The Yardmaster could see the three orphaned aliens were very sad. They were allowed to stay together in the same life-room next to the Yardmaster’s on the upper deck of the mothership. They greatly missed their recently deceased alien family. That is why at the last stop at the transit port the Yardmaster bought a gift, a very rare and expensive gift, a highly illegal gift, he bought a spacecat to bring back on board and give to the orphans.

He kept the spacecat hidden until the mothership had left port. These spacecats were not quite like the cats you often remembered on earth so long ago. They had no reproductive systems, were gender neutral and were bio-genetically ‘birthed’ in Bio labs and were designed to live on long life traveler ships. The original genetic base sequence code was usually the old Himalayan cat breed.

This breed was selected because of their beauty, their long soft hair which was a pleasure to stroke when they sat on your lap and their desire to purr. They also had low energy and a desire to sleep most of the time. Clever Bio techs genetically expanded on these traits to create a mutated breed that did not shed hair, shed skin and never had eye staining. They even slowed down its metabolism system so it only used the bathroom once every few weeks. The genetic codes were secretly shared among the Bio labs and improved upon from time to time, but, as an inside joke they often created odd colored cat hair. This spacecat had very long flowing blue hair and one dark blue eye and one light blue eye.

The Captain had watched his gruff Yardmaster assume the guardian role of the child aliens with inward amusement. “Some one’s gotta take care of those blue critters,” the Yardmaster would roughly say. Some of the crew volunteered to do so but the Yardmaster always had an excuse why that person could not do a good job. Soooo, thought the Captain, by default only the Yardmaster can take on this role, how interesting.

The Captain and the Yardmaster drank coffee alone in the Yardmasters life-room. The bio-engineered coffee was excellent of course. The mother ship’s bio-genetics lab could do just about anything with a genetic code. Sometimes as a prank, or out of boredom, they would violate the Universe Life Respect Law and combine an earth genetic sequence with an Alien sequence, usually only on something very small in their life labs. The Captain heavily frowned on this and only once had to follow up with discipline on this matter. But, that is a story for another day.

The Mothership mandate was no pets allowed on board. There was just too much risk of animal interference with the advanced systems on the ship. If animal hair was shed and bypassed the filtering systems it would be a problem, if a pet crawled into a recess and touched or chewed on intricate systems there would be problem. When the Mothership left the earth-moon shipyard decades ago there were no pets allowed on board. But, the Yardmaster planned to approach the Captain to change that.

“Captain, the little blue buggers are not doing well,” said the Yardmaster.

The Captain had noticed that for a while. He had the same concern, “Any ideas on what we can do?”

“I have done everything I could think of,” said the Yardmaster, “I have brought them down to the life centers where our young ones play but they don’t interact. Our soul counselors say they have broken hearts.”

“Yes, I can imagine that. It was very traumatic for them to watch their family die. They probably have guilt about being the only survivors.”

The Yardmaster replied, “Yes, the soul counselors said this species have extra deep relational dependencies…”

The Captain interrupted, “That just means they are extra loving and family oriented, right?”

“Aye Captain,”, replied the Yardmaster, “If these critters don’t improve, they will all die, and die soon.”

That was a surprise to the Captain. He and the rest of the crew had grown fond of these gentle orphaned aliens. It would break their hearts to have them die.

The Captain took a long sip of his coffee. He was used to successfully solving life and death problems. He had been trained since he was a young child to be a Captain. He racked his brains but had no solutions to this problem. He was perplexed and was very worried and beginning to feel sad.

“No,” the Captain said, “we have to find a solution.”

“Well Captain,” said the clever Yardmaster, “I do have an idea.”

“What?” demanded the Captain with strong interest.

Then the Yardmaster stood and walked to his sleep room then came back out. When he came back the Captain’s eyes grew wide, “Yardmaster, WHAT have you done?”

“Captain, let me explain,” as the Yardmaster quickly put the blue spacecat in the Captains lap. The spacecat settled in and began to purr. The Captain instinctively put his hand on the cat and felt its softness.

“You must get rid of this,” said the Captain as he heard the spacecat purr softly and lovingly.

“Captain, I can’t, I got it at the transit port, we can’t go back, but, if you really want me to jettison it I can,” gambled the Yardmaster.

“Yes, by all means, do it,” said the Captain as the spacecat continued to purr and softly move its paws back and forth on the Captains lap, as if it knew its fate was being decided. It looked gently upward into the captain’s eyes and began alternatively blinking one dark and one light blue eye at the Captain.

The Captain remembered as a child being given a spacecat with green hair from his Alien friends. He knew his own family would say no to it. So, he first put the spacecat on his mother’s lap and won her over. Then the both of them did the same to his father and eventually his father gave in. These spacecats were genetically designed to know how to survive and knew how to favorably soften hearts when they had to.

