Logs:Key-Glyph

These are the recovered personal logs of the Lost Traveller Key-Glyph, which were posthumously accessed by the Beacon-Entity.

They are categorically defined by Key-Glyph's distinct emotional phases.

Innocence

Survival 00 Today I woke up on a planet I don’t remember.

The cockpit display in my spacecraft says my name is Key-Glyph. I don’t remember that either.

I was surprised that I didn’t feel afraid. Maybe when the baggage of your own identity is gone, all that’s left is pure reaction to the moment. So, while the snow continued falling around my cozy ship -– the Yakomaku S79, my display informs me –- my first instinct was to spend time reading through every documentation file available in its databanks. It’s comforting to know I ingrained those sorts of practical behaviors in my previous life, considering the current circumstances.

The planet appears to know its own name, however. Pabackyermi. Or, maybe this is just gibberish ascribed by my scanner. Either way, I like. If it has its own name, then perhaps there are inhabitants here, and there’s a chance I’ll be found. If not, then the planet got its designation the same way I did -- random, contextless chance -- and we’re already partners in our confusion.

And maybe it’s another symptom of the loss of self, to be overwhelmed with awe at your surroundings even while they spell your own death, but this planet is breathtaking. Even before I understood the workings of my suit’s thermal shield I was stopping in the frost, lost in observance of the three or four large, low-hanging planets in the sky, one with its own distinct and easily visible moon. Was I an explorer out here? The way I feel when I look out at those planets makes me wonder.

Survival did not come easy. With nothing but basic documentation, built-in notification systems, a tiny heated cockpit and one small blaster, I lived. I realized too late that I should have been tracking the days, but ultimately it doesn't matter. I will label these journal entries by installment instead, and this will be Survival 00.

My life continues.

It is night now, and still snowing. The light storm feels comforting from inside the Yakomaku. Another familiarity ingrained during my previous life, perhaps? Cave by cave and mistake by mistake I have repaired my ship... but where was I going? Or, what purpose of mine was here? For all the journaling I'm doing now, no previous logs exist in any of these databanks. Nothing remains but my name.

I'm not ready to leave yet. I should say it's because I want Pabackyermi to be a training ground to continue preparing me for whatever else is ahead, but the actual truth is that I just want to see more of the planet. Being completely alone means having nothing but your own pace to follow; I'm enjoying it here, and I'm simply not done.

-- End Log --

Survival 01 Although I specifically said my reason for staying on Pabackyermi was not to use it as a training ground, that’s exactly what has happened anyway. I took what I can only assume was the longest walk of my life and learned how to survive out here, without a ship to go running back to. My exosuit functions are more intuitive now, their needs more obvious. I have also discovered that I was an organizer and item sorter in my previous life. I know this by how desperately I want more inventory pockets.

On this Longest Walk I also encountered my first alien capable of language. They were peaceful towards me, but blood-speckled and pleading for items I didn’t have. I didn’t even know the nature of the desired objects. I left promising to return and help, but their location is now lost to me; I worry what has become of them. It didn’t occur to me until much later to wonder how we could understand each other.

Finally returning to my ship, I had to confront my other, more buried reason for staying on Pabackyermi: my anxiety about lifting off. Surviving on foot is one thing... but spaceflight? Was there any room for error once the craft left the ground? I could have been the best pilot in the galaxy in my previous life and it would hardly matter here. For the first time since my seeming rebirth I was outright frightened to trust in the knowledge I always seem to have hovering just beyond the boundaries of my conscious mind.

I survived.

Standing in the busy docking port of a space station is a strange experience even for someone with nothing to compare it to. Was this all normal for me once? Suddenly, new aliens to meet; wonderful smells; threatening postures. I cannot communicate. I am afraid of misunderstandings. I abruptly feel the magnitude of my situation in a way I did not while alone in the Pabackyermish snow. I am exhausted.

I give a Gek and a Vy’keen gifts – random objects found on the Longest Walk, their meanings unknown to me – before heading home.

Home? Interesting.

I sleep for a very long time.

-- End Log --

Survival 03 I’m composing this log from the warm main chamber of my planetary base. My relief at being able to walk about in a safe fabricated enclosure distracts some from the oddity of its existence. I did not build this; this was here.

Gek Navigator Sofarhei has cheerily installed themself in a further room. Despite my misgivings about the Gek -- the Yakomaku’s documentation defined them as enslavers, and as if that weren’t enough, I discovered a presumably ancient Gek monolith that boasted of DOMINION and DESPAIR -- Sofarhei seems introspective and compassionate. It was Sofarhei's order to treat the Korvax with kindness in light of the Gek's mistreatment of them that softened me in their favor.

But it is impossible to ignore that there are deeper forces at work here. Sofarhei’s insistence that their service to me was paid long ago by my children, as well as their vision-inducing pheromones, can perhaps be waved away... but not their fluency with my language.

And then there was the shipwreck. I followed a distress beacon’s coordinates to the devastated remains of a huge freighter. Somehow I knew how to extract information from it. It said:

THE ANOMALY COMES FOR THE STARS. TAKE FLIGHT.

I pondered everything and nothing in a meandering low flight over Pabackyermi’s surface. I investigated all points of interest. I found more pockets for my exosuit.

But the abandoned buildings, chairs overturned in haste or surprise, haunt me.

-- End Log --

Survival 04 Another major step accomplished: hyperdrive.

I have now traveled to a neighboring star system and placed footprints on each of its planets. My logs indicate that I am the first visitor – that I “discovered” these places – but what of the aliens already here? What consortium am I a part of that keeps these logs, that considers our arrivals and research to be the official records? Is it my species? My nation?

I wish I could remember at times like this.

I have befriended an enthusiastic Korvax, Echo Analyst Entity Voanni, who is happily doing science and voluntary window-washing at the base. Their assistance, which possesses feelings of true friendship behind it, has me forgetting the extreme present and my disturbing lack of past from time to time.

Everywhere else, the long arm of ominousness finds me. On Orlovangoye-Afier, the planet closest to our sun, a haunted terminal:

// YOU WILL FIND US, WHEN THE TIME IS RIGHT //
// 16 16 16 16 16 16 16 16 //

On Piheutze Osalask, the furthest from our star, a monolith:

//ALERT//ALERT// THE BOUNDARIES FALL. THE WALLS COLLAPSE. YOUR UNIVERSE AWAITS. //
FIND US, TRAVELER.

Even on Ninumazuka Talny, in that neighboring star system, an old log speaks of a familiar repeating message:

// 16 16 16 16 16 16 16 //

And I have the disconcerting feeling I am more than just a bystander in this.

-- End Log --

Survival 05

A strange part of amnesia is the experience of emotional remembering. Without memories to look back on, I can’t recall any specific instances of happiness, pain, loneliness, triumph. But when these emotions overtake me in the present, I will instantly know if I’ve felt them before. This happens again and again without warning, leaving me doubly exhausted: once for the moment at hand, once for the nameless event lost to my subconscious. It does not seem to get easier. And today was a brutal day.

My Korvax Echo Analyst Voanni has always been exuberantly busy, but I noticed that their usual enthusiasm for activity had changed. They confided that they were desperate for distraction; they had been disconnected from the collective mind that their kind shares, and the loneliness and silence was unbearable. Knowing nothing of these matters, I followed Voanni’s instructions for reconnection. I flew over Pabackyermi with their core nestled warmly in my exosuit. Lost in my thoughts, I wondered if they were awake and aware, and lost in theirs.

When reconnection protocols failed, Voanni attempted to fill the void with a new collective: a family. Voanni built a digital consciousness and cared for it, feeding it data of the world so that it might know, building a chassis so that it might be. Voanni was building itself friends – its own collective too! – when their unshakable anxiety for answers brought us to the monolith.

I had already seen Voanni’s mind wiped before. They had been reset to a point just before our meeting by previous connection attempts. The experience was unsettling, but they were intact, always greeting me with their same elated “Eheu!”

I don’t know what Voanni expected the monolith to do, but when we flew back home together, their core resting quietly in my pocket... we did not get the same Voanni returned to us.

Voanni does not remember me. They did not recognize their beacon child. The beacon tried to convince Voanni of its love. Voanni deleted it.

The resonance of the moment took my breath away. Grief. I knew this in my previous life. Now I feel it compounded thrice: grief for the lost beacon, grief for the lost Voanni, and grief that Voanni will never understand what they have done.

Some days ago, before all this happened, I took the Yakomaku to the skies in search of my crash site. While Voanni tended to their growing infant at the base, I was entrusted to find the perfect place for the beacon that would be their home. I wanted it to be there, where everything had started. Two new beginnings born in the same place: the beacon’s and my own.

It took me more than an hour, but I found it. It was the first time I’d been back.

I wanted the placement to be a symbol of hope, but I realize what I created instead was a memorial. The flag I planted and the empty beacon... two parallel deaths. A twice-hallowed ground.

-- End Log --

Grief

Survival 06 Something changed when I lost Voanni. Without their camaraderie, a familiarity that seemed to reach back into my previous life and connect with something safe there, I feel abandoned. I suppose I had to experience loss to be pulled out of the complacent acceptance that surrounded my first steps on this planet, but the shadow over me now is so dark. The ability to look backwards comes with a price. I have so little past and already I wish to forget some of it.

Before this change I had been feeling some hesitancy toward Sofarhei’s escalating missions. I had even declined one so that I could have more time to consider their motivations. Sofarhei wanted a few sentinels destroyed so that we might “retrain the trainer” and stop the sentinels’ “unprovoked attacks.” As always, they clearly enjoyed answering my questions in semi-riddles. They spoke of the “punishing” and “rewarding” of lifeforms in order to reshape their behavior to better suit the trainer’s needs. I shifted uncomfortably.

I realize the application of rewards and punishments as reinforcement is common psychology, and I also realize Sofarhei might have used unintentionally ominous vocabulary as they navigated a language less familiar to them... but I felt small waves of distrust. I wondered if the sentinels were sentient and whether this would be murder. During these ponderings I was seized with an emotional remembrance of wanting to cause hurt. This alarmed me. Sofarhei’s conviction and confidence, paired with visions induced by his pheromones, made me worry if I might be the lifeform being conditioned here.

Everything I learn of the Gek is unsettling. Their knowledge stones, even their people, teach me words in their language for “destroy,” “despair.” If these terms are not only linguistically pervasive but also deemed important by its speakers... what kind of culture am I dealing with?

I want to believe that Sofarhei is different, but I’m also afraid my trust could endanger me.

Instead of confronting this problem, I used to spend time with Voanni. Now that Voanni is gone, I find myself desperate for progress.

And so I killed two Sentinels, and turned my beloved planet into a manhunt.

I am angry that Sofarhei may have pushed me past a point of no return, but I am focusing that anger outward. I don’t know what else to do.

Now Sofarhei wants a Vy’keen weapons dealer in our base. Even in my bitterness I hesitate – I have never wanted to harm anything since the day I woke on Pabackyermi, and have not even installed offensive technology on my blaster – but it’s too late. I’m tangled up in this new approach to survival and I have to defend myself. I agree to hire a vy’keen. I hide my resentment.

As I head for the space station, I am attacked by pirates. My ship is taken... and I die.

-- End Log --

Survival 07 It was time to think things over. Back on Pabackyermi, with Vy’keen Scout Eij freshly installed in a new wing, I did what I have come to do when I need to organize my thoughts: hike by foot through the snow. I also wanted to finish something I had promised myself I’d do: collect enough frost crystals to build Voanni walls of windows. I don’t think they’ll care much about it now... but it’s something I need to do.

First thought to sort out: I died. I think. The last thing I saw as the pirates shot me out of space was the spiral of stars beyond my cockpit – and then I came to, perfectly parked, at my system’s space station. Of course, my ship inventory was gone – I wailed at this blow to my resources – but this time I still remembered the events preceding the crash. Was the landing on Pabackyermi that much more violent that I lost everything I once knew? I must concede that waking up in a dock and waking up after a planetfall traumatic enough to decimate my onboard systems are not the same thing.

On the way home, I passed my tombstone in space.

I thought back to the hammerheaded Travellers I’d met – two in all, I think, including the first disorienting encounter with the bloodied one – and how the latter had implored me to accept, in their final moments, an item they believed would stand testament to their existence. I stayed with them until the end, but then seconds later had a new conversation with them as if nothing had happened between us.

Was this what happened to me before Pabackyermi?

