Resurrection Log: Ź̷̼͖ý̶̧̡̩̫͉͔͇̓̈́̋̎̽̌͐͛̈́̎̒́̐̍͠r̴̢͓̖̲͙̲̮͋̉̓̾͒̑͜͠ͅa̵̡̨̦͍͉̳͎͕̞͔̲̺̰̩̩̽͑̆̈̌́̏͝g̵̼͈̟̗͔͋́̈́̀͆̀̚ą̸̯̽̈́̑͒͑́ṙ̷͙̝̥͔̳̜̗͖̦͉͓͕͗̈́̇̇͂̐̍̒̍̔d̸͇̞̥͓̠̈́͒͋̌̐͝ ̶̨̧̛͔̲̻̖͚̠̣͔̻̰̫̒̇͐͜͠T̴̠͓͔̦̩̻̼̖̽͆̍͆̓̊̽̔̚͠ơ̷̶̵̸̸̸̡̛̛̬̖̰̦̦̮͚̗̞̻̻̞̻̙̘̘͈͈̭̲͙̪͍̭̭͉͚̤̅̾̽͋̀̑̋̆̍̉̇̉̈́̿͋͒̇̊̓̂̿̿̑̈́͆͑͌̂̌̑̆̉͘̚͜͜͝͝͝͝͠ţ̷̢̢̛͙̩͎̥͈̝̖̈̄͛̄͊̆̓̈́̊ͅͅȩ̸̠͍̱̖̺̣̖̄̉̔͜ņ̷̡͓̘̥̠̖̝̺͈̥͔̲͊k̴̛̯̫̪͑̽̔́̅͂̿̂͋̉̂̕͘͠y̵̟̟̰̪̻̼̖̌̽̇̓́̍̃͒̾̕̚͝͠r̵̢̨̠͉̼̲̲͛͒̂̽̄͐͌̏͘͘͝a̴̛̰̙̫͂͐̓̐ḿ̷̡̛̤͙͕̼̱̻͙̔͌̓̈̏͑̔̈́̓͘̚ą̸̧̧̯̺̫͈̞͎̻̤̫̂͐̐͘ņ̷̨̱̖̟͖͚̣̂͌͗̌̾̔́̕ ̶̨̨̲̘̭͚̣̝̞̲͔̦̽̾̏̄̒́̚͝K̷̖̻̘̣͐̽̀̅͛͜͜͜ṟ̴̛͇̺͈̲͉̤̰̰̥͉͓̜͑̈́͌̔̍̓́̕ą̷̼̄̾͊̓̽̾͊̈̒̍̍́̉̚͝l̸̨̞͇͈̖͔̘̜̱̦͈̊

Year 76,589 of the —Mother of Ruin—

M:6 D:19

Day 975 of Cycle 3

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

The parasite knew I knew. Or at least, it suspected. 

We were no longer safe on the Griffin. 

But we weren’t safe anywhere else, either. Not even, and perhaps especially not, on the Mr. Astley.

Our best hope was to keep to public spaces and as near prominent members of society as possible until we’d secured discreet passage off of the vessel. Found some sturdy nothing-ship on which we could lay low, hide out. “Plan our next move,” as Rin said. 

And so we found ourselves, Rin and I, in the close interior of the Griffin’s House of Lutra. It was much smaller than I had expected. More…intimate. The walls were hung with tapestries in rich, dark jewel tones, all depicting abstractly organic shapes. Flowing and lush and evocative. Looking at them, I imagined soft bodies growing from a moss-choked rain forest at night, flowing together with an appearance of quiet ecstasy. 

Fabrics draped from the ceilings too, diffusing the already dim glow of the clusters of lumicells above. Most distractingly of all, fixtures peaked out between tapestries to exhale an aromatic vapor—the bodily scent of which reminded me of Rin. Mammalian musk, the salt of faint perspiration and…and cream and strawberries. 

“Welcome,” said the House’s only occupant, an Adept of Lutra—their rank marked out by the iridescent cabochon that sat upon a leather strap about their neck, its material carved from the inner layers of a mollusk’s shell. Rising from a cushion to approach, they bowed as they came to a stop before us. “Beloved Sister, cherished stranger. Pray, lay your needs before me.”

“I wish to bring this friend before the Mother Adept,” replied Captain Rin, returning the gesture wearily. We had only left the dinner party three hours and thirty-two minutes ago. The cocaine had long since left my system. But Rin, it seemed, was still suffering the compounding effects of the previous days’ events. 