The Captain inwardly smiled as he remembered his father relenting but followed with a long list of rules, that everyone initially said yes to, but, were never followed. He knew what his clever Yardmaster was doing, he himself had done it before. But, the Captain knew he could not relent. The Captain had to say no and say it firmly so this never happened again.

As he spoke he looked at the spacecats blinking blue eyes, “Yardmaster, I am disappointed in you for bringing this contraband on board in violation of at least 5 Universal codes.” He kept his hand on the spacecat staring at its blinking eyes.

“Yes sir, I am guilty sir,” said the Yardmaster with no resistance.

“Purchasing this cat is illegal,” the Captain kept looking downward, “and carries severe consequences.” Why is this spacecat blinking at me like that, thought the Captain.

“It is a health hazard,” continued the Captain although knowing that these spacecats had been genetically cleansed for long term ship living. He soon realized there appeared to be pattern to the blinking.

“I will jettison the spacecat immediately,” meekly replied the Yardmaster.

“Yes, I want it immediately…..”, then the Captain stopped and watched the spacecat for a while.

The Yardmaster cringed and kept watching his Captain, willing to follow his orders no matter what.

“I don’t believe this,” whispered the Captain.

“What?”

“Its eyes, the blinking......,” faltered the Captain.

“I noticed it, but, what about it?”

“I think I know what it’s doing, it’s incredible,” stated the Captain.

“Damn it Captain, WHAT is going on?” impatiently spoke the Captain.

“He is communicating to us, look, dot dot dot, dash dash dash, dot dot dot, then it goes to dot dot dot, dash dash dash, dash dot dash dot, dot dash, dash and it repeats it over again, “said the Captain.

The Yardmaster watched and then realized the Captain was correct, “Why, that’s the ancient communication language of Morse code.”

The Captain laughed loudly in disbelief,” Do you see it? SOS, Save Our Ship. It did that to get our attention.”

The Yardmaster was stunned, then regained his composure and also loudly laughed, “Then it follows SOS with SOCAT, Save Our Cat, over and over again.”

They continued laughing together as they watched the spacecat communicate to them.  The Captain continued to stroke the spacecat's long blue hair, "A Bio Tech must have inserted an extra genetic boast into this spacecat."  The Yardmaster knew the Captain was won over.

“Permission granted to keep this spacecat on a trial basis Yardmaster,” said the Captain.

“Aye-Aye Sir”

Then the Captain communicated a long list of rules and guidelines for keeping the spacecat which they both knew would be ignored.

The Yardmaster then called in the three aliens from the room next door. They came in slowly and sadly. The Captain stood up and handed the spacecat to the blue child aliens. At first, they didn’t know what it was or what to do. Then they gently held it and passed it from one to the other. Then their faces transformed into excited radiance. The aliens purred and the spacecat purred.

Then the spacecat began blinking, then after awhile the Captain and the Yardmaster stared in disbelief as the Aliens began blinking back. At first in copycat Morse code. Then after a while they noticed they were expanding their vocabulary.  

“Unbelievable,” said the Captain.

“Way to go you wonderful blue critters,” blurted the Yardmaster, “I am so proud of you.” Then the Yardmaster contained himself and became reserved, but, inwardly was bursting in pride of ‘his blue critters.’

It was obvious the spacecat was a hit with the orphans and there was now a chance for them to have a foundation from which to begin rebuilding their lives.

The spacecat became the ship’s mascot, was loved by the crew and stayed on the ship for many decades after the Captain, Yardmaster, and the Aliens grew up and left. It was never forgotten by anyone on the mothership.  Finally, its genetic DNA began to crumble. At that time the Bio-lab regenerated another identical spacecat, but, with a few enhanced capabilities.

Reader, thank you for reading this story. If you are curious how the spacecat later tickled the bastard baby born on the mothership then please read the other Deck Logs found in my profile.  Thank you, DW

The charge nurse says, "Della, you're getting one from the ER. Mann, room 234. Stroke, 'DNR'. ER will call report."

The DNR tells me he'd be in the ICU otherwise. He's fucked. He's really knocking on deaths' door, "circling the drain," outta here. 

He's atop a gurney being pushed by transport to 234 and lifted to the bed. He's a black man who'd given a complete meaningful sermon that Sunday morning. It's Christmas Day. He's had a blood vessel 'blow' in the brain, and cannot talk. I ask the polite family to help me determine this mans' medical history. The 93 year old man was walking that morning. He was happy. He had a spiffy suite on as he delivered his spirit filled message to his congregation. I envisioned them singing Amazing Grace around noon.

