Information

kosmonaut has a minion!

reach for the Stars

kosmonaut
Legacy Name: Vesmir

The

Custom Galactic Jollin
Owner:

atempause

Age: 8 years, 3 months, 3 weeks

Born: January 1st, 2016

Adopted: 8 years, 3 months, 3 weeks ago

Adopted: January 1st, 2016

This pet has been nominated for the Pet Spotlight!

Statistics

Level: 10
Strength: 24
Defense: 10
Speed: 11
Health: 10
HP: 10/10
Intelligence: 22
Books Read: 22
Food Eaten: 0
Job: Unemployed

"...So we know now that dreams are a biologic necessity, which means that they must serve a very important function.

Now the human body is much too dense for space conditions. We have a model to hand, and that is less dense, in fact almost weightless and that would be the astral or dream body. And I postulate that the function of dreams may be to prepare us for space. And that is why they are a biologic necessity.

The next step is to go into space and leave the planet,... but we're not there yet...."

The structure was built well underground, a remnant of another era when the atom bomb was the greatest threat to mankind.

The present-day people who have to strap on oxygen masks and water reclaiming units just to take a walk outside would laugh at the paranoia of their ignorant ancestors.

For centuries, humankind looked to the stars in hopes that one day they might diversify the infinite universe by spreading their population to other planets.

Too expensive. Too dangerous. Too many precious limited natural resources (depleting further with every passing hour) that they didn't dare give up.

Strict limitations that led to the birth of a new branch of science known as Projected Astral Dream-Influenced Bodies.

Hence, the top-secret structure.

In the depths of this dreary concrete bunker, several scientists with the highest IQ scores in the world.

Their subjects, half a dozen desperate volunteers.

Several died in the first round of experiments. Now they were down to only three.

Number One could still hold up to physical trials but was essentially a vegetable. Extreme efforts were underway to recover what brain activity could be salvaged.

Number Two was currently circling the drain.

Their hopes for Planet Earth now rested on one man.

Number Three, when asked about his status, always gave the same arrogant smile and thumbs up. He couldn't let them sense the sweat breaking out on his body. Their dozens of machines would pick up on the slightest increase in heart rhythm or breathing pattern, forcing the day's testing to a dead halt.

He had come so close. He could not, would not, fail now.

The pressure was like a tight band around his head as simulated gravity was gradually increased to the level an astronaut would encounter, were they to set foot on the nearest potentially inhabitable world.

He passed out at 12G.

The body he'd been shaping was a thing of beauty. Strong enough to move mountains, light enough to travel on a gentle breeze. His mind merged with his PADIB eagerly enough until such trivial things as heartbeat and breathing and digestive function were barely a distraction.

He had moved among the stars twice, seeing the infinite galaxies spinning in their eternal beauty. He would undoubtedly have cried, were PADIBs capable of such human emotions.

He could feel an irresistible tug from a medium-sized planet that his human eyes would have identified as magenta in color.

The planet was teeming with life.

The ozone layer fought the intrusion of his PADIB attempting an entry. Sharp pain engulfed his ethereal form, forcing him to retreat until his mind was once again confined by a limiting and uncomfortable shell of meat.

Then came the days of sickness and pain. Maintaining a PADIB took more resources than the human body could produce. Like his dying planet, he was finite.

Out there in the universe, such considerations seemed trivial.

For days he was forced to lie in a hospital bed as machines pumped in nutrients and eliminated waste. The scientific team hovered over him like hens guarding their only chick. He didn't even have the energy to feel annoyed. When the muscle regenerator was finished, he offered a wobbly thumbs up.

A collective sigh of relief from the white coats.

They admired his eagerness but forced him to wait two weeks before they'd let him have another go in the astral chamber.

He found the planet quicker this time.

Gardens of such heartbreaking beauty that no poet could hope to capture their contents and the people...

They defied description, for they were separate beings and part of the plant life, all at once. There was such a kindness and an understanding of the greatest mysteries of the universe. They could not communicate with this small, limited life form protecting his thoughts in their midst. They were intrigued. They felt sorry for a Being with such strict limitations.

He could taste blood in the back of his throat. He'd been gone so long that even with artificial assistance, the muscles were beginning to waste in his arms and legs. He flailed his useless limbs anyways, an angry spider pinned on its back. The scientists were forced to restrain him.

For nearly two months, the scientists were convinced all hope was lost. One even gave himself up to the harsh desert winds rather than wait for the last electric plant to shut down. Better the harsh sun than the gradual fading of the lights.

There was great excitement when Number Three began to talk coherently once again. They wanted to run a hundred tests but he was so insistent that he'd figured out the way to merge with his PADIB that finally, they saw things his way.

The Magentans (as he thought of them - he could never hope to pronounce any of their words) were delighted to see him again. Through mind pictures, they quickly understood what he was trying to do.

His half-shaped PADIB was dotted with flowers and hung with vines. They painted him with a sweet-smelling mud that reminded him of herbal medicines. He swore he could feel the cold cream and smell its slightly pungent odor.

It was going to work. He was going to save his planet.

Two bolts of lightning struck him from above, reducing his PADIB to ash.

The doctor stepped back from the table. Normal rhythm, though the man would likely never recover sufficiently to speak. The scientists rushed him into a memory retrieval chamber but all they could get on the view screen were pictures of what looked like a huge flower garden filled with giant female creatures with huge purple flowers growing right out of their heads.

Number Three was trapped in his rapidly shrinking mind. Rage and sorrow did battle, slowly consuming what little humanity was left...yet he was no longer afraid.

He would go to sleep one more time and when he woke again, it would not be a flimsy construction but a genuine PADIB awaiting his weary spirit.

He would have told the remnants of Earth the truth, if only they hadn't been so hasty in recalling him.

The greatest hope for a dying planet is Death.

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