Journal 7

  Sol 128

  I have stupidly hurt myself.

  I tried to fix one of the power cells to James’ ship, but my four fingered hands couldn't articulate correctly causing me to solder my left wrist by accident and tearing off a good chunk of skin on the hand. I hate my own lapses in judgement! I had work gloves and protective gear. I decided that scorching afternoon to work shirtless. I hate my lack of foresight! I dosed off for a moment and this happened.

  James assured me things like this happens.

  No… Not for me… I cannot let this happen again.

  I finished my job and sat outside doing the ritual wailing of regret. James looked at me confused by my ritual and left me alone. I surmise humans do not do this when they mess up.

  The next Sol in the burning hours of the morning twilight, I was doing my daily ritual of throat singing to praise Golo for life and for the fallen Thorg warriors. This was then followed by me practicing with the Katari blade at one-tenth speed to hyper-focus my precise movements and then have interval bursts of all out power in the strikes from high to low; all 50 movements of the blade. This was drilled into all Thorg warriors. Everyone had to do this first thing in the morning. It is called (as best translated from the ancient Codex of Foro): Jukulo.

  James felt compelled to join me in my Jukulo ritual. I ascertained he was bored of his daily bowel movements and stiff static stretching with lots of cursing. He was, in all honesty, sluggish and unrefined. However, his drive to match my movements was admirable. Surprisingly more flexible that I anticipated, but I suppose most human warriors are like this. With more training they could become spry and agile beings. For now, their evolution dictates them to be a million Dyglos (years) behind us Thorgs.

  He did outright refuse to throat sing for the fallen and for his maker. He said some religious humans pray 5 times a day. Others silently mourn and pay respects in their own way.

  I asked him what his kind did as a cultural question.

  He said for himself, "I take the time to silently appreciate what is around me and the life experiences I have undertook so far. As for the fallen, I remember them as best I could and try every day to live a good life in honor of them... But, I don't know if it helps me or whatever. I just fucking do it."

  James always had a way with sounding almost philosophical only to immediately revert to abhorrent ignorance and self-deprecation. I still say with absolute certainty this human is not normal and is partially insane.

  I do hope most humans are not like him.

  Sol 130

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  It rained ice crystals last night. It war horrendous. One morning it’s barely livable and almost the surface of the sun, the next it’s a frozen hell-scape like the dark side of the moon facing a black hole.

  I wanted to give up in this moment.

  James, on the other hand, was thriving and running around like a feral beast. Humans still confuse me, or at least this one does. I do not believe his sanity was ever there to begin with the more I live with him.

  I was glad there were left over cloaks made of the black fur of the Retling Gars found on the pirate ship. Though, the fur cloaks did have a lingering smell of mercury. Though, mercury does nothing to my body. I sat there shivering by a fire watching James play around on the ice and snow covered sand like a tired guardian to a hyper active youngling. I must admit, I wish I had James’ spirit for life. I do wonder often where he finds it?

  Strangely, his antics reminded me of my time as a youngling in the planet city of Set within the Sangilo system. I remember a cold time. It was a lunar festival of Foro. Droplets of frozen water would flake down from the dark skies and pile into white ice. Where I was raised far from the expanse of metal and laser, I remember how white things had gotten back then.

  I lived in a mobile dwelling, most akin to that of a human yurt. Instead of canvas and animal hide for walls, we had a bendable aluminum and Gorthax steel known for its strength and malleability. I remember my father coming in from a hunt as I jumped about lot any Thorg youngling in the white flakes in the open, blue leafed field. I was playing with other younglings as all the adult life givers and makers stood inside talking and drinking.

  I miss moments like that.

  I found myself sitting inside the ship watching James make a fool of himself outside. Instead of annoyance or anger, I felt like my father in this moment. I felt glad he was happy. Though, I should've told him to wrap up and stay warm due to the high levels of mercury in the falling ice as well. My arm bracer told me of this fact. I relayed it James and James told me to stop being a "sour puss."

  I truly believe he is making up words at this point. The mercury has officially made him mad. Humans really are fragile.

  Sol 133

  I have noticed that both of us have lost significant weight. My EXO-suit is able to morph to the changes of my body whilst James must tighten his belt as his pants get ever so saggier. I have noticed how frail his already thin physique has become. He still has all the energy and strength, but I have noticed him taking longer rests.

  I asked him, "You okay?"

  "Okay? I'm fine. Why?"

  "Curious."

  "Curious how," he asked as he swung down from the roof. I was hanging out clothes and blankets to dry in the sun. He continued, "Why do you worry so much?"

  "I've noticed you've gotten weaker... So have I."

  "It's just a part of survival is all. Nothing more, Gar."

  "James..."

  "What," he asked as if I was joking.

  I didn't respond. I just looked at him.

  I, for the first time in many moons, was concerned. He assured me there was nothing to fear. I could tell on his face that he was holding back pain. He saw my concern and told me to not worry. He went to go work on the signal once again as he played around with my communications in my ship by splicing his radio to mine.

  I need to keep a close on eye on him. More to follow.