Mr. Mann had a relaxed affect. He almost smiled as he opened his eyes to an understanding of his current situation. He said not a word. He looked as if he was a child next to ride the roller coaster at a carnival. His face was that of kind anticipation. He fell asleep, and passed on. I thanked God for the privilege of the opportunity to witness a child return home. I told myself from that day on, I've encountered my role model.

i swear

i'll be beautiful

just give me a week

to show you my gums

bleed

burning

with regret, but

it's all i can see

this imperfect mirror

hiding

a perfect girl

watch my

confidence shrink,

watch my

bones unfurl, and

i swear

i'll be beautiful

just give me a month

to show you i've

won

three sizes

undone, but

i still can't have fun

this perfect mirror

hiding

an imperfect girl

watch my

flesh disappear,

watch my

apathy whirl, and

i swear

i'll be beautiful,

just give me a week

i swear

i'll be beautiful,

gums start to bleed, and

i swear

i'll be beautiful

just give me a month

i swear

i'll be beautiful,

three sizes undone, and

i swear

i'll be beautiful,

just give me a year

i swear

i'll be beautiful

when i disappear.

everyone tells me

how to stitch my own wounds,

they say

boys will be boys,

they say

girl, don't you swoon

i say

everyone shows me

just what to do when a

boy breaks your heart,

they say

sing your own tune,

they say

be your own moon,

i say

nobody tells me

just what to do when a

boy's never broken my 

glass heart in two,

i say

girls will be girls,

i say

boy, don't you swoon

i say

nobody shows me

how to stitch my own wounds,

i say

he is a her,

i say

she was my sun,

i say

everyone told me

our love was a gun

and i'd never convince if 

i don't find my prince,

they say

this is a sin,

they say

you're lost within,

i say

everyone tells me

how to stitch my own wounds,

they say

boys will be boys,

i say

girls will be too,

because

nobody told me

just what to do when a

girl leaves your glass heart

broken in two.

When I wake, the cats are at the door – they want to slip into bed and lie in my warm vacancy. One is black with a teacup on her chest, the other gray as elephant's breath with muted stripes. In the darkness, I fumble against their fur, locating rump, scruff, finally head, and I pet what I can find until they roll over and expose their tummies – a trap. Under the bluing shade of early morning they are furry dead spiders. 

Cats aren't the only parasite squirming in the bedwaters – my wife, snorting like the Union Pacific, snakes her cold fingers and toes toward me, seeking flickers of heat like sausages over a campfire.

Shower. Toothpaste. Size 40 pants instead of last year's 38. An XLT button-down that's starting to hug. The cats follow me to the living room as I pick up a satchel and keys. Jenny lets me pet her back – she has a funny habit of bursting forward when my hand reaches her tail, to circle around for another run. Remy sits on the couch, feet tucked under his chest like a chicken in a coop. I think of saying goodbye to the snoring pile of hair in the other room, but my wife doesn't work until 9. Still, what if I never see her again?

I open the door and step into a world devoid of Julie and Jenny and Remy and the little routines of morning before the light.

That's what I think as I clear the dishes, as I grab my purse and head out the door.

I think of secrets when I pass the park where we used to play. All the memories we shared, cherished away from everyone else. Silly things, maybe, but nevertheless we kept them to ourselves as children are wont to do.

I try not to think, but I can't help it. I pass through the gate and the memories wash over me, flood my very cells and carry me away. I can almost see you crouching behind that bush, or maybe swinging from the branches of your favorite tree. I remember hunting for treasure with you. I remember playing by the creek. I miss those times. 

I miss you. 

I wish I had missed what had happened. You never needed to get hurt. But some things will stick with me forever. How could I forget? I can't look at the steep banks of the creek without flinching, no matter how many memories I have of playing happily in the clay. I can't see back to those days past your unseeing eyes, set in your stone-cold face. I'm still standing there on the edge watching you caught eternally in the threads of misunderstanding in the midsummer heat. But then the stillness shattered and so did you. I couldn't move. I can't now.

Once again I'm standing there. I remember they told me it wasn't my fault, that the bank is dangerous, that it easily crumbles, but I knew we played there often and that day the earth was firm and you knew where to stand. 

You were trying to save me. But no one knew that. Maybe in your haste you weren't watching the edge and slipped.

Or maybe, in my anger and confusion, I shoved you away, not expecting you to fall.

Or maybe it wasn't an accident. Maybe there were other things you'd done. Maybe you came to apologize. Maybe I rejected it, rejected you. 

Maybe there even other secrets here, and we were just caught like flies in a spider's web that summer.

All I know is that I stand here, where you've stood, and that soon I'll lie where you did too. 

You got me. I can't take it anymore. Because no matter how I try to push away the memory of you, I know that you linger just out of sight. I know that if I but turn my head, you'll be there. Haunting me. 

...

The line is from the Mistborn series by Brandon Sanderson. This is my first time really writing flash fiction or whatever this is, so any feedback is welcome!

This is sad. It happened today. The man I thought I'd looked for all my life walked in the office. Let me back up. I noticed he started sending food to my department at work. I saw him pay extra attention to his uniform. He positioned his hair around me. He was a new security guard for the building. He was my age and handsome.

I'd grown interested, keeping a safe distance, but..interested. The man took care to notice details keeping all of us safe.

