Teddy Hubble's Accounts of TD+17
The geometry of this place is quite fantastic. Cylindrically-structured at the entrance and ramparts, the system opens up into a wide dome somewhat like a Fullerene. We have progressed for several months now into the largest central opening, and beyond the trail of navigational crumbs which we have carefully strung behind our ship (soon to run out), there is little sense of when our forward progress will either terminate or vary. I have finally come to quell my disappointment at our lack of navigational equipment, though I am carefully suspending judgment as to our chances of gaining control of our course between this destination and the next. If all calculations hold true, I am not to see my Jacqueline or little Theo again. It is a pity.
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These hives are truly a world of dualism and duality. We have begun to transition into what seems to have been a playground of architecture, though little remains within the ruins to explain how or what function they served. The mostly-hexagonal or hive-like system of nooks and alleyways have broken off into a tightly-knit series of triangular structures. Perhaps unrelated, but still a bit of strange coincidence, the crew has transitioned from mostly-regulated and calm behavior to slightly askew meanderings of conversation and activity. There has been much dancing between the archive and laboratory spaces, and though the noise and vibration seems to disturb Zincovovich and his labors, I find the distractions highly useful. I am hoping soon, maybe, to be invited into the games and activity, but for now, I am left alone to make my notes and to continue compilation of materials for the ships library and archive.
- - - -
I have finally appropriated enough space to afford the ship a centralized location to begin at least organizing the materials to document its journey. There is much common knowledge of the ship’s history, and though the artifacts that remain from origin are but naught, much else is to be seen that stirs up wonder as to how this vessel or crew has survived at all. True, the evidence is here to prove the ship has run some sort of course, but moving about without clear destination, without effort, without fear or worry… I am shocked and inspired equally… But then, what can I say that I truly know about the course one travels in this or any life? I am melancholic and alone. Another dream of J. and little Theo last night. I am able to see him aging, to see my son I only knew as an infant growing into this spectacular wizened scop, child poet, words and clay blazing, all shapes and joy and a weird anguish I do not understand. Dreams are dreams, or dreams are not dreams, but windows. Either way, when he sees and speaks to me in those moments, I confess I cannot understand him. All the words I recall, yes, but their meaning is mysterious. To write them would embarrass me for these plain and stupid recollections I list here.
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Siethru has been spending a number of hours assisting with the gathering and cataloguing of materials. The time is pleasant, mostly spent drinking tea and working through the hours. Little talking and much calm. A group of three appeared on the deck of the ship today in a badly-damaged craft, and I feel it is fortunate that the wild, even mob-like behavior of the majority of the crew has ceased in recent months. With them they had a small amount of Rot, but nothing so great that it could assist the crew in any real movement of the ship. That being decided and agreed upon by all, our new guests agreed to share their supply among the crew. The evening was enjoyable, and finally I have been able to sleep.
- - - -
Division and static. I see and feel that this journey has no more in it. Even if the next transition puts the Due Return closer to whatever course it has found for itself in this infinity, I know that my known life and work will always lie in another. Zincovovich emerged from his quarters tonight, eyes glowing a deeper blue than I recalled. He gathered the crew and announced humbly that we would depart in a weeks’ time, once installation of his new navigational equipment was complete. From the notes and sketches I have seen thus far, I am certain that departure is possible, though from the look of Zincovovich, I am much less so that departure is desirable.
- - - -
The glasslike structures, degraded as they may seem, are quite beautiful. I never imagined that elements filled bearing such foreboding could also create in me such stillness and awe. I am not cold, or numb, or clear-headed, but I am actively ready to accept what will come. Greater and greater amounts of glittery dust gather about the ship, and for the remaining few days, the doors will remain sealed to excursions. I am fortunate to have made the happy mistake of leaving an aged and musty box strapped to the deck to air out—it is very likely that the box will collect some of this substance which would otherwise be too dangerous to harvest. So much accumulates that gathers meaning to itself only by way of context and interpretation, and so rare are those items and encounters that seem to encapsulate and embody their meaning directly, unspeakably.
- - - -
As I had suspected, Zincovovich plans to steer the ship from these hives himself. We are only moments from departure. Never before have I met a captain capable of this feat, though I am quite familiar with the ambition itself. It never manifests in one the same as in another, but its habits and tendencies of invasion are so aptly viral, rapid and orderly… Exterior views of the ship have become completely obscured, and the once light and glowing dust with swirled about the windows has now become a thick, dark, ocean of cloud and static. I abide in nostos, missing my researches and my family. I have disembarked yet I do not plan to arrive. I am between.
- - - -
Young Preston has just come in, moments before our transition. From the control room, where he frequently stands watch at the captain’s controls, he’s seen the box on the deck accumulating the fine bits of glass thrown out by the blasting. Not shy at all as usual, but forward and sure, he requested, “That box of the glass on deck--I should like to have it, if you won’t need to be keeping it for your archive.”