To the near-eternal people whose planet I visit today, death is a rare but significant event. The passing of an elder brings to an end a long and remarkable life filled with adventures and memories, a storied history known by all in the close-knit citizenry. Naturally such a legacy must be mourned and celebrated with the greatest tribute they can offer.

Not a people to understate themselves, their celebrations of passing are an absolute wonder to behold. Every single person on the planet (for it is truly one community despite the world being quite sizable) flocks to their central city to participate in a commemoration of the life of the lost, bringing with them a multitude of varied instruments.

Two community leaders stand upon a dais in the central square, calling their people together with their instruments. The first holds some combination of organ and accordion; she alone begins the prelude to the Great Song as the population congregates. The other—carrying a set of pipes—waits for the assembly to settle. When all are ready, she brings the mouthpiece to her lips to begin the tribute.

The thousands and thousands take up their instruments and prepare voices; when the moment arrives, they respond as one to the pipe-player's melody by joining in the music of bittersweet remembrance.

It is one colossal sendoff into the next world. No sound is too great, for they believe that the louder they are, the more likely they will be heard through the veil of existence that their dear friend has passed through.

The sound brings a tear to one's eye, not just for the bittersweet mournful tone of the music but also for the absolutely piercing timbre of all the instruments in the chorus.

The love for their lost one is clear in the wailing and blaring. It isn't discordant; far from it: it is a powerful hymn to the impermanence of life and the importance of making the most of our time while we have it.

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LOG#027

There's a phenomenon I occasionally stumble upon during my departure from a planet. The combination of a sufficiently dense atmosphere with a specific chemical composition causes the myriad transmissions of the world to be trapped, mostly unable to escape the planet's boundaries. The result, if I tune one of my devices in just the right way at the perfect distance, is a unique and fascinating soundscape of the signals that weren't absorbed, a chance music formed from the planet's communications.

Often it seems that the thick atmosphere itself plays the part of producer, filtering out particular frequencies and warping the signals as if playing them like an instrument. Each planet ends up with its own genre of sorts due to the influence of its physical properties on the broadcasts.

As is the case today, I'll occasionally idle in this curious zone for a little while, lulled by the dulcet noise into a restful rêverie.

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LOG#029

There are aspects of the multiverse beyond my understanding, mechanics that yet defy logic, science, and philosophy. I've explored the depths of the infinite dimensions for a long time, but there is still so much that eludes comprehension.

I do not know what happened in this remote part of the galaxy, but the effects are easily observed. Like a ghost, the planet desultorily flickers and fades in and out of being. Where one moment may be spent completely normally by the inhabitants, the next is oblivion. 

As an outside observer I can only watch as the events unfold, the population blissfully unaware that their existence is fleeting, that their time—however regular it may seem to them—is so disrupted. I do not dare approach; I could be trapped in the temporal chaos, if that is what it is.

And what would I do even if I could? How could I adequately explain that the moments these people are spending are their very last, that at any time they can and will cease to exist? Would it be helpful, or would it be cruel?

Sad as it may be, there is a beauty to it. Each day is the last in their lives, though they know it not. All worries and expectations for the future are pointless, predictions of a tomorrow that never comes. They're ghosts, momentary sparks that fade away in wisps like smoke in a cosmic wind.

In moments like these I am reminded of my own limited time. Like the dwellers of this troubled world I'm oblivious to the extent of my remaining life. My work is dangerous; the multiverse can be an uncaring beast sometimes. Tomorrow (such as it is) is never guaranteed.

It's all the more important, then, to make the most of the moments I do get. Not all of them are exciting, and many I'd rather pass by altogether. But each one can be an opportunity, a chance to change the next moment for the better.

I make my (cautiously circuitous) way around the unstable sphere to continue my journey, sparing a moment to appreciate the gift that is the time I do have.

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LOG#030

As I passed through a galaxy on my way to a gig recently, one of my ship's devices picked up a very strange chemical signature emanating from a nearby planet. Normally this apparatus serves to warn me of atmospheres that are simply too destructive to even enter, and this time was no exception. However, it also registered something…else.

Worlds with these types of atmospheres are typically devoid of all life. Generally speaking, if my ship and my suit cannot safely weather it, it's impossible for any life to thrive there. Yet if my device wasn't malfunctioning (and this one has yet to in all my years of using it), then amidst the corrosive gases and extreme temperature differentials was something apparently biological.

My curiosity piqued, I detoured near the planet to investigate. On approach other various implements started to pick up readings as well, all of them indicating that there was something alive down there. Idling just short of the zone in which the atmosphere would begin eating away at my ship, I investigated.

Indeed there was something dwelling on the solid surface, one single being. I couldn't see it in the traditional sense; the atmosphere was far too thick for conventional methods. Instead I relied on one particular tool that could pierce the veil, if with very low clarity. I couldn't make out the exact shape of it. It wasn't large, perhaps twice or three times the size of an average human, and of a reminiscent configuration. As it was not moving much, I thought it might possibly be recently deceased. That is, until in a flash it raced out of view!