The handsome guard surrounded me and a friend at work. For the first time he'd spoken. He began to tell us of the night before in the next building he monitored. I interjected, enthusiastic about what he was saying. He paused. He paused so long I thought he'd gone catatonic or something. He said, "When I'm in a train of thought do not interrupt me." 

He continued his story as I filed my nail in a relaxed manner after apologizing I'd disrupted his thought. 

Little does this bastard know he has so been rejected by me. 

God bless his insecure ass.

How dare he embarrass me in front of my friend as I was encouraging him to tell his story.

What a dick.

He has no idea he is the one in the rejection seat.

Now I have to eventually explain to him his shortcomings. 

Now I won't get free food. 

He is so insecure he couldn't realize his insecurities fucked his own self over.

So sad.

So I guess the moral of the story is that it is not true that "The way to a mans' heart is through his stomach." 

The truth is, "The way to a good woman's heart is through her stomach and an ego sitting on the outside thinking about suicide."

"I know I shouldn't be jealous," I say, looking at the computer screen. "After all, I've been the one to encourage her. She deserves it."

"Seems like you already know better," my mind-self shrugs back at me. Let's call her my conscience for lack of a better name. She sits on a chair identical to mine, a brown leather swivel chair. 

"It's just so hard, watching her have so much of what I've been wanting. Knowing that I could have that, if only I had more time, and didn't keep putting my foot in it. I always just seem to do what I don't want to. It's so hard knowing that if only my mind were clear, everything would be easier."

My conscience continues to sit there, but now she is thoughtfully tossing a ball up in the air.  Her head is tilted so her long brown hair falls out of her face.

"I'm tired of hearing myself complain, but I don't know what to do when I fell like I'm going mad, and no one listens to me."

"So don't complain. Maybe you can do something, maybe you can't. Might as well keep trying," she shrugs again, "and you know that."

"I'm scared."

She nods her head, turned away from me. The ball has disappeared much like it had come into being. "As I said, whether or not you can do anything, you can still keep trying. Keep trying to get better, keep trying to do well in school, and," she looks me in the eye, "keep trying to write, even if it's not as good as it could be. And respect takes time to build, and you don't have that. But stop making excuses. So people love her. So no one seems to listens to you." She raises an eyebrow at me. 

"I'll just have to be enough for myself," I say, and it's my turn to shrug. I don't know if that quite makes sense, but that doesn't matter here. 

"And that's what you've been doing."

"When I remember how to remember myself. When I remember to breathe."

"Yeah."

"I'm just so afraid that I'm losing myself," I whisper, but not to my conscience, for I am looking into the twilight beyond the window.

"You know I don't have an answer to that," she says, matching my tone.

I sigh and lean back in my chair. "I'll just have to keep going."

"Seems like we're cursed to learn the same lessons over again and again, doesn't it?" she chuckles roughly, darkly.

I don't nod this time. I don't have to. Her thoughts are mine, and my thoughts, hers. 

"You'll be someone someday. You'll make it. You're smart. You could be a scientist. You're also a talented artist, and a poet."

"If all goes well, that is," I say. I don't respond to her last few words, because though others have told me I'm good, I can't quite see it. Sometimes I can, sometimes I can't. It comes and goes.

"If you try," she corrects me. 

"If I try," I echo. And I will keep trying, whether it's cross-country, or my scientific pet projects, or art, or school, or friendships, or art or poetry. That's who I am. Maybe I'll fall, maybe I'm already falling, but I won't stop fighting to keep my balance. I can't. I'm just me, and though I don't always know what that means, this sheer stubbornness is a part of it. A part of me. If I'm in pieces then I'll pick them up and put myself back together.

"Seems like our chat is over," my conscience says, rising from her seat. "I'll just show myself out."

I don't look away from the window, nor up from my swirling thoughts.

Meanwhile, the door clicks shut.

Botany and Biology Consortium Précis

Submission for consideration, addendum to the subchapter, “Native Martian Anatomy and Physiology.”

Submitter, Evan Mickal, Ph.D., VSD investigator.

Methodology: Magnetic Resonance Physiology at the Quark-focus Level

Date: Sol 28, 942

Focus of addendum: Locomotion in the absence of an endoskeleton and the Central Nervous System (CNS)

• Locomotion in the absence of an endoskeleton

Very much analogous to octopi, other cephalopods, and numerous non-skeletonized animals on Earth, the Martian’s posture and stance, erect stature, and functions of ambulation and usage of appendages depend on elastofluidics. Their bodies contain innumerable patterns of muscular tubes which are fiber-reinforced elastomeric enclosures that contain a pressurized fluid. The fibers surrounding them have angles of orientation that can be changed at will, which determines the direction in which the limbs/appendages move when the fluid within is pressurized of depressurized. The external plates (“feathered scales”)finalize the maintenance of a particular position or stance, and when in motion, louver and “unlouver” sequentially to effect smoothness of motion. Therefore, there is no endoskeleton nor one needed.

