The Ossuary of Ambition

Log Entry: OT-3911.05.03
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Site Survey R-03

"By means of constant switching behind the steers and frequent lying down, we move forward. By means of ridiculous, unbecoming exercise, crawling and rolling over, we prevent our blood vessels from rupturing from blood pooling in our lower extremities. We substitute at least one meal worth of protein for this "Vitamin C" compound soup so that our cells don't rot from oxidation. The arduous preparation we underwent on Artturisir before all this started keeps us in check. Muskrat's air filtering helps too, although our vehicle's ultimate moment to shine is yet to come.

Doc Shaffer pukes blood about twice a day and I'd hate to breach onto his area of expertise, but that is probably unhealthy.

We have been driving for almost 10 days straight and finally reached the vantage point our original plan assumed as the starting position. Being so dense, as anticipated, Elderbone's air in those higher altitudes lightens much faster than normal. As it is less oxygenated, it paradoxically becomes much easier to live in than on the flatlands, completely opposing intuition and Artturisir training for regular planets. These were the only hills for thousands of clicks in every direction and they allowed unparalleled view of the plateau. And what a sight that was...

Back on Arrt, we were right. As the mists cleared - heavy, oxygen-sick vapor that makes the air feel like liquid - we bore witness to the truth of Elderbone. Our Hercules was merely the latest addition to a silent parade. For countless klicks in every direction, the surface of the planet was littered with husks of the previous ambitious endeavors, compressed metal shining in the sun like grotesque, ancient bones, picked clean. Only bones don't stay this way around these parts, rather are powdered to dust, erased from existence along with the rest of their owners.

Our vehicle required some time to cool down after the ascent and so did we, almost hesitant to leave the fairly sufferable altitude and descend back under the press. But the mission continued, so right after Julia archived the terrain mapping and after another 7 hours of ride, we reached the first wreckage. I crawled my way into a gem of a discovery in its own right - a relic of the Old Corporations, 26th-century-ish hauler, its hull emblazoned with a faded logo from the pre-Fracturing era. Older than Koans sense of humor, probably. It was a blocky, primitive thing of cold-rolled steel. Doc says the crew inside were the lucky ones. They had died drifting in space, their pitiful, unaugmented bodies stiff long before the gravity pulled them in and turned their internal organs into a singular, undifferentiated sediment against the floor panels.

We archive whatever we can and turn West, as planned. More wrecks and the fabled Valley of the Horses await. Time for our Muskrat to shine."

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