Try as I might, I could not spot it again. My devices indicated that it was still down there somewhere, but for the time being this unusual thing's location, like its entire existence, was a mystery to me.

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LOG#033

Out of the way, but never truly out of mind. I visit this far-off planet every once in a while to remember how quickly everything can change, and not necessarily for the better.

This roiling world is the last known location of one of my predecessors, an incredible traveler that had discovered hundreds of worlds in her time. Her work was a significant portion of my study before I embarked upon my own career.

Her exploration brought her here, and it's no mystery as to why; the place is definitely worthy of study. The turbulence of dark violet waves is mesmerizing, but it signals danger. I know not what they are made of, but they do not conform to any type of matter I have yet seen. She was brave enough to attempt to breach that surface, and she was even successful.

But never did she return.

The planet swallowed her ship like a droplet of water, the darkness below the surface engulfing it instantly and completely. The waves were never even disturbed.

Since then, nothing has been found that can tell more about what lies beneath that surface. Nothing penetrates it, and I don't dare subject myself to the same fate as my forerunner. A mystery this is, and one that I surely want to solve. Just not one that I can solve right now, no matter how tempting this mystifying ocean may be.

So every once in a while I return here, both to remember the legacy of an amazing traveler and to remind myself that some puzzles are not yet ready to be solved.

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LOG#075

Few experiences compare to those first few moments after touching down in a new world. There is excitement for what may be discovered just as there is trepidation from what could present danger.

Though I like to be scientific and thorough with my exploration of novel planets, I always reserve the first few moments to simply exist, to take in everything that my senses are telling me. So much can be known in that instant when no assumptions have been made and a new world is observed as it truly is. Every planet, distinct as each is from the next, deserves that moment.

The one I landed upon today is…peaceful. Gentle, yet full of life. I hear the calls and cries of animals yet undiscovered. In view is a lush landscape of wide valleys, meandering rivers, and rounded peaks. A delicate ambrosial scent is carried to me by the cool breeze; it tastes of a fruit I first tried long ago.

Once all has been taken in, then comes the exploration. No one knows what amazing or terrible things lie in wait.

But therein lies the wonder.

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LOG#076

All the knowledge of the multiverse, only a world away. Never closer.

That is, until today!

I've known about the Great Library for many, many years. It's an entire planet, once nothing but a desolate and barren wasteland, now covered with housing dedicated to the collection of written knowledge and literature, be it philosophy or fiction, science or self-help, or even a romance here or there.

I'd never once had the privilege of exploring it, though I desperately wanted to. Who knew what worlds were hidden away in dusty tomes long since visited?

Today though, I finally had the opportunity, though sadly it was extremely limited, barely more than passing through. I was to be interviewed (an honor in itself) for some of the findings I've made during my career; apparently a select few worlds were of particular interest to the librarians and writers living here. The meeting was brief, but the idea of what I've discovered contributing to the vast pool of learning here was beyond exciting.

Though I was practically in and out, I still set eyes upon the vast space that made up the interior of only one building. Even that, I am comfortable saying, was incredible enough. Uncountable shelves and cases spanned out from the walkway I padded gently down, each completely filled with what must've been billions upon billions of pages.

Dust drifted through beams of light that landed upon the walkway, and only the sound of so many pages could be heard breaking the silence, save for the tiniest of whispers here and there. In levels below I could see dozens of robed people drifting around the shelves or sitting with their noses nearly touching the pages of some volume.

My time was brief, but my curiosity is no closer to being sated. Someday I hope to return so I can explore whole new worlds hiding here.

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LOG#077

I stand on a world abandoned.

It has known life. But that life was not kind to it. The inhabitants were a candle that burned twice as bright, but for only half as long. In their haste to cram ever more into their lives, they disregarded their surroundings, forgetting to care for the planet as—like all things--it wore away.

Instead of trying to save it, the people here simply left it, seeking another world to support the weight of their tireless consumption. What was not deemed essential, which was nearly everything that was not shiny or entertaining, was left behind to rot away.

Now cities lie crumbled. What once was nature is now desolation, a still emptiness only disturbed by errant lonely dust.

I've seen empty worlds, planets never touched by any form of life before me. This…feels different. It's as if the very surface mourns the loss of what once tread upon it. It remembers life, and now it is doomed to forever long for what it has lost as it drifts through the blackness of empty space.

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LOG#078

I've been around my fair share of volatile worlds. Fascinating as they are frightening, it is often worth the danger to explore their unique compositions and properties.

Something in the core of this planet—I know not what--is creating a massively strong magnetic field. My ship's sensors started picking it up at a far greater distance than normal, almost causing me to mistake it for some kind of tiny star.

Its pull is mighty! Even at a fairly safe distance my ship wants to get sucked in. If the surface is any indication though, it would not be a pleasant meeting.