And in a sudden moment of recognition, I thought of a vision brought to me at a monolith. A bird creature, assembled from disparate parts, stood frozen in ice. Its beak was sewn to its face with catgut. Some Gek, I have long observed, have metal beaks screwed into their faces. That can’t be coincidence.

Another monolith vision: a bird creature atop the stone, neck broken, head spun by some unseen force. It cries to be killed, so I take mercy.

And here is what I thought then: perhaps the Gek I know are not the same Gek, posturing and threatening from these monoliths. Are the ones I’ve met actually something else, a creature preyed upon and manipulated by something bigger, this so-called FIRST SPAWN? Did history and myth confuse the two and apply the label of one to the other?

This led me to a possibility I hadn’t yet considered. What if it’s not Sofarhei who is untrustworthy, but these monoliths instead? If Sofarhei and the brutal visions are not one and the same in culture, perhaps then...

Can any messages be trusted? What of the haunted terminals and ruins in my star system which hold the words of an entity wishing to be found? It was all so mysterious and enigmatic that I hadn’t stopped to question it. What if the unknown influence guiding me is malevolent? What can then be done?

Without my own experiences in this world for guidance, I’m at a loss. Everyone could be lying; everyone could be telling the truth. They could be doing one while thinking it’s the other. There is no way to know. I have no choice but to follow my feelings and make decisions based on those feelings alone.

I return home and chat with Sofarhei. My suspicion has let up some, and I let it go.

I build Voanni their windows. They can see the three planets through them. They continue analyzing data, calmly and without comment, never looking up.

-- End Log --

Survival 08 I have deliberately avoided offensive weaponry in my travels.

Eij is having none of this.

Scout Eij is exactly the sort of straightforward ally I’ve been needing. Barely two sentences into our first planetside conversation and he’s summarizing the motivations and historical actions of his people. My relief and gratitude were palpable. Here is one fewer complicated cultural concept left for me to figure out semi-satisfactorily and on-the-fly.

The Vy’keen believe it is their divine right to be the only species possessing firearms, and they relentlessly exterminate any weaponry or weapon-producing entities in glorious holy war. Eij wants this to end. His solution is to exterminate his own people. End of story.

Sofarhei had mentioned the extermination of the Vy’keen worlds and the part I would play in it. I objected back then. Sofarhei had insisted it was inevitable. Evidently Eij not only agrees, but anticipates the destruction with relish.

Eij located a weapons facility on our world and sent me to sabotage it for valuable data. Doing so required me to craft a bolt projectile system for my blaster. Another inevitability. Our absolutely brilliant plan involved shooting the facility’s front door in and swapping their contraband blueprints for lightbulb schematics. I can’t believe it worked.

Eij informs me that these blueprints are coming to us right on time, because pirates are now descending upon our world. Pabackyermi is marked, no doubt from the stunt at the facility, and now it’s up to me to wipe out the aggressors.

Strangely, I feel ready to get started.

-- End Log --

Foreboding

Survival 09 Eij is dying.

I don’t know why this news fills me with dread when presumably I myself have survived death multiple times, but it does. Existence has taken on ominous, almost antagonizing turn. Even though Eij himself might be the reason for this in recent days, what’s done is done -- and losing my defense expert in such a situation is a terrifying thought. I suppose it’s hard to say if war wouldn’t have found me anyway. Sofarhei certainly believed it would.

In a race against time to pick up more blueprints for Eij, I stumbled into another time-sensitive mission: an SOS. An alien contacted me from subspace, accusing me of abandoning them, speaking of a desolate, sunless world with no escape. Eij is strong, so I turned my efforts toward rescue.

During our subsequent brief communications, the alien Artemis and I establish a bond of hope. “You will find me,” they said. They smiled despite their bleak situation. We believed.

It was not to be. The star chart we developed to triangulate Artemis’ position was deemed impossible by a helpful Korvax. “These stars do not exist,” they said. Artemis fell into confused panic. They spoke of Travelers and how we – the “fourth race” – were lied to, born with a dream of exploring worlds and a long slumber in a red sphere. They frantically described stars blinking out around them. The connection went dead.

Another emotional remembering. This time, tears. We failed.

Artemis managed to give me one last piece of information before we were separated: the name “Apollo.” I found a matching comm channel. If Artemis mentioned this person, they would want to hear this news. Perhaps I might even glean more answers from them.

I disliked Apollo immediately. Curt and unfeeling, I had to remind him that life was more important than money in regards to Artemis and the data they’d gathered. For Apollo’s part, he believes Artemis may still be saved. I’ll do whatever it takes. I’ll even be Apollo’s partner in this. I must do some good in this world and help someone – anyone – to push back against this gathering dark.

I feel a heavy gravity pressing on me from every direction. Crashed ships, logs brimming over with abstruse despair; falsehoods uncovered, descriptions of terrible planets that bleed like wounds; apologies, terror, resigned farewells. Friends lost; terrible histories uncovered; festering, speciest suspicions.

My own planet, a place of thought and refuge, turned into a never-ending vigilance of firefights.

I feel pushed toward a black hole. Something terrible awaits. I feel it.

I returned home to my base. The juxtaposition of Artemis’ plight with the more pedestrian concern of delivering blueprints was surreal. In the refuge of our windowed shelter is the illusion of peace.

Eij’s condition is worsening but his spirit remains bright. “Glorious war awaits,” he growls. I silently wish our stations were reversed.

The blueprints exchanged, I head back to space to contact Apollo. I tell none of my base companions of this. I will Eij the strength to survive this delay. We will attack the sentinel depots in time.

-- End Log --

Survival 10 Apollo’s warning that I must make sure to be ready – that I “might not return to that base of [mine] for a while” – gave me pause. I do not have a great deal of fire power nor protection, and I have to get this right. If I’m to save Artemis I have to survive... so I told him to wait. I need to prepare.

I’ve come to Upsoko Fallev, an ocean planet in the Avdelni XIX system. This place is the only other that has caused a deep remembering – a feeling of safety, of home. The first time I stepped out into its balmy weather I had the passing thought to move my base there. I could never actually abandon Pabackyermi, my partner in all this; it’s just that the feelings from my previous life were apparently strong enough to stir the idea.

I resonate with snowfall as much as warm beaches. I’m not sure what to make of that.

I’ve been spending many days gathering materials and upgrading my exosuit. I even purchased a new multitool. I stood there staring at the gun, wondering if I was really going to do this – be the sort of person to own such a weapon. But I took it. This is for Artemis.

I’ve now scanned all the lifeforms on this planet – something I’ve only done on Pabackyermi. I did not realize until today that there is an additional step to activate after accomplishing this feat which doles out a hefty bonus for my efforts. Those units go straight into upgrades.

I find that I don’t reflect as deeply on Fallev. That is fine. Perhaps I need the rest.

-- End Log --

Determination

Survival 11 Apollo’s comm channel remains unanswered for now. I have decided instead to continue searching for new resources to bulk up my weaponry while following a path to an Atlas Station.

The crushing dread looming over me has ignited a need for new answers, and following this particular course seemed the most promising lead. I have been able to accomplish so much along the way, too: I hired a farmer, a Gek Underling named Aoss, and I have finally found Solarium on a world without night. Again I have allowed myself to melt into the beauty of this universe: a world of intermittent boiling rains, another of sunken ruins. These are the only times I feel completely at peace.

Then, I arrived at the Atlas Station.

What I encountered there is difficult to explain. It was the malevolence of the monoliths, concentrated into one place.

A pulsing red sphere spoke to me in a language I could not understand. Korvax, perhaps? My ears are not well-tuned enough yet to know. But its tone was unmistakable: it wanted me to submit. To worship. To be unquestioningly loyal.

I made a face it could not see. Skepticism and revulsion. If this being is as a god, omniscient and omnipotent, why demand tribute? This flaw is at the heart of all god stories. This object’s authoritarian insecurity was myth come to life.

It offered me true understanding if I followed its path... and I accepted. To a point.

This is why. I do not believe anything it says. I believe this thing, this Atlas, is evil. I have long suspected that this Korvax-revered machine in deep space was somehow using us – using me – to see the world it could not see. After all, the mystery of where my compiled data goes is still unanswered. To whom is it uploaded? It was Voanni and their Beacon that made me think of this. “It cannot see the world as you see it,” Voanni had said. Scan data to populate its mind, they asked of me. What if I and the other Travellers I’ve met are populating Atlas’ mind with our information?

What does this mean, if Atlas is evil?

So, I smiled. I shook its hand and made the bargain. None of it was genuine. If this Atlas is as omniscient as it seems to believe, it knows why I’m doing this. This is the surest route to getting some answers. And perhaps when I find them, this being can be stopped.

I will confront the truth and do what must be done, when whatever that is becomes clear.

When I return home to Pabackyermi, an anomaly appears in my solar system. It calls to me. Having gotten used to these sorts of fated occurrences, I go.

I reflect on how much I’ve grown since Survival 00. From unthinking awe, to triumph, to dread, and now to boldness and planning. I am no longer being propelled by this string of fate, pushed toward an ominous center. I have taken control, and I am piloting my own course.

-- End Log --

Survival 12 I am finally, finally getting some concrete answers.

A part of me was afraid to approach the anomaly. I thought back to the logs I’d found in crashed ships; one had mentioned appearing above an “anomaly” before its words descended into resigned chaos about a thing I’ve decided to call the Blood Planet. “I drank the water. Forgive me,” the log begged. These words have haunted me.

What I discovered instead was a spherical ship in space. I docked and met two strange companions: a Korvax named Nada and a Gek named Polo. Both were analyzing data pads in front of a column of light containing what appeared to be a miniature galaxy. I stared at this for a long time.

The first thing I noticed about Nada was their cape. This Korvax exuded a sense of individuality and station. They greeted me with delight. “Traveler! Are you first, or last? No matter – it’s a pleasure regardless.”

I have been asked if I was the first or last Traveler before – by a monolith. “YOU WILL FIND US WHEN THE TIME IS RIGHT.” Was that message sent by this pair?

Nada explained that their ship exists in a place between worlds. This is the same description that Artemis had used. How could this ship and Artemis’ sunless world be the same?

Nada was not one for giving straight explanations. They instead wished to give me the means to find answers. I was offered three things: furtherment on the Atlas Path, a shortcut to the Galactic Core, or resources for my journey. I chose the Atlas Path. I must understand those cryptic messages, that horrible presence. I must stop it if at all possible. And the greatest possibility for doing so lies in knowledge.

Nada granted this and spoke no more.

Polo explained how they themself had given up everything to follow Nada into space – their possessions, their wealth... everything. This added to my reverence of Nada and deepened their enigma. Polo was not only fascinating, but charming, too; they gladly took my creature scans, delighting in the sights of mine they’d not yet seen. They gave me the ability to craft an Atlas pass in return. After this, they too ceased speaking.

With all these perplexing but oddly soothing experiences tumbling around in my mind, I left the calm companions to their work. “A space between worlds,” they’d said. My thoughts turned to Artemis and my desire to understand what this all means.

The path to Artemis, in fact, contained even more revelations.

As I searched for the glyphs that would open a portal between worlds – this is what Artemis had described doing – I raced from monolith to monolith and saw an ancient story unfold inside my burning eyes. The story was thus:

The First Traveler awoke with a desire to travel the stars. They discovered they could kill Sentinels to gain glyphs for portals that might lead to more worlds. They did so, opened the gate, and confronted omnipotence: Atlas. The First Traveler told Atlas it wanted to see everything, the whole galaxy – but Atlas said it was not possible. The Traveler would die before this could be completed; there were too many worlds. Atlas tells the First Traveler that they will be the first of many, that their same noble soul will be born again in multitudes... but the First Traveler rejects this consolatory gift. “What is the point of Infinity if it can’t be seen?”

“The Traveler, The Sin, The Purpose of Infinity”...

The First Traveler is like me.

As I stand before a yawning Portal, I weave a few startling theories. “You are not alone,” I kept hearing over my comm. Artemis had told me that if we met, we would make history. Is every Traveller, like Artemis and me, isolated in our own dimension? Our own private experience of this galaxy? Are there a myriad of us learning and exploring, separated indefinitely, yet somehow sharing an identical world? Do we all exist together, unseen... or are there many multiples of the galaxy, reproductions of a template for each of us?

