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writing log #3
A bit of random creativity.
In a hundred years they might call this the Planet of Fallen Stars. In a thousand there might be a civilization here, long after the all that's left is buried and gone. They might develop elaborate mythologies to explain why their sky is so beautiful, claim intervention of ancient and inexplicable gods behind the streaks of light. And I wish them all the best in their religion; it sounds better than the truth.
Rekyu looks at me with patient eyes, smoothing back the twitching of his cranial membrane that belies his impatience. He always looks calm to me even when he's seething inside; only after years of mutual association have I learned to look past the blue-lake eyes and the whispered voice. And I know there's still much lurking beneath the surface that I don't understand, and never will unless he decides to share a dreaming with me. And he never will. Rekyu likes his secrets, takes pleasure in the little xenological misunderstandings. He hides behind them.
I sigh and pick myself up off the rocky escarpment, pausing only to wait for one last star. I name it David, in my heart. Then I turn to my partner and nod. He exhales a brief puff of gas that glistens in the cold, and says without breathing, "Are you finally in the right state of mind, Lyra?"
"Right enough, Rek." He flinches at the diminuitive; in his language it means something approximate to what it sounds like in English. I only use it when I want him to slow down, to exercise his limited patience. "Where should we start?"
"Most of the surface settlements have been destroyed by the debris or have been eroded over. We need a vault, something buried and sealed."
"Are you sure they built any?"
"Reasonably," he says. "There are large concentrations of synthetic metals beneath the surface. The odds of it being natural formations are slim enough to make this trip viable."
I nod. I tend not to look at the mission briefings too closely before I arrive planetside--it's a habit that annoys the crew greatly, but it helps my concentration not to have any preconceptions. It helps me listen better. Rekyu levers himself up and starts hobbling towards the gate, keeping his head as high as possible to sniff the winds and see. I trot along behind him, trying to imagine this place when it was still alive.
The planet is temperate, at least; not too much vegetation though, which means that the atmosphere was probably a lot worse a few decades ago. The sun's a more orangey-red than I'm used to, but it makes for beautiful cloud patterns. The streaks of light are vermillion sometimes, or an orange so bright it's almost white. I need a breather here, which isn't unusual, but don't need the full suit. Dust collects everywhere on my exposed hands, neck, in my hair. And mostly flat too, although not entirely; I wonder if the planet is just more stable than most, or if it was flattened.
I look up at the sky and shake my head. Flattened, almost certainly. The sky feels like a memorial, each shooting star a soul lost to some pointless war or accident. The air is mausoleum like, without the chirp of birds or the buzz of insects. The planet feels guilty to me, as if what happened was a terrible mistake. It's a feeling I've become well-attuned to over the years, one I've sampled on dozens of planets across the galaxy. I almost ignore it for its familiarity. Surveying gets harder and harder each time, as I have to fight to find why this planet is unique compared to all the others...
But that's a lie. Or at least, it's leaving something out. Once I get down there with the machines, it becomes easy. It's just these first few moments that are hard.
Rekyu finds a spot that he thinks is a shaft, goes over the possible entry methods with me as usual. Vaporizing the rock and dirt leaves a good chance of damage to the shaft itself from meltover; setting up the digging machines takes time; doing it by hand is of course ludicrous if there's any actual rock in the way. Rekyu's been looking into getting some genetically engineered drogs for the digging, but he can't afford it yet; it's getting a little annoying how he mentions them every mission now. Yes, if we finally get a good find, something really valuable, then they'll be the second thing I buy. After a new Reader.
He starts setting up the machines, calling the crew for a flyover and dropoff of the ungainly spider-like excavators. I take the time to walk up a hill and look some more around. Rekyu thinks that it's my fault that we keep coming up short; that if he had hired a better Reader he would have struck it rich by now mining some really popular Dreams or finding some rare technology. And he may be right after all; I've certainly known other Readers who are better at homing in on more lucrative knowledges. But for getting a good read on the culture, for finding stories, I'm one of the best. Which is great for the journals, but not so great for our paychecks.
The last place we salvaged was some sort of strange hybrid culture where silicate-devouring insects lived inside hulking crystalline lifeforms. It was impossible to tell who had developed sentience first, and the Dreams gave me headaches for months. Non-organic lifeforms are the worst; the panic from the strange sensations, the temporal disconnectedness... I've heard it described as being trapped more than once, and that's what it feels like for us. For them, being inside a body like ours, it’s a screaming downward rush of motion.
This place... who knew? The only reason we found it is because some astronomers noticed some very strange activity in the atmosphere. If it hadn't been for all the floating junk up there, this place probably would have stayed a tomb for all eternity. No one would have come to pay their respects, or to hear the stories.
The sound of one of the earth-movers revving up shattered my reverie. No one would have come to bulldoze and pillage, either.
