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 Posted: Tue Oct 04, 2005 8:32 pm
Logs and recordings concerning the growth and development of one Opabinia regalis, called Almucantar. Please, no footnotes without permission.
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Posted: Tue Oct 04, 2005 8:32 pm
Contents
photographs[]
profile: Almucantar []
profile: Sarah Diasi []
notes []
notes[]
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Posted: Tue Oct 04, 2005 8:34 pm
"I won't say that Cant swims like a fish, because he isn't a fish. But he swims well and with great joy."
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Posted: Tue Oct 04, 2005 8:35 pm
Name: Almucantar (Cant)
Gender: Male
Age: ? - adult
Species: Opabinia regalis
Personality: Shy and slow to warm up to strangers, but with a streak of curiosity a mile wide.
Likes: Prisms and spectrums, swimming, reading
Dislikes: The dark, small animals, boredom
Fears: Enclosed spaces, sharp objects
Almucantar is endlessly fascinated by the world. His thirst for knowledge is insatiable; as soon as he could speak, he was asking questions of his human mother. He may not be overly comfortable around strangers, but his curiosity inevitably draws him out of his shell of shyness, in one way or another.
He devoured printed matter as soon as he could read, and conducts many tiny experiments, some impromptu, with whatever materials he can find, some carefully planned and carried out over a period of time. His intense focus sometimes causes him to forget the passage of time, and he forgets appointments and meals if he has something interesting to do or read. Sarah, who is obsessively punctual, has gotten used to checking up on Cant and reminding him of innumerable minor things.
Cant is graceful in the water, but clumsy on land. He has learned through a series of almost-disasters to be constantly aware of his body. Though he looks almost careless and often trips over his own feet and tail, he knows how to catch himself and avoid the dangerous obstacles of the world he lives in.
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Posted: Tue Oct 04, 2005 8:36 pm
Name: Sarah Diasi
Gender: Female
Age: 22
Species: Homo sapiens
Personality: Stubborn and thoughtful. An idealist.
Likes: The ocean, classical and folk music, exotic art and foods
Dislikes: Clutter and mess, cold weather, violence
Fears: The dark, needles
Before finding an odd egg mass on the beach and taking it home, Sarah was a student at a local liberal arts college, taking a wide range of courses and seriously considering majoring in education. Born to parents who couldn't quite be classed as "hippies," not quite, anyway, she has had a wide-ranging and eclectic education, and cares a great deal about environmental issues and conservation.
She has been a pacifist and a vegetarian most of her life, believing strongly in peaceful solutions to problems and leaning towards an almost Buddhist worldview. She professes no formalized religion, and laughingly calls herself "New Age" if asked. Some of her views and ideals have been forced to change over the past year, however; she is on uncertain moral ground in places, and still struggling with her new convictions.
Her mother and father cautiously endorse her entry into the Institute, and continue to provide intermittent support. They hadn't expected nonhuman grandchildren, but are trying (a little awkwardly) to accept Cant as fully a part of the family. Some of her extended family is not nearly so tolerant of "atavistic freaks," however. Sarah's grandmother has declared that the girl is now dead to her, and one of her aunts has recently been outed as the author of a particularly hateful piece that ran in the newspaper when the Cambrians were first discovered.
