The green lights alert turns on, signaling the end of the pressurized chamber to the entrance of the man made eco-world underneath Nona Que’s surface.  One after the other, each member of the crew starts to convert their suits oxygen systems to hold and to release their helms visors.  Nico starts to pant, waiting to release his visor until the final shield door that separates the chamber from the sector opens, the moment he looks forward to every time he steps inside the moons artificial world, the moment that feels real, alive and true. The moment he’s feels like he’s back on earth.

  Fate streams toward Nico while closing his eyes, as if he is in sync with everything around him.  Pulsating down, the chamber shield opens and not a second more the rush of air from the sector flourishes inside the chamber, attacking every inch.  Nico releases his visor, sliding up into his ghost the moment the shield vanishes, replacing the stale created air with fresh air as it hits his face.  A chill slithers down Nico’s spine as the cool air seeps throughout the small crevices between his flesh and ghost, tensing up. Breathing in through his nose, a smile stretches over Nico’s face as he takes in the natural fresh oxygen filling his lungs released by this forbidden world, imaging this forbidden world is home on earth.  This is that moment, Nico’s moment.

The image that Nico sees is that of which should not exist.  Not that it is forbidden to exist, but rather the whole idea of it existing almost seems impossible.  As if God himself reached down and graciously commanded the inability of life to suddenly grow.  Only gods should have that power he thought.  With life being created to which it shouldn’t, created by the company of us monsters, soon only to be brought down by the greedy palms of our decayed hands. 

The glows of green light, obscured by the blue textured shields portray the muddy image of beauty within.  Even Nico will stand the few uncomfortable moments outside in the silence as he approaches his most perfect moment of the day.

As Nico waits, he stares at the backs of the men and women he has worked with for almost two years. Covered from head to toe in their ghost suits that keep them alive, dark helmets blacken their faces and emotions to complete void.  The depiction of each one is clear; scars that tell a thousand stories, wrinkles that label the length of their life.   Even the different emotion in their voice and signature movement that each one portrays, the tell-tale signs of their masked feelings.  Nico can read them like a book.

“Hey, you fucking tech-monkey!  What’s with the holdup on the shields?” The blast of his voice ripples through each one of our gears like a rock song on high volume.  His voice is the most distinct from the moment he opens his mouth, what an impatient ass.

His names Markus Reed, he’s the head honcho of the sector and the boss of their mining section.  He’s the one guy in here Nico wouldn’t want to go a few rounds with if he didn’t have too, even if it may be a little fun.  Stand up to him and he’s out for blood, so winning is killing and killing isn’t the first thing on Nico’s mind.

At six foot five, built like a steam train and an attitude to go, the man’s a true man.  When he says jump, you better have already jumped, twice.  They say he worked for the District, the elite branch of solders from the European New Order.  Rumor has it, he took on several heavy “Class One” missions all by his lonesome, or at least that’s the story from east bay.  He doesn’t speak much about his life outside the Choir and if you ask he will just ignore you till the subject is changed.  He’s feared by most everyone in the sector, but even so everyone respects the hard ass.

He’s a loud mouth prick with the vernacular of curse words and if you screw up he sure will put it to you.  But underneath his feared persona, there is one thing that you wouldn’t expect from this man, his true adoration towards his crew.  He’ll slap you, but you know it’s for your own good if he does. To keep you on guard, put you back into reality and to keep you alive.  It’s a rarity to find someone whom cares about others out in the silence.  Either you get by on your own will, or you follow the path to madness.  And madness normally leads to a cage or worse.

The shielded entrance to the mines chamber flickers with ambition, brighter as it bends in with the glow of green light. Just as if the light couldn’t meld any brighter the shield powers down. The groups of five take their stride into the chamber for pressure change and to take in the sweet essence of natural oxygen.

A high pitched voice of tech engineer Arnold Sutherland shrieks over the ghost helmets Com-pockets. “Sorry for the holdup boys and girls, it seems the override command has been acting up again.” 

“Ha, are you sure about that Sutherland, or could the company not find a real engineer to fix this dump for the price of bread crumbs.” Duke says with a hint of laughter from the rest of the crew.

With little bite, Sutherland throws back, “Yeah it’s a true shame DAS, at least I make more money than you do.”  A big smile stretches over Sutherland’s face as Duke smoothly dances with embarrassment and rolling his eyes.