The edges of the world rise and fall in a shockingly rapid fashion even though they're supposedly solid. The magnetic field tosses matter around violently, constantly reshaping the body some kind of abstract artwork.

I'm actually not the first to find this planet. That's the reason I'm here, actually: to try to retrieve some priceless equipment that was wrenched from the hiring researcher's ship as they went about their studies. They claim that it survived the journey to the surface, though I have my doubts.

As I fly closer and closer, my ship's path becomes less and less stable. The magnetic field is ripping through, causing a glow to appear at the edges of my sight, but I do not waver until I nearly plunge into the surface as it rises as if to reach for me. I am a mere 100 meters away, close enough even that I spot the tool that was lost, but I dare go no further. I was pushing it even going this far. To reach that little bit further would surely mean that I too would need a rescuer afterwards.

For now I must leave this world be. Some gigs just aren't worth the money.

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LOG#079

Sometimes life hits you a little too hard.

Out of the blue comes storm clouds. Looming above, they stick around for a while. Soon enough a rainy mood takes over and water begins to fall. Thumps of thunder remind you that everything continues on even while you pause. You find a home in the gray that is left when all color drains away, and for a little while, it's where you feel you need to be. After all, the grass only grows because the rain falls.

This tiny planet is my hideaway spot when I need to weather storms. The ever-present rain has a way of washing away my worries, letting my gray moods run their course in their own time.

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LOG#080

Every world is a treasure. This one perhaps more literally so.

A unique cocktail of gases in the sky creates the proper conditions for a dazzlingly iridescent precipitation. Gemstones formed from immense atmospheric pressure forcing the marriage of gases rain down onto the surface, studding it in a crown so fine even royalty would blush. The weaker gravity of the planet induces a more leisurely descent, maximizing the time these sparkling raindrops adorn the empyrean.

This is very much a 'look, don't touch' scenario. Were I to try to take one of these gems out of its home atmosphere, it would immediately (and quite violently) evaporate back into its component substances.

Perhaps that's for the best though. To remove a single brushstroke would be a disservice to this artwork. This jewelry is meant to be worn only by one. I am content merely with having had the opportunity to gaze upon it.

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LOG#081

We finished it just in time. A colossal barrier, a shield for an entire world. A meager defense for what they detected was rapidly approaching.

We only allowed ourselves breath when the final tests were completed: massive asteroids flung into the wall of energy to measure its repelling capability. They bounced off, ripples of energy cascading from the points of impact like wavelets on a pond. Deep bass thrums accompanied each one, the sound providing the drums of war for what they knew was approaching.

In this sunless world the sky is now lit only by the glow of the shield and by the pointillism of distant stars in all directions except one. In that region there was only darkness, an unnatural thing. It causes a shiver to run down one's spine.

I hope that I helped these people enough to fight off what's about to invade them. They need all the luck they can get. My final act to help this world is to provide escape for those who cannot stay to fight. Foolhardy as I sometimes can be to jump into a fight, I know where my true talents lie. I am faster than I am strong, thanks to my ship, and so my best role here is as a provider of an evacuation route.

As I make my final ascent into space, the minuscule opening in the shielding plane closing behind me to seal off the planet, I spare one last thought for those left behind before blasting away to safety with the remaining refugees.

May they one day be reunited.

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LOG#082

I love a good challenge.

A while back I accompanied a colleague on one of her expeditions. She's well known in her neck of the galaxy for being an excellent wayfinder; her skills in navigating even the most treacherous and labyrinthian locations have made her quite rich in her short career. On this journey we came across what she viewed as a good challenge for me.

Here was a kaleidoscope of a world, with crystalline structures spiking out in every direction. So polished from the elements were their faces that the surfaces were essentially mirrors. Gazing upon my surroundings left me observing a thousand simulacra staring back at me.

Her idea of fun was to challenge me to navigate a particular underground passage of this planet and emerge on the other side. It was as safe as could be, she claimed, but not an easy task. It was possible; she had done it before. She would meet me at the exit on the other side.

I gave it a few tries. The disorientation was severe; I met some of those mirror images in an abrupt manner.

What didn't help was that my every movement was accompanied by a thousand echoes as the vibrations bounced off of the numerous surfaces, sending a chorus of clumsiness crashing back at me.

Seeing no immediate way of getting through this maze, I sat down at the entrance and stared at it, thinking hard.

Suddenly all was clear to me. The reflections! They weren't disorienting.

They were guiding!

I slammed my fist upon the wall of the entrance, remaining perfectly silent with my breath held while I listened to every reflection. Sure enough, there was a noticeable pattern to the echoes. Left, right, right, above…It was a sonic map of the maze.

Shaking my head, I delved into the depths again, rapping the boundaries again whenever I needed further guidance. By trusting the reflections, I made it quickly out the other side. There my beaming friend congratulated me.

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LOG#083

Don't ever think you're too small to make a difference in the world.

A zephyr makes ripples on the surface of a pond. A touch sends stone dancing down a mountainside. Wherever there is music to be heard, there are ears to hear it.

