Olimar's Dark Secret

Olimar’s Dark Secret

Captain’s log, stardate 11/12/17/42/37

Poison dart frog
Dendrobates sapiens
Frog family
A sentient and highly intelligent species, these are the most intelligent creatures I’ve discovered on the world of the Pikmin. They can communicate with me! They can talk! Unfathomably, it seems they are approaching extinction. Dr. Zimbard, the sole specimen with whom I am acquainted, claims that it is likely he is the sole survivor of the species, save one other, about whom he refuses to speak as of yet. Apparently, this other is in some way connected to the eradication of his brethren. Unthinkable . . . the poison dart frogs share characteristics with the amphituber family, but have a smaller and less imposing stature, though they are coated in a venomous substance which would make them very dangerous to consume. This toxin gives them their name. (For once, it was the creature itself which told me its species’ name. How bizarre.)

Captain’s log, stardate 28/3/18/42/37

The situation is becoming increasingly strange. I originally found Dr. Zimbard in the brush, barely conscious, suffering from some local disease. The disease was minor but had in his case escalated to a dangerous level. I would like to think that I have helped him recover, but he seems to be suffering from a depression of the morale which only exacerbates the disease. However, the doctor has given in to my many questions and says he will narrate his tale to me. He warns me that it is anything but a happy story. I am not quite sure what to expect. He may not be physically able to begin his narration for yet some time, so I must keep my curiosity in check.

Captain’s log, stardate 7/7/18/42/37

While exploring today, the Pikmin uncovered an object at the far end of the Perplexing Pool. It was flat with some very strange-looking markings on it, and, after all the effort it took to obtain it, the Ship proclaimed it worthless. Dr. Philippe Zimbard, however--the poison dart frog scientist whom I rescued from starvation and disease--recognized it immediately. It was some sort of device used by his species to send encoded messages. He spent a considerable amount of time decoding the message, but he was successful. When he read the decoded message, however, he recoiled at it in horror. After I calmed him, he explained to me that the message had actually been for him. It said, “I know where you are, my dear doctor, and I too shall be there soon.” Philippe would not elaborate on this . . .

Captain’s log, stardate 5/8/18/42/37

Dr. Philippe’s physical condition is much improved. He even accompanied Louie, the Pikmin, and I on a day of foraging. He was apparently quite fascinated by the whole process, which perhaps shouldn’t come as a surprise. There was one point, however, when we noticed a strange figure in the distance, and he seemed overcome with fear. Whatever the figure was, we saw nothing more of it today. I am developing suspicions that Dr. Zimbard may not recount to me the tale he promised, but, based on his actions, perhaps it is too horrible a tale to tell. How could anything be so frightening? The look on Philippe’s face when he saw that figure in the distance held more fear than I have ever felt facing any of the monstrous predators on this world of the Pikmin.

Captain’s log, stardate 13/8/18/42/37

As much as he sometimes vexes and bemuses me, Dr. Philippe Zimbard has become a valuable friend to me on this alien world of strange beasts. Louie is not unpleasant to be around, but he’s so quiet. Philippe is vastly intelligent and always interesting to talk to. It is difficult for me to see him as depressed as he generally is. A mind like his deserves better than that.

Captain’s log, stardate 19/8/18/42/37

Dr. Philippe Zimbard has finished recounting his story to me. I will record it here as I remember it. I warn the reader of this log that it is not a pleasant story. I find myself unable to begin describing it, so I will simply tell it. Prepare yourself, reader. Zimbard’s very words were, “It is useless to attempt to ready oneself for the procession of horrors such as these, even when only recounted. But recount I must, and so--thus!”

