Log entry #14

January 10, 1991 AD
Aphelion 1097

I have learned how to use the Terran date system, and so from now on I shall give parallel dates for all of my subsequent log entries.

I have noticed that is becoming harder and harder for me to speak: I know this is another symptom of the Rencar, but I still hope that I am not afflicted with this disease. Yet my hands and feet are now deathly pale, and I can think of no other explanation.

My memory is really failing me now. I can barely remember the code for the transmitter, and so I shall record it here, for fear that it shall be completely forgotten by the next Aphelion. The code grows one segment with each Aphelion, and each segment is the last digit of the coordinate where the mothership touched down on that visitation. There must be fourteen segments of the code now, after this most recent visitation. Of course, the code is impossible to reconstruct without the coordinates, and those are recorded on the map, which is now long gone. And even the map is useless unless one knows the sites of all of the past visitations, and I have forgotten those. Perhaps my past log entries recorded that information, I cannot remember.

And so I will bury the last piece of the transmitter here along with my log entry. It can no longer possibly be of any use to me, and the other pieces were left behind long ago. Only after every piece is collected can the transmitter be reconstructed and activated.

I cannot even record where the ship arrived on this Aphelion. I had a clear vision, but I saw nothing of the surrounding landscape, nor of the people or structures that lay upon it. All I know is that during the visitation the sun was at its highest point in the sky for the day, and was at approximately a seventy degree angle with the ground. The sun made a great impact on me, for here at the beach it was exactly two in the morning, and completely dark. I know that if I performed the proper astronomical calculations, I could determine the location of the visitation, but my mind is too weak for even such a simple task.

I found myself to be unusually tired after my vision: another possible symptom of the Rencar. I cannot move far before the next Aphelion. And yet I cannot stay here. The sun is beginning to burn my diseased skin—I have always found it to be too hot and bright at this location, but now it is becoming unbearable.

The coastline here is too populated; I fear that I will be discovered by my pursuers, who are still tracking me after all these years. Just a few days ago I saw two Terrans in dark suits who seemed to be searching for somebody among the crashing surf. Unlike my last hiding place, this area is not such a maze that I can easily hide myself from those who seek to harm me. And seeing the thousands of people who flood the shore every day exhausts me. So much activity, so much energy. I need to find a small, quiet, dark, solitary place underground where I can hide and try to recover my strength, protected from the blistering sun. Perhaps I will no longer be able to find such a place in this growing metropolis, but I will search for it inland, along the river.

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