Resurrection Log: Ź̷̼͖ý̶̧̡̩̫͉͔͇̓̈́̋̎̽̌͐͛̈́̎̒́̐̍͠r̴̢͓̖̲͙̲̮͋̉̓̾͒̑͜͠ͅa̵̡̨̦͍͉̳͎͕̞͔̲̺̰̩̩̽͑̆̈̌́̏͝g̵̼͈̟̗͔͋́̈́̀͆̀̚ą̸̯̽̈́̑͒͑́ṙ̷͙̝̥͔̳̜̗͖̦͉͓͕͗̈́̇̇͂̐̍̒̍̔d̸͇̞̥͓̠̈́͒͋̌̐͝ ̶̨̧̛͔̲̻̖͚̠̣͔̻̰̫̒̇͐͜͠T̴̠͓͔̦̩̻̼̖̽͆̍͆̓̊̽̔̚͠ơ̷̶̵̸̸̸̡̛̛̬̖̰̦̦̮͚̗̞̻̻̞̻̙̘̘͈͈̭̲͙̪͍̭̭͉͚̤̅̾̽͋̀̑̋̆̍̉̇̉̈́̿͋͒̇̊̓̂̿̿̑̈́͆͑͌̂̌̑̆̉͘̚͜͜͝͝͝͝͠ţ̷̢̢̛͙̩͎̥͈̝̖̈̄͛̄͊̆̓̈́̊ͅͅȩ̸̠͍̱̖̺̣̖̄̉̔͜ņ̷̡͓̘̥̠̖̝̺͈̥͔̲͊k̴̛̯̫̪͑̽̔́̅͂̿̂͋̉̂̕͘͠y̵̟̟̰̪̻̼̖̌̽̇̓́̍̃͒̾̕̚͝͠r̵̢̨̠͉̼̲̲͛͒̂̽̄͐͌̏͘͘͝a̴̛̰̙̫͂͐̓̐ḿ̷̡̛̤͙͕̼̱̻͙̔͌̓̈̏͑̔̈́̓͘̚ą̸̧̧̯̺̫͈̞͎̻̤̫̂͐̐͘ņ̷̨̱̖̟͖͚̣̂͌͗̌̾̔́̕ ̶̨̨̲̘̭͚̣̝̞̲͔̦̽̾̏̄̒́̚͝K̷̖̻̘̣͐̽̀̅͛͜͜͜ṟ̴̛͇̺͈̲͉̤̰̰̥͉͓̜͑̈́͌̔̍̓́̕ą̷̼̄̾͊̓̽̾͊̈̒̍̍́̉̚͝l̸̨̞͇͈̖͔̘̜̱̦͈̊

Year 76,589 of the —Mother of Ruin—

M:6 D:13

Day 969 of Cycle 3

[transcribed memory/thoughtstream generated by Ṁ̵̢̘̭̬̙̘̦̳͓̺͈̪̒̂ǫ̵̨̛̠̫̻̐̋̓͗͗͗̏̎͂̿͌̕t̴̜̪͇͕͚́̓͐h̴̯͍̼̦̯̝̜̝̤͂͋͆͌͗͝ę̸͉͖͕̜̤̘͙͎͚̈́̏͒̒̄̏̃̋͘̕͘͜ȓ̸̢̨͍͉̱̮̞͔̋̇ ̴̡̛̱̳̘̠͎̫̩̪̦̠̦̣̀͒͛͊̚͠G̷̰̹̝͆̈͜į̸̧̟͙̰͖̳̯̈́̒͜͜g̶͉̗̹̻̟̰̞̭̠͉͙̈́͊̌̈̈̓̐̒̕ạ̵̧̧̘͖͔̟̝̳̅̇̂̂̅̓̇͛̓͋̊̏̇̕t̵̮̉͒̋̄̑̇̌̀̅͑̋͋r̶̻̟͗̋̀̆̿̃̔̄͒̎̊̈́̚o̵̪̦͇̫̾̋̊̾̋͗͗̊͊̄͜͠͝ḡ̵̛̰͎̇̐͒͋̊̀͝ẗ̶̡̮̠͈̗̗̃͛̈̊̾ḩ̴͍̖͖̥͈̻̪̖̤̰̥̣̋͌̚ř̵̝̤̩͈͎̤͎̯̤͔̝̬̖̓̏͐̀̿̊̂̈͋̕͝͝ĭ̴̡̡͙̺̪͕̻̺̥̫̭̜̺̳̃̂͊̓́̅̈́̎̀̽̀̚ͅṃ̵̨͇̺̪̤̄͜ȧ̵͓̟͖̞̩̤͙̩̖̠̝̣̔ź̶̡͇͍̝̳͚̱͖̳͖̬͓̋̂͜ ̸̢̺͚̍̎̈́̂͛̂̐͐̊̕̚͜͝͝Ȉ̵̢̹̜̞͆̃͗̅̈́̋͒̅͝Í̶̡͓͓̰̥̤̗̱̀͛́͆̒͋̂͠͝I̴̟̞̪̯͍̟̿̂̐̌͑̎̅̋͐͆̍́] [cont'd]

