Logbook entry

Earth remembers

02 Dec 2024Rawnu
Mars High is chaos. Evacuation orders echo through every corridor, lights flicker as overwhelmed systems push to their limits, and people crowd the docking bays, clutching what little they could carry. Every face is the same—a mix of fear and desperation. I’ve been shuttling civilians to the Cornwallis for days, ferrying as many as the Gallifrey can hold. How do you evacuate billions of lives? You don’t. You just try to save as many as you can and hope it’s enough.

But it’s not just the weight of the evacuees that’s pulling at me. Earth is still there, spinning as a pale blue dot in the distance. Somewhere, in the Alpine foothills, my old commune is watching this unfold. I can almost hear their voices, stubborn as ever, saying, “The Earth takes care of its own.” I used to laugh at that, thinking it was naive. But now, in the face of Cocijo, it feels more like a promise. Maybe an empty one? Who knows these days. But I know the commune. They’ll stay. They’ll pack just enough to be ready if they have to run, but they won’t leave until there’s no other choice. It’s not just stubbornness; it’s faith. They’ve lived their lives trusting the soil, the seasons, and each other. Running doesn’t come naturally to them. And I can’t blame them.

The Federation says Cocijo is still days away, but already Sol feels like a battlefield. Panic is spreading faster than any Thargoid fleet ever could. The riots on Mars are bad enough, but the hatred toward the abductees—those poor souls who escaped the Thargoids—sickens me. Two rescue centers have already been stormed by mobs, blaming abductees for “summoning” the Titan to Sol. I don’t know what’s worse: that people believe such nonsense or that no one seems able to stop it.

Seo Jin-ae has become their scapegoat. ICE-casters are calling her a traitor, saying her connection to the Thargoid hive mind led Cocijo to Earth. The stupidity of it all makes me want to scream. She warned us, over and over, that the Thargoids were learning, adapting. This isn’t her fault. If anything, she’s the only one who’s ever tried to help us understand what we’re really dealing with.

I can’t help but think about Triton. The memories still don’t fit, and every time I try to make sense of them, I feel the same pressure I did out there—the whispers at the edges of my mind, the sense of being watched. Seo’s warnings about the hive mind’s “tone” shifting feel too familiar, too close. And now Cocijo is coming, bringing with it answers I’m not sure I want.

The Gallifrey is ready for the fight, though she wasn’t made for this. Every modification feels like a betrayal of what she was built for—exploration, not destruction. But if I don’t stand, who will? The Federation, the Alliance, the Empire—they’re all scrambling to keep up, and while they bicker and posture, it’s the independent pilots who carry the burden.

This isn’t about politics or glory for me. It’s about the planet I grew up on. It’s about the commune, their hands in the soil, their laughter around the fire, their quiet resilience in the face of a galaxy that rarely notices them. They raised me with their belief that humanity could live in harmony with the Earth. Now it’s my turn to protect that vision. I wonder if the commune will remember me. It’s been years since I last visited. Too many. But they’re part of me, even now. The lessons they taught me, the love they showed me—they’re why I still believe in something better.

Cocijo is still a few days out. I’ll spend what time I have left shuttling civilians, preparing Mars High for the worst, and bracing myself for what’s next. But when the Titan arrives, I’ll fight. Not because I think I can stop it alone, but because I know what’s at stake. Every second I hold the line is another second for someone to escape. I don’t know if I’ll survive this, or if Sol will survive this. But I do know one thing: Earth remembers. It remembers every step we’ve taken, every mistake we’ve made. And maybe, if I’m lucky, it’ll remember me, too.

For now, I fight. For Earth. For Sol. For the stubborn commune nestled in its arms.
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