ENTRY 008
SURVIVAL LOG
BEGIN DICTATION:
Somehow, I'm still on the grid. Or at least a grid ... I'll explain. At the back of the Gek outpost I discovered, I could see the familiar glow of a Galactic trading terminal. Circular, with a scanner that confirms the genetic code of any user, I recognized it on sight. But would it recognize me?
I could feel nervous beads of sweat rolling down my forehead as I approached the terminal and watched as the scanner flicked back and forth across my body. For an agonizing microsecond or two, I wondered: would my plunge into this alternate reality leave me completely cut off from any kind of civilization?
Answer: no.
A readout - with my name at the top - gave me an accounting of my financial situation, plus other data about my knowledge and experience. None of it made much sense - my unit and nanite balances were shockingly low (but not zero, interestingly) and the resume information my profile presented was ... well, odd.
The number of sentinels and starships I'd destroyed? The number of sols I'd survived in extreme conditions? This was data you would expect for a soldier or mercenary, not an exobiologist.
Still, from this galaxy's perspective, somehow, I exist. I may be a stranger or an anomaly, but I'm not a complete outcast. Or ghost.
And my financial balances do solve one small mystery I've puzzled over: when I've scanned plant or animal life, it's clear the information has been going somewhere. Perhaps some version of Eden University exists here and is still collecting my discovery data. Unknown.
But something or someone is collecting my discoveries, and paying me for them. I'd assumed that when my exosuit told me I'd received units for my uploads that there'd been a software glitch of some kind, but clearly I was wrong.
So, now, I'm resolved. After a good night's sleep, I'm going to try lifting off and taking The Refuge out of the atmosphere.
It's time I started finding some answers.
And time I returned to space.
END DICTATION