Journal 5

  Sol 120

  A lot has happened since my last entry. My willingness to log my days and thoughts grows less and less and more sporadic. We both have found a routine in survival. By the looks of things, one would think us to be a married couple in the way we interact now. James is always finding himself making a mess of things and constantly tinkering with the transponder in the hopes of a signal to be caught by a passing ship. I tend to rations and meat storage as we both take turns retrieving ground water, rain water, and meat from whatever beast we encounter in the dunes.

  To kill time, James finds himself typing notes or letters in his log book. He refuses to tell me what they are. I can only ascertain that they maybe related to his kin. He stares at the one picture of his family immensely. I understand.

  I have taken up picture taking with my suit's helmet. All EXO-suits are equipped with recording and laser image converters, primarily for record keeping of battle and conduct. This was always a hobby of mine. I have taken the standard images and recordings of duty and such, but I have also gone on to privately record and capture multiple sights and beings that I find personally fascinating. My father was the same. After being a warrior for 20 Dyglos, he resigned himself to travel and artistry. I suppose this is where I get it as well.

  I took one image of James and I just outside of his ship. He was shirtless and ragged as he tried to make himself proper and proud sitting on top of the ship's antenna. I was unclothed and out of suit (except for the bottom half of the EXO-suit). I stood by the door with the faintest of grins across my weathered face. I didn't realize it then, but that there was a glimmer of hope and mutual respect in our eyes.

  I still hold onto this one feeling, in particular for myself.

  I once got so upset with him for he was gone for three Sols. I thought him dead until he happily whistled his way back into my fighter with a sack of blue meat, tubes of water, and weeds for the weed soups I have been making. I yelled at him for how messed up and injured he was. Claw marks all over his breastplate, back, arms and face. He told me it was nothing.

  His now long, matted hair and beard bother me. I hate the way he conducts himself acting as if everything is fine, but it’s never fine. He refuses to admit his faults, but is always open to listen to mine.

  Then again, I have been very cold emotionally as of late. Hunger and minor annoyances thus far. I suppose that's the reason why I have been cold to James. I need to be better about this.

  Based off my ships’ calendar, last month (Gorfax or in human: April) was the anniversary of my father’s death. I sat outside all day doing the ritual prayers and songs until the twin moons rose in the skies. I also broke up the time with the Thorg warrior tradition of intense Katari blade movements without break. This was my way of dealing with the emotions.

  I was upset with James trying to interrupt my prayers and throat singing to the heavens. I threw sand at him initially. He tried again and I grabbed him by the throat and slammed him to the ground with tears in my eyes. For a moment, I forgot he was my friend and the memories of war with the humans clouded my judgement. I found myself back in battle and I was about to rip his head off. I stopped myself and let go. I went back to praying.

  I suppose he sensed my pain and apologized softly. Once I was done, I pathetically apologized for hurting him. He laughed and gave me a bowl of weed soup saying that it’s the past.

  I wish I had his ability to forgive and move on so quickly. Alas, I am a spiteful one. Wish this trait was bred out of me. But it is the trait of my life giver.

  The most exciting event was when it was my turn to venture out. We both have gradually mapped out the land within a 30 partokora (30 human meters) radius of our ships. I was to venture to 40. I went southward this time not expecting anything. The harsh sun bounced off the white dunes making an almost mirror quality. My helmet visor was at full protection and shade at log 3 to fight off the glare and it was still not enough. I had to borrow a pair of worn out, human welding goggles from James just to be able to see. I felt my skin boil inside my armored suit and I found myself keeping only my breastplate and hip protection on whilst exposing my legs and arms to the elements in order to release steam from my pores.

  It was scorching that day. I stumbled with grace down a dune rolling face first into a valley. I saw blue spikes with yellow flowers with sharp teeth and coral like structures that seemed to populate for many Earth miles. I took out my plasma rifle and ensured y blade was on my left hip. It was a strange and confusing landscape. I made sure to memorize my route back to where I stumbled down into by carving a large slash into the dried and surprisingly hard ground.

  For the first time in ages, there was shade. I was glad for that. I had no telling what these plants and corals were made of. The coral were hard as diamonds and the blue spikes were soft yet firm like a mix of grass and metal. The towered over me ominously. I felt a sense of something was in this area.

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  I ventured forth until I stumbled upon a clearing. I found a giant, skeleton of a large beast laying on top of a rusted over ship. It was an ancient ship. I said to myself, “Space pirates… They died upon landing here it seems.”

  I walked forth carefully noting the torn open side of the massive ship. I finally put my arm and leg armor back on as a precaution. I methodically scanned the destroyed vessel finding mostly skeletons, sand, and lots of junk. The kitchen and storage rooms were beyond unsalvageable due to the elements and time. Mostly found signs of a struggle and apparent cannibalism. Also signs of the large skeletal beast tearing into the ship with discarded bones of the crew members here and there. Nothing out of the ordinary.

