Audio transcribed from [NAME REDACTED] from the University of [REDACTED]. Chronicle incomplete.
[STUDENT]:
Audio log #5 — if you can believe it, I’ve finally made enough progress to actually make a progress report. After various attempts to join a harrier crew as a researcher (all failures, as detailed in audio logs #3 and #4), I’ve opted to conceal myself in their ranks instead of announcing my intentions.
Though the lie will force me to sneak around far more than I was originally intending, the near uniform backlash I received when I mentioned my interest in the harriers’ understanding of the so-called “Thrum” has convinced me that there is no other option.
I will admit I encountered several problems even still. Harriers seem to harbor a long-standing bias against “offworlders”, and many were not willing to let me on their crews even without knowing about my thesis and research. Personally, I consider the difference to be minimal at best.
However, I suppose the intellectual in me is intrigued that the Martians do claim to sense a difference. Perhaps it lends credence to my thesis in its own sort of way. Or, perhaps more simply, it’s just xenophobia.
In any case, we’re leaving in the morning on my first real shift. I don’t know whether to be excited for the coming journey or anxious about keeping my secret. Maybe they’ll be willing to write off my curiosity as new harrier jitters rather than anything more.
[STUDENT]:
Audio log #9 — I can’t believe I’m recording this so soon! Amidst our travels, we’ve come across what the harriers call a “lochsled graveyard” — a place where sleds gravitate in the absence of direction, generally after the death of a harrier or the partial destruction of the vehicle.
Most harriers seem to treat these as headstones and are extremely reluctant to disturb them if it is not necessary. My companions were no different.
Note to self: The harriers have a fascinating relationship with both the so-called “Red” (the Martian desert), and Thrum itself. They treat their being out here as less of a decision and more of a tradeoff. A deal with the desert, if you will. As harriers, they have domain over vast swathes of the planet the biodome-dwelling peoples may never see. They see and experience things no one else does and can travel as long and far as they deem necessary.
Most of them are running from something — or else just staving off inevitabilities. And in exchange for this, as long as they walk this path, they know that one day the desert will take its due from them.
It’s a grim reality, but one I’ve thankfully been spared the visual of so far.
I’ll admit when I first heard the callout, I was nervous I might see something I’d regret. There were no bodies, though, just sleds and some long-dried bloodstains.
It was an eerie sight — abandoned sleds hovering at dissonant distances from one another, but all pointed straight down at the Martian surface with their fanned solar panels facing the sunlight. I was not expecting to encounter such a phenomenon, but it gave me a brief window to investigate while the others paid their apparent respects.
I’ve no doubt that the hovercores and Thrum are connected — that pockets of Thrum or some similar sources are influencing the unmanned sleds to gravitate far from their original resting places.
I have entertained some of the more popular theories in concept — Martians having extra sensory organs, or genetic anomalies that cause them to feel Thrum more effectively. Some even believe these to be extensive enough that Martians are mentally and physically affected by Thrum. However, I plan to debunk these notions as a subheader of my final paper.
As far as I can tell, the harriers’ reverence and secrecy surrounding Thrum are symptomatic of their association with these graveyards. Sleds with working cores drift towards these pockets of thrumming energies, and harriers consider the sleds to be graves. It’s not a difficult leap to assume that the more harriers associated Thrum with their dead, the more they grew to view it as a quasi-religious force rather than a scientific one.
It would be no different from worshipping some other force of nature on Earth, like magnetism. Certainly just as strange.
The exact nature of Thrum is still unknown, but it seems to be linked to or else possibly responsible for whatever field the hovercores are interacting with in order to allow for low-altitude hovercrafts to exist as they do in the modern day.
The fact that it appears stronger in some areas and weaker in others suggests that the field is not uniformly distributed around the planet and may explain why hovercraft travel is not a frictionless system.
This still has not answered the important question though: What is Thrum? Is it the field, or the generator? Where does it come from, and why? Could we use it as a power source if properly handled?
It was this final question that I was asking myself when I stumbled — literally — over a sort of… bag. It was partially buried under a tarp that had been camouflaging it. My companions seemed deeply entranced by the graveyard and did not notice, so I investigated further.
The bag contained several small black cases, and carefully cracking one open I saw something I’d never seen so close before — a hovercore. I closed the case quickly — I am well aware of the dangers of the things — and I knew I had found a researcher’s gold mine.
I loaded it into the sled before anyone saw. I have no idea why this was here or who it belonged to, but I can’t in good conscience pass up such a golden opportunity.
I’ll be looking into them more in-depth when we get to the next biodome. Away from my companions.
[STUDENT]:
I think someone’s following us.
I swear I keep seeing the same dragons in the pens as the last city — always the morning after, never the night before, like they arrive sometime after we do.
Yesterday I swore I saw a small group of dragon-riders on the ridgeline behind us — too far to make out any details, and they were gone by the time I tried to point them out to the others.
…Maybe I’m just being paranoid. It could’ve been just abnormalities in the rock, and lots of dragon breeds look alike if you don’t know them well.
[There’s a long pause, a hesitation.]
Still, I… can’t help but wonder. Worry.
[STUDENT]:
Ranholt’s missing. He was with us in the harrier’s quarters last night, but not in the morning. His sled and dragons are still here, but nobody’s seen him in hours, and all his bags are gone too. Olson thinks we should wait for him to come back — says he probably just went drinking or something.
I don’t believe it, not for a moment.
Those dragons are in the barn again. One has a distinctive scar across its nose — I recognize it from before. I know I recognize it.
I’m leaving in less than an hour. If Olson isn’t coming, I’m going alone.
[STUDENT]:
Leaving seemed like a good idea at the time, but settling in for camp by myself… I’m not so sure anymore.
I’m miles away from the nearest city or town, though. Miles away from Olson too. I probably should’ve left a note, but I didn’t want to give any indication of where I’d gone.
With any luck, I’ve given our stalkers the slip. Maybe Olson will too.
I can’t help but wonder if this has to do with that bag. The cores. I’ve been doing tests with them each night — and my findings have been extensive, but I haven’t been able to document them in too great of detail. The walls of these tents and buildings are thin — too thin.
I’ve been careful.
No one saw me when I took them — no one’s seen me with them. If they saw the bag at all, they’d have no way of knowing what was inside. If these people are following me, following this bag… how would they know?
They must have seen it somehow. Recognized it. I’ve wondered many times if they were there at the graveyard, hidden amidst the rocks. If they saw me take their prized cores.
Part of me thinks they must be some sort of harriers, come to reclaim these precious stones. The other knows that normal harriers don’t carry cores like this.
[STUDENT]:
I don’t know how they keep finding me. It’s like they can sense me! No matter how far or fast I go, no matter how careful I am, every morning I wake up to the same dragons in the barn, that same scar on that same dragon’s face.
They haven’t made it here yet, but I know they will. By the morning, they will.
So, I’m leaving. Dead of night. No traces. I need to lose them this time.
I’m on the verge of discovery — I can feel it.
They won’t take this from me.
No further audio available. Damaged recorder located at a flea market in Arsia, selling used harriers’ supplies at a discount. Seller claims policy of no-questions-asked, but did provide physical description of previous owner once pressed. This description did not match that of [STUDENT] or any known associates. Returned to the University of [REDACTED] for file recovery.
Investigation still pending.
Hello everyone and thank you for reading the fourth release in this anthology series based in the universe of The Cardinal Directive! Had a lot of fun with this one, and I hope you all enjoyed it.
The first story can be found [HERE], the second [HERE], third [HERE] and the wider universe can be found [HERE] if you want to know the main storyline!
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