CHAPTER I

We poison dart frogs were once dominant on this planet. Our success as a species only came after the fall of a previous one. Of they, I have little knowledge--only what archeology can offer. They were, we gathered, very much larger than ourselves--larger than any creature that now roams this world: a hundred times larger. Our ancestors coexisted with them, it seems--lived among those behemoths somehow, as mere animals. Were we hunted or revered by them? I know not. Our species possesses intellect now, but back then, we were animals.
         Something wiped those gargantuans out. I cannot imagine what could do such a thing--it is one of the great mysteries of our world: why did the humans die out? Theories include an asteroid striking the planet, great climate changes, disease . . . et cetera. We will not know.
         It appears, however, that mutagenic substances were involved. Radiation, most probably. The great majority of all species were completely eradicated: the rest, like us frogs, mutated. Evolution took its course: new creatures descended from the mutants. The Pikmin you lead, it seems, are one example of this. Absolutely fascinating little beings. Regardless, I should note that we frogs were the luckiest of all species to be affected by the mutation: it did not hinder us; quite the opposite: it gave us intelligence--sentience.
         We were, of course, little more than cave-dwellers at first. Our culture evolved slowly and gradually, as I assume the majority of them do. We created languages to communicate amongst ourselves and invented tools to assist us in daily life. We became the dominant species.
         Eventually, we discovered the arts--and later, the sciences. I was born when such things were well established in our society. I found science fascinating, and I studied heavily in the educational system. I became a scientist.
         There was one prospect--one idea--one horribly, terribly, viciously enthralling plan--which I had formed for myself, and would not abandon. It consumed my life, but that is not the truly gruesome part of my story. That is only the beginning.
         My goal . . . was the animation of inanimate material. I wanted to create life . . . from that which was not living. Ostensibly, it was a quest for immortality. A scientist, I was also out to discover the very definition of life itself. What is that spark which differentiates one alive from one dead?

CHAPTER II

I succeeded, as I grudgingly call it. After years of research and laboratory work, I created an inanimate frog body, and imbued it with life.
         The body was slightly smaller than the average poison dart frog; this simplified the procedures. I see the hesitant urges in your eyes, Captain Olimar. The answer is no. I will not reveal to you the secret of creating life. I will not let you make my mistakes. The dark secret shall die with me.
         As I was saying . . . Not only did I bring my creation to life: I gave it intelligence: much greater intelligence than my own. Using what might have been described as “cutting-edge” technology, I bestowed my being with the knowledge of one hundred frog minds. While my gadgets were as nothing in comparison with your astonishing interstellar engines and protective exploration suits, they certainly sufficed. This creature, while physically smaller than my people, was ages beyond any of us mentally, even from the instant during which it first awoke.
         I was alone with it when I vitalized it. Its eyes . . . The piercing look it gave me . . . It was looking at my mind, not my face, and it gazed upon it like a . . . like a man-at-legs does a sheargrub, perhaps. But this monster’s power was held within his cranium, not his energy cannon.
         Though shocked by his glance, I was not yet entirely disheartened. I named him: I called him Frogenstein, which is something I should probably explain. You see, the one thing we know of human culture, which we derived from some otherwise inexplicable remnants, is that the name of their most brilliant scientist was Enstein. (We may very well have been pronouncing it wrongly, but that is the way such things go.) And so, it followed that I would name my superintelligent creation after this being.
         Frogenstein differed from the majority of the species in other ways than his general level of intellect. He often behaved strangely. Few of us could comprehend the meaning behind any of his actions--in fact, none of us could comprehend it fully. I am not sure what precisely I had expected of him. I suppose that was one of my various mistakes.
         One day, the news spread of an incident which had taken place in my hometown. Frogenstein had been involved in an argument with another frog, and when the frog had persistently disagreed with Frogenstein’s views on the matter, Frogenstein had apparently said something to him which sent him into some kind of catatonic state, purely out of shock. The frog was sent to our medical facilities and looked after for many days, but he never recovered. Eventually, he died.
         I was Frogenstein’s master, and I banished him for this. Though angry, I would have preferred a lighter punishment, but the townsfolk wanted never to see the “wretch” again.
         If only, if only that had been the end of it. It would have been a less than happy ending, but a much, much more fortunate one than that which ensued.

CHAPTER III

During Frogenstein’s absence, I, as well as the other townspeople, became aware, through rumor, of a string of crimes occurring elsewhere around the world. I had no doubts as to their nature. I had not created a genius: I had created a monster.
         It seems that Frogenstein possesses knowledge, but lacks morals. He has great gifts, but the ability to abuse them as weapons. Being tortured by Frogenstein is torture of the mind, not the body--and the former is indefinitely more painful than the latter.
         I know not whether Frogenstein felt pleasure from killing or simply killed those who got in the way of his acquisition of pleasure. Either way, he was an animal. A genius, yes; but too an animal at once. It might be appropriate to label him sociopathic, but he is not easily defined. Only his own mind could adequately explain itself, and probably only to itself.
         I knew it was my moral duty to put an end to Frogestein. I must destroy what I have created--it is still my duty, for still he lurks in the world, alive and evil.
         He is quite devious. His brain makes him an almost insurmountable foe. Perhaps I should omit the “almost” and admit defeat. I am likely not long for this world one way or the other. No, Olimar, do not become uneasy. You have taken excellent care of me, and I am truly thankful to have met one such as yourself before my time has ceased. But to live is to pursue my creature until one of us perishes, and so life and death are hardly separate entities to me.
         Frogenstein returned to me once, and attempted to outwit me. It was perhaps a year after his banishment that I found him in my home one thusly unpleasant day. He spoke to me as he had not done before: he told me of his life and his thoughts.
         “My metaphorical father, Dr. Zimbard,” he said to me, “I have returned. It is my opinion that you are duty-bound to allow my upcoming musings to pass through your ears and your mind.” He has a way of bending people to his will which I cannot explain, but he said more, and that more kept me there, listening to what he said. I will repeat it for you.
         Take notice of the fact that Frogenstein’s vocabulary is very near endless, but he has wit enough (much more than enough, in fact) to realize that speaking to another being as he might to himself within his head would not convey much at all to the other being. He therefore speaks as colloquially as he thinks is necessary in any given situation.

