Resurrection Log: Ź̷̼͖ý̶̧̡̩̫͉͔͇̓̈́̋̎̽̌͐͛̈́̎̒́̐̍͠r̴̢͓̖̲͙̲̮͋̉̓̾͒̑͜͠ͅa̵̡̨̦͍͉̳͎͕̞͔̲̺̰̩̩̽͑̆̈̌́̏͝g̵̼͈̟̗͔͋́̈́̀͆̀̚ą̸̯̽̈́̑͒͑́ṙ̷͙̝̥͔̳̜̗͖̦͉͓͕͗̈́̇̇͂̐̍̒̍̔d̸͇̞̥͓̠̈́͒͋̌̐͝ ̶̨̧̛͔̲̻̖͚̠̣͔̻̰̫̒̇͐͜͠T̴̠͓͔̦̩̻̼̖̽͆̍͆̓̊̽̔̚͠ơ̷̶̵̸̸̸̡̛̛̬̖̰̦̦̮͚̗̞̻̻̞̻̙̘̘͈͈̭̲͙̪͍̭̭͉͚̤̅̾̽͋̀̑̋̆̍̉̇̉̈́̿͋͒̇̊̓̂̿̿̑̈́͆͑͌̂̌̑̆̉͘̚͜͜͝͝͝͝͠ţ̷̢̢̛͙̩͎̥͈̝̖̈̄͛̄͊̆̓̈́̊ͅͅȩ̸̠͍̱̖̺̣̖̄̉̔͜ņ̷̡͓̘̥̠̖̝̺͈̥͔̲͊k̴̛̯̫̪͑̽̔́̅͂̿̂͋̉̂̕͘͠y̵̟̟̰̪̻̼̖̌̽̇̓́̍̃͒̾̕̚͝͠r̵̢̨̠͉̼̲̲͛͒̂̽̄͐͌̏͘͘͝a̴̛̰̙̫͂͐̓̐ḿ̷̡̛̤͙͕̼̱̻͙̔͌̓̈̏͑̔̈́̓͘̚ą̸̧̧̯̺̫͈̞͎̻̤̫̂͐̐͘ņ̷̨̱̖̟͖͚̣̂͌͗̌̾̔́̕ ̶̨̨̲̘̭͚̣̝̞̲͔̦̽̾̏̄̒́̚͝K̷̖̻̘̣͐̽̀̅͛͜͜͜ṟ̴̛͇̺͈̲͉̤̰̰̥͉͓̜͑̈́͌̔̍̓́̕ą̷̼̄̾͊̓̽̾͊̈̒̍̍́̉̚͝l̸̨̞͇͈̖͔̘̜̱̦͈̊

Year 76,589 of the —Mother of Ruin—

M:6 D:17

Day 973 of Cycle 3

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

“Zyr?”

With immense difficulty, I dragged my focus from the world-sphere and transferred it to Rin instead. She was watching me with concern in her eyes.

“Are you alright?”

“I—” the image of Jonathan’s face, his normally kind-looking features contorted with cold fury, forced itself to the forefront of my awareness. I faltered. 

[You may have difficulty understanding how features can appear to portray qualities which are unconnected to physicality. I certainly did, before my human additions had fully incorporated themselves. Homo sapiens are, for the most part, exceedingly visual creatures, and prone to drawing conclusions of all kinds based on seemingly unrelated visual input. While many seem to recognize this as a “character flaw” when applied to other humans, it is also a deeply embedded aspect of all of their many cultures.]

Assessing future possibilities and their outcomes, I made my decision.

“By observing and analyzing the Starseer—Ellie—I was able to replicate some of her qualities in myself,” I informed the others, modifying the truth as needed. “Qualities which have only recently begun to realize themselves. I am now able to remotely witness events occurring elsewhere on this planet and in the space immediately surrounding it. And I have just been perceiving events at the EFC base.”

All of the eyes in the kitchen pointed at me.

“Jonathan is alive,” I went on. “And he is now conscious as well.”

“Fuck,” said Rin. The sentiment was echoed by the rest of the group, albeit in various ways.

“Yes,” I agreed, having come to understand, by then, the many nuances of the word. “Fuck.”

“Has Tursa made it to Ellie?” queried Rin.

“Not yet.”

“What’s happening right now?” asked Marah, holding a baby in one set of arms, a bottle in one hand, and a mimosa in the other.

“Is anyone hurt?” wondered Indri. “Is Allico alright?”

For some reason, Grayman chuckled at that, patting the back of his squirming child as it burped up partially-ingested food on his shoulder. I turned my focus back to the sphere, inward and outward at once.