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Posted: Tue Oct 04, 2005 8:37 pm
handwritten in a spiral notebook It was stupid of me to go exploring down there. I knew it wouldn't be the same. I knew it was destroyed. Half of the things I own were destroyed in the earthquake; why would the epicenter be intact? I loved that beach. It's been torn apart. I had a plastic bag in my pocket. I don't know why I scooped up the eggs. It's a good thing my fishtank wasn't broken in the quake. I'm totally unfamiliar with saltwater tanks; it's a good thing my neighbor John knows how to set up and maintain one. ... I don't even know what I brought home. Time to consult the library. When we've got the computer back online, I'll check the net, too. handwritten in a spiral notebook It looks like some sort of weird microscopic life-form, though it's not by any means microscopic. It's about the size of my hand. It was ridiculously tiny two days ago! It's actually sort of beautiful. Its body is black with iridescently green markings, and it has glowingly blue - fins? Limbs? Are the spots eyes? I don't know anything about this creature. John says it's not like any fish he's ever taken care of; it accepts fish food of all types with equal voracity. It's shed its skin twice already. Maybe more; I've only seen the process once, and the other time, when I walked into the room, the creature was in the process of consuming the shed skin. That was a little unsettling to watch. I've been dreaming I'm a creature, I think. It's disjointed and strange. I'm underwater, hearing things, seeing things; but I'm not hearing and seeing the way I normally do. I can't describe it. It's weird. handwritten in a spiral notebook Opabinia regalis. That's what it is. I found a Cambrian. An atavism. A freak, if you believe Grandma. Someone else found eggs and hatched them. I don't quite understand the details of how - the explanation in the newspapers and on TV is straight out of some kind of science fiction. Alternate universes. Parallel timelines. Beings that technically ought not to exist, and are - were - extinct. In this world. The specimen they showed on TV looked just like mine, but purple. The same fins, tail, pattern of eyespots. It's much larger than mine. Is that how big I can expect mine to get? I'll need a new tank. Is the tank going to fit in my dorm room when I go back to classes? Grandma flipped out and started yelling at the TV about "unnatural things" and "freaks of nature" and "abominations in the eyes of God." I watched most of the segment, and then went back to my room to feed my own Opabinia. Grandma doesn't know it's here. I'm going to have to be careful; she might try to break the tank or something. I need a name for it. I need to find out whatever I can about what's known about it. What do I do now? handwritten in a spiral notebook "Almucantar, n.: An almucantar (also called a "parallel of altitude") is a circle on the celestial sphere that is parallel to the horizon. It consists of all points at a given altitude - if two points are on the same almucantar, they have the same altitude." handwritten in a spiral notebook The dreams are more vivid by the night, and Almucantar is growing steadily, large and active. It's got to be related somehow. His skin is soft to the touch, and not slimy at all. I could swear that his behavior is affectionate. handwritten in a spiral notebook The Opabinia that the researchers found has metamorphosed into a sentient humanoid child. I can't even begin to verbalize what I feel. handwritten in a spiral notebook I emailed the Institute. I hope I get a response. I can't stay in this house. handwritten in a spiral notebook I'm leaving tomorrow. Grandmother tried to kill Cant. I found her entering my room with a bottle of bleach. BLEACH. I can't believe it. I never thought she'd stoop to murder. Oh my god. I'm glad I'm leaving. I won't be sleeping tonight.
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Posted: Tue Oct 04, 2005 8:38 pm
handwritten in a bound journal The room here is so nice. It's big enough for two, when Cant makes his metamorphosis. There's a big window with a wonderful view of the ocean. There's a computer I can use for my classes and for entertainment, and I have pretty much free access to all the public areas of the Institute. Some of the private ones, too. I'm going to be living here. I guess we won't be going out much. There are people who'd want to kill me for what I am now. I don't know how I can possibly be homesick, when home's not home anymore. [...] handwritten in a bound journal I've read that all mothers think their children are the most beautiful babies in the world, even if the baby in question is a horrid wrinkled squalling little thing. But Cant is genuinely beautiful. He's vivid, and soft, and his vestigial eyes gleam in a way I can't describe without resorting to stupidly overblown metaphorical terms. When he tumbled out of the remnants of his cocoon and reached for me, speaking in a language I couldn't understand, I felt the most incredible swell of emotions I've ever felt in my life. I've had pets. I've held babies. Nothing compares. I might not have gestated him, but he's MY child. And he's beautiful. handwritten in a bound journal After some research, I've discovered that the language Cant speaks is called Khoe - an African language, spoken by Bushmen. Their culture is slowly dying out, subsumed by the relentless advance of modern life. I wonder why my child speaks a language I don't know, spoken by a people he is never likely to meet. I hope to learn it. There's less resources available to me than I'd like. I'll have to learn from Cant. handwritten in a bound journal Cant almost fell against a corner of the table today. He is still having trouble staying steady on his feet; his tail swayed into his leg as though independently animated and tripped him. He caught himself against the flat edge of the table, barely avoiding the corner. After I