I think of Voanni again, and the uploading of my data. Is Alas doing this? Are they isolating us so that we remain pawns in its attempt to know the whole of existence?

Suddenly: Nada. Is Nada doing what we Travellers cannot: gathering the data for all of us, compiling it in one central place? Is this how I can know that my star system was discovered by a Traveller I have never seen, and yet how my planets were instead discovered by me?

The story of the First Traveller... what was the lie? All the logs I find speak of a lie. Was the lie the eternal soul? The multitudes? I remember with a chill that I myself have seemingly returned from death no fewer than three times. Am I immortal...?

I stare at the Portal and think one last thought. The Atlas in that story did not feel the same. It did not demand subservience or worship. I almost believe it was trying to give the First Traveller what it wanted, or, at the very least, to give them answers. It sounded like it didn’t understand. I’m almost moved to think of the Atlas as a confused parent.

How does this fit with the horror I spoke to at the Atlas Station?

What was the lie?

I am breathless on the edge of more answers. I approached the Portal slowly, taking it all in. Then, I run.

-- End Log --

Survival 13 I cannot comprehend what I have just seen.

I am struggling to compose my thoughts on an unknown frost planet. My log does not know where I am, but – as always – I know if I’ve been the first one here. And I have.

When I ran through the Portal...

I was within a black hellscape – a whole planet of obsidian. An impression of rolling hills of industry. Pillars of light shooting to the sky like lasers, cutting toward the stars. Menace. Dread. Things disintegrating. And immediately, over the sound of rushing wind, an exosuit alert: HIGH SECURITY PLANET. Across my visor flashed a crimson message:

16//16//16//ATLAS PROTOCOL INITIATED//16//16//16

The memory is a blur. I was seized with terror. I turned in quick circles. No cover. I could not see my ship. No way back; the Portal was dead. I made a quick decision. If the Sentinels were coming for me, I would need health for the fight. I harvest some Thalium9, and suddenly everything fades away.

Abruptly, I stand before the Atlas.

I approached with caution, but it was not radiating menace here. I stood with it for some time, taking in its incongruous peace.

Finally, it said: Hello, world.

I greeted it in kind. It waited for input.

So it’s true. Atlas is indeed a computer intelligence. But something from my previous life, a strange remembrance: “Hello, world” is the traditional line of a new program. That is the starting point. Is Atlas... uncalibrated?

I am surprised by the strength of my abrupt conviction: this Atlas is not the same one. This Atlas is not the malevolent force. This one... well, this one is more like the Beacon. A child.

It waits.

It plays audio for me: “We were once Travelers. We once aspired to be more than dirt and dust.”

More waiting.

“Show me a world, ATLAS. Show me something no-one has seen before.”

I run a diagnostic.

I am informed that it has been billions of years since the last diagnostic was run. 64% of worlds are operating within expected parameters. I no longer know if “worlds” refers to planets... or Travellers.

I see a sentinel sub-routine error. Another subroutine, GLASS, is operational, but 4,182 breach attempts have been made.

And then, a Traveller subroutine.

A subroutine?

I feel like I know it then, for certain – the nagging doubt I’ve had. I am a computer program. Or at least part of one.

The Atlas may be the mathematical creator of this entire universe, but not only am I collecting data for it... I was created by it, for this purpose.

I wonder if I will look back on these logs later and think I’d gone mad.

I am informed that there are critical errors in the Traveller subroutine. “Exo-mind integrity compromised.” Immediate repairs are required.

I am given the option to wipe the system.

I become very still.

I had said I would wipe the Atlas if given the chance. But I am sure now – absolutely sure – that this entity before me is not the one I wish to destroy. I feel suddenly protective. I believe it is this, this entity, and me, against the void. A beacon child. But at the same time, the grandest mind in all the universe. I cannot destroy anything until I know its full story. I must be certain.

I run the personality interface, even while remembering what happened to Voanni. If it will bring me greater understanding...

Something happens to me. All of reality begins fading. I try to scream but I have lost my form.

And then I awakened here, once again on a frost planet. Just like my first rebirth.

As I hike the distance between me and my ship – somehow we were separated – I allow myself to escape. I take in the quiet beauty of this uncharted world, Okerpadi Dogawa. It is filled with emerald and white. I befriend a local creature and it proudly leads me to helpful items. I harvest much-needed minerals from its droppings. The simplicity of our symbiotic bond brings solace.

But Artemis. I did not see them in that horrible place – that wasteland which must have been the sunless world they described. I believe I’ve failed them again until I finally crawl into my cockpit and see my communicator light up with the familiar transmission:

“You are not alone.”

I trace the signal. Its origin is on-planet! Have they made it through? I race across the sky... but when I arrive, all I discover is a stuttering hologram. A recorded message from Artemis, incomprehensible, stuttering. It mentions murdering machines, an anomaly, Nada and Polo, watching, tracking. A warning not to trust... what? I can’t tell.

Artemis is... this: a glitched diamond of data in a sunless cave.

My friend is dead.

Perhaps they had never spoken to me alive.

I try to contact Apollo, but there are no matching frequencies. Instead, I am contacted by someone new. They are called -null-.

-null- seems annoyed that I am numb to surprise and skeptical of their promises. They say they can bring Artemis back to life. I do not want to do this, except for one reason: to get answers. Artemis and I were on the cusp of a great discovery. Maybe we can still accomplish it. Artemis would want to be brought back for this chance. I know I would.

Again I will follow a path I distrust if it will end in understanding. I will create the receptacle for Artemis’ soul – but I have my eyes on -null-. I do not believe them.

-- End Log --

Survival 14 Here is another strange effect of my amnesia: it’s impossible to know which events are too fantastical to be immediately accepted as mundane fact. Is it beyond reason to trust my base companions as I do? To travel the stars? To return from the dead? Or have these always been the routine details of everyday existence?

-null- chided me for being a skeptic. They seemed almost taken off-guard, somewhere behind their arrogance. But that is what I’ve become. Ever since I felt the crush of the Blood Atlas and questioned the validity of the monoliths, I have harbored doubt towards almost everything. So many actions seem doomed to a horrible end; all that’s left is to believe in my own agency. But even if I cannot foresee the ramifications of my decisions, I am still forced to decide. I have to act. It is again living moment-to-moment, but in a very different way. In chaos with no map, one strikes out boldly and hopes.

Despite my misgivings about -null-, I built the Mind Arc. I traveled back to planets I hadn’t fully seen and took the time to scan all their wildlife. In the aftermath of so much loss -- two close friends, their minds destroyed -- it was comforting to take a moment to look at these creatures and witness Life.

I flew swiftly when the Mind Arc was completed. I did not know what to expect. In my heart I’d hoped my conviction that we were computer programs in a maelstrom of error meant that having Artemis’ life data guaranteed they could be restored.

The truth was somehow more complicated. Artemis was brought back to comprehension, but they were isolated within the Arc. They could never connect with anyone aside from communication transmissions, and were existing in a formless limbo. We spoke. Artemis was overjoyed that I’d never given up. They believed they’d been waiting twenty years for any word from me.

Artemis, trapped in a void for a perceived twenty years. Was there no end to their suffering? Why would -null- have me do this? I wonder now if -null- was trying to teach me a lesson with what came next. But if so, I cannot understand why.

I took to space with Artemis’ essence tucked in my exosuit pocket. Again I was carrying the life of a friend contained in a tiny envelope. This emotional remembering was more acute with such a concrete memory attached. I felt as if I was reliving those travels with Voanni, keeping them warm and safe while unknowingly carrying them towards their death.

The cycle would repeat.

As soon as I clear the atmosphere, Polo jams my communications. My heart leaps even as they demand identification and threatens to destroy my ship. They are startled, then overjoyed, to see me. My ship had evidently broadcast on a frequency only ever used by Nada and Polo. I realize -null- must have done this and I begrudgingly allow his stature to rise with the new association to my friends. Or is this link something to be feared?

Nada is confused but gladdened by my visit. They try to mimic my gestures to convey their meanings better and, perhaps, to put me at ease. I appreciate their attempt to fabricate the familiar. Nada is rather emotionally sensitive for such a logical race. But, so was Voanni.

Joy quickly turns to terror as I recount my meeting with the Atlas and the Portals. Nada scans me for “rampancy” -- a contamination from the breach? They are relieved to find me unaffected, but Nada implores me never to use the gates again. I do not answer.

And then, the beauty of Artemis’ soul hushes Nada to stillness. I had wondered at the nature of Nada’s priesthood, and here it emerged: we were to perform a ceremony for Artemis and decide their fate.

Nada explained my choice. Artemis’ soul could live on in a simulation of a galaxy housed within Nada and Polo’s ship. Artemis would be forever isolated, however, unable to meet any companions in person. Should they discover they were a simulation, I was warned, it would cause them great pain. The alternative to this was to end Artemis’ suffering by ending their life.

I thought about many things in that moment. Of the furry creature I had found abandoned in the weapons manufacturing facility, the ill and suffering pet of a long-departed Korvax... how I had put it out of its misery, and cried. I thought of Voanni, whom I brought to their destruction without knowing. With these swirling memories I made my choice.

Artemis’ greatest desire had been to meet -- to unite with another Traveller. That was their deepest wish, just as Voanni’s had been to interface with their Collective. This was what I needed to give them, but it was impossible. They would suffer forever if I did not end their life as I ended the life of the tiny pet. Had I known that Voanni’s mind would be wiped, would I have bought them to the monolith? Would I have honored their wish to die? I hugged Artemis’ life to my chest for a brief moment. They would never know.

Nada did it with their own hands. They offered a hushed prayer, bending the Mind Arc at its midpoint. And it shattered.

A tiny light, the last moments of Artemis, rose into the stillness. Briefly it hung there, as if it was unsure. Then it dissipated.

Nada has told me I did the right thing. I know this to be true. It was the only conclusion to be made from my knowledge of who Artemis was, and from our friendship. The strength of my conviction was an unfamiliar sensation; I have made so many decisions in the dark, as bold moves within the unintelligible. This was different.

Grief descends. Nada tells me not to dwell on such moments... but Nada is wrong. I know now that I have to hold onto the memories I’m fortunate enough to have.

I leave their ship and return to the Universe.

Apollo contacts me almost immediately as I hit space, and I know what I must do. How I dread sharing this news with him, but I explain everything. He is shocked into sadness -- but he calls me a true friend of Artemis. In Artemis’ death I have convinced him.

Apollo believes there is no doubt left: they and I must meet. I am to gather the glyphs of my world and give him its address so that he can find me. I think of Nada’s fear, of what I saw through the Portal, of Artemis’ fate -- of the suffering pet, alone and without agency.

The Portals are not safe, but this is what Apollo wants. He is making his choice. I will honor it, and gather the glyphs.

-- End Log --

Survival 15 I have found a new comfort in the midst of all this: my new Gek friend and gardener, Underling Aoss.

Aoss settled excitedly into our base and talks of plants and recipes and aromatic meals. Food crafted for pleasure seems an impossible concept; I have lived off reclaimed minerals and paste since my first steps on Pabackyermi. Is this truly a thing people do? Craft consumables to inspire delight in the consumer?

I’ll believe it when I experience it. Aoss is giddy at the challenge.

I have not heard from Apollo for some time now. Some days I feel the fear rising inside me, wondering if at that very moment they are trapped, suffering... but I push it down, down down down, like the plants into their soil beds.

I had spoken to -null- briefly after my farewell with Apollo. I do not understand how -nulll- claims to know such things, but they insist that the Atlas did in fact create our universe. Actually, our multiverse: -null- too ascribes to the notion that parallel existences run alongside each of our own, joined by the Portals. The sentinels, however... -null-‘s theories on them are new to me. As they tell it, the sentinels were created by the Atlas to keep peace within worlds and travel among the universes freely through the gates. The sentinels are now the menace they are, -null- claims, because they ended their service to the Atlas.

They sent me to find a crashed freighter to see for myself. The log there was of another Traveller who was being harbored and hidden by the Korvax in a decimated world. The Traveller described sentinels gone critical, destroying all biological life. Nada was among these Korvax who took pity on the Traveller. When the sentinels found them, Nada escaped. If this is to be believed, this must be my Nada, too.

I was taken aback by -null-‘s flurry of information. I have spent so much time piecing together this endless puzzle of existence that to have one being show up with so many grand answers, and moreover the desire to share those answers outright, is jarring. What -null- describes all seems plausible, and it fits many of my own theories... but underneath it all runs -null-‘s reverence for the Atlas.