The Adept swept their long teal tresses back from their face with elegant hands, each finger dressed with a glimmering ring or three. They smiled slightly, but said nothing.

“I swear to his honor on all benevolent pleasures ,” added Rin. 

Inclining their head at that, the human gestured for us to follow. Sweeping aside a tapestry near the rear of the chamber, they revealed a door. A brief bioscan later, it swung open.

“Thank you, Sibling.”

“Your pleasure is my pleasure,” replied the Adept, holding the door open for us as we entered and shutting it after us.

The chamber we found ourselves in was small, dark, and barely large enough for Rin and I together. Her scent mingled with that of the incense vapor, an overwhelmingly heady mix. The sound of her heartbeat came to the fore of my perception, and as we pressed closer to one another, it sped up. The walls were made of a soft, dark material, and set into one of them was a sort of scoop…a curved shelf in which the soft material gave way to a hard and glossy surface, layered bands of shimmery color. Like the cabochon worn by the Adept. 

Inside of the scoop-shelf was a hole. 

It was about twice the circumference of my fist. The inside of it was almost illogically dark, though I could discern a sort of pulsating movement from within.

“Stick your hand in the hole,” said Rin. 

Having wanted to attempt the expression for some time, I raised the ridge above my right eye, the closest thing to an eyebrow which I possessed. 

“Trust me,” she insisted.

My lungs were a frivolous redundancy, but necessary for many of the human behaviors and experiences I desired for myself. And so I used them then, filling them entirely in a long, slow breath. Rin rolled her eyes—a gesture I had not myself attempted yet. Logging it away for later, I extended my right hand….and stuck it in the hole. 

At once the tissues within clamped down around the appendage, yanking me forward until it had swallowed me up to the middle of my forearm. There was a sensation then of hundreds of tiny cold droplets pattering all over the surface of my t̸̟̀̊r̸̬̙͐̑y̶͍̹͌͘p̴̼̪͊͝t̸̡̾͝ḧ̴̢́͜ỳ̸͎r̸͕̿a̷̺̾x̷̛̹̮̏. The little motes grew into chill, penetrating streams. Branching into my flesh, binding themselves to my nervous system. 

Then there was…a sort of opening. The inverse of a nudge—someone was inviting me in. I accepted. 

At once, my perceptions shifted. It was rather like entering the World Sphere, only this Sphere was not a physical place, but a conceptual one. I was cradled within the Mother Adept herself, or at least…some small corner of her mind. Wherever and whoever she was. It was a place of flowing and shifting colors that reminded me distinctly of the tapestries of the House’s main chamber. 

{Zyr,} a voice-that-was-not-a-voice breathed through my consciousness, echoing and ethereal. {Sister Rin has spoken well of you. What have you come to show me?} 

At that, I opened a part of myself to her in return. A careful collection of recent memories I’d prepared in advance. My experiences at the EFC base, my encounter with Jonathan’s clone. And everything I had witnessed and learned of the Deputy Prime Minister. 

The Mother Adept was briefly still.

{Thank you,} she said. {Sister Rin has requested that I give you Lutra’s Sanction.} Along with the words, concepts flooded my mind. To be one of Lutra’s Sanctioned meant entry into a vast network of information. To be bound to keep its secrets from all outside of it, unless allowed otherwise. A binding that I could not break without alerting the Mother Adept herself. 

{We of Lutra defy the enemies of benevolent pleasure, the defilers of charity,} said the voice, by way of explanation. And I understood then that my suspicions were correct. 

The Order of Lutra was actively working against the Benefactors…and had been for a very long time. 

{Will you defy them, too? Will you seek the whole of the truth?}

{Do you accept my Sanction?} 

I was silent for a long time. Considering.

{So long as you accept that I cannot ever ask any among my people to involve themselves in these matters, that I cannot violate our agreements or laws, then I accept your Sanction,} I replied at last. 

I would be informing my own Mothers of everything I had learned up to that point, of course. Whether and how they would choose to act upon the information was impossible to know. 

 

---

 

Thanks to the Mother Adept, our group’s escape from the Griffin had been secured. Others of the secretly Sanctioned had been called upon—in particular, the crew of a shipping freighter already docked and mostly unloaded in the greatship’s hangar. We had been secreted aboard, and the freighter departed the Griffin as scheduled. 