It was a good thing that neither side seemed willing to kill many of those on the other. Most of the base’s residents—nineteen people—lay unconscious, suffering varying degrees of damage. And most of Jonathan’s defense drones had been disabled, only two remaining active and operational. Two of our own drones were still active as well. Most of our people were not.

Drones. I wondered why Jonathan had not attempted to deploy them in my imprisonment and escape. Had he known that I could deactivate them on a whim? And if so…how? Had he witnessed something telling, through the Starseer’s power? I was forced to reserve the thought for later consideration as the humans around me demanded to know what I myself was witnessing.

“The majority of Jonathan’s people and drones have been incapacitated,” I informed them. “But the same is so for most of our own. Tursa still stands, as well as Shosho and Allico. Tursa and two of our drones are attempting to gain access to the chamber in which the Starseer’s body is kept, but are being held off by another set of defense drones. Allico’s mask was damaged in a skirmish, and now Shosho and Jonathan are battling for control of her mind.”

I had not realized until that moment the intensity of Jonathan’s power when wielded at full-capacity against another entirely human being. I wondered if he had enhanced his own abilities as well in the time since his days of gradual cajoling and negotiation.

“Shoot the gla’cui,” he said, crouching at the edge of his bed in the infirmary.

Allico turned to point the gun at Shosho, though the look on her face was conflicted. Her finger twitched, but she didn’t pull the trigger.

“Give the gun to—” began Shosho, who had apparently been disarmed at some point in the conflict. But she was cut off by a grating shout from Jonathan.

“Shoot her!”

Allico pulled the trigger.

Shosho’s head erupted into flying chunks of blood and viscera. 

I…I froze. 

I have read a great deal of human literature. They convey extreme emotions in physically improbable, bodily ways. Hearts skip a beat. Stomachs drop away to nothingness. Blood turns to ice.

In that moment, as Shosho dropped like so much meat to the cold stone of the infirmary floor, I understood all of that madness and more. Reeling in shock as I narrated these events to the humans, I was not able to spare much attention for their reactions.

“Thank you, Alli,” said Jonathan. “Now follow me.”

He lead her down the narrow corridors of the base, past unconscious humans and circuit-fried drones, to the heart of it all.

Tursa sensed the human pair’s approach far in advance, growling as she scented the air. Two of the drones had taken one another out. Leaving the final two locked in combat, the huntress dove for cover behind a nearby pillar and began shooting around the edge of it. Only just avoiding a stun-bolt, Jonathan’s progress came to a halt as he and Allico sheltered around the corner of a branching corridor, the latter leaning out every few heartbeats to fire another barrage of killing rounds.

Tursa ran out of plasma first.

Emerging from around the corridor, Jonathan and Allico continued on their path. The drones, evenly matched, incapacitated one another at last.

The pair came to a stop several paces down the hall from where Tursa crouched, unmoving.

“You may as well come out now,” said Jonathan. “It’s over.” 

Left behind in the infirmary, a wetly pearlescent orb had emerged, seemingly from between the legs of Shosho’s corpse. The feathers at the base of her neck spread  outward as something pressed up from beneath them. A small being climbed up from a slit-like opening in her flesh, insectoid in some ways, more akin to a mollusk in others. The top half of its body was protected by an iridescent white carapace. The bottom half was red and wriggling, layers of articulated chiton only just visible beneath bloody, translucent flesh.

It crawled across the floor, leaving a smear of fluids in its path. Pressing its mandibles to the pale orb, it began to eat away at the fleshy shell. Inside, something feathered and blue was curled.

Tursa rose to her feet. Fluid, assured. Her whips lashed at the air around her. A millisecond later she became a blur as she streaked forward, charging her attackers.

“Shoot!” cried Jonathan, for beside him, Allico had faltered—the muzzle of her rifle tipping downward. She brought it up in the next instant, firing wildly. The bolt only just missed Tursa as she dropped into a four-legged bound.

Another bolt burned the air. And this time, it hit home.

The huntress skidded to a stop as Jonathan toppled face-forward to the stone. Only stunned, for now. Allico, now trembling from head-to-toe, twisted around to look behind her, the rifle loose in her grip.

Crouched just down the corridor, her hatchling feathers still wet, was a tiny, blue version of Shosho. A plasma rifle bigger than her whole body was propped on the ground at her side, almost her entire bouquet of tongue-tentacles straining to support it, save the one that curled around the trigger.

The humans surrounding me burst into whooping approval as I conveyed this. Rin took hold of my hand in one of hers and squeezed it. Allico set down her gun and rushed the little creature, throwing her arms about her as she sobbed.

Tursa, for her part, turned to face the great door which stood between herself and the corpse of Rin’s lost love. Striding up to it, she pulled at its massive latch with the resignation of one who already knew what to expect. It was, of course, locked.