In a hundred years they might call this the Planet of Fallen Stars. In a thousand there might be a civilization here, long after the all that's left is buried and gone. They might develop elaborate mythologies to explain why their sky is so beautiful, claim intervention of ancient and inexplicable gods behind the streaks of light. And I wish them all the best in their religion; it sounds better than the truth.
Rekyu looks at me with patient eyes, smoothing back the twitching of his cranial membrane that belies his impatience. He always looks calm to me even when he's seething inside; only after years of mutual association have I learned to look past the blue-lake eyes and the whispered voice. And I know there's still much lurking beneath the surface that I don't understand, and never will unless he decides to share a dreaming with me. And he never will. Rekyu likes his secrets, takes pleasure in the little xenological misunderstandings. He hides behind them.
I sigh and pick myself up off the rocky escarpment, pausing only to wait for one last star. I name it David, in my heart. Then I turn to my partner and nod. He exhales a brief puff of gas that glistens in the cold, and says without breathing, "Are you finally in the right state of mind, Lyra?"
"Right enough, Rek." He flinches at the diminuitive; in his language it means something approximate to what it sounds like in English. I only use it when I want him to slow down, to exercise his limited patience. "Where should we start?"
"Most of the surface settlements have been destroyed by the debris or have been eroded over. We need a vault, something buried and sealed."
"Are you sure they built any?"
"Reasonably," he says. "There are large concentrations of synthetic metals beneath the surface. The odds of it being natural formations are slim enough to make this trip viable."
I nod. I tend not to look at the mission briefings too closely before I arrive planetside--it's a habit that annoys the crew greatly, but it helps my concentration not to have any preconceptions. It helps me listen better. Rekyu levers himself up and starts hobbling towards the gate, keeping his head as high as possible to sniff the winds and see. I trot along behind him, trying to imagine this place when it was still alive.
The planet is temperate, at least; not too much vegetation though, which means that the atmosphere was probably a lot worse a few decades ago. The sun's a more orangey-red than I'm used to, but it makes for beautiful cloud patterns. The streaks of light are vermillion sometimes, or an orange so bright it's almost white. I need a breather here, which isn't unusual, but don't need the full suit. Dust collects everywhere on my exposed hands, neck, in my hair. And mostly flat too, although not entirely; I wonder if the planet is just more stable than most, or if it was flattened.
I look up at the sky and shake my head. Flattened, almost certainly. The sky feels like a memorial, each shooting star a soul lost to some pointless war or accident. The air is mausoleum like, without the chirp of birds or the buzz of insects. The planet feels guilty to me, as if what happened was a terrible mistake. It's a feeling I've become well-attuned to over the years, one I've sampled on dozens of planets across the galaxy. I almost ignore it for its familiarity. Surveying gets harder and harder each time, as I have to fight to find why this planet is unique compared to all the others...
But that's a lie. Or at least, it's leaving something out. Once I get down there with the machines, it becomes easy. It's just these first few moments that are hard.
Rekyu finds a spot that he thinks is a shaft, goes over the possible entry methods with me as usual. Vaporizing the rock and dirt leaves a good chance of damage to the shaft itself from meltover; setting up the digging machines takes time; doing it by hand is of course ludicrous if there's any actual rock in the way. Rekyu's been looking into getting some genetically engineered drogs for the digging, but he can't afford it yet; it's getting a little annoying how he mentions them every mission now. Yes, if we finally get a good find, something really valuable, then they'll be the second thing I buy. After a new Reader.
He starts setting up the machines, calling the crew for a flyover and dropoff of the ungainly spider-like excavators. I take the time to walk up a hill and look some more around. Rekyu thinks that it's my fault that we keep coming up short; that if he had hired a better Reader he would have struck it rich by now mining some really popular Dreams or finding some rare technology. And he may be right after all; I've certainly known other Readers who are better at homing in on more lucrative knowledges. But for getting a good read on the culture, for finding stories, I'm one of the best. Which is great for the journals, but not so great for our paychecks.
The last place we salvaged was some sort of strange hybrid culture where silicate-devouring insects lived inside hulking crystalline lifeforms. It was impossible to tell who had developed sentience first, and the Dreams gave me headaches for months. Non-organic lifeforms are the worst; the panic from the strange sensations, the temporal disconnectedness... I've heard it described as being trapped more than once, and that's what it feels like for us. For them, being inside a body like ours, it’s a screaming downward rush of motion.
This place... who knew? The only reason we found it is because some astronomers noticed some very strange activity in the atmosphere. If it hadn't been for all the floating junk up there, this place probably would have stayed a tomb for all eternity. No one would have come to pay their respects, or to hear the stories.
The sound of one of the earth-movers revving up shattered my reverie. No one would have come to bulldoze and pillage, either.