This was a lesson I learned on my stay on a peaceful world during my studies. Quite small and mostly covered with plains and swampland, it was not exactly an exciting place to live. Still, a small group—maybe a few thousand scattered around the globe--had made their home there. One of them was my teacher for a time.

He was a simple man. He'd lived a long and interesting life, but that was years behind him. Now all he wished for was to live out his days in tranquility while passing on what he'd learned.

Every night he strolled the countryside, insisting that his students accompany him though he would never speak. At most he would whistle a simple tune to "accompany nature's music."

Near the end of my stay he took ill, enough to keep him bedridden. He never stopped his lessons, though he did end his evening walks.

On my final evening there I decided to give tribute and take one last walk, following the same path that we'd taken dozens of times.

It was quiet as always, but soon I noticed something. The chirping and croaking of the wildlife was quieter than before. It felt…hesitant. Waiting. On a whim, I whistled that simple tune that my teacher had always done.

To my surprise, it was answered!

Insects began energetically chirping along to the melody. Soon more were accompanying them with their own rhythms. Before long the whole chorus of nature had joined in in response to hearing its conductor.

Not only did the world listen to the old man, it also learned from him. It integrated him into it so that he became an essential part of it. Though no one special, he'd made a difference here.

That moment is one I think about often when I wonder about my place in the multiverse. Out of everyone you can be just one, but to some you can be everything.

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LOG#084

What things you can find when you keep an eye out for them!

As I passed through a usually quiet region of this universe tonight I spotted a telltale spark, nothing more than a droplet of light in the inky background. Were it not for the particular way it flickered, I could have mistaken it for a lone star.

I knew better though. Having a little time to spare, I turned towards it and hopped on over a little closer. Suddenly the azure glow filled my view. I was in for a treat.

It was a fledgling galaxy, not more than a few seconds old, and it was starting its existence in grand fashion. As I watched, tiny bursts of light flickered in the energetic cloud of dust, gas, and particles, explosions that signaled the birth of new stars. Entire eras of life were ahead of them, and here I was at the beginning of it all.

I won't be around to say goodbye to them, but I'm glad I was able to say hello.

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LOG#085

Now it's lost to the dust of memory.

It floated around in the back of my mind, always close but never close enough to fully remember. Only flashes of sensation appeared: a familiar scent; evening light through a window; a rush of air brushing my face as I stood upon the precipice of…something. This all couldn't just be in my head, could it?

But then again, why not?

Memories are a powerful thing. They are real to each of us, though we cannot share them but as meager facsimiles spoken in broken metaphor and reenacted via stilted portrayal. What is truth to one is novel fiction to another.

Does my evocation mean that this world existed and does no more? Or perhaps by my remembering it becomes real? If only I could recollect more, I could give a more concrete answer.

Maybe it doesn't matter. Whether or not this planet existed in space somewhere out in the multiverse, it now has a home in the deepest reaches of my memory.

In a way, remembering is just another method of exploration. The context of time can bring to the forefront new facets of a thing, and by examining it anew it becomes distinct, different than its predecessor.

If that is true, then a traveler I remain, and the mind becomes but another universe.

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LOG#086

The surface lies above me: a slim, twisting dragon with smooth ever-warping scales of light. It bites the rays cast from stars, softening and refracting them into broad columns. I am nearly rocked to sleep as the currents' strong yet gentle hands guide me along. The drum of my heart follows the pulse of waves.

This is not my world, but I am welcome here for this moment. Soon, too soon, I must breach the surface again and return to where I truly belong.

But not yet. A breath still remains.

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LOG#087

LOG#001

Welcome! Auriscenes are sixty-second sound escapes created by The Traveler, a gig worker of the infinite galaxies of the multiverse. One of the few remaining with enough spacefaring skill to traverse the infinite realities, their odd jobs as a transporter, deliverer, protector, and occasional mercenary leads them to obscure and strange corners of the cosmos. After completing their work, they document the unique atmospheres and extraordinary experiences to share with those who would listen. Learn more at auriscenes.com

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For the first log I've come upon what might not be the most hospitable place in the celestial neighborhood to take a pit stop, but hey, it's hard to argue with an empty fuel meter! It's cold here. Very cold. A whole planet dedicated to a never-ending blizzard. It gives the term "snow globe" a whole new meaning. I'm told there's no solid ground underneath the two or so dozen meters of sheer ice encasing the world that the refueling station clings to like a wisp of hair on a balding man's head, and I believe it; in the thinner spots one can just make out the black, roiling ocean core beneath, churning and rumbling with mind-boggling force. I'm not quite in the mood for a swim, so I take once again to the sea of stars as soon as my ship is good to go.

Keep tuned. There are worlds out there. Millions upon millions of them. And I know quite a few good sightseeing destinations scattered throughout the multiverse...