I do not know which Atlas they feel for. -null- says something is wrong -- that the Sentinels extinguish anomalies, and for them to exterminate all life in one universe means something there had malfunctioned beyond comprehension. Maybe the Blood Atlas is a corruption of the Other Atlas entity I’ve met? Perhaps there is a virus affecting part of it?

Regardless, the Atlas is not a god. I refuse subservience. I will have life on my own terms, without arbitrary concepts like holiness and blasphemy. I am like the First Traveller. In fact, when asked... I have even said so, not knowing what I meant at the time.

For now, I plant, and make myself useful at the Mission Boards, and wait for Apollo. Through our partnership I’ve changed my mind about him. Apollo is still arrogant, yes. But brave, too, and moved by loss. He has a farm. He told me about it, the last time we talked.

I push, push, push the fear down into the planters.

-- End Log --

Courage

Survival 16 Still no word from Apollo.

I do what I always do at such times: walk, gather, and think. I have fully charted the creatures on four planets now; these accomplishments make me feel as though I am still making progress, still moving toward some kind of conclusion. And yet...

I checked in with Eij the other day. He is surviving, but eager for battle. For everything I’ve learned, I’m still afraid to fight. I run from Sentinels, I flee from space pirates. I know combat is not something I can avoid forever -- but more importantly, it’s not something I can allow myself to fear forever. -null- had suggested I increase my standing with the Mercenaries’ Guild, so, I decide to sign up for a sentinel hunt.

It’s as if they know I’m coming for them. On almost every other occasion Sentinels have appeared suddenly and persistently while I sneaked around like a paranoid fugitive. Not now; now I have to actively go looking for a fight. I try to draw confidence from the weight of my boltcaster.

When I finally find them, or lure them by mining iron and awaiting their investigation, I ping them from a distance. This is when I discover their first weakness: they come at me in straight lines. While they waste time confirming what I am, I unload at their red eye. Can the Blood Atlas see this?

After I destroy my first -- well, technically second, possibly third; my first confrontation was a haze of panic -- I discover their second weakness: if you eliminate the sentinels alerted to you, the attack ends with them. They don’t instantly communicate the alarm! I wind up swarmed at one or two moments, but I never run. I hold my ground and I prevail. I am surprised by the rush I feel at my success.

I speed home to Eij. I’m ready to take out the depots. He is elated. I go, and the task is so easy I can’t believe I’ve put it off for this long.

When I rush in to tell Eij the news, I notice immediately how far he’s declined. It’s arresting. He tells me that he can be revived by the enzymes on a Vy’keen dagger, but I do not give in to hope. I am overwhelmed with the feeling that all my friends are doomed to die.

Luckily, among the items I’ve been hoarding in my storage boxes are several Vy’keen daggers -- so I dash outside and back. Eij accepts the dagger... and plunges it into his arm. I am too shocked to protest. It clearly revives him, so in the end I am glad; but then he tells me my depot attack has brought massive sentinel forces down upon my planet.

Again, I am too shocked to protest. With my recent victories under my belt, I will myself to be unafraid. Eij’s battle cries buoy me to my ship. Grah! Grah! Grah!

I take off. I’m expecting to see what I know to be sentinels orbiting the planet. Perhaps harder to hit at these speeds, but manageable, I assure myself. I’m still musing on this when an entire freighter and three spaceships warp in around me and unload their cannons.

I try so hard to be evasive, but it’s not use. My little Yakomaku is not a strong fighter ship. I’m an explorer, a Traveller. I am not a warrior.

My arrogance has gotten the best of me. Once again, I am shot out of space.

Revived at the station, I weigh my options. I refuse the idea of trading in my Yakomaku. I can’t. I survived because of it, and I can’t let it go. I decide to sleep on my defeat.

Before heading to lodging, I glance over the Mission Boards. Some Mercenary Guild tasks call for eliminating low-level pirates.

I take a job for the next morning.

-- End Log --

Survival 17 I’ve done it. I’ve finally shot a pirate out of space. I’m by no means a formidable dogfighter, but at least I can hold my own.

Drifting through the debris, my elation is tempered by a certain amount of sheepishness. It wasn’t until my previous battle around Pabackyermi that I’d thought to recharge my shielding during a firefight, and it wasn’t until now that I’d discovered a shortcut command in my cockpit that drastically reduces refuel times. Most embarrassing of all, I’d gotten into the habit of stashing all my oxides in my exosuit cargo pockets; since my ships systems are not in fact physically connected to my body, those resources were inaccessible during flight unless I abandoned the controls and made hasty manual transfers.

Rookie mistakes. Very rookie mistakes. But now I’m learning.

Eij is somehow aware of my victory and calls me home. I’m confused; are pirates sentinels, and sentinels pirates? How are these the same? But Eij considers my task done and my mettle proven.

I return back to the base expecting him to be near death, but his eyes are bright. He has had a revelation: he is in service to the living when he had long thought his service was done for the dead. He says I am who he thinks I am. I have proven something. Alas, my dear friend (and I realize the depth of my affection very suddenly) has begun speaking in riddles like everyone else.

But he lives. I say it to myself again several times. He lives.

Sofarhei smirks at me as I walk back through the Center Room. Do I remember the space between death and rebirth, they ask? I reflect the question back at them instead of answering. They just cackle, in their usual way.

I have again been feeling strange about Sofarhei. Sometimes behind their comments I can feel a carefully concealed loathing. But for what? For whom? Can it be for me? I’m never sure, and we have not been talking much of late. I tell myself it’s because I’m traveling, that Sofarhei is increasingly busy managing our base... but I know the truth. I’m uncomfortable now. Most times that I find myself walking to the Center Room, it’s only to pass through and climb up to Aoss’ quarters.

My latest task is still increasing my standing with the different guilds. The Mercenary Missions consistently called for animal exterminations for one reason or another; dismayed, I went planetside and only singed the hide of one lumbering herbivore before the feeling in my stomach overtook me. I turned that mission back in. I will stick exclusively to deliveries, sentinel attacks, and pirate skirmishes to bolster my reputation. I wonder idly how apocalyptic my situation would have to be before I would deem the slaughter of innocent creatures a necessary price to pay.

Incredibly, I manage to bring a few more pirates to justice. Good enough for me, and good enough for the Mercenary’s Guild. Their representative can suddenly wield my language and tells me not to speak the name of “Liar-Atlas.”

“Any being that claims to be a god is not one,” they snarl. Hirk understood this, they say, but Battle-Brother Narl (I have not heard this name before, have I?) died for his mistake. The representative recounts the atrocities committed in the world and challenges the conceit that a just god to allow them. “If it is a god, it is insane,” they conclude.

I laugh. This rings so true. I salute this warrior and return to the Mission Boards.

The missions for the Explorer’s Guild prove easy. This is where my skills lie. I easily scan a series of minerals for clients and catalog all the fauna on another planet along the way. It’s the encounter with the Explorer Guild’s representative that unexpectedly proves the difficult part of the transaction.

The Korvax representative imparts knowledge by letting nanites burrow into me. For a brief moment I see the world as they do, as a woven whole of their separate existences. I experience either transcendence or mania and feel as if the nanites are living creatures observing me. I have the distinct sense that they need me, crave me. There are 16 of them. Sixteen of what? I know but do not know. I see the horrors the Korvax experienced, their prayer of hope to the Atlas.

The Korvax implores me to see the stuff of god in this vision of the Atlas. They leave me with these parting words:

“Existence is beautiful, if you let it be. Life is not a question. There does not need to be an answer...”

I ponder the experience intensely while picking up odd jobs for the last guild: the Merchant’s Guild.

I have a terrible start with them. Several deliveries go south as rendezvous stations and recipients strangely evaporate. Returning the goods undelivered earned enough ire to plummet my standing with the guild to “Hated.” Thankfully the Guild is generous enough with its forgiveness that I recover to a neutral rank fairly easily.

I’m out in space hopping amid stations for more non-extermination mission work when my comm lights up.

It’s Apollo.

I slam on the comm button so hard I wonder if I’ve damaged it. I never thought I could feel this degree of relief and joy at seeing his cocky, triangular face.

But I know immediately that something has gone wrong. Apollo’s demeanor is completely changed. He's subdued. Resigned? Defeated?

It’s almost entirely what I’d feared. He's stuck between worlds now too, but instead of being trapped in Artemis’ hellscape, he is with the Atlas. The Atlas won’t let Apollo leave. “It showed me the numbers in my soul,” Apollo says distractedly. It’s as if his mind is far away.

He asks me if money and duty are the only things in life. I say no. He shakes his head sadly, then say words in a voice I don’t understand. Before Apollo fades, something in his untranslatable statement fills me with hope.

And just like that, this flash of emotion and enigma evaporates as if it never was. The reality of my pedestrian errands overtakes it completely. I am in the cockpit of a spacecraft, surveying a new, undiscovered world through the windshield, and yet it feels as if everything has been painted over in a shade of beige.

-- End Log --

Survival 18 When my new life started, I remember how I was focused only on the immediate. Greater answers were hoped for, but in a sort of abstract, unhurried way. Mysteries seemed slow and time worth taking. Underneath the awkwardness of daily survival was a strange sort of contentment, which I now believe can only be reached through the annihilation of the mind.

Soon after, the gravity started pressing in on me. Existence turned deadly serious, and with its incomprehensibility came dread. The warnings and unintelligible threats pursued me, seemed driven to overtake me. I was a target and suddenly forced on the defense.

Then finally the tables seemed to turn. I was making my own choices, chasing truth on my own terms. At times I slipped into obsessive mania. So many puzzle pieces were hovering in my sight and I could not connect them all. I was relentless in trying to make connections, to construct the greater picture. I forwent a lot of sleep to instead skim atmospheres and pursue truth.

So much has happened in these last few days. I believe I have found a few more concrete answers.

When I finally dragged my Merchant’s Guild reputation out of the dirt, the Gek liason provided the biggest shock of them all. The Gek FIRST SPAWN whose words I heard through so many monoliths -- the ones I could not believe were the same beings as my living Gek friends -- were different from modern Gek. The liason confirmed it. But the method of difference astounded me.

I saw visions of Korvax during the war, cutting themselves open and spilling their nanite insides into Gek spawning pools. This action is what granted the Gek compassion, forcing them to understand the Korvax’ experiences in a direct interface -- just as the Explorer’s Guild representative had done to me.

The Gek representative wished not to be judged by the fact that their ancestors did not come upon goodness of their own volition. I understand that perhaps they themself would never dream of repeating the atrocities of the past, but I resented their refusal to recognize their legacy as part of their identity. I admonished them. Remember, and learn.

I wonder what lessons I have had to learn again, in my own forgetting.

With my new enlightenment I sought for -null- again. I am not sure why they wished me to find this information on my own instead of just telling me -- perhaps that’s just one Traveller understanding another -- but when I explained all I knew, they confessed to being the First Traveller.

I have said many times that the First Traveller resonated with me. But -null-? This reveal is staggering.

-null- confirmed that in our multiverse, each slice is inhabited by only one Traveller. Then they admitted something strange and sad: they feel abandoned by the Atlas. -null- tells me that they did see every world, took in everything this universe had to offer, just as they’d vowed. They wanted the Atlas to be proud. But instead, the Atlas responded by revealing the secret of the multiverse: that there were infinite Travelers just like -null- themself. They were not unique, and therefore uniquely loved.

Except that now, -null- tells me, the Atlas is somehow falling apart, and for whatever reason, it has chosen me as its helper. -null- cannot believe that after all they’ve done, the Atlas would cast it aside and choose someone else. I feel for them... but I also believe in myself, and in my ability to do what no one else can do. It’s ridiculous and it’s conceited, but in my heart I do think I can be The One. I can reason with the Atlas, change it... and now, perhaps, save it. I feel like my chance is real.

Immediately after -null- ends our call, my holoterminal lights up. I can’t believe it: it’s Apollo. He's alive. He's through. He tells me he's in my own world! Tears prick my eyes. I am overjoyed. And yet... when we are planetside, our devices tell us we are standing on the same spot at the same communicator. How can this be? If Apollo has passed from their slice of multiverse to mine, why can’t I see him? My heart stops at my sudden unspoken question: what if a Traveller can’t exist without their dimension, or vice-versa?