In watching Real Domicile-Mates with Shosho, Tursa, and eventually Punjibar, I learned much.

Such as the fact that Shosho is a huge Ptholololo stan, and what a stan is.

And I learned that Tursa, though she tried to hide it, had a fondness for small and cute things—for whenever Typiligrthreses’s (successfully squelched) offspring appeared on screen, she began to purr, and at once suppressed it. I did, however, consider the possibility that the sight of them merely made her hungry.

“What is this, an alien slumber party?”

We turned our eyes to further perceive Rin, who had just entered at the end of the fourth episode of the latest season of Domicile-Mates. There was a corner of the mess hall which had been modified for casual lounging and it was there where the four of us had gathered, the screeEEE-ah having joined us about halfway through the second episode.

We had generated an approximation of popcorn, albeit with a number of modifications designed to make it palatable for all of us (there was much argument over this matter), as well as an array of beverages—which we consumed as we watched the show on a stretch of lumicell-coated wall that had previously displayed a stained-glass panel depicting a unicorn. Most of us were in an ongoing uproar over Ptholo’s most recent attempts to sabotage Shindigr’s mating ceremony.

Tursa, for her part, was jubilant. She didn’t even care about Ptholololo. She just knew I was excited about that ceremony and took delight in my disappointment.

I detested her, no matter how much I enjoyed her scent.

Rin was only briefly in the galley, coming over to join us in the casual corner with her coffee and something I learned a little later was called a croissant. I pointed my eyes at the croissant. It smelled very appealing, and looked…strange.

“Smells good, right? I bake these myself. This one’s reheated, but…wanna try some?” She held the item out to me. Her own scent, which I had not particularly thought of much before, mingled with that of the croissant’s in a way that was most appealing. What’s more, I found myself looking—with my eyeballs, no less—upon her chest-meats.

She wore the same things she had gone to bed in, which did not cover as much of her body as what she’d worn before, and I could see that her chest-meats were very different than what I had planned for my own.

And yet, I found them highly intriguing.

I gladly accepted her offer, taking the croissant from her and consuming half of it with my facehole. It was delicious and filled with chocolate, and I resolved at once to generate many more variations of my own later on. As I handed her back the remains, she scrunched her nose and twisted her upper lip (the flesh over her mouth), grumbling something that I didn’t pay attention to because I was thinking about croissant variations and the largely dimorphic nature of human chest-meats.

This is when the small blue-haired one entered, lips stretched wide in a horrifying action called a yawn. She wore a sleeping-uniform covered in stylized depictions of sharks—a practically extinct creature of the humans’ homeworld, not all that dissimilar to many beings of our own primordial seas.

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Her name, it turned out, was both Laura and Lore, but like Jack V she preferred the slightly-shorter version of her name. For all of their love of making face sounds, humans are paradoxically ever-inclined to shorten the names of things…though it was they who gave those things long names to begin with!

I digress. Again.

I had learned already that Lore was Rin’s step-daughter and enjoyed creating aesthetic images and shooting simulated weapons with V in his virtual existence games. She was a sort of late-stage fledgling. I had not yet been able to discern her utility as a member of the crew, though of course she was absolutely not the third Scion, as they are only ever fully-fledged adults.

In fact, I had not yet identified who exactly the third of Lutra’s Scions was. There was a fifth human crew-member with whom I had, as yet, hardly interacted…and I assumed it was him.

“Morning,” said Lore, as she too made for the galley. Joining the rest of us in the corner shortly after, she stuffed something into her mouth which took a moment to identify. It was a waffle. I wished to try some, but she did not offer.

“When get there?” she queried, looking to Rin as she attempted with only moderate success to speak around the half-chewed waffle.