• Central Nervous System (CNS)

The shape of the Martian head is governed by the necessity of design that accommodates the complexity of the multi-oropharynx and the brain structures that innervate them and a tripartite trachea. Thus it has an elongated face—or a “long” face—reminiscent of a horse, that likeness furthered by a remarkably coincidental aspect of pigmentation: down the face is a vertical patch or pattern of depigmentation, creating a long irregular splash of white, which on a horse is called a blaze. Such a blaze, individualized for each Martian, could represent a way of telling each apart, although recognition may involve many factors other than merely how the Martian appears. The blaze seems to have embedded in it innumerable olfactory cells, making this an organ for smell.

To appreciate the Martian CNS it is first important to understand aspects of breathing and ingestion that also impact the shape of the head.

There are six bilateral sets of mouths and throats that funnel together such that they can effect a steady single intake of ingestion along a single esophagus no matter how many mouths are ingesting. This coalescing requires distance and is a major determinant of the distinctively long face. (The main mouth goes its separate way—SEE BELOW.)

Each throat has two posterior openings:

1. One leading into a separate esophagus that distally fuses with the other esophagi into a central one; and

2. the other leading into a “reverse” trachea [SEE BELOW] that is the source of the blasted air from the central air bladder used in vocalization.

These two posterior pharyngeal openings at the back of each throat are separated from each other by a glottis—an opening guarded by a septation that can flap closed against the reverse trachea so that food can be diverted properly downward into the central alimentary tract and not into the central air sac [SEE BELOW]. In this way, choking is prevented.

The esophagus related to the primary mouth and pharynx does not lead to the location where the six ancillary esophagi fuse, but instead enter the distal alimentary tract farther caudad. Although the primary mouth appears externally as two joined together at the midline, this is misleading, as it is single-chambered just beyond the lips. What was initially thought of as two separate tongues, one on each side, is in fact a single tongue for the single chamber, but with its terminal portion forked.

There are smaller but completely functional tongues for each of the separate ancillary mouths. There also appear to be taste buds for different discriminations among the numerous ancillary tongues, prompting the Martian to use specific mouths for specific tastes and textures of food and liquids ingested. Each mouth has teeth, clear but in the shadows appearing dark. Each tooth has a single fiberoptic tract.

The external proboscis-like cetaceous “blowhole” (main air intake) and its tract does not cohabitate with any of the pharyngeal area. Its trachea is a dedicated one-way route for air from the blowhole that distally trifurcates into the one central and two bilateral air sacs. The bilateral air sacs also exhale back out toward the blowhole, whereas the central air bladder has a valve such that it only exhales through its separate reverse tracheae when speech occurs.

The blowhole entrance that trifurcates distally into three separate tracheae ultimately end in two bilateral primary bronchi and one secondary central bronchus, the bilateral ones ending in multilobular air sacs on either side of the large central unilobular air bladder the central bronchus supplies. The bilateral air sacs provide oxygen by passive diffusion into venous lakes surrounding them, much like the placental systems in Earth mammals.

While the bilateral air sacs are for oxygenation, the central bladder, alternately, provides two functions:

1. It serves as a storage depot of breathable air that, through spillover (passive diffusion)seeps through its semipermeable membrane into the adjacent primary multilobular air sacs [SEE ABOVE]; and

2. there is a collection of hundreds of sphinctered tubules emerging from its posterior that coalesce into seven separate “reverse” tracheae [SEE ABOVE] that provide the expulsive impetus for speech through each of the seven mouths. The seven reverse tracheae each house a set of vocal cords at varying distances from their eventual target mouths, the variation of distance contributing to a wide variation of different tonal qualities (pitch, timbre, resonance). The Martian, linguistically, uses these variations in conjunction with the number of mouths speaking or singing to express nuance and/or emphasis. Whereas in the human the glottis is relative to the vocal cords, in the Martian the sets of vocal cords and glottises are separate from each other for each of the reverse trachea (“air routes”); each glottis is at its junction to its respective pharynx, to preclude food aspiration, using a valve for closure in lieu of the cords themselves as in humans. Even though the sets of vocal cords are at varying distances for effecting unique phonation qualities, each glottis is at the same position, i.e., the glottopharyngeal junction.

In summary, the blowhole feeds air to two bilateral air sacs and one central air bladder. The bilateral air sacs exhale their breaths the way they came in, through the primary tracheae; the central air bladder eliminates excess air by diffusing into the adjacent air sacs, but its main function is to blow air through a set of unrelated “reverse” tracheae through vocal cords. The only possible site for choking would be between the pharynx of each mouth and the termination of each reverse trachea, but this is precluded by the flap of tissue over each glottis.