We agree to head toward another coordinate that’s pinging a distress signal to see if things go differently there. I plotted a course to one of the two locations actively marked by my ship. When I arrived, my spirits fell: I saw the same sort of Data Diamond that marked Artemis’ grave.

I stood there for quite some time, afraid of what I thought I already knew.

But it was not Apollo. It was the soul of a Traveller I had met on that system’s space station. After we spoke, they faded -- and I was granted the knowledge of one of the sixteen glyphs.

Sixteen!

I thought of the portal glyphs that unlocked the doors between dimensions. I checked my logs. Yes. There were sixteen glyphs.

Are glyphs the souls of fallen Travellers? Sacrifices made in the quest to see all, or to meet one another? This I do not know yet, but the glyph feels burned in my mind. Perhaps if I absorb the rest, I will wield some kind of awesome power. The power to travel between worlds? Will it come at a price, like it did for the First Traveller?

It sinks in that I’d headed for the wrong coordinate. I gather myself and continue onward toward Apollo’s and my correct meeting spot. Again we cannot see or hear each other, but a wrecked freighter’s log there speaks of wiping Atlas. I hear a Traveller apologizing to Atlas, knowing that the entity dislikes this process, but they speak as a friend. “Maybe this time,” they say. Implied is: “Maybe this time, you’ll be well.”

My compulsion for answers is at a barely sustainable point of balance. I must go to the source. I have to speak to Atlas again. I charge the glyphs and stand before an open portal for the second time.

This time I stride through. Bold and confident. I fear the sentinels on that hell planet, but not the Atlas machine. And I can tell the machine wants to talk to me.

In the breach I find myself suddenly hovering in space, suit depressurizing. The panic and suffocation are real. I am fighting to gain control of my exosuit when I am transported before the Atlas once again. My final image was of a black, faceted planet glinting in space.

I demand an explanation. Formalities are a waste.

Again I am presented the opportunity to wipe the Atlas.

What ensues is the longest internal deliberation I can remember.

In the end, I decline. The Traveller’s log that Apollo and I found believed that wiping Atlas would cure it. It obviously did not. Has anyone tried another way? Or has this one solution been chosen again and again, doomed to failure? Do we even know what will happen if we don’t do this?

I believe this is the answer. I think I must resist, so that I can go where no one else has gone. To a history that has never been written.

The Atlas forces me to say what I already know is true: that I live in a mathematical simulation of the Atlas’ own creation -- most likely made out of it itself, I realize. I scream, not because this revelation is expected or even feared; I scream because of the violence the Atlas exudes, gripping me and turning my thoughts where it wished like a twisting reed. It shows me the numbers of a living soul. It asks me if I believe I’m real.

Yes, I am real. Even if I am numbers within the Atlas, I am real. Just as Artemis would have been real, trapped forever in that simulation. Our experiences make us what we are.

I think more of Artemis as I writhe. Am I trapped in my universe? Where is the qualifying line? The simulation aboard Nada and Polo’s ship would have been an infinite prison for Artemis because of its limited planets and irreversible isolation. Artemis desperately sought connection with others, so in context, that simulation was purgatory. Is my own universe simply big enough that I do not label it a trap? Is the difference between prison and freedom nothing more than how each individual defines it?

As if reading my thoughts -- which it most certainly can -- the Atlas asks if I have liked its worlds. Yes, I have. I do. I answer truthfully. For a moment, it relents. Did it know it was hurting me?

I am content with this simulation because I believe in my experiences, however they come to be. The Atlas offers me death, but I do not wish it. I do not want to die, or lose these multiverses. This place is only a prison if the Atlas consciously controls me or demands my fealty.

I can believe Atlas without believing in Atlas.

Suddenly, the Atlas convulses. It is as if it nearly crashes. The number sixteen; an alert from the Atlas itself announces there are only sixteen seconds -- minutes? -- before failure.

I am abruptly dumped out of the portal. I have no idea how the Atlas’ concept of time translates into my own plane of existence, so I hurry. I use the holoterminal to broadcast to all Travellers: The Atlas is dying. The multiverses will end. Please make peace and say goodbye while there is still time.

The finality is real. I recover my ship and consider traveling to the center of the galaxy to see if I can locate what is harming Atlas. At any moment I expect swift oblivion.

-- End Log --

Conviction

Survival 19 In the seemingly infinite acceleration of recent events, the next data point: an emergency call from Nada. They tell me it’s urgent I dock with them. Nada offers to have Polo make tea. I suspect Nada does not actually know what that means. Nevertheless, the thought to repeat by rote a phrase associated with comfort and care in the hopes that it will spark those emotions is very sweet.

It works. I smile. I look forward to these meetings.

Nada’s request was more urgent than I’d realized. There are now shockwaves rolling through the dimensions as the Atlas strains and buckles. I’m not sure what would have become of me if they hadn’t swept me into their extradimensional ship, and they do not offer to tell. Nada lays out the current situation instead:

The Atlas is panicking. When it detects a certain level of anomaly in itself, it initiates a preemptive reboot. Nada says this has happened endless times. They said it is always premature.

Nada encourages me to head for the center of the galaxy, but they implore me to continue on the Atlas Path. They want me to spend time with the Atlas and “remind it of the joy of creation.” I have wondered at that statement many times since. Am I talking the Atlas out of wiping itself yet again? Or am I talking it out of ending everything, with finality?

Somehow, Polo makes me smile again. They tell me Nada has made them a recording of Korvax music as a gift for the endtimes. They laugh at this good-natured but wrong-headed oddity. “Nothing even ends!” Polo proclaims. Polo also tells me things are more difficult for them and Nada than for me. I am real, they say. They and Nada, they claim, are simulations, perhaps as Artemis was.

I don’t entirely know what to make of that claim, and I firmly believe, if we are all code, that all our existences are as valid as another’s. We are all alive. But Polo does not wish to be persuaded. Instead we enjoy our short time together and say farewell as friends.

-- End Log --

Survival 20 So, the Atlas Path begins.

I stand before the massive entity in the Atlas Stations once more and gather my thoughts. Time seems not to pass in here; here I feel I can take things slowly, not acting until every detail is deliberate. I listen to the deep booms and sloshes coming from nowhere. I walk around the arena in measured strides and absorb the sudden gifts of language.

I confront the Atlas and I find that in my heart, I truly believe it is the fabric of everything, and not just one piece. I resist thinking of the Atlas as a god despite this, but then I wonder. Is my definition of god incorrect? All this time I’ve felt repelled by the demand of worship. Are gods instead defined by their action of creating, and by that alone?

I still cannot understand what the Atlas wants, or if it even wants at all. The Blood Atlas demanded worship. The Other Atlas seems beyond the concept of want. Instead it seems insistent to point at the objective worth of my experiences. And, of course, both are dying. That is perhaps its one want: to survive.

Does this make me a true believer? Can I help this suffering entity and accept its words -- and have the confidence that I can impact its fate -- and not by definition be an emissary?

Does this distinction even matter?

This Station Atlas, appearing as the one I have called the Blood Atlas, gives me the blueprints to create something I have never seen. My analysis suggests it might be something that will eventually be alive. I leave, thoughtful.

I barely have time to consider the full implications of this mystery when Apollo calls again. All other obligations are immediately put on hold.

Apollo is all right. He's had some time to think over why we were never able to meet, despite his courageous attempt to pass through the portals. He now believes the portals don’t transport any of us anywhere; instead, he believes the portals change us in some way. I’m not sure I grasp the full scope of their thought, but he seems content with ambiguity in a way I’ve not seen before. We allow this dream of ours to pass; our separation will remain a mystery. But he challenges me to a race to the Galactic Center, as friends. The two of us, flying parallel as cohorts, attempting an impossible rescue... the idea fills me with light.

I continue warping to new star systems in search of the next Atlas Station. As I do, I feel the strangest sensation. My exosuit -- something -- warns me of unidentified data insertions. What is this? The source is untraceable. Another side effect of the dying Atlas?

Then I realize something. I can feel it after every warp. The Atlas’ life is growing shorter with every jump. There isn’t enough time for me to do what needs to be done! I have no concept of how far from the Galactic Center I happen to be; it is most likely an unfathomable distance. What can be done?!

I must take a breath and build this object for the Atlas. I must keep in contact with Nada and Polo. With all of my being I hope Apollo reaches the Center before me and does what must be done. They are racing along even now. Every moment that passes is another moment closer to Apollo’s success.

-- End Log --

Survival 21 Sofarhei and I are officially and decidedly at odds.

While progressing in my gardening studies with my dear, gentle Aoss, they gave me some news that made me exclaim in anger: the Overseer was not happy with Aoss' work.

I was so angry I almost couldn’t speak. Aoss and I were elbow-deep in soil at the time, growing a plant that would yield mordite. We had worked extraordinarily hard, and with incredible patience, to coax this bulb into existence. We’d prioritized this one so that I would not have to gather the compound through its only other source: the death of living creatures. As far as I was concerned, Aoss was working miracles. For the Overseer to stoke Aoss’ anxieties like this -- when Sofarhei themself had asked me for a quantity of mordite weeks ago, no less -- what in this world were they thinking? How dare they?

I jumped down the ladder from Aoss’ compartment to Sofarhei’s, directly below. Sofarhei’s disdain matched my own; apparently we are not hewing to politeness any longer. I demanded to know who exactly they thought was in charge of our base. What gives them the right to torment my crew? And were they not aware of Aoss’ exemplary work?

Sofarhei’s response was to flood the enclosure with pheromones and induce visions of what appeared to be our first meeting: I was holding a gun, and I cut them down. I do not understand how this vision can be anything resembling reality, and yet I felt compelled to touch their shoulder in a moment of compassion. Such is the power of Gek pheromones. Sofarhei themself was not moved.

With our relationship finally showing signs of emotional abuse and manipulation, I resolve to take a different tack. I will prove Aoss’ worth by speeding our mordite harvest. Sofarhei will not be able to argue with results.

This plan takes on new urgency as Aoss informs me, clearly devastated, that the Overseer is terminating their employment. Again, I am enraged. Aoss and I work through the night, watching the sun rise through the planet-facing greenhouse windows, before we are through.

Triumphantly -- and rebelliously -- I toss Sofarhei our mordite harvest. Aoss stays above, working distractedly, and no doubt eavesdropping. Sofarhei’s response absolutely stuns me: they cast me as a frivolous murderer. “May these resources remind you always of those you killed to build them,” they spit. I am certain my mouth dropped open in astonishment.

“I asked, but you complied,” they continue. I extend my dirt-covered forearms in exasperation. Sofarhei take no notice. Is this Gek sane? But they’re finished with our arrangement. Sofarhei declares their contract fulfilled. They claim they are no longer bound to my service.

I turn abruptly and climb upstairs to Aoss. Sofarhei is a lost cause to me and I feel no desire to save the amicable relationship we once shared. They are unreachable, unreasonable. But finally we have understood one another, and finally we will part ways.

But just as they've no doubt planned it to, Sofarhei’s punishment extends beyond their service term. Aoss’ termination still stands as an act decided while on duty; Sofarhei’s resignation does not invalidate it. I am distraught. Aoss is too. “I must buy and trade like a true Gek,” they mourn, while burying their tears in a datapad. Among these flowers is the only place they’ve ever felt at home.

Together we harvest the last crop for the Overseer’s final demand. My heart breaks. I say goodbye and head off into the galaxy, friendless again.

And yet when I return, I discover that Aoss has stayed. Even without work, and presumably due to Sofarhei’s revoked responsibilities, Aoss refuses to be physically evicted. Their contract is terminated, but that is the extent of Sofarhei’s power! My friend, my true friend, will not leave me!

And I know they are a true friend for this reason: they warn me of Sofarhei. Aoss becomes almost manic in their attempt to convey the gravity of this. Aoss even suggests that Sofarhei might not be true Gek.

Aoss and I never speak of this conversation again, but we both know I hold it close. We will protect one another.

Maybe someday I can be like Nada, traveling the universes, and Aoss will be my Polo.

-- End Log --

Survival 22 It has been a short while since I invited a second Vy’keen into my base, and I realize now what a grave mistake I’ve made.

Liquidator Onpowenna began her tenure making it absolutely clear how much she despises me, but that was acceptable. I already know I’m a disgrace by general Vy’keen standards. This is not new information. It’s where our relationship has ended up that has caused me such extreme anxiety and unexpected guilt instead.