finished hyperventilating and clinging to him, I took tape and an old sheet and padded everything I could find in the apartment that could possibly be a danger to his structure. He is thrilled that he gets to stay in the bathroom for a few days, play in the big tub all day to his heart's content. I will be sanding things, modifying things, and replacing the rest. [...] recorded on a tape for a handheld recorder [click] Sarah: " - see, sweetie, when you push the button like that, it starts recording your voice. If you push it again, it'l - " [click] [click] Sarah: "Right, just like that. Try talking into it. Can you do that?" Cant: "In there? It listen?" Sarah: "Yes, and then you can play back what you've said." Cant: "How?" Sarah: "Let me show you." [click] [click] Sarah: "See, now it's recording us again. When we play the tape back, you'll hear all the stuff we said before, and this too." Cant: "Okay. ... How it work?" Sarah: "There's a magnetic tape in the little cassette - " [click] [click] Sarah: "See, now the wheels are turning in the machine. The tape I showed you is going over the place that reads the magnetic variations, and that is turned into little electric signals. The electric signals go to the speaker, and tell it how hard to vibrate. The vibrations are what we hear as words." [silence] Cant: "How electric signals make it vibrate?" Sarah: " ... Let's go get some books so I can show you. If you want to record your words, you use this thing, okay? Remember to turn it off when you're done." [click] [...] recorded on a tape for a handheld recorder [click] Cant (speaking in Khoe): "There was blood. I do not want to die, I do not want Mama to die. I was afraid." [long pause] Cant (Khoe): "There was so very much blood. I can see it with all my eyes. I am still afraid." [click] typed on the Institute's journaling system, locked private It has been a week. Almucantar is still having nightmares. I expect they will go on for some time. I am hoping that perhaps tomorrow I will be able to coax him to emerge from our quarters again, but if he cries, I am not going to force the issue. I can never say no to him when he cries. His small feet made star-shaped prints in the sand of the beach; he was delighted by his footprints, calling attention to them, turning and walking unsteadily backwards to watch the pressure of his bodyweight printing his mark into the beach. Neither of us was paying enough attention as we walked; he, distracted by the wonder of soft wet sand, and I, distracted by his delight in the experience. When the masked man stepped from behind the rocks into our path, I was slow to react, and Cant very nearly ran into him. Cant doesn't like anyone other than me to touch him, and the close brush with contact sent him running behind me, clinging to my legs. I shifted to interpose myself between him and the stranger, beginning an angry comment about how the man should be watching where he was going - and then I saw the gun. "All I have to do is puncture his membrane, right?" the stranger asked, almost casually. I felt a cold spiky ball form around my heart; he knew what he was doing, and he had purpose in his eyes. Cant. "Stay behind me," I said to my child. I've never been one to carry a gun. I've been a pacifist for all my life. Then again, I have never before had children, and Cant - Cant is my life, these days; what we have shared since I gathered his egg mass has no comparison to anything in the world. I'd die for him. Cant is my life. I pulled the gun from my purse and aimed with as steady a hand as I could manage. The stranger saw my hands shaking, and laughed, and stepped closer, obviously believing I couldn't use what I held. It took three shots, because I hadn't aimed right. The first knocked his aim off, and his shot grazed my cheek. The second slammed into his shoulder. The third struck his face. Cant wailed, and I dropped the gun and knelt to gather him into my arms and let him hide his eyes against my sweatshirt. Oh, Cant. It was him or you. I wish you hadn't had to see that. Someone asked me about it in the cafeteria yesterday. "I don't want to talk about it," I said. "It upsets Cant." Truthfully enough, it upsets me, too. I never dreamed I'd be capable of killing anyone. But I've never before had a child. The nightmares and the guilt will pass in time, the shrink said. I hope he's right. [...] typed on the Institute's journaling system Cant is growing so fast. When his skin started peeling off, I was horrified and alarmed, but he was perfectly blase about it; as it turned out, it appears to be perfectly normal for him to shed his skin as he grows. It's gross and compelling all at once. I have to stop looking when he finds a big patch to remove. He's so happy about it. His nightmares are slowly tailing off, and he's coming out of the shell that the incident sent him into. He's even starting to talk to the people in the cafeteria again, and he actually asked to go to the beach. I'm so proud of him. recorded on a tape for a handheld recorder Cant (speaking in Khoe):Mama thought I was sick in the head, but it is only my antennas. It was funny to see the face she made. Snowline laughed too when I told her. typed on the Institute's journaling system Cant asked me to "make the voices stop playing that song" in his head this morning. Naturally enough, I took him straight to the labs. ... his antennas are actually antennas. In the "radio antenna" sense of antennas. He's picking up radio stations. .... It's a rotten song, I agree with him; and having it played literally into your head must be very irritating indeed. He's currently lying on the floor and coloring, tinfoil wrapped around his antennas. It looks bizarre, but seems to work. Dr. Vrais says he'll have more control over his reception as he gets older. I do feel pretty stupid now, though I guess I can't have been expected to know that the voices were literal and real.
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