Dear Diary,
I write now to record a strange happening: In the heat of the day I sat in just my trousers by the edge of my cave. Over the cliff edge and past the treetops I saw down into the plain. The man-drakes waddled earnestly down a hill to where a red beam of light shone onto the orange dust. By the red spot on the ground lay a red, quivering form. Before I could determine the gender or note any sign of its origins the man-drakes arrived and fed, though the meal did not satisfy: the smallest man-drake was devoured after, and then they departed.
I've seen amateur teleporters before, and I believe the red form must have been from another plane. For a moment I held the foolish thought that I might encounter some man of high-science or some interplanar merchant with supplies. But, no. I checked the ridge for signs of predators, and then returned to work on my VolcanoShip.
It has been 18 days since my teleport engine malfunctioned on this plane, but my food supplies remain near-full, and I am determined to finish these repairs.
I do hope that my followers on Terra have made progress in eradicating the Thetans which so plague their species.
I shall write again, Diary.
--L. Ron Hubbard, PlanesTraveler
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