LOG#001

LOG#002

Upon finishing up work on this side of the galaxy, I had the opportunity for a moment of quiet observation of an apparently vociferous local holiday. Some kind of celebration fills the streets, the people cheering on a particular citizen who soaks up the jubilation. My surprise is complete when as I watch he enthusiastically lowers himself into a coffin at the end of the parade and seals it! Even more so when the atmosphere immediately takes a somber tone. Gone are the celebrations and fanfares, replaced instead with a morose timbre. The parade takes up the casket and carries it more solemnly than any other procession I've seen, drifting down the street backwards in silence between two rivers of onlookers. Even the birds above drift in odd reversed patterns. I decide it's high time to high-tail it when at the other end of the parade the casket is lowered into the ground and covered only to be unearthed and its owner eagerly lifted out to begin the celebration again! As to whether it's truly a time loop or not, I don't have the luxury to find out when there is so much yet to see...

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Auriscenes are sixty-second sound escapes created by The Traveler, a gig worker of the infinite galaxies of the multiverse. One of the few remaining with enough spacefaring skill to traverse the infinite realities, their odd jobs as a transporter, deliverer, protector, and occasional mercenary leads them to obscure and strange corners of the cosmos. After completing their work, they document the unique atmospheres and extraordinary experiences to share with those who would listen. Learn more at auriscenes.com

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LOG#002

LOG#003

I find myself fortunate enough to find a perfect climate for peaceful resting outside the confines of the ship tonight. A week straight of hopping from planet to planet in this solar system has left me particularly exhausted, though well-paid. Here there are only grasslands as far as I can see, and a campfire and insect chorus the only companions I keep. Sometimes I forget in my dodging around stars during my travels that their beauty is often best experienced crowded within the canopy of a planet's night sky.

Soon there is the gentle sparkle of wind chimes drifting in from the distance. My neighbors tonight must be less than a kilometer away, not more than a few steps when compared to the light year I crossed to get here. But something is off; I would have detected signs of civilized life were there any, and the chimes seem to move position, getting closer. I keep quiet, listening to the now eerie warning tones pass near me and away again; I don't dare steal a breath. There are infinite unknown dangers lurking amidst the trillions of worlds of the multiverse, and it's a foolish traveler indeed that doesn't keep wary of them.

The imposter chimes finally reside into the distance, but as a seasoned traveler of the stars I know better than to relax. I book it to the ship as quietly as possible. My caution is rewarded when it swiftly approaches, only just missing its prey as the door pneumatically seals behind me.

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Auriscenes are sixty-second sound escapes created by The Traveler, a gig worker of the infinite galaxies of the multiverse. One of the few remaining with enough spacefaring skill to traverse the infinite realities, their odd jobs as a transporter, deliverer, protector, and occasional mercenary leads them to obscure and strange corners of the cosmos. After completing their work, they document the unique atmospheres and extraordinary experiences to share with those who would listen. Learn more at auriscenes.com

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LOG#003

LOG#004

Rarely am I struck by such a profound feeling of...emptiness. And the vacuum of space is my highway! I have to stop and marvel at this cavernous world, completely hollow but for perhaps a hundred cubic kilometers that make up the core. The outer crust, only a scant few dozen meters thick and full of holes both massive and minuscule, hovers suspended many kilometers above my head, surrounding the core without touching it; I know not how it performs this gravity-defying feat. Some kind of fusion causes pools of lava to form on the outer side of that crust, seeping through cracks and falling to the inner surface in massive blobs. They cool in piles and stalagmites, giving the surface a jagged appearance. The light show caused by their splashing down is beautiful, if more than a little dangerous.

I find as I touch down on the surface that only one soul dares reside here: the recipient of the curiously small package I was hired to deliver. He's a rather quirky fellow, though harmless. From what I gather, he studies the rotation patterns of the outer surface relative to the core; though here for only a few months so far, the discoveries he's made are promising. His home (more like a shack) is covered with a thick layer of metal to protect from the fiery precipitation. I wish him luck and leave this unusual and hazardously mesmerizing place behind me, off to regions of space a bit more peaceful.

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Auriscenes are sixty-second sound escapes created by The Traveler, a gig worker of the infinite galaxies of the multiverse. One of the few remaining with enough spacefaring skill to traverse the infinite realities, their odd jobs as a transporter, deliverer, protector, and occasional mercenary leads them to obscure and strange corners of the cosmos. After completing their work, they document the unique atmospheres and extraordinary experiences to share with those who would listen. Learn more at auriscenes.com

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LOG#004

My life as a multiverse traveler has gifted me with amazing and diverse relationships, but the best one formed before my journey even began.

We grew up together, inseparable. Where I went, he followed. When he found trouble, invariably I was there to share the blame. We were always there for each other.

When I realized I was to be a traveler, he was unfazed. "You'll see all those stars someday," he said one night, gesturing at the violet evening sky, "but you'll never really be alone. I'll always be near, no matter what." He hummed a three-note melody he'd invented, one I'd heard a hundred times. He called it our song. I let his words drift away, knowing I could always return. But there was much to learn about life.

