Stranded On Santa Astarta -v1.1.0 Beta- -doc Ba... -

I open my med-log. I type one last line.

In the center of the circle stands Captain Valerio. His mouth is moving, but the voice coming out is not his. It is a chorus of forty-seven voices, layered on top of each other, whispering a single phrase over and over: Stranded on Santa Astarta -v1.1.0 Beta- -Doc Ba...

Today, I found the beacon. Not mine. A ship’s black box, half-swallowed by a glowing fungal mat. It was stamped with the Gilgamesh’s hull number, but the casing was warm, pulsing with a familiar rhythm. My pulse. I open my med-log

Santa Astarta. A name meant to evoke saints and purity. The reality was a seething, iridescent green hell. His mouth is moving, but the voice coming out is not his

Food is scarce. The local fauna—squat, six-legged things with too many eyes and a chittering that mimics human speech—are edible after a fashion. They taste of burnt copper and regret. Water I get from the bell-shaped flowers that only open when you sing to them. I’ve been humming the chorus of an old Milet song. It works. I don’t ask why.

He becomes home .