NOTE: THE ABOVE EXPOSITION IS ONLY INCLUDED HERE BECAUSE OF ITS INTERRELATIONSHIP WITH THE CNS TO PRODUCE SPEECH. FOR FURTHER DETAIL OF THE RESPIRATORY SYSTEM AND THE OTHER SYSTEMS, PLEASE REFER TO THEIR RESPECTIVE SUBCHAPTERS IN THE FULL BOTANY AND BIOLOGY CONSORTIUM PRÉCIS, SUBSECTION, “MARTIAN ANATOMY AND PHYSIOLOGY,” BY KEITH MILLS AND MARK ADRIAN.

The Martian brain is made up of six lobes, or hexaspheres. Functional Magnetic Resonance Physiology has determined that each lobe (hexasphere) directs independent conversational thinking that results in vocalization from one (or more, simultaneously versus serially) of the six ancillary mouths. All six hexaspheres appear to contribute cogitation for conversing with the primary mouth, when articulating a “main message.” Although they can act separately, all of the hexaspheres also are interconnected by an infrastructure analogous to the human corpus callosum, which I theorize allows a consortium of unified awareness, thinking, and volition among the set of hexaspheres.

Hearing is via an acoustic apparatus that begins with four independently aimed calderas on each side of the head, all eight each contributing a neurotubule that terminates at a central ganglion in each hexasphere. Thereby, each hexasphere’s acoustic ganglion receives a bundle of eight neurotubules representing the gamut of the collective caldera perception of sound. The central acoustic ganglia appear on functional scans, at the electron level, to deal with filtering pitch and sonolocation.

Each caldera is associated with its own ganglion that surrounds its sound transport tubule (STT), more specifically, surrounds that portion of the SST that houses small osseous structures shaped like varying tiny tuning forks, 18-20 nm in size; each of these caldera ganglia have afferents from all of the hexasphere acoustic ganglia and efferents to the small muscles that comprise and aim the caldera rims. Consortium thinking of what is being heard focuses the directional pivots of the individual calderas. Externally, the calderas, which hold a small amount of fluid each, are each covered by a parabolic tympanic membrane.

For each eye there is a laminated neurotubule that is a coalescence of thousands of neuromusculotubular fibers that seem to both convey collected visual stimuli and move the globes.

The bilateral laminate optic neurotubules meet interiorly in the midline, as a “light basket,” positioned equidistant from the hexaspheres of the brain; this light basket appears to be a tightly spiraling structure that follows the Fibonacci path of the “golden rectangle,” i.e., the spiraling neurotubules are shaped like a nautilus. This nautilus-shaped light basket is surrounded by an iron-rich magnetic encasement, itself dynamic in that it can magnetically focus free electrons as an undulator, along the spiral. The neurotubules are highly reflective and at the central termination (innermost part of the nautilus) an escape channel allows egress of a potentiated lasered pulse that feeds all hexasphres as well as returns some light back to the eyes (for unknown reasons).

Essentially, the light basket is a free-electron laser that distributes, arboreally, synchrotron radiation to all hexaspheres and the eyes at the speed of light. Theoretically, because the undulator encasement can vary the parameters of the magnetic field, the intensity and wavelength of the radiation can be adjusted on the fly, i.e., are tunable from microwave through ultraviolet and even X-Ray spectra as well.

The eyes themselves are not sufficient to contribute enough light to power the light basket’s ultimate output. Besides the laminar afferent optic nerves, the light basket also receives another afferent trunk of laminated neurotubules from the lux-cap, the area on the external head analogous to the scalp portion of the human head.

The lux-cap is very much like a scalp in that fiberoptic projections emerge from it in a hair-like fashion. These are sparse, otherwise they would pose interfering shadows for the miraculous nature of this head covering. Louvered parabolas, layered down to a depth of approximately one centimeter, collect light and an entire subscalp cranium receives coalescing bundles of phototubules that ultimately end intracranially at the light basket. Thus, the light basket has a dual source of light—from the eyes secondarily but from the lux-cap primarily.

The fiberoptic, sparse “hair” appears to be efferent only, varying colors and intensity, possibly indicating mood as a fiberoptic, lighted version of “body language.” I can discern a reverse polarization along these “efferents only,” indicating they should be able to receive input as well, like the lux-cap.

Light collected by the lux-cap, defying current wave physics until a logical explanation ensues, experiences no loss of photon energy. When the electromagnetic spectrum was applied to the lux-cap, it was evident that, besides the visible human spectra, IR and UV were collected without loss as well.

The light basket is quite large, about five centimeters in diameter, and with its iron-rich magnetic encasement, almost ten. Below it is a five-cm ventricle, but unlike human brain ventricles that have circulatory cerebrospinal fluid, it is filled with an unknown gas, the spectroscopic identification of which failed due to the interference from the overlying light basket magnetic encasement.

From the center egress of light and radiation of the light basket, branching of neurotubules swirl in complexity to become the actual six hexaspheres. It appears the light basket is the innermost origination of the entire Martian central nervous system.

The hexaspheres also accommodate the afferents and efferents that appear to either receive information from or innervate, respectively, the rest of the body.