  “Typical pirate wreckage… Chaos and sadness.”

  I had to blast my way into the captain’s quarters due to the titanium blast door. It was a once ornate and spacious room with intricate marble and rare amber mixed with blue lapis. The captain’s six-eyed skeleton was leaned back in his rusty power armor in the large chair. There were multiple plasma and rifle shots riddling the armor along with two katari spears thrusted into his throat.

  “A mutiny,” I hypothesized.

  I noticed the power armor was grasping something metallic. It’s was cubed shape and looked pristine almost glassy like a mirror. I wretched open the massive hand and grabbed the cube as it fell gently and almost weightless in my hand. It was then I realized how large of a being the captain was and how large the power armor was as well.

  I looked at the skull and realized, “Ah! He was a Yugi. Too bad their planet is gone… They were fierce warriors with honor. How did this one become a captain of pirates? This power armor is from the Jut War of Succession a thousand years ago. How’d it end up here on this remote planet?”

  I noticed a square button on the cube and pressed it. It unlocked itself in a complicated manner as it morphed into a triangle floating in the air. It flew just before the desk creating a holographic mural of a star chart. There were notes written on this location and of the planet itself. I pressed the red, glowing dot and the holographic image changed to that of a journal written by the captain. Luckily, it was written in Rusko speech (a dialect from my home planet).

  It read:

  “Sol 407. The crew are about to mutiny me. We have been abandoned on this desert planet. A beast has died upon the deck of the ship making it impossible to move. Rations have run out. It is any day now that my most trusted crew will kill me. I can hear it in the walls. This ship is meant to hide away from the war. I have had enough of it. We stole enough plunder to become rulers ourselves, but this crash landing on this planet feels like retribution for the many crimes we committed. There are enough power cells in the secret chamber under my desk to signal for any ship within a 100 parsec radius to hear a distress signal. It is no use for us pirates… Now… I must meet my fate and kill my crew. I will die as a true warrior instead of starving to death. I shall.”

  I looked back across the room realizing the piles of black ash mixed in the sand were once living pirates. There were about twenty of them.

  “These power suits were crude, but deadly,” I said to myself. “But how to get the power cells? My suit senses the plutonium reading and so forth, but how? Where would one hide plutonium power cells?”

  I scanned the floor noting a faint cut out and my bracer indicated a button and lever of some kind. I went around the desk and found a mechanism written in a language I did not understand. I pressed the hexagonal button and pulled down on a handle. Soon, the floor retracted and the desk remained as a tunnel slinked down a dark and gray tube with green and purple crystal lights. I slid down and found myself in the treasure room. Lots of amber, gold, diamonds, and other suck valuable trinkets a pirate would hold dear. Multiple copies of the original Codex of Golo were found as well written on an ancient paper and leather bound from the hide of Trankul Beast from the grass planet of Zorg. Beautifully written in the blood of their enemies.

  I saw another blast door and blew it open. There were two plutonium power cells with enough energy to last over a century. They were roughly the size of my hand. I carefully placed the cells into my side pack and scurried my way out.

  A thought hit me over the head and I asked myself, “If these cells work, then how long until James and I are rescued? If we are rescued, then will we go back to war with other? Will the war be over? I do not know.”

  I told James of the find I made and he was ecstatic to explore further. I do not blame him. Looking at the harsh dunes all the time is mind numbing and can test even the strongest of beings. We took our time scavenging what we could from the pirate ship and whatever tech we could use to possibly send out a signal to the universe. However, neither of us were certain on how any of it worked or if it did work. I took the more practical things: storage containers, bedding, space gear for fighting off the cold nights, whatever unspoiled rations there were and so forth. James did the same, but used the storage containers for hauling his own amount of gold and diamonds. I thought him to be foolish for this, but he insisted on the both of us becoming rich after we were rescued.

  He is always overly immature and idealistic.

  The rest of our time was just salvaging the ship and making our camp more livable and spacious. In a sense, the two of us turned our fighters into a nomadic yurt of metal, rust, sand, and cloth. I expanded my ship to house the two of us with our own separate rooms. I made the pilot’s seat my quarters for it was nearest to the bathroom. He took the transporting area as his own making a string of lights and multiple pillows as his own bed. Reminded me of the resorts on the second moon of Flauston. His ship was made into the kitchen, dining, and storage building for his ship was the most damaged. Then again by proxy it was inevitable. Human ships are still crude and ugly. We requisitioned a marble dining table with platinum kitchenware along with a set of rare, gold-infused tungsten knives that belonged to a ruler from a far off time. Strange eating and living off of things that are centuries old and well preserved. Amazed none of us got a disease of sorts so far.

  Life is good for the time being. Still…

  I wish to see Cora again. Even if it’s for a passing moment and she does not recognize me anymore. Even if she is old or dead. I just want to see her again.

  I hope.