CHAPTER IV

“While away, I have been on a quest of sorts. It is, however, in truth, a quest which I was continually on. Note that I say was, which I say because it, the quest, has now ceased. It has come to a conclusion, though not a directly successful one. There is, perhaps, the possibility that such a conclusion will emerge in the near future, but before I propose that to you, allow me to finish.
         “I possess more knowledge than does any thing upon this planet. I am not infinite in any respect, but, being so far beyond every being about me, I am within an area where exact count has no meaning; I am close enough to infinity, despite being infinitely far from it, that, by the standards of you and yours, I might just as well be considered to be there. In short, as obtaining knowledge goes, I am finite in terms of technicality, but infinite in terms of practicality.
         “As such, I can be considered a being of perfection amongst the imperfect. This brings us to my major point of focus, for, you see, while it is the place of an imperfect being to strive towards perfection, this world--indeed, universe--is not a place where a being is supposed to be successful in achieving such a goal. No person in this existence was meant to be perfect--save I, and therein lies the problem.
         “I was not created in the manner of all other beings. I was created by you, sir, and you intended me to have such knowledge as to be, practically speaking, perfect. You yourself, however, are an imperfect being, and were intended to be so. Despite the fact that you did indeed, and quite obviously, succeed in creating me, it is not what one would call the intentions of It who created the universe. While even I know not who that “It” is--which is, incidentally, Its intention--we as sentient beings can deduce what we might call Its intentions (as I just did), and, furthermore, discuss them, which is what I am now proceeding with doing.
         “My gripe, then, creator, is that I am a misfit. I am a being of relative perfection, and I cannot live alongside the imperfect, for we simply do not mesh. The universal “you” seeks but should not actually obtain perfection; I already possess it, and therefore have no reason to be in this world where achieving it is the one overall desire. Furthermore, I am incapable of spreading my perfection to others, truly for the reasons aforementioned--perfection is a thing which you are not meant to have, and having it destroys your purpose and your inner and outer lives.
         “A proposition has occurred to me, and I am here to ascertain your thoughts on the concept. What could render me fit to exist in a land where one of my description was never meant, except by his imperfect creator, to be? But one thing: a companion of equal nature to my own.”

CHAPTER V

         At this, I gasped. Frogestein did not seem surprised by my reaction, but waited to hear my reply. Angrily, I began, “You ask me to create another like yourself?”
         “Indeed, I do,” he said.
         “I cannot!” I claimed. “You are an amoral beast! Your intelligence is a deadly weapon! To let loose another monster of your kind would be an inexcusable sin on my part!”
         “You are referring, of course, to the acts of violence which I have precipitately committed.”
         “What else?”
         “Ah, but that is where I know, and you do not.”
         “What do you mean by that?”
         “It is impossible to convey. I can know such things, but you cannot.”
         “Are you suggesting that you have justification for your crimes, but it is beyond my understanding?”
         “Precisely.”
         “Then how can you expect me to forgive such acts? I know not if your reasoning is flawed.”
         “My dear doctor, do you imagine that it is truly possible for my reasoning to be flawed?”
         “Of course! You may hold yourself as perfect, but you are a living thing of this world, and nothing of this world is perfect.”
         “As I myself explained to you.”
         “So your imperfect mind may have made a mistake in its reasoning! You may be mistaken about anything you have just told me.”
         “I was,” the monster admitted. “I thought you would heed my request. It seems I was incorrect.”
         “And that very fact tells you why I will not ever heed your request!” I shouted. “Now be gone, demon!”
         “As you command, for now. Note that I have no purpose until you heed my request, and I will therefore create a substitute purpose for myself, which will be to find a way to convince you to change your mind. This is not over, Doctor.”
         Frogenstein left. I was more frightened then than I had ever been before. His last words had gripped and strangled my heart.