He passed from this existence soon after that night. He'd fought a rare illness he'd kept hidden from me, knowing that I'd never leave had I known his time was short.

The news came just after my journey began. I was heartbroken; tragedy had struck without even leaving the galaxy yet. I wasn't sure I could go on. Would the stars ever seem as bright knowing he wasn't amongst them?

I mourned, my mind a universe of memories as I lay listless in my cabin. The staticky drone of my ship's portable automatic piloting monitor blended into the background of my mind, soothing me as I hurtled through space.

But then it emitted another sound. Subtle, almost inaudible, but enough to pull me out of my doleful reverie. I turned it up and listened.

Just noise.

But then, three tones. Our song.

It was unmistakable. It couldn't be random interference. He had said the truth: I'd never be alone. I don't know how—I don't think I ever will—but his spirit had manifested in the measurements.

I hope all of you on Earth enjoy Halloween. The Proxy told me it's a celebration of death and the supernatural and I thought this story fit. Those who have passed from these worlds have found new ones out there somewhere. Someday we'll follow and see them again.

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LOG#007

Life on the cosmic highway is isolating. There is much emptiness in space, and it can lead to emptiness of the heart if one is not careful. This doesn't usually bother me, dedicated as I am to my work. The amazing things I experience alone are reason enough to want to do it forever. Sometimes though, I need a reminder of what more is out there.

I have a good friend. He's that kind of reliable companion that always has your back and provides an ear for your troubles. No matter what I get into out in the multiverse, I can always visit him to find my troubles quickly melting away, if only for just a while.

It so happened that that amazing person fell in love. Deeply, madly in love. He'd found a world in another's heart, one simple but beautiful.

The realization came to me the evening of their matching [Proxy note: like a proposal]. We were in a small hole in the wall, someplace easily overlooked. As the night wound down, he asked me to play a little something on the piano by the wall as I often do. I sat down and let my hands guide themselves to the keys. To my side, my friend led his lover by the hand to the center of the floor where a space had been cleared out for dancing. A melody began to form as they came together, swaying softly. A couple of washed-up musicians from the night's band appeared from backstage to play along.

I've seen every extreme of emotion out there: horror, exhilaration, joy, misery. Discovery, death, and achievement have been constant companions. As I sat there playing away and watching them, I felt a new zenith in their simple, powerful love. Anyone who looked knew instantly and unmistakably what they shared. It was easily understood, like the song flowing from my hands.

Every once in a while when I need a bit of perspective, I pull out the keyboard I keep on the ship and play that song again. It lets me remember just how much is out there.

And that a good friend is never far away.

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LOG#010

It's a common practice for people who inhabit a world to shape its land to accommodate themselves. They build roads and homes, craft places for storage and socialization, and alter entire features of an environment to increase safety or comfort. I have even visited worlds entirely created by those who inhabit them.

As much as this is the case, it is not uncommon for atmospheres to have minds and moods entirely their own. The natural disposition remains no matter how much rock, soil, and moisture is moved or shaped.

My last gig had me visiting a forestland that perfectly exemplifies this. It is a brooding place, cool, dark, and damp. Fog perpetually hugs the landscape as if clinging to life. A dense moss muffles steps. All excitement fades to a still gray under the wispy green limbs of tall trees. 

That is not to say it is menacing or unfriendly. It simply lives in its own way. It was here long before those who live within it. The thousand thoughts of organic life pass in the soft sway of branches high above the dwellings of those living on the forest floor. I could not help but soak up the meditative moodiness as I went about my business.

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LOG#012

I'm surprised that I can transmit this log under kilometers of solid rock. Technology really is wondrous sometimes.

I (along with all of this planet's inhabitants) am underground because the surface is utterly hostile to life. So close does it hug its star that its ambient aboveground temperature is measured with four digits.

For those who can survive the approach, the destination is worth the journey. The dizzyingly complex cave system's tunnels house an incredible array of life forms, many yet undiscovered. Something about the heat radiating from the rock above combined with the damp conditions and lack of light found throughout makes it particularly suitable for the extreme variety. I could dedicate my life to this single world and never exhaust its wonders. Only one species captures my attention today during my exploratory mission though.

After treading down a long passageway, the stone walls open up to a huge cavern. Most of the space's surfaces are covered by large fern-like plants whose fronds are of a rich purple-red hue. Their magic is revealed when I happen to brush against one.

The plant instantly reacts to the motion from the touch, glowing for a few moments and emitting a sonorous tone. What's more, a few more plants a few meters away also flicker for a moment in response, calling out in their own notes.

Shocked, I run my hands along more of the vegetation, staring in wonder as they too react and signal out. The cavern lights up with points of light throughout as I continue to interact with them. Soon I no longer need my helmet's heat camera to navigate because the chamber is brightly lit by hundreds of the plants glimmering as they sing out together.

The verdure's music is fascinating. Specific sprouts are attuned to particular scales, and they seem to resonate with each other harmoniously. I'm baffled as to what evolutionary advantage this might give, but I settle for the delight of experiencing the flora's melodious kinetic language.

