Entry 1:
Two reactors online now. One port, one starboard. The Genesis has a pulse again. I don't want to go through that again.
Ten hours of work, and I learned that having knowledge and using knowledge are two very different things. It was delicate, precise work. My hands shook even when I knew I did everything right. It was hard to not thing of all the possible failure models. I was particularly worried about the one where it blew up.
The ferrus-contra fuel is stable. Four kilograms divided between both reactors should be enough for two years of full operation, as long as I don't do anything reckless. The power curve is smooth, the response exactly as Feravincio's specifications predicted. By every engineering measure, it's a success.
So why does it still feel like I'm tightening a chain around my own ankle?
I guess it is because I'm using technology I don't fully understand. The alienness still creeps me out a bit.
Also, I wish I could have recovered the other probes or brought back more material. Just another entry in the long list of regrets and what-ifs. Who know what consequences that might bring, or if I can find a second location. I don't plan on being caught in a trap again.
The ship feels alive again. Maybe too alive. Every system I restore, every corridor I bring back to light, feels like waking something that was meant to stay sleeping. The Genesis was built for war, for genetic experimentation, for reasons I still don't fully understand. And I'm the one giving it breath again.
Sometimes I wonder if that makes me responsible for its sins and how many ghost lurk in it's halls. I jumped the other day as I swear I saw movement, but Sage assures me it was nothing but me jumping at shadows.
Entry 2:
I'm talking to Mera more than I should. She floats in her tank beside my workstation, pulsing that soft gold light that's become familiar. Comforting, even. I tell myself it's practical, it makes it easier to monitor her environment while I work—but that's bullshit and I know it.
The truth is, Mera's the perfect listener. Quiet. Luminous. Never interrupts. Never judges. I found myself using her as a my personal therapist.
"You know what scares me?" I asked her today, not expecting an answer. "Being bonded. To Sage. To whatever the Gardeners are trying to turn me into." I know Sage was listening, but they let me speak. That was kind of them. Still, I can't shake the sense that my future's already been written somewhere I'll never reach.
To my surprise, Mera's light shifted to deeper tones, violet threading through the gold. I'm probably imagining meaning where there isn't any, but it felt like understanding and like reassurance. That I was on the right track. I know I'm just rationalising my own idea's but it helped.
I've seen what bonding does. How it ties your fate to something vast and uncontrollable. Sage is my partner, yes. My teacher. But sometimes I wonder if they're also a leash I never chose. I suppose, like Mera, I was caught in a drone's resource collector. The workshop was the bait.
Every upgrade, every system I restore, every secret I uncover. It all feels like another link in a chain. I used to dream of freedom: of building ships on my own terms, of making choices that were purely mine. Now I'm not sure I'd recognise freedom if I found it. Would I even want it? Or have I carried responsibility for so long that letting go would just feel like falling?
Mera pulsed brighter, her light rippling through colours I'm starting to associate with moods. Not words as she doesn't have language but states of being made visible. This pattern felt like… solidarity. Shared weight.
"Thanks," I said, resting my hand against her tank. "I think."
Entry 3:
I've started talking to Mera instead of this log. It feels more honest that way. Also safer, but I found I should write something down, settle these feeling I'm having.
Cameron's going to be at the meeting when I get back. We'll sit across from each other, discuss project timelines and resource allocations, and I'll pretend I'm not thinking about other things. It's easier to call it friendship, professional collaboration, something neat and reasonable. But I'm not that good at lying to myself.
He's brilliant and careful. He listens when I talk about engineering problems, never dismisses the small details, and somehow manages to make complex systems sound simple without being condescending. It's unfairly attractive. Mera's light rippled as I wrote this, with soft waves of amber. I'm choosing to believe that means encouragement. Still not sure what I should do about it, but something will have to change.
Janet, though, she's the sister I never had. All courage and impulsive warmth. Where I overthink, she just acts. Leaps first, adjusts midair, somehow always lands upright. Being around her feels like permission to be braver than I naturally am. I miss that energy. I miss both of them, it's not even been a week. Having Sage and a silent Mera to talk to, has been a lonely experience.
And I miss home. The soil. The real air. The simplicity of Eden-Five.The pure innocence of my nephew and niece. My parents are probably worried I'm not eating enough. Marcus and David are probably still betting on whether I'll ever settle down or remain the weird aunt who, does weird things.
Mera's light has started showing patterns I'm beginning to associate with moods. Tonight we have Deep violet. The color of sadness.
The truth is, I love what I do. Building, creating, shaping the impossible into something real. But I'm scared of what I'm building this time. The Genesis wasn't made for exploration or rescue. It was made for conquest, for taking what belonged to others and remaking it in humanity's image. That thought lingers every time I bring another system back online. I already found it too easy to use the weapon system. This time it was justified, and this time no one died. But that won't always be the case. The responsibility of having this fire power, still doesn't sit right with me.
Entry 4:
The Genesis is running steadily through the vortex space. Both reactors were stable. The crabs were doing their job. I should feel proud, but instead there's a low ache of tension I can't shake.
Mera began reacting during one of our chats. At first, I thought it was just her usual curiosity, her light patterns chasing the rhythm of her emotions. But then the colors shifted. Erratic bursts of violet and red, sharp flares that threw reflections across the walls like lightning through water. Her containment field readings spiked.
She was in distress.
Sage suggested dropping out of vortex space before I'd even processed the decision. We disengaged midstream, far enough from the inner system to be safe but close enough to orient towards the nearby star
And then we saw it.
A small moon, maybe ten kilometres across, breaking apart as it fell into a barren planet. The collision was silent at first, with sound not travelling into space, but visible in horrifying beauty. Plumes of molten rock arced upward, scattering through the planet's exosphere in waves of light. Even through the viewport, it was like watching a heartbeat tear itself apart.
Sage explained that the interaction between the planet and its collapsing satellite sent ripples through vortex space. The distortion must have reached Mera first. She'd felt it long before our instruments registered the change. It was an instinctive reaction to dimensional stress.
She calmed once the moon finished its descent. Her light returned to soft gold, then settled into pale blue. I'd like to believe it was mourning, but that's probably me projecting again.
It made me realise how little I understand her. Mera isn't just sensitive to heat or energy; she feels the universe in ways I can't. She reacts to events on scales that make my understanding of "distance" meaningless. That's exciting, isn't it? That is the joy of engaging with aliens
Sage recommended moving her containment to the workshop. He said it would offer better environmental control and more stable magnetic fields. Practical, as always, but I think he also knew I'd been avoiding it. The lab felt clinical. The workshop feels… alive. Human.
We prepared the transfer carefully. Sage was still being careful and didn't want to use dimensional shifting, so I had to transfer her manually.
The workshop accepted her like it had been waiting. Sage reconfigured the space into a proper habitat with a floating track of thermoelectric gel, calibrated fields, and gentle light. Mera drifted inside, her glow stabilising into slow, contented rhythms.
She's safe now. Nested inside the heart of the workshop. My workshop.
It was time to return home and continue my journey.
I did one last round through the Genesis before departure. Needed to see what I was leaving behind.