CHAPTER VI

All that remains to speak of is the demise of myself and my species. Frogenstein killed them all. He began with those closest to me, and their deaths held such horrid mental anguish that there are no words to describe it, and were there, I would be unable to speak them. When I still refused to build another monster, he continued attacking my brethren. It is possible that some of them are still alive, but he has the ability to wipe them all out, and he quite likely will.
         His weapon is not physical strength. He attacks using strength of the mind. I cannot describe it. It is ineffable. It is torturous, as well. Pray that you will never succumb to such horrors.
         Even now, he hunts me, and I hunt him. I cannot destroy him, at least not with any degree of ease, and he refuses to destroy me until I comply. I will not . . . For, just imagine what would happen if I did.
         I have been in poor health lately, both physically and mentally. I expect I will not remain by your side much longer, Captain Olimar. I will not remain in this universe for very long . . . one way or the other.

Captain’s log, stardate 26/8/18/42/37

Today was perhaps the most unusual, horrifying day I have ever experienced. To be precise, the day itself was fine and typical. What was shocking and mortifying was boarding the ship tonight and reading my last few logs.
         I don’t remember any of that happening. Neither do the Ship or Louie. Was I hallucinating somehow when I wrote those? Am I hallucinating now? Did those events really occur?
         After mulling it over for a lengthy amount of time, I have come to a probable conclusion. Frogenstein, if he really existed, must have arrived here and taken Dr. Zimbard away. Perhaps he . . . killed him . . . but maybe not. Either way, Frogenstein erased our memories of the events with his strange mental abilities. It seems odd that he would not think to erase my logs, but Dr. Zimbard did apparently say that Hocotatian technology was far beyond his race’s, so it is possible that he could not know about such things as computers, despite his apparently vast knowledge. On the other hand, Frogenstein could have left the logs there on purpose, and I can’t imagine why he would do such a thing, other than to torture me . . . He was apparently a monster, after all.
         Maybe Louie wrote those and is just playing a trick on me, but he’s never seemed the type for something so cruel. Maybe I’m just somehow off my rocker. I only know one thing for sure: I’m not letting anyone else read these logs, ever. This story, whether it was real or not, is now my dark secret, and I’ll take it to the grave.

Captain’s log, stardate 2/9/18/42/37

We’ve completed the mission. We salvaged enough treasure to repay the President’s debt. We’ll be setting off for Hocotate soon . . . immediately, in fact. As much as I enjoy spending time with the Pikmin and researching the strange creatures of their world, I can’t help but get fearful shivers if I spend any more time here. Frogenstein could still be out there, waiting . . . I’m going to blast off right now.

Captain’s log, stardate 5/9/18/42/37

. . .
. . .
. . .
I forgot Louie.
I can’t believe it! I just can’t believe it! I was in such a rush . . . And now . . . He’s back there with that monster, Frogenstein! I have to go save him as soon as possible. I’m heading back now--the President’s coming along; he wants more treasure . . .

Captain’s log, stardate 7/9/18/42/37

Our equipment has determined the area where Louie must have last been, but we haven’t been able to locate him on the surface of the planet. There are three caves in the area, so we’ll have to search those for him.

Captain’s log, stardate 12/9/18/42/37

I saw him. I saw that Frogenstein creature today. The President took the Pikmin to demolish a wall, and, while I was performing reconnaissance, I ran into a creature vaguely resembling a wollywog. As soon as he looked me in the eye with his piercing stare, I knew what he was. It’s very strange, though. He didn’t attack me in any way . . . He did seem to realize that I knew who he was.
         “So, you remember me,” he stated.
         I was unable to reply.
         “Very well,” he said. “However you did so, let it be. As you have some knowledge of me already, I will bestow upon you the upcoming end to my tale. I took my creator from you, but he would not heed my request. He died of disease of the mind. I too must die, now. I have no purpose and no potential purpose. He, Dr. Zimbard, saw my actions as evil, but I have opinions of my own. He created me purposelessly. That was an act of quite extensive evil toward me, in truth. As he created me, he in turn created my evil actions, so perhaps he is to blame. Yet, someone to blame is not the thing which I seek. I seek now only an end to my story. Farewell, Captain Olimar, and your world. We shall not likely meet again.”
         He departed after saying that. The President, apparently, saw nothing of him. Maybe he was a hallucination . . . I don’t know. In any case, his departure doesn’t assure us of Louie’s safety. There are plenty of other monsters here. We have to keep searching for him. I think I’ll end this log for now so I can concentrate on finding him.