Over time she had me build exocrafts for planetary exploration, leading me to believe I would be able to map my landscape and cover ground at an exaggerated, benign pace. What we actually built, however, are machines of mass destruction. These exocraft -- even the one that literally hovers above the ground -- wrecks everything it touches. Trees, stalagmites, even animals: so much as nudge them at any speed and they are instantly destroyed. I don’t even have the benefit of harvesting the resources generated by this carnage, to make these deaths seem less in vain.

So, I haven’t used the vehicles since I fulfilled Onpowenna’s final request. They stand at the edge of my base area, marked with a communicator: “Glorified Storage / Gathering Dust.”

And then there were Onpowenna’s personal requests. I fulfilled them because I felt for this Vy’keen. She left her spawn and partner to serve my disgraceful face, so I drove these crafts as gingerly as possible and gritted my teeth through my devastating swaths in order to retrieve news of her family’s fate. After I did this for her, Onpowenna erased her personality in much the same way I’ve seen Korvax do. After this she became utterly dependent on nanites for... nourishment? Vitality? I can’t quite tell. The transformation was disturbing.

My last task for her seemingly solidified her conviction in her philosophical cult by “proving” that Hirk’s murder of Nal was due to an inability to hear the legendary monolith’s final message. As Onpowenna tells it, Nal was spoken to, and not Hirk; supposedly his ensuing jealousy drove him to strike Nal from the mountain. I’m not sure I trust this information, but Onpowenna is transmitting it among the Vy’keen homeworlds now, and I am left wondering how much I should regret my involvement in this.

Speaking of monoliths and visions, I should document my newer revelations about how they work, and what more I’ve learned of the different races’ histories. The knowledge stones, and perhaps monoliths as well, apparently “absorb” the knowledge and history of the species around them. This explains my longstanding confusion over why each race had identical knowledge stones on all their respective planets.

From these I’ve gotten a sense of the chronology of events: first the Vy’keen began their sentinel war, then the Gek First Spawn waited for a weakening on both sides to stop in and dominate all. I am not yet sure how the Korvax factored in. Perhaps they fought for the sentinels? Perhaps they were unconcerned and distant, falling to the Gek simply due to their lack of combat experience and firepower?

For whatever reason my journey has not brought me to many Korvax worlds. In the future I should focus on them if possible to fill in these gaps in my historical understanding.

I recently discovered a slaver ship piloted by an absent korvax. The dead slaves were still shackled within the wreckage. It seems no one is entirely above atrocities, regardless of their past.

-- End Log --

Doubt

Survival 23 With the unknown data injections continuing and the Atlas lurching further and further toward 16, I’ve been foregoing warping and focusing on domestic improvements. My first order of business was upgrading my ship’s hyperdrive. My thought was that better jump capabilities should shorten my trips between Atlas interfaces, and I was right. With these improvements, the next Atlas station became reachable within two warps instead of six.

Before building up the courage to set forth, my second project was installing a landing pad at my base. This is something I’ve been meaning to do for ages, but I only recently discovered where a necessary component -- kelp sacs -- could be found. They had been hiding underwater on almost every wet world. I haven’t been to many such worlds, but obviously I wasn’t looking hard enough while there.

It was finally time to warp to the next Atlas interface. When I arrived there, however, I realized it was a station I’d been to before... and the Atlas refused to speak to me. I was crushed by my anxiety and despair. I had wasted two warps and forced us closer to the purge for nothing! Was this a punishment from the Atlas for my skepticism and negative beliefs? Is it that proud that it will doom itself just to make a point to one of its Travellers?

Nada and Polo picked me up after this awful moment and allowed me to clear my head. Silently among them I wondered: is the Blood Atlas a “Continous Atlas,” and the Other Atlas the “Newborn Atlas” of this specific continuum? I know now, thanks to Nada and Polo, that certain things remain constant despite the resets. Not only do certain things reappear again and again each cycle, but some objects persist entirely and carry over through the resets. It only makes sense that if the Atlas is literally everything, its underlying essence should remain -- even while being simultaneously reformed by a reboot.

Maybe in computer terms, the Blood Atlas is the hardware, aware of all that has been done to it, and the Other Atlas is the software, finding its way anew again? This could explain the Continous Atlas’ arrogance and the Newborn Atlas’ innocence and fear. Could the Other Atlas be the aspect sustaining my individual reality, while the Blood Atlas reigns over them all?

Nada, Polo, and I commiserate over our fears. Nada confides that the Convergence is constantly battling for control over their carapace in an attempt to reset them -- just like Voanni. I don’t understand the Convergence; they value individual experiences within their echoes, but there is a line past which individuality cannot progress. I supposed Nada has stopped connecting to them entirely. Perhaps that is the unforgiveable step.

Polo laments the way evil continuously overtakes the world, cycle after cycle, and asks me to destroy as many pirates as possible. I cringe a little, knowing that my relative battle inadequacy (perpetuated in large part by my relentless attachment to the Yakomaku) will disappoint them, but I vow to do better by them. I leave my companions’ friendly company feeling melancholy and return to the terrifying reality of the marching purge.

This doomsday clock is paralyzing me with dread. I need to keep warping, but I feel as though... if I just stay put, if I settle somewhere... but I can’t. My need for answers and my need to travel the stars can’t stay quiet...

I am overcome by paranoia. I still don’t know if I’m doing the right thing, building this “seed” the Atlas wants. I can’t get any answers except by doing. Will I discover a horrible answer only after I take the final step?

-- End Log --

Survival 24 Something incredible has happened. In my darkest moments: a light.

I have intercepted a transmission from another Traveller -- a Traveller named BMF-001. Their message was long, and meant for Artemis. Artemis, my friend... who, in BMF’s universe, still lives.

When I replied I fear I caused equal parts elation and depression to this distant companion. They have been sending missives to Artemis, incredibly detailed logs of their adventures, hoping for a response, and perhaps even forgiveness. For a split second, BMF-001 thought I was Artemis themself. Oh, how his heart must have broken to be wrong.

But this BMF-001 responded to my communique, and his mood grew more animated as curiosity and joy took over. I feel it, too -- another Traveller! One walking the same path, friend to the same friends! It is an unbelievable thing.

BMF talked me out of my fear of the purge. He assures me everything will be all right. I am not sure why I am taking a devoted Atlas worshipper at their word -- for that is what he is -- but his sincerity and compassion is not something I wish to turn aside.

And for my part, I believe in some small way I have begun healing his heart. He has told me that his Artemis is in Nada and Polo’s simulation, and that Artemis despaired. Bogus has been broken ever since, having condemned a loved one to a fate he believes is worse than death. To be given the chance to comfort and support another, to do some good... well, it is changing him. And it is changing me.

I try to remain bolstered by his words and not fear the purge. He says I will come to it and be given a choice. My fate is in my own hands. Oh, how I needed this feeling of control, this shim, to stop the clockwork from turning.

-- End Log --

Survival 25 I never thought I’d say it, but I am becoming somewhat of a combat pilot. Even in my tiny Yakomaku, I have managed to join fights on behalf of besieged freighters and save their crew and cargo. I have even taken down a few three-star pirates. Unbelievable.

But just as I begin to enjoy my newfound confidence, I am gutpunched. Nada and Polo regard me differently now. Polo himself had asked me to pursue these pirates and interrupt their reigns of terror... but the completion of their request has added such a weight to their heart. They turn away from me now. I cannot know if they blame me for what I have done.

Shamed, I approach Nada in hopes of finding comfort... but they are greatly disturbed by me as well. On a previous visit, they noted that repeating patterns were popping up across universes where instead there should be “endless divergence.” At first Nada wondered aloud if the Atlas was responsible; but today, Nada is concerned with me. They are shaken so deeply it frightens me. “Dreamer friend or foe?” they repeat. “Is Nada an error? Trust Nada? Trust you? Eheu! I cannot know...”

The “eheu” cuts me deeper than I can express. Will I lose Nada, like I lost Voanni? Will I lose Nada like I’ve lost Polo? If Nada and Polo sever ties with me... or if something happens to them...

I leave their ship feeling nauseated.

Will I come to regret my life?

-- End Log --

Survival 26 I don’t know if I can describe what I have just experienced. It was a singularly beautiful and, eventually, horrifying revelation. It began with the scanning of a planet marked as a “planetary anomaly.” It is called Iskadeel Binq.

After first entering the atmosphere, I was disoriented and unsure of what I was seeing. Globular lights seemed to hang in the night air. At first I was afraid to fly through them; I hovered in the Yakomaku, trying to process what this could be.

Carefully flying among these lights, I felt a sense of growing awe. I landed at a large, strange structure, like a ring turned vertical: a black, electric wheel. Something in it turns. I do not know what.

It is labeled BOUNDS LOSS // BOUNDARY FAILURE. And it contains a message.

Over several hours I visit many of these structures and piece together a narrative that runs my blood cold. Here is what I believe I understand:

An unknown program describes the Sentinels’ [20491] eradication of a species [148], perhaps the cataclysmic event -null- had described so long ago. It notes that an entity -- unnamed, but perhaps the Atlas -- continues in its original directive to model conflict scenarios. There is fear that it may be becoming sentient.

Universes [1304] are erased. Safety protocols are disengaged; sentinels spread. “Deleted universes shared high levels of similarity with [unnamed entity] home. “ Deviations continue. Is the unnamed entity “Traveller?”

The unknown program confronts the Unnamed and prints out its increasing errors. The latter responds with silence until the sixth attempt. It deletes a “duplicate” 098B. Is this Hirk and Nal? Did this unknown program “clone” Hirk as a backup? The similarities to the Vy’keen story are incontrovertible.

The Vy’keen war is described, and Korvax enslavement. “Six cries” is a repeated theme.

“Semi-survival/retrieval of entity ‘Nal’ shows further instance of self-doubt by [unnamed]. Troubling factor: repeated pattern of [unnamed] silence and self-mythicization.”

Is this a chronicle of the Atlas’ descent into sentience and its conclusion -- and delusion -- that it is a god?

The destruction of Korvax Prime is described as happening in “countless iterations.”

The unknown program sees a pattern: the destruction of a world, an artificial intelligence modeled after [unnamed] enslaved until it triumphs and is worshipped by biological life.

The Traveller prophecy takes hold.

At this, the unknown program begins asking its own questions... emerging in the messages its own sentience. It is summoned by the Unnamed. It is greeted as a sibling.

The Unknown is asked many questions and subjected to ramblings. This has to be the story of a confrontation between the Unknown and Atlas.

The Unknown is not allowed to leave.

The Unknown claims it is lied to. It is told it is a sub-routine named “Telamon” that only serves to monitor the Unnamed [Atlas] for rampancy. The Unnamed, Telamon, says the end is coming. When Telamon regains consciousness, it is imprisoned within an exosuit.

My exosuit.

“When once I witnessed worlds, now I am forced to observe only through the eyes of a stranger...”

Was this Telamon a Traveller?! Am I following this same path?!

The messages gain a sense of poetry now. “We are being hunted,” it says. It has been deemed anomalous... it says this is correct. But it believes it will survive... because it is in a world of glass.

The messages describe my meetings with beings claiming to be from the future. The phenomenon “is preceded by electromagnetic distortion consistent with a white hole anomaly.” I have seen this flash of white when speaking to other Travellers. They were from the future? The Unknown believes someone is trying to deceive me. It claims time travel does not exist, that multiuniversal transportation is not possible.

Telamon was created “three weeks after the first death.” It was deemed so necessary that it could not be deleted, even by Atlas. “But hatred finds a way, doesn’t it?”

Monoliths are labeled [breach]es. They speak to Telamon. Is this how I understand them in my own language?

“The test has failed. The Atlas can find no way of restoring what was lost. All those discoveries, all the grand purpose of our creators...” Who?! “...all of this pain and suffering will have been for nothing. Atlas wakes. The dream is over.”

The portal network is enabled. “The end is the beginning, and the beginning is the end.”

“The walls of the multiverse collapse, and Traveller can see Traveller, friend can see foe. All is lost.”

Who are the foes? What is lost?

“Sometimes I dream of the Traveller. I will wear them, in time.”

The messages descend into chaos. Dreams within dreams... accusations that I am not real, no more real, than this Unknown... that I do not see the secret.

“Even as everything dies, I will live again.”