There is no analogue to the human or mammalian cerebellum, all autonomic processes, i.e., breathing, pulsatile cardiovascular system, proprioception, distributed along a decentralized scheme among the respective organs or joints.

There is no spine, per se. Bundles of tracts find their way along two main lateral bands at the Martian’s sides, distributing from or coalescing toward them.

Crucial to the evaluation of the CNS is the nature of the neurotubules and larger neurotubes, themselves.

(There have been observed similar, although rudimentary, structures in the few humans with indwelling ferropods, suggesting divergent evolution of species as distantly related as Martians and ferropods, from a common ancestor. In humans harboring ferropods, the interaction of two xenospecies will no doubt prove informative, but to date the chapter on this interaction remains unwritten. This will undoubtedly cross-reference with the official findings yet to be written as a subchapter of the Cultural Psychology Committee Précis.)

The arboreal cascade of the CNS from hexasphere to neurotubes to neurotubules and vice versa demonstrates a consistency of structure. Whether such structures effect muscular, glandular, or neuroinformative processes, it is clear that they constitute a fiberoptic system.

Although a simplification, it is also a truism that light plays an important part in Martian cognition. Its complete absence renders a Martian not only unconscious, but barely alive, its light basket engaging in a secondary backup system of phosphorescing to maintain at least a baseline level of minimal survivability. It is unknown how long the light basket backup can last, but it is apparent that once exhausted, death would be imminent.

The neurotubes and neurotubules are multichambered along their neurotubular lengths by septations. Each septated chamber is able to polarize the as-of-yet unidentified rarefied gas within, which can then propagate an electrical potential across subsequent septa, propagating subsequent polarizations en route. This appears analogous to action potentials causing propagations of neurosignaling along dendritic/axonic paths in the human brain. The result of these propagations, whether Martian or human is the same:

Thought.

Cognition, intention, autonomic and voluntary actions; viable function; volition; self-awareness and sentience; perhaps a conscience.

A soul?

At quark focus, the MRP showed Cooper pairs, entangled photons on either side of each septum. Such Cooper pairs, seen in superconductivity across membranes, the phenomenon in physics—called a Josephson effect—was a thing of beauty. And it was in each Martian head.

It was fast. The simple reality is this: Martians think at the speed of light!

   Everyday we discover something new. At first, we thought bacteria were independent organisms. To our surprise we discovered they actually communicated with each other through a medium we call, quorum sensing. Just when I thought the real excitement of discovery was coming to an end. On my fourth tour at the Amazon jungle, in a park full of  brown-throated sloths and golden-headed manakins, I stumbled upon a Picasso.

      That day, march 4, 2017, I can never forget. After taking lots of pictures of a lek of manakins practicing their courtship dance. I sat beneath a Cocos nicifera tree. In my bag pack, I had a sandwich, chocolate bread stuffed with peanut butter  and jam. To drink, a bottle of   Pepsi. Hmm! Can't wait to get started. While the delicious meal took my breath away. I felt something moving at my back. At first, it was soothing. I thought to myself, maybe its just my reaction to such salivating meal. That movement gradually became uncomfortable. I stopped eating, took a step forward and turned to see a transparent fluid as shapeless as amoeba.It was moving from the root of the Cocos nicifera tree to a pile of loamy soil close by. At that moment I did not notice that my camera had switched to camcorder mode, and, it was busy recording that awkward moment. I took a piece of dried branch and tried to pin it down, but it ran into a hole that I did not notice earlier. In my 15 years as a zoologist, I have never read or seen anything like that 9 inch amorphous monstrous fluid . After about five minutes still rapped in shock, my thoughts became aligned. "Why didn't I take a picture of that thing?" I asked myself. The only proof I thought I had was my shirt. That guy must have put some of its genetic material on me. I pulled off my shirt and placed it in a nylon bag. My shirt, just became a specimen.

     Heart broken, the spirit of excitement that made me take pictures left me. I switched off my camera and returned to my hotel room. My aid, Herrera was excited to upload my pictures from the camera to the system. He's always excited. After some minutes of awkward silence, I got worried and asked,

                                      "Herrera, what is it?"

He looked at me with a curious smile and answered.

                              "Mr Albrighton, What is this? "

I turned my attention to the monitor and saw the video of the monstrous  fluid organism that I just encountered. My mood glowed brighter than the dog star. It was like that classic moment in a movie where  a mans life is about to change in a split of  seconds. I grabbed Herrera by his head, with my both hands and kissed his forehead.

            "This, my boy, is my ticket to the hall of fame."

I knew I had to take every step with absolute care because, I'm not the only hungry explorer in this parts. I told Herrera to spend the night in my room and begged him not to share what he just saw with anything alive.