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LOG#013

As someone who explores new frontiers in the multiverse for a living (and is literally called the Traveler), it is unusual for me to be lost. "Not all who wander" and all that.

Yet here I am, nearly waist-deep in snow in the midst of a blizzard, supposedly on the exact position at which I was supposed to rendezvous with my contact but seeing only endless hills of dark gray.

The only guidance comes from the startlingly beautiful aurora filling the sky above me. My luminescent escort shines down upon the landscape, cutting through the falling snow to brighten my way forward with its turquoise glow. 

I would have simply landed my ship on the exact location, but something about that natural phenomenon above me is a curse as much as it is a blessing: it affects the myriad sensors and systems of my craft in a way that gas giants, extreme gravity, and bursts of radiation from quasars cannot. It grounded me and forced me to go forward on foot. Now I wonder if it's throwing my device's positioning system off as well.

As I listen closely, I realize it is not only the wind that is howling; I am not alone in this storm. From far off in the distance comes the baying of wolves, creaky like the closing of a wooden door. They too are trying to find their way.

I must press on and hope that the destination is yet before me. Somewhere out there amongst the endless snowdrifts and laden tree boughs is nestled the small cabin that I seek.

The aurora will show the way.

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LOG#014

The metaphor of a new year to celebrate the idea of renewal—or of starting over—is one of the most universal concepts amongst all intelligent life forms in the multiverse, and the manners of observance are as varied as the people themselves. Some are joyous, others morose, and still more even violent. There is one community, however, whose holiday I continue to join occasionally as their method stands above the rest so far.

This peoples' tradition is one of stark contrast. They emphasize progression, bettering their lives by rising above their previous selves. At the same time they are heavily nostalgic, considering the past to be the ultimate teacher and guide for the way ahead.

The world's noxious atmosphere forces them to live in one large central complex. During their time of renewal they celebrate by changing up this building. 

Or rather, adding to it. 

On the last day of each year they build a new level, one in which they will exclusively live for the next year. Construction impressively only lasts that day [Proxy note: not as shocking as it sounds as one of their days equal 17 on Earth, but still remarkable]. The outgoing year's story is (literally and metaphorically) left behind exactly as it was as a sort of museum. When the clocks signal the transition, they rush into the new floor to enthusiastically furnish and decorate the entire place in style for the coming year.

The tradition is well rooted; floor 379 is under construction as I record this.  The dedication is inspiring! I stroll through the levels below to literally walk through their history. On a few floors I can see traces of my visits in previous years.

As you celebrate your time of renewal (and I my own, though I'm not necessarily tied to any particular planet's marking of time), I suggest you think on your own spaces. What can be improved? What can be left behind? The new year brings a chance for a new outlook. Why not make it a fresh one, ready to take on new challenges?

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LOG#016

The Traveler is on some grand adventure, so I volunteered to take this log to introduce myself and shed some light on the origin of Auriscenes.

I am the Proxy; I translate and produce the Traveler's communications to publish here on Earth. Though I mostly stay transparent, you may have noticed a few of my notes in previous logs clarifying some detail or another.

We've been close friends ever since we met, which is an unforgettable memory. I was in the middle of nowhere doing some astrophotography and stargazing (two of my favorite pastimes) during a meteor shower. At one point, an especially bright streak flashed across the sky, terminating on a hill not far away. Something had landed—or rather, crashed—into the ground. I jumped into my vehicle and took off to see what it was.

I was shocked to find a spaceship there, smoking, the hull plowed into the ground a good meter or so. What's more, its pilot was standing there staring at the wreckage, totally fine. I was definitely nervous, but I walked up and offered to help. With a couple of things lying around in my vehicle (including the rim of my spare tire—I suppose I didn't really need it) the ship was quickly working again. How this otherworldly pilot survived the impact I'll never know, but they were soon ready to go.

I asked them to stay for a while and share some stories. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, so I had to ask while I had the chance. They were happy to sit and chat.

We talked for hours. I've always dreamt of life among the stars, so getting to know the Traveler and hearing their tales was a dream come true.

Loathe to end the conversation, they gave me a special device for communication no matter where they are. I soon came up with the idea to share some of these stories, and thus Auriscenes was born.

Both of us are excited for the future. There is so much yet to tell, so keep tuned. Hopefully you’ll share my wonder with each new story.

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LOG#017

In the vast expanses of tundra on a remote planet lies a hidden temple, a structure whose origin remains a mystery even to those who pass down its tales. It is said that dark and terrifying secrets lie within its stone walls and endless passageways. The stories that have survived reveal a bloody history, one of endless war, cultic rituals, and attempts to contact evil spirits beyond the fabric of this existence. Heavy hangs the air of this edifice upon any who enter it, warning of desolation and danger for those who dare delve deeper.