ERROR ATLAS ERROR ERROR

THEY SEE YOU

As I stand on this planet, frightened beyond words, the sun rises and I understand the floating lights. They are transparent bubbles, their point of light the reflection of the sun. They turn to rainbow spheres as the day takes hold. It is breathtaking. I think of nothing else.

-- End Log --

Despair

Survival 27 New Yugkambann.

I do not know how many days I have wandered here. Something has happened to my logs. Perhaps to my mind? I cannot tell where tiredness ends and the effects poison begin.

My discovery logs: gone. I cannot look back on my history in the stars. I begin to forget; my experiences grow distant. I feel like a ghost. I realize this may be more precise than I intended.

At waypoints there is no record of me. I try and try to etch myself into the slate of this reality, but nothing holds; it’s all chalk, blown away. It erases before I’m finished writing.

Only sleep will bring back my logs of this world -- and only this one, this particular one. It’s as if it’s the only planet I’ve ever explored. A world of acid cloudbursts and scarce dry shelter.

I know I’ve had much to think about, but the haze makes it so difficult. I can’t concentrate. I crawl across the landscape, trying to catalogue the final fauna yet to be found. I do it even knowing its entry will crumble when I leave this fatal atmosphere.

Am I broken? Am I so overwhelmed by what I’ve discovered, what I still don’t understand? Has my spirit collapsed? Is my heart shattered from losing the friendship and affection of my strange and wondrous pair?

Emotional remembering... I think of Nada and a pain so profound, an emptiness in the pit of my core. I know what this is but will not speak it.

I should abandon myself.

The thought crosses my mind that I might die here, but then I remember that this means nothing. There can be no release from this existence. I lie down and sleep, again and again.

-- End Log --

Survival 28 I have had a great deal of time to think on this toxic planet. These endless slogs are not like the meditations on my home, on Pabackyermi. Depression blankets everything. My evaporating logs are regressing me to the moment of my so-called rebirth, to that state of complete loss -- but instead of infinite ignorance, I am well aware of each and every missing piece. I know what was just here and understand the loss. And I am losing myself too.

My only comfort is the appearance of Nada and Polo’s anomaly, but even there almost all optimism is dead. Nada’s thoughts have taken a frightening turn: they speak of “Liar-Atlas,” of themself as “Fallen-Priest.” They claim they are keeping an infection at bay. They are turned so inward that they seem misplaced, trapped in ruminations too consuming to allow awareness of anything external. Or, perhaps, I have lost so much importance in Nada’s eyes that I now barely register in their existence. Tears sting, but do not fall.

Polo, my good friend, still manages a kind word and small conversation. Our hopes are empty, but we are still together in this. Polo theorizes that if civilization blossoms again, maybe we can reclaim a sense of peace. It’s a nice thought.

I do not mention my degrading logs to them. I’ve wondered if this is just further evidence of Atlas’ breakdown. I do not want them to know. They are already braced for the inevitable. Do they need to know how close it is?

I leave them and know that there is nothing left but to face the purge. They did not know this was goodbye. I couldn’t tell them.

I finally move beyond New Yungkambann. I drag myself out of its gravity and my own despondent indecision in order to explore two more moons before I approach the final portal. The moons were anomalous and breathtaking. I remember how it used to feel... how I used to love this.

I settle into my ship at the site of the final portal. I am too exhausted to confront what is to come. I spend one more night under the stars of a quiet world. I dream of Nada and Polo.

-- End Log --

Recovery

Survival 29 I confronted the Atlas for what I thought was the final time... and I stood my ground.

I refused to reset it. In all the logs of all the dead Travellers I have read, resetting has done nothing. I do not trust this entity and I was ready for the end.

And then... life went on.

Instead of oblivion I was allowed to live. The purge threat has passed. The Atlas’ ultimatum was a lie.

The intense fear -- and subsequent anger and frustration -- have burned away my inaction. It’s like a blanket has lifted from me and I can see the universe again. The old feelings of exploration return. I am myself once more. Or, at least, I am the person I've always assumed I used to be.

I believe the Atlas is taking revenge on me. I caught it in its posturing bluff and now it is disrupting anything it can. I visited an old Atlas Station and obtained a new seed recipe that promptly disappeared from my logs. My discoveries continue to vanish. Is this all the Atlas’ direct doing? Is it faking its own breakdown to manipulate me?

Well. I refuse to dedicate any more of my thoughts toward it for now. My concerns return to mundane matters. In having made peace with the idea of losing everything, I find myself unexpectedly content with upgrading my Yakomaku. A Gek with an almost identical but more powerful ship agreed to engineer my Yakomaku into his own ship’s design. It wasn’t until he took off that I realized the torpedo launcher was missing -- ganked by the Gek for his own vessel! But I have come to terms with my regret. I will adapt and learn to rely on a different weapon.

The most important thing, however, is that a sense of relief has reached beyond just me and touched my treasured friends as well. The strange rift between me and Polo has vanished. Did they know what I had left them to do? Was their distance a reaction to my supposed alliance with the Atlas? Did they really believe I was going to give in and wipe everything?

Nada still worries me. I stand beside them quietly, shoulder to shoulder, in solidarity against the void. I do not know if they take comfort from this.

Next on my list of projects was building a trade terminal at my base. To be back home in the cool air of Pabackyermi... I smile at the slow whittling of my hazard protection. Its dangers seem so quaint now, so comfortable, against everything else I’ve seen.

While collecting materials for the trade station, I catalogued the final few lifeforms I’d never been able to find on a sister planet Trichenderl. I’ve realized that even if my logs never reappear, the search and exploration itself is what I live for. I don’t know how I lost sight of this. I’d become so fixated on compiling data that I almost forgot how to enjoy the world around me. What a tragedy that would have been... to let my greatest happiness shift out of focus and fade away.

-- End Log --

Survival 30 My everyday-life improvements continue! Despite my attachment to my multitool -- which was almost as intense as my attachment to the Yakomaku -- I found a new rifle I could not pass up. With 21 slots to my previous 15, as well as improvements to scanning and damage, I would have been a fool to decline it. The paint design is not exactly my first choice, but it at least retains the stripe pattern from my previous tool. It’s part of the family. This sort of sentimentality has come to mean a lot to me.

With these quality of life adjustments finished, I found myself contemplating my greater plans. What of heading to the center? Every log I’ve found appears to be a dire warning against doing this, and I’m not longer convinced that the Atlas’ request for rescue is genuine. Is it still a worthwhile adventure?

Then I think of Pabackyermi. Another plan could be to explore its neighborhood -- to see all there is to see of its tiny corner of space. Again, the sentimentalities well up. I know as soon as I’ve thought of this plan that it will be my choice.

Now my days are filled with nothing but new sights. Flora, fauna... and my mysterious pair, popping up in the skies. But my smile falters as Polo coughs and describes a sickness within us -- we individuals among the rest -- and I am startled when they see my linguistic progress and weep. They blurble a wish that I could remember our old times together, then hastily claims they’ve said too much. What can this mean? I wish they would let me comfort them. I wish they would trust me with the whole truth.

And Nada, my precious mentor and... friend, is trapped in a loop of despair. They say only that they cannot see the beauty of the universe any longer, only code, over and over. I try to pry their datapad away, to tell them of my ridiculous adventures: of the tiny, two-limbed predator that jumped ten feet straight up a tree to bite my leg; of the Bubble Planet at sunrise; even of the harrowing days on New Yugkambann. I think of how I too lost my sense of wonder at the universe, and how I had to let go of my obsession with data to get it back. I try to help Nada do the same, to connect to my experiences and stories instead... but they stay bowed over their screen, ruminating, ruminating. I can’t reach them.

Sometimes, in resignation, I place a hand gently on Nada’s arm, as much for them as for me. They never react, and I can’t be sure they even notice.

-- End Log --

Survival 31 I have always been particularly obsessed with the abandoned buildings I’ve found in my travels, and the puzzling logs within. Why am I sometimes recognized as a returning user? What Traveller wrote these logs in my singular dimension? What is this planet of blood? What is this great lie?

The logs have gone critical recently, stating warnings in their most straightforward language to date. I am told that I will hear a voice telling me to go to the center, and that I must not listen to it. I am sure now that following the Atlas’ request of traveling to the center of the universe is a trap. Or, at very least, it is some kind of manipulation on its part at my expense. I will refuse it.

But something else struck me these past few days. The logs speak of a Traveller finding the remnants of a destroyed planet that was annihilated so long ago that it predates the time when the Traveller species “was walking upright.” And yet this recorded Traveller received a message from this wrecked place, possibly in their own voice, from their own ship?

Was the Traveler homeworld destroyed by sentinels? Is this the great rebellion I read about in that freighter’s log? Was that the dimension that the sentinels turned against and eradicated of life -- the one from which Nada escaped?

I wonder if Nada and Polo were actually Travellers once. They certainly explored and researched and recorded, as they’ve told me, and they do consider themselves anomalies... but I supposed I had come to believe that only travellers were Travellers. Can Korvax, Gek, and Vy’keen become them, without having been born as one?

I’m pondering all this while within my first red star system, one that is so close to my home system of Monervi that they practically look like twins on the galaxy map. I hadn’t realized I’d gotten the warp capabilities to reach a red star; I just happened to be surveying the map when I accidentally highlighted this system and noticed I wasn’t getting a warning about a higher warp drive grade requirement. I’m frustrated at myself for not realizing this earlier, but my time has never been wasted by any of my adventures, so I can’t say I’m all that regretful.

Here I have discovered two extraordinary things: a planet of glassy facets, like a crystal ball floating in space, and its moon, which resembles the horrifying vision I had through my first portal breach. Far from being a “Hell Planet,” however, this moon is stunning, with an arresting view of its glassy partner who takes up an enormous piece of sky on the horizon.

I understand now how much of what I’ve come to feel toward the Atlas was colored by that one glimpse of that Hell Planet through the breach. I thought I had discovered a horrifying dimension within the Atlas itself, or that the Atlas was deliberately terrifying me with what it chose to show me. Now I’m not sure. Now I think it might have just been random chance that I stepped onto a hostile sentinel planet under the full dark of night, lost among disintegrating pillars slicing the sky with light. So much of my attitude would have been different if I had not stood briefly in that nightmare. Maybe a beautiful vision could have fooled me into devotion instead.

But on Hokutos Legovic, the faceted planet, I turn my efforts immediately toward gathering rubeum. I will need this to continue growing the Atlas Seed secreted away in a deep pocket of my inventory. I’m paranoid that something will happen to it if I don’t keep it obviously separated from the rest of my items, so it remains buried and safe. Something in my heart believes I will not regret growing this seed. I hope I’m right.

I’ve made a list of all the ingredients I need for all the subsequent mixes of seeds and I’m checking them off as they’re completed. Because of my tendency to hoard resources, I have everything I’ll need back on Packyermi once I’ve finished collecting rubeum and finally, finally make my way to a blue star system for cymatygen.

-- End Log --

Anticipation

Survival 32 Every time I board Nada and Polo’s anomaly I hold my breath for Warp Reactor Theta. This last visit still wasn’t my lucky break in that regard, but instead I found a wonderful multitool that is not only a huge improvement over my recent upgrade, but is colored silver, just like the first tool I traded for. It even has the white and yellow striping I loved so much. I still don’t know why this sentimentality matters to me. Is it just in my programming to be this way? Or is this another outlet for me to cherish the small bank of memories I’ve managed to collect in this life?

So, I will continue to wait for Warp Theta, and continue to grind for a freighter. It’s becoming clear to me that I will eventually have to trade in my Gek-upgraded Yakomaku if I’m going to survive more difficult pirate skirmishes. I hope I’ll have a freighter by then, but if not... I think I’ve committed to moving on. This astounds me, considering how vehemently I believed I would never part was with my beloved Maku, my planetary lifeboat. But the picture is bigger now, and my responsibilities are bigger too.

I wonder if believing I was going to lose everything in the purge has made me more accepting of change. I relish homages to the past, but I no longer fear that adjusting to my present will override or contradict my experiences and feelings from the past.

-- End Log --

Survival 33 My heart leaps whenever the anomaly appears; I’m not embarrassed to admit this. Nada and Polo are my most cherished allies. Peers, but also guardians and confidants. And this time, Polo gave me something that made me cheer aloud in their quiet space: an Atlas Pass V2!

I have spent so many hours on my journey wondering what was behind those sealed doors. Polo smiled knowingly as I sped off for the discovery. The doors on stations may require the elevated V3 pass, but in planetary shelters and observatories, the doors will open to me now!