Taking a closer look at the video, I observed something. I thought I saw the amorphous transparent fluid organism go into a hole. But what I saw in the video amazed me. The giant disguised it body shape as a circle and sat on the soil like a chocolate cup cake. To me it looked  like a hole because the transparent fluid deceived me eyes like a magnifying glass. It magnified the black spot I saw by making it look like an infinite hole. This guy is a chameleon cheat. A mimic octopus philosopher stone. It was able to this, in a blink of an eye. It was right in front of me all along. I must think carefully on how to study it, capture it. And maybe, just maybe, I would get a Nobel prize for biology.

       The next day, march 5, 2017, I woke that morning with a weird eccentric feeling. Its like I was in an action movie, where the good guy wakes up with great aspiration and fire. And in the background, a slow charismatic tune that sets the audience on an imaginative ledge. 

      KNOCK!!!!   KNOCK!!! HOUSE KEEPING!

That must be Mrs Mariana. I can identify her lovely voice any time any day. Herrera sluggishly reached for the door and let her in.

     "Senior Al-bite-ton, I see you and Herrera have been busy all night."

     "How many times will I tell you Mrs Mariana its Albrighton."

      "OK! I brought fresh towels, slippers and your dry cleaned soldier shorts and shirts."

"Oh! Thank you Mrs Mariana you are a darling. Hmm! Are those lemon I smell." 

                    "Yes, its our own locally made starch"

                 "Wow! I never get tired of hearing you say that"

           "Herrera, make sure you wash up  quickly, and learn from senior Al-bite-ton.       

           Some day you will save us from those big pockets who are tearing down our           heritage and calling it modern globalization."

        "Yes ma!"

      "Mrs Mariana, I would love some hot cocoa with ginger and six tea spoon of evaporated milk."

        "OK! senior Al-bite-ton, I'll make that for you."

She gently leaves the room and closes the door behind her. I looked at Herrera and said,

        "When will she learn to pronounce my name right?"

He smiled like always and nodded his head sideways. After few minutes of taking turn in the shower, my hot cocoa as ordered was on point. My day was ready to get right on track. Herrera in his own way was ready for my first speech about our classified mission that we were about to begin. With a giant loaf of bread on his right hand and a pocket knife covered with peanut butter, that awkward silence rang in my ears.

       "Now listen carefully, we have a big day ahead of us. First, we must plan on how each event must occur, and avoid unwanted  suspicion. We have a good advantage and bad a advantage.The bad news is, I don't have a personal lab. The person that I know that does, is a giant pain in the ass. Do you know what I mean?"

                    "Yes, I certainly do"

           "OK! I need a sophisticated lab to analyze the DNA of that amorphous  monstrous transparent  fluid organism."

           "That is a long name. Since this is more like a covet op... Why not AMT!"

          "No! that will surely attract suspicion. We have to cloak that abbreviation in a word of some sort. Like, uncle Sam for United states of America. It as to be close to common words used every day."

          "Why don't you take the video to the institute of zoology in London and get all the help you need?"

         "Not in these days of media apocalypse. You don't go to those guys half corked. Someone may snatch my discovery right under my nose. I need to do much more than that. Proof that it exist."

           "But, Mr Albrighton, that is a difficult task."

           "That why we are scientist. we fight till we get the result we want. If we get this right. Our names will be remembered for generations.  So, are you in or out."

             "I'm definitely in. Besides, you won't survive a day in the jungle without my help."

          "That's true, now, on the name, hmm!!! what do you think about, amtracks"

            "No! Water is a good common name for such thing. Since we know its transparent and shapeless. Pure water is transparent and sometimes look shapeless. It takes the shape of its containing vessel."

           "You see, we have just started, and you proof to be a genius already. Yes! Water it is. To the good news, of which you just did. We have our initiatives to guide on this journey. One other  thing we can observe from the video is that it was on the stem of a Cocos nicifera tree and like chameleon it can blend in with its immediate background and like the mimic octopus it possesses the ability to  impersonate. In this case, it impersonated a hole. Which can only mean that this organism is a lot more smarter than it looks."

                "We must answer the question why now? Until this moment, why haven't we as humans discovered this organism? Have this organism been right under our noses all this time. Is it a result of today activities, i.e Did it undergo evolution. Having a parent family from the group of living organism that we know or is it a complete alien (from  another planet). I'm sure much more questions will pop up as we go on.

   Your today duty is to find out all you can about the Cocos nicifera tree. Water was on it for a reason. Since it might have perceive my disturbance while I took pictures. Why didn't it hide from me. Why did it let me relax on it? Gosh... I might be undergoing some kind of change in personality as we speak. Their is about a million possibility as to what may be going on. So like I said, you take Cocos nicifera"

             "What about you Mr Albrighton, what will you do today."

             "I  will, go to the pain in the ass friend of mine that as a lab here in Brazil. And try to find out what kind of DNA sequence that organism possesses."

             "How are you going to do that. You don't have a specimen"

            "I do, my shirt, the one I put yesterday. It in a nylon in my bag pack . Thank God for forensics, I think I can salvage something from it."

        "Let the games begin..."

TO BE CONTINUED...