“Couple of hours,” whispered Rin, speaking quietly so as not to disrupt our entertainment.

We were en route for Ticorival, a prosperous planet—center of intergalactic trade in this region and a mixing-ground for various significant and powerful cultures. There, a number of exceedingly wealthy clients awaited the arrival of Mr. Astley’s Scions. In addition, other members of the crew had plans to run a few errands, and Lore wanted to go to the aquarium…which as far as I’ve been able to understand, is a sort of prison where aquatic beings are put on display and publicly shamed for their crimes. However…

“We have a problem,” announced Jack C, arriving in the mess hall roughly “a couple of hours” later with coils of hair sticking to his face in places and smelling of the flesh of his cockpit.

“What is it?” Queried Rin, standing at once to face him.

“There were…incidents. In Thoriv and a few other cities, all around the same time. Involving humans. Or at least…they’ve blamed it on humans. Any who aren’t registered refugees already in residence have essentially been banned from the planet. I mean, we can land…but we can’t leave our ships.”

“Well, shit,” said Rin.

“Yeah,” said Jack C. Barnaby.

“Nooooooooo,” moaned Lore. “I was gonna see the eels.”

“You live with one,” observed Tursa, glancing sideways at Punjibar.

“Buoyant bananas are indeed in season,” said Punjibar, who was resting a portion of their brain at the time.

“That’s not the same,” opined Lore, crossing her arms and…I think the word is pooting. Oh, no. Pouting.

“You are ill-informed,” I told the predator. “The screeEEE-ah have more in common with the human classification mollusk than anything they would consider an eel.”

Tursa did not respond to me.

Rin placed one of her hands on her forehead and rubbed it.

“Guess I’m canceling my appointments then,” she sighed. “At least Shosho and Tursa can still go.”

I experienced a moment of surprise. For some reason, it had not occurred to me that Rin might be the third Scion of Lutra.

“Can you not invite your clients aboard?” I queried. Rin made a face. I enjoy this phrase, because it means I do not have to describe the face she made. That would be difficult.

“Absolutely not,” she said.

“Ah.”

Jack also made a face.

“So you’re planning on letting those two just…”

“Gallivant?” supplied Rin, as the other human seemed to fail in summoning the proper noise.

“You expect them to go out on the city, just the two of them, without any kind of back-up or protection…on Ticorival?”

“‘Course not,” said Rin. “Pun and Zyr can go with them.”

Jack spluttered.

“Unfortunately, dear sir, my scales are inedible,” said Punjibar.

The screeEEE-ah was an engineer and only occasionally left the ship—and even then almost exclusively in some service to the vessel itself. They had bonded to it in the way of their species, and as far as their physiology was concerned, the Mr. Astley was both their territory and their mate.

But it did not surprise me that Rin assumed I would do this. When she had finished outlining her primary expectations of me as a potential live-aboard passenger, she had lowered her voice and added, very quickly and very quietly “andwhateverdutiesImayneedyoutoperformasthecircumstancesdemandsolongastheydon’tviolateinterspecisagreements.”

“Pun. Punjibar! Are you fully awake?”

The screeEEE-ah made a sort of trilling sound.

“Yes, captain.”

“You will be accompanying Shosho on her appointments landside. You probably don’t have much to worry about. Her little friend will do most of the work for you. It’s just a precaution.”

“Dear captain, that sounds absolutely terrible. I dread the experience to come with every note of my being. I shall do as you ask of me.”

“Thank you. And Zyr, that means you’re with Tursa. Again, I doubt anyone will mess with her, and she can probably deal with them herself if they do. But Bkessix parts go for a lot on the black market around here, and you can never be too careful. Will that, er…” her eyes pointed from myself and then to Tursa and back. “Will that be a problem?”

My tentacles shuddered, but only slightly. I could feel the weight of the predator’s perception upon me. Could scent her stupid smugness in the air. I suppressed further movement.

“It will not, Captain Rin.”

“Good,” she said, smiling at me.

I had begun to find this baring of teeth—at least when she performed it—vaguely…endearing. I was pleased to have pleased her, almost enough to counteract my annoyance over Tursa’s smugness.

Emotions, so long as they go unexpressed, are as quiet as they are chaotic…this made them aesthetic, and therefore a fascinating and worthy experience, especially as I was also learning from them. I found myself savoring this experience even as I fumed. I was beginning to understand why humans deliberately expose themselves to media and experiences which elicit disturbing emotions.

In other words, I was going mad.