It had not been easy for any of the crew to leave the Mr. Astley behind…but Punjibar, of course, suffered the most at the parting. Presently, they were preoccupied in abasing themselves before the resident screeEEE-ah, while the rest of the pack slept in one of the freighter’s sets of retrofitted passenger quarters. Now that its crew could no longer leave orbit, doubtless a great deal more of the ship would meet a similar fate as those former cargo-holds. Future homes to the displaced humans of the galaxy. But for now it was largely empty. Almost…lonely. A concept I had only just recently begun to understand.  

In the rust-dappled and dingy bowels of the ship, its crew had hobbled together something like a pub. Rin and I sat together at its narrow, oily bar—just the two of us and the (extremely outdated) attendant drone awash in the amber light of lumicell fixtures pretending to be oil lanterns. The flickering false windows had more than a few cells out, but did their best to depict a rainy street scene of old Earth, all palm trees and wrap-around wrought iron balconies. Rin ordered for both of us—insisting I try something called a coffee and Bailey’s.

I siphoned a bit as she fiddled with her cup, staring down into the opaque liquid. 

“I should return my full attention to the World Sphere,” I informed her. Several of my pseudo-brains were tracking it already, monitoring the deputy prime minister in particular. But as none had yet alerted me, I felt it safe to assume that he was still occupied by an emergency meeting with several, seemingly free-minded, human senators.“I have much to do.” 

Many, many human leaders to spy upon. How many might be under parasitic control? I was almost fearful to learn of the answer. A new human trait I cannot say I appreciated. 

“And I’m absolutely exhausted,” said Rin. “But we’re going to sit here and we’re going to have a few drinks and we’re going to just…be for a bit.”

I siphoned more coffee and Bailey’s. 

“Why?” 

“Because we deserve it, that’s why. Because things are going to go progressively more to shit for a very long time, probably. Because I want us to enjoy ourselves while we can. And because I want to spend time with you, Zyr.” She looked up, finally. Met my eyes. “Doing something that isn’t entirely out of desperation or…or lack of other options.” 

I blinked, considered the various implications of her words and which were most likely. 

“You would not rather spend your time with Tursa?”

“I do spend time with her. I love her. But she isn’t my whole world, Zyr.”

At first I meant to say “of course not. She is a filthy predator, not a world.” But as I opened my mouth to do so, it occurred to me that Rin had been speaking metaphorically. 

 I did not know what to say. 

And for a while, it seemed, neither did she. A long silence stretched between us as we drank.

“Tell me something about yourself,” said Rin suddenly, looking back over to me at last.

“Which something?” 

Leaving her cup on the oily wood of the countertop, she flung up her hands. 

“I don’t know! Something, anything! What do you like? What do you dislike? What are your…uh…hobbies?” 

“Ah.” For a moment I paused, compiling my answer. “I like cold salt water. Once, I liked total darkness. Now I like very dim, cool-toned light. I like consuming foods and stimulants and drugs, and engaging in other human sensory experiences. I like being useful. I like acquiring new information and…experiences. And I like you, Rin.” 

Hastily, she waved to the drone for another drink and took a generous gulp the moment it appeared.

“I dislike Ptholololo and goatees and Tursa,” I went on, frowning and curling my nose without even thinking about it. 

Rin, who’d been halfway through another drink, snort-laughed, slapping a hand over her mouth and nose to prevent the ejection of her beverage. 

“I—I get that, considering your species’ history and all,” she said when she could speak again. “But I hope that you’ll keep an open mind when it comes to her. Obviously, I think she’s a pretty good person.” 

“Obviously,” I echoed, turning back to my drink. 

A sudden warmth flared at the top of my hand. I looked to Rin in surprise as she laced her fingers between mine and squeezed. 

“Is that an edge of bitterness I detect?” She wondered, the warm light flashing in her eyes, lip twitching upward to one side. “You know. She’s not…there’s nothing stopping us. You and me.” 

“Stopping us?” 

“From being…involved.” 

Again, I blinked. Both as an expression of confusion and to buy myself time as I fought to stifle my elation. For almost an entire second, my tentacles writhed in delight. I forced them to stillness. 

“For a Scion of Lutra, you are remarkably…bashful in the matters of mating.”  I do not particularly like that word, bashful. A horridly discordant combination of sounds for the concept they represent. But it was the most appropriate I could think of at the time which she would understand. 

Fittingly, Rin’s cheeks went pink, and she pulled her hand back to take another sip of her beverage.  

“I’ve heard that’s part of my appeal,” she informed me with a strangely endearing sort of indignation. 

“Every part of you is a part of your appeal,” I replied. 

And then she kissed me.