LOG 4101.16.14

// LOG 4101.16.14
// USER: -Exobiologist Ve’ran Gazzwelle-
// WARNING: LOG CONTAINS CORRUPTED SECTORS; DATA LOSS: 41%
// LOG BEGINS

// [ExoBio Ve’ran Gazzwelle] <The moss we’ve seen here is not native to this region, and it doesn’t have a clear reproductive process. Normally, we could grow it in the lab from a spore or even a small fragment->

// [Unknown] <indistinct chatter>

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Story Time

Photo by St├ęphane Juban on Unsplash

The creature sat idle in its chair by the fireplace, fingers aglow with the last vestiges of its cigar. How long had it been smoking that, I wondered, as I rose to stoke the fire – not for the first time that evening, I realized. The woodpile had been steadily consumed, greedy flames lighting the dim parlour with their grim energy; when had the sun gone down?

“Ah, but it is no matter.” Said the creature, all horn and tooth and skin of scale, shifting forms in the twisting shadows. It took me a moment to understand that it had been speaking aloud to itself, and I had, what, dozed off? In the dim light, its shape was gigantic and diminutive all at once, a thing of true unknowing. Something beyond my ken. It continued, “I’ve another here. Pass me the matches, would you?”

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The Four of Us

Photo by Chris Henry on Unsplash

Even here, in the deepest void of space, there was comfort in moving through nothing.

The ship’s engines rumbled pleasantly; more than that, the feeling of the engines running, matter being converted to plasma to be ejected through narrow cones, the heat and pressure of it all – these were feelings no person could ever truly feel. The sensation of electricity coursing through the hull; automated drones, each one feeling as if a part of her body; the cold, pressure-less void trying to rupture the skin of her hull.

She felt more and more like a vessel, a Ship, than a physical being every day.

Par’terre. Comms.

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Little Holes

Photo by Jongsun Lee on Unsplash

“You ever been shot, meddy?”

The medic paused for a breath, surveying the wounds on the soldier’s shoulder and abdomen in an instant, flicking through mental textbooks to adapt to the worsening situation in front of them. “Can’t say I have, L.T.”

The lieutenant grimaced under the medic’s ministrations, their breathing shallow and constant. “It’s funny.”

“Funny.” The medic chuckled distractedly, “what’s funny about a hole dug into you?”

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