound base to the crew of the Mr. Astley…and home to some of their mates, their mates’ mates, and other close associates when they find themselves on Elysian. They called it Shore House. Or, well…mostly they called it that. There were other things they called it, when Lore was not within earshot.

“Here we are,” declared Rin, pointing her eyes at me and gesturing to the entrance of the structure in question as we reached it. From what I could perceive, many of the interior lights were on, the occupants not only awake, but active. Agitated.

The door swung open before we’d even reached it.

“Derek!”

A human woman stood in the entryway, tossing back the curling, auburn mass of her hair. She looked, for the most part, like an ordinary individual of her species, save the additional pair of arms. And in that second pair, she held a baby. Her face was flushed, her eyes darting over the others’ shoulders to point briefly on me.

Grayman hurried forward, making some response I cannot recall.

“There’s been more attacks,” breathed the woman. “Every Integrated planet habitable to humans, save this one. Dozens of space stations. The…the Benefactors are making an announcement. Tonight.”

The skin of Rin’s face turned white.