With laugh and play from the crew, Nico looks back as the chamber shields splash back into place and the mine doors begin to close, fading away one world for another.  Nico feels at ease now as the pressure chamber begins to work, confining the crew in a large room blocked by the outside silence to the life inside the cave of the moon Nona Que.  With only one more shielded door blocking the entrance, the green glow turns heavier.

He looks up at the stars, the shining bright of life.  Only to imagine the world he left almost two years ago.  The darkness still lingers ever so tightly as he approaches the ramp to the underground moon.  Hugging his ghost and walking onward, he still gets the same feeling he felt the first time he walked outside.  Space, the fear of darkness and lifelessness, the silent singing of being alone, he never liked going outside.

The teams of five approach the ramped gate that holds the paraterraformed innards of the moon Nona Que.  A large portal like metal door held together by the grounds of the moon.  Helped by large pipes, wires and gears that are punctured straight through the ground forming what looks to be a cybernetic implanted structure.  Pulsating and turning to open up what was the new formed life of this dead star. The gates of life open and present the shining glow of green light fighting to escape the underworld, only to be consumed by the depth of space.  The chaotic particles are once again disregarded by all the men, except one.

Before walking in he looks up at the stars once again, to see the shining brightness of life only light years away.  Nico Parks, The Wolf.

Start Log [T.10.16.52.1]

Log [1.04 Y.2188]

I have had success in recovering past log issues, thankfully.  This is good news, not only am I able to recover the majority of the log within the archive, but the corruption has left little damage to the system itself.  The only drawback is that decrypting corrupted logs are taking much longer than I thought it would and most of my logs are still in the darkness.  On top of that, I need to have my Armor Guard connected to the unit itself if I am able to have any success in recovering the logs.  This causes a problem, and it seems I may only download during my hibernation hours.

How I was able to find a solution to the corruption in the first place was almost a fluke of itself.  But I have more important matters to explain, so I may go further in detail about how I was able to recover the system at a later date.  1: For documentation.

1: For documentation. I’m still in search of my “John” log.

Let me explain.  Here on Choir we use the word incident to describe a personnel malfunction, i.e. death of an intelligent being.  Whether that malfunction may be an accident or intention, we still refer to it as incident, never a death, murder, rape, suicide, or anything of the like.  

When said incident is an accident or intention, the following must be done. 

a.         An analysis on the situation that followed before and after the incident took place.

b.         An autopsy on said “John[s]” or “Jane[s]”.  Even when empirical observation is relevant when said John[s] or Jane[s] became the incident.

c.         Documentation on all following personnel whom witnessed the/an incident.  Documentation pertaining information received and about the witness[es].

d.         All documentation about the incident and John[s] or Jane[s] sent to company headquarters.

e.         Remains sent to closest alliance owned planetary control.

From the amount of time I have been on this rock, there has only been one incident.  The incident was soon ruled an accident.  I don’t believe that official statement.

The Wolf

End Log [T.10.20.22.10]

Start Log [T.2.30.21.12]

Log [1.02 Y.2188]

632D[ays] and somehow the past voice logs I documented, fell into a system corruption.  I have spent the last week trying to work out the core memory system within Choir’s AI center that supplies digital space for all the personnel here.  Nothing works on this godforsaken rock and I should have known that from the start.  The Choir is thirty years too old and getting older.  I would have used my own mainframe catalog to chronicle the statements, but working with Chior’s second rate nano-tech leaves flaws with new technology.  I hope in the next few days I can salvage atleast something.

In the mean time, I have switched over to my AIAG3 catalog server, and thankfully it has a system link to these new space helmets we use at the dig sites.  The suits we have are new as well, seems human safety is only a priority when it comes to handling Magnolic Metals we mine down here.  Unfortunately for us, when accidents arise, it costs more to fix the mistakes than it is to replace the work, especially when you hit gold.  So to kill two birds with one stone and to keep personnel malfunctions low, all personnel are issued new standard ghost suits each year.  Not to keep us safe though…

It seems I’m at my level now.  When I get back to the Choir I will need to document past statements if my effort to free any corrupt logs is not plausible.
The Wolf

End Log [T.2.32.32.5]