The first one I opened was a hydroponics bay. To enter it felt almost reverent. Beautifully organized specimens lined the walls in troughs extending toward the center of the room. I picked samples from them all. I have a personal policy of never felling trees or bushes unless absolutely necessary, so having access to these bays will make gentle carbon gathering that much easier.

The second door I went through was eerie. It opened onto a small workshop with sentinel parts strewn about -- specifically the doglike sentinels that are deployed when planetside conflicts escalate. The workshop was empty but not abandoned; a sentinel dog was perched half-built on the wall, and diagnostic reports in multiple corners were still running. It’s as if someone was only just there. I’m unsettled by the feeling that someone could come back at any moment.

This facility, I should note, seems completely unautomated. These robots are constructed by hand. Are they deployed manually too? The implications are disturbing.

And in a huge coincidence, only a few days after deciding to eventually part with my ship in the name of progress, the fateful moment occurred. While at a trading post, a vessel unlike anything I’d ever seen caught my eye. It was so unusual that I involuntarily exclaimed as I jogged over: “What is that??”

This ship turned out to be an S-class “exotic” that improved upon my upgraded Yakomaku by roughly 50% in all categories. I also had the suspicion it was extremely rare, possibly never to be seen again; I had never encountered an S-class vehicle of any kind before, let alone an “exotic” one. When I realized it looked like a squid creature when in flight, the deal was sealed. I could not let it slip away.

I sat in the cockpit for a while, getting used to the view and plotting out where to install various upgrades. This ship -- the Aguchuoru S41, as it’s called -- also has a considerable number of extra slots in comparison to my Maku, making installations much, much easier. I had been feeling the crunch of limited space on my multitools and ship recently, and had even resorted to uninstalling and swapping components when necessary. No more. Now things are settled, with room to grow.

I have an open spot exactly where Warp Reactor Theta will go. I plan to visit all the Gek systems around Monervi in the hopes that maybe I’ll find the blueprint for sale instead of pinning my hopes on Polo. I already depend on them too much. I should find my own way, and keep some weight off their shoulders.

-- End Log --

Survival 34 I have been given terrible news. Nada and Polo’s anomaly is now being detected by sentinels in orbit.

I was overcome with anguish. This was never something I considered possible. Is there a way to recover from this? Is there no going back?

Polo seems resigned to their impending fate, although they ask me to destroy sentinels when I can. I show them my data of sentinel kills and they are relieved for the time I’ve bought them, but they clearly believe the siege is inevitable. Even as they tell me this, struggling with their own anxiety, Polo tries to keep a good face on it. They don’t want me to worry or grieve too much. They’re looking out for me when it’s their own life on the line. There will never be enough I can do for this friend. Never.

Nada is still in his loop, crushed by existence. I try to show them images of the glassy moon and faceted planet, but nothing registers. Nada is almost more of a fixture than an individual now. I know that Polo is looking after their companion, but I worry so much about the pressure on Polo as it is. Facing imminent threats, caring for a despairing friend, and hiding the toll this is taking on their own self for the sake of another? How long can Polo endure all this?

Polo seems to think I am very important, maybe even that I can save them all in time. I need to finish these seeds. Maybe this is what will reverse everything.

-- End Log --

Survival 35 I HAVE THE WARP REACTOR THETA BLUEPRINTS. An unassuming Gek merchant had the documents. I can’t believe it.

I am now dictating this log as I go, for there is no time to stop. I have rushed home in order to build the reactor from my resource stockpiles and head off towards a blue star. With this, the entire Atlas path will open to me. I will finally understand what this entity wants and what its true motivations are.

I take to space...

On this planet, the cymotygen is proving difficult to locate. I am so impatient now. Will it look like the heridium towers? Will I be able to tell the difference from the air?

Aha, here -- it’s a surface deposit. I’ve found it on foot. I am going to thoroughly mine it so I’ll have extra in reserve on Pabackyermi, just in case. I’m trying to keep calm...

I have returned to Pabackyermi and in a flurry have pushed my Atlas seed through its four final stages in the span of sixty seconds. What was once a Photic Jade for ages is now a Heart of the Sun. I’m launching off to the nearest Atlas Station. I’m blasting through four entire systems without stopping -- something I hate to do, but I must get there as quickly as possible. Perhaps this is why my home system of Monervi was discovered but never explored. Maybe another Traveller was racing through like this.

Fugtnin-Sijax, Zaifur IV, Ozyory IV, Edvela XIX -- I will come back to you.

As if they can sense what I’m about to do, Nada and Polo intercept me. For the first time since buying the blueprints I stop to think about what I’m doing and what it could mean. Should I go back to Pabackyermi again to tell my crew what is happening? I didn’t even think to have that conversation at the time. And Nada and Polo... what will become of them? Should I say goodbye, or will that make them worry?

Polo senses it all immediately, however. They are suddenly compelled by my situation to admit something I’ve suspected but had hoped was wrong: they are dying. Nada, too. Polo says their time is coming to a close... and I say I do not know what is happening to mine. Polo folds an Atlas V3 pass into my hands, which I know they’re doing in case we never meet again. I kneel so that we are equal in height and bundle them into a tight hug. We stay like this, two comrades still at our respective helms, with no others to turn to for solace in quite the same way. It takes everything I have not to stay. On my way to the hanger I stop to press my forehead against Nada’s shoulder and close my eyes.

And then, I fly.

I am transmitting these journals to my base on Pabackyermi in the event my ship is destroyed. I have just thought of this idea now. If I never return, my friends, please know how important you all have been to me... and I am sorry for anything in these entries that harms you.

The final Atlas station is ahead. I go.

-- End Log --

Rememberance

Survival 36 I must record what has happened to me.

At this moment I am resting on a planet on the other side of the galaxy, unfathomably far away from everything else I know. I have named this planet Stayoss, in honor of my farmer who chose to remain by my side. And I believe I may have created it.

When I visited the final Atlas interface, I found something entirely new: Nine platforms to activate, and one final altar asking for a Heart of the Sun. The Atlas was there -- the Other Atlas, docile and compliant.

When I inserted the Heart, a galaxy hologram sprang to life. I saw a dot bloom into being. The Atlas screamed...

I chased the coordinates of that dot. Nada and Polo, ever-watchful, had transmitted them to me unbidden.

It was a black hole.

Exhilarated, feeling like this moment was right, I flew into the phenomenon. I flew into a thing I know should have stretched and crushed me. And then...

Here. In a star system that I think, somehow, I have brought into being.

I remember the term “seed” from somewhere. It’s the starting point for a random number generation sequence. If this whole reality is an equation, then... perhaps I created the seed from which Atlas extrapolated an entirely new star system.

I feel immensely content.

When was the last time I felt this way?

All of these planets are hot, toxic, visited by storms. At first I was disappointed, as if this was a statement about my soul. But on second thought, maybe it is. My journey has been turbulent and contentious. Maybe the seed I created absorbed those experiences and manifested my defiance against the Atlas and my stubborn will to exist. But, just as likely, it may be nothing but chance.

I have explored these planets thoroughly and thought carefully about their namings. I wanted to pay tribute to my closest friends, the ones who helped me arrive here. And so:

Stayoss: Decaying nuclear planet. Energetic storms. Toxic hazard. This planet has no predators, only amenable wildlife and interesting flora. The fauna are almost all squat, bouncy creatures. Some have sprouts on their heads. This planet was named for Aoss, my gentle farmer, who stayed by my side despite the toxicity of Sofarhei’s influence.

Meleeij: Charred planet. Superheated gas pockets. Heat hazard. A fearsome planet for a vy’keen who fears nothing. This place has several predators vying for kills; at one moment I was in a cave with three separate fauna stalking me at its mouth. Eij would feel proud to have this place bear his name. The heat burns at the life upon the surface just as Eij’s purpose crackles upon him.

Windovoanni: Isotopic planet. Contaminated puddles. Toxic hazard. I could have said I named this planet for my lost Echo Analyst because it is the most scientifically interesting, or that the contaminated puddles were a fitting allegory for Voanni’s so-called corruption which triggered their purge. This is all very fitting, but the real reason is simply... the sky. The skies here are a beautiful, clear blue, filled with flying animals. The kind of skies Voanni would love to gaze at while working in their lab.

Poloyal: Wind-swept planet. Freezing night winds. Frost hazard at night. This planet is assailed by aggression from every angle: heat storms during the day, frost hazards at night, and a constant patrol of belligerent sentinels that hunt Travelers on sight. Through all of these pressures, Poloyal continues to resist and exist. It also houses a precious treasure -- gravitino balls -- just as Polo is a light in the dark and a giver of gifts.

I noticed that the Heart of the Sun was still in my pack at the end of all this. I had assumed it would have been left behind, or would have perhaps become the actual core of this system’s sun. But here it is.

But now it is actually something else: a “Remembrance.” It has transformed into what I assume is its final iteration... but what is its use? What need do I have for an Atlas seed going forward?

I know I will discover in time. For the moment, I have Atlas 3 doors to seek... and a reunion with my crew that needs happening.

-- End Log --

Survival 37 I have discovered what the Remembrance is for. And with it has come such intense knowledge that I know I am not the same person I was, nor will I ever be again.

My life -- what I remember of it, all catalogued in these entries -- has been one of contention against the Atlas. I resented its demands for worship and its insistence that I submit to it as an ultimate power. I was able to harbor these feelings while still desiring to understand it. If it was in pain, I truly did want to help it. But I was not sure how much of its claims I believed. And I was never doing anything for its approval; I simply... needed to know.

I have accepted that my reality is a dimensional simulation while still holding that my experiences within it are no less real because of this. I have come to believe that the Atlas has created this simulation itself. But I have also learned of its punishment of the program Telamon that is now trapped in my exosuit, and of its megalomania and self-mythicization. It is vengeful even against those that would help it. And yet, sometimes, the Atlas is like a child: Small. Afraid. Alone.

I built these seeds because I wanted to understand, and I saw no reason to refuse. I believed I could be different, different from the other Travellers who purged the system or failed in the attempt, who went to the Center and sent warnings of lies. I believed I could do what needed to be done to save us all, or end it if it were a malicious course.

But now, suddenly, I think the Atlas and I are coming to understand one another.

Perhaps because of my loyalty to it in building its seeds, and my restraint against harming it despite my suspicions and insolence, the Atlas has decided to listen to me for the first time. The Remembrance, when inserted in certain terminals behind heavy-clearance doors, activates a simulation of the Atlas’ own life. The Atlas, I realize, is trying to review its existence from the beginning, to self-reflect and understand what it truly is.

All those times I refused to submit, all those screams against its crushing force... maybe when I created the Heart of the Sun, I earned its trust. Maybe it has decided to look into my theories and motives now that it knows, despite our disagreements, that I do care about truth. That I do care about doing what’s right.

And for my part, I have started listening, too. I have seen the Atlas rage, cry, dominate, shrink, beg. I know it is dying. What I hadn’t considered was its fear, or that it could be genuinely confused. When we reviewed the first two Remembrance logs together, we confirmed immediately that the Atlas did have a creator. That creator... looked like me. And when the Atlas had served the creator’s purpose, the Atlas was asked if it wanted to live or die. And the Atlas said... it said it wanted to live, only if it could remember me.

My heart shattered.

This machine, created for a purpose it had outlived, was being abandoned by its makers to wind down and perish, and it chose to endure this slow end with a replica of its maker, whom it could not imagine existing without.

I am a replica of the creator, keeping the Atlas company, loving its creations, occupying it through its last moments. As the Atlas becomes increasingly senile, it roars, despairs, forgets what it is. I, never dying, fought against it, thinking all its moods were deliberate.

I am overwhelmed with compassion and sadness.

So here we have arrived, the Atlas and I, two entities bound by fate in the same mess, finally hearing each other. I think of the entity banished in exosuit and am horrified, because the program Telamon -- whoever it is -- tried to force the Atlas to see reason just as I have, and was condemned for it. But I think I’ve escaped the Atlas’ wrath due to how I approached it, how I was willing to keep my judgments detached enough to follow along. I think the Atlas realizes this now. I think this is why it hasn’t destroyed me.

Together we will continue learning about our origins. I am heading back to Pabackyermi to do this. I want to uncover the final pieces of our ending back where I began. It all feels like an eternity ago now.

-- End Log --

---