I discovered the temple's location after many nights of searching the wintry wastelands. I knew immediately upon my entrance that this indeed was a sinister place. The myths were true, at least in their description of the atmosphere. A line of torches along the walls (their apparently unending fuel source a puzzle to me) could hardly fend off the darkness that lay thick like a blanket. I sensed that this was a fathomless labyrinth, that I could easily lose my way in the serpentine corridors were I not careful. Still, I was strangely drawn in by what I could only describe as a presence, something not living and yet not quite inanimate. It caused the hair on the back of my neck to rise.

Unfortunately a trap, either worn away from untold years or triggered by an unfortunate explorer, had collapsed the main passageway not far from the entrance; further ingress was prevented by the massive pile of stone blocking the only known way in.

What history lies within those walls is now buried, all but lost to history. From what is known of it, perhaps this is for the best. Even so, there are times when in the lull of travel between galaxies my mind drifts to that tundra and the secrets it holds in that temple beneath the frozen soil.

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LOG#018

It is difficult to believe this planet is solid; as far as one can see in all directions are the softest sands that form endless crests and troughs of dry waves. Due to a curious configuration of celestial bodies, this desert world is lit only by moonlight for approximately 90% of its year as the light from the star it orbits is blocked by another planet. This results in a landscape constantly bathed in a gentle blue-purple glow. Combined with the omnipresent winds that constantly shift the landscape it becomes a natural artwork, one whose brushstrokes can be tread upon. 

The recipient I was hired to deliver a message to must have moved on without notifying their colleagues, leaving me with little else to do at the moment but mindlessly stroll and enjoy the scenery. My feet only cause a whisper as they pad upon the uneven surface.

All is tranquil.

And yet, there's something about the place that I just can't shake. I'm not in any danger, but at the same time I don't quite feel at ease. It's as if the dunes are hiding something, something that was buried as it rested amidst the constant shift of terrain.

And if I'm not mistaken, there's also some amount of...melancholy? Perhaps regret?

What has been missed in the millennia here? What has passed by while the atmospheric currents endlessly reshaped its face? It has grown old, the movement of the minuscule grains the only marker of the passage of infinite moments.

This world an enigma I've only brushed the surface of. Someday I will return to unearth whatever secrets have found themselves submerged in its unwritten history.

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LOG#020

Every once in a while you have to take a gig you just don't want to do. The pay is terrible, the work is hard, or (as is most often the case for me) the location is less than ideal. This world fits squarely within that last one. Well, the first also rings of truth here, but that's another story.

There are two geographic features of note here: an impossibly dense fog, and mountain ranges that have a tendency to move.

Or rather, float.

In open-faced defiance of gravity, these massive chunks of stone migrate through the sea of gray mist like sailors lost at sea. It is unknown to me which suspended continent is technically the core of the planet, but that hardly seems to matter. A resounding thunder bursts through the fog and rattles my very bones, indicating that the unstable masses of terrain are colliding. The world itself is forming and crumbling in every direction around me.

The mournful howling wind is my one and only companion as there is no record of a people living here. Hyper-aware of the shifting mountain looming above my head, it's easy for me to understand why it would be foolish to try. The only known life is a variety of rather large rodents with shell-like backs whose teeth can gnaw through the solid stone to burrow and protect themselves from the chaos. However, in the currents of air I can just make out what sounds like a chorus of voices. Something human-like signals its distress. Perhaps it's better to not stick around to find out what.

Hoping I do not come back to find my ship crushed by an entire mountain, I step off on the most stable hovering island I can find to conduct my business. I'm eager to be away from this hazardous and mysterious planet.

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LOG#022

Nestled deep in the darker regions of space is a beacon of light: a miniature planet utterly impossible to find unless one knows exactly where it is. It does not orbit a star or any other celestial body, but instead drifts through the cosmos on its own journey. 

It is something of a paradise. Light is provided to the atmosphere artificially through a sophisticated system of ambient projection—there is no visible source, but rather a diffuse glow saturating the entire environment in a soft luminance. That same light provides a consistent warmth to make for a strikingly consistent mild climate. Even the weather itself is a tightly controlled event, and while there is variance, it is based on a set schedule rather than random environmental factors.

The small size of the world lends to a sensation of lightness. My steps make no track even in the cottony moss. All burdens seem to fall away in favor of a feeling of weightlessness. It's not the lack of gravity as in the vacuum of space, but a simple removal of heaviness within.

More significant is the relative stillness. Things do not move quickly here; all existence is carried out in a measured pace. My andante tread is set not by my mood, but rather out of respect. I do not wish to disturb the superlunary quietude.

The population of this highly maintained utopia clearly shaped it in their own image. They move no more quickly than their surroundings. Every movement is decided, every word measured. Most of their time is spent in meditation. If one believes what they say (and I have no reason not to), they can observe the very threads of existence throughout the multiverse in their semiconscious state.

I was entrusted the location of this world in the process of providing some much-needed materials to them. The information is a strongly guarded secret; it was not idly shared. I hold it as a special honor, a reminder of the amazing places my career takes me.

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Auriscenes

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