Journal Entry: 27. Date: 1/4/7. Name: Greg George

  Operation Whisper is a success. We've driven poor Uncle Yaem half crazy with his own name being whispered in otherwise empty rooms and corridors at random times. I told Pops that he's going to have to reveal the robot soon, or the prank will stop being funny and start being illegal psychological warfare. Well maybe Juan shouldn't have taken my chocolate, and I wouldn't have convinced him that he was haunted. Anyway, I had to admit to Pops that I might have been busted for driving someone nearly insane with this prank, and he wanted to know if I had learned my lesson. Of course. I only use my powers for good. Like punishing Juan for taking my chocolate.

  I swear when the robot pops out into plain view it's going to be fucking hilarious. We're right on the line between good-natured fun and petty cruelty though. Let's not toe over it accidentally. That shit would be fucked.

  In other news, formal robes suck balls. Fuck these stupid, flowing, uncomfortable, restrictive folds and stupid ass tassels. I fucking tripped between my wardrobe and my door. Absolute shit. Oh the things we do for family. Mom and Lucy want a family photo, so it's fancy clothes. I miss my blues. Way less shit.

  And I looked fucking stupid. Fucking bedazzled God-damned bedsheet with all of these stupid ass tripping hazards draped off it right in front of my fucking feet. There is no circumstance, no matter how formal, that can get me into that stupid thing outside of the ship. There are certain parts of the We Sing I refuse to wear it. I like not being dead too much to care about fashion.

  Linus gets me. These robes are stupid.

  Oh, and also Mom has somehow forbidden all hands from teaching me Seafarers' Negation curse words. Look Mom, I'm infantry. Swearing is practically fucking genetic for us. Besides, I have no doubt that eventually I'll meet somebody so stupid the only way to tell them how stupid they are is with the foulest possible language. Pops is no damn help, he says he doesn't want me to pick up on his bad habits. Bitch please, have you ever met an infantryman?

  "It is a strange thing that among your people there is infantry among the ships," he said to me.

  "Who else would the Navy send to secure a beachhead, or send to board enemy vessels, or repel boarders?"

  "Wait, you are a naval soldier?"

  "Technically yes, but our command structure is separate from the actual sailors. Our jobs are different, we don't want to be in each other's way."

  "The word you use generally is for armies on planets."

  "Well that's a bit of a funny thing about us. We have an army in addition to the Navy."

  "Does your Navy not take planets?"

  "Sometimes, if the planet surrenders, but if we have to go down and take it away, the Navy sends us in to clear the way for the Army and their heavy equipment."

  "Your people must be very experienced with warfare, have you found no friends amongst the stars?"

  "To be fair, we mostly fight other... well then... there wouldn't be a word for what I am, would there?"

  "We've been considering you a big weird lemur."

  "Lemur?!"

  "Well, yes?"

  "You look at me and say, oh that's definitely a lemur?"

  "A weird lemur."

  "Our closest genetic cousins are... wait, what were the criteria you used?"

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  "Single set of opposable thumbs, upright bipedal locomotion, forward facing binocular vision, stereoscopic hearing, omnivore dentation, and mammal."

  "And lemurs are what came up?"

  "Yes."

  "So lemurs are common across the galaxy... common enough that I recognized the animal when I learned the word. But... huh."

  "Something interesting, Greg?"

  "Just that maybe certain animal types might be totally new to you guys."

  "So what do your people call themselves?"

  "That depends on what you mean by my people."

  "As a species," Pops clarified with a laugh ready in the back of his throat.

  "... I actually don't know except in Battle Cant."

  "And you cannot share this knowledge."

  "No, sorry Pops."

  "It is well. We may end up calling your species Sneakies. Or maybe Gregs."

  "Oh please no..." I nearly cringed to death then and there.

  "But you were going to tell me about the Army?"

  "Oh yes, mainly we fight other nations of our own species. There have been some others. The horrible tentacle monsters who ate our pets. They wouldn't communicate, or surrender, or retreat. They're gone now. Then there were the weird energy beings. We didn't fight them, they just sort of came and went, according to what I learned in school. There are the ants but worse, they backed off. Of course there's the grubs, but nobody knows or cares if they're people or not. I think your family might actually be the first friendly contact we've ever made. The clickity-clack people probably weren't unfriendly, but we didn't exactly communicate in that cell."

  "Cell?"

  "It makes me feel better to call it that. Shut up."

  "How does your Army and Navy differ?"

  "Oh, so get this, the Army doesn't have ships."

  "I... Greg, that's... but they have to..."

  "They have hyperspace capable transportation and tactical support vehicles."

  "Excuse me?"

  "They don't want to call their ships ships, so they call them something stupid," I laughed. Pops cracked up at that. Apparently, we humans aren't the only people who do such strange things, but it's always funny when someone does.

  Seriously though, formal robes fucking suck.

  Log: 6000001.0.05, Personal, Captain Yormdrill

  Well this portrait has been a long time coming, but the context is a little different than from when Trandi asked for Gregory's robes. It's never pleasant to be out of my work clothes, but I'd look silly in the portrait otherwise. Trevdi made an event of it, so I took the day off and asked the other bridge officers to cover my duties for me. There was some grumbling on missing out on "seeing Sneaky all dressed up in his cute little robes," which was completely silly. His jumpsuit is way cuter.

  He's unexpectedly serious about pranks. Not that he doesn't thoroughly revel in them, but he has a way about doing them that involves a lot of rules, and I think that they are in place to keep the enlisted of his people's military from getting out of hand with their practical humor. He told me it was time to reveal our speaker bot or else we'd be creeping into psychological warfare and not a simple prank. Well, Yaemdrill is sufficiently confused and frustrated, so it should be amusing to reveal the bot in the galley.

  His people do have some interesting quirks besides regulating pranks, like coming up with a name for ships other than ships because ships are for the navy! How delightfully silly! In all likelihood, pointing out how silly the army is being to the army would be a very bad idea though. At least, for an outsider it would be a bad idea. If Gregory is anything to go by, his people have good humor about most things.

  Apparently the We Sing is the first friendly first contact on record for his people, which from memory is strange. Most species find, if not friends, at least people willing to talk among the stars. Not so for the Sneakies. I shudder to think of what they named "ants but worse."

  His health is of course far better than when he arrived, but that is not a good point of comparison. I don't know what normality for his mental health should be, but little things are troubling. Such as calling the kennel he occupied a cell, to make himself feel better about his mistaken captivity. How should he view it? Is it well to shift his position to a more drastic one because it is more fitting to a person? It troubles me.

  Dear Diary,

  Greg looks ADORABLE in his formal robes. He kept muttering about "restrictive to movement" and "tactical liability" and other weird stuff, but like, HE'S SO CUTE! Stars, the whole ship is going to go WILD when the pictures are put up. Mom is planning on hanging it where the old family photo is, which makes sense.

  Greg and Daddy talked more about Greg's people, but I didn't have very much to say about it. I feel like I don't know enough about fighting men to be in that kind of conversation. It's almost... intrusive? Intrusive. It's almost intrusive to hear them chatting about armies and ships and stuff. I know Daddy wasn't a fighter, but Greg has a lot of respect for rescue workers. I'm still just a kid. How could I have something respectable to say?

  Not that he ignored us all day. Loo-sea [spelled phonetically with name glyphs]. Line-us [likewise, further translated to proper spelling]. The names of not just old cartoon characters, but ancient ones. Like, most media was printed on cheap paper ancient. To carry such names... it's a little daunting. At least they sound pretty. I don't know what they mean, and neither does Greg, but I like them.

  Dear Logary,

  I HATE [the word occupies most of the page] stupid ugly robes!

  SnEAky KNOWS!