Octavio Briswald's field notes
June 19, 2117
Forgive my silence for the past few months, dearest field log! Fitzmurdle, bless his bionic boots, hit the wrong button on the control panel and accidentally put us in stasis. The ship landed on autopilot; we only returned to wakefulness when the hull was attacked by a swarm of horn-crowned bladderbugs, which punctured the life-support mechanism and initiated the emergency revivification procedure.
Still, here we are, at our intended destination, fit as Denobulan fiddles! All’s well that defrosts well, eh?
As I mentioned in my last entry, we are here to observe the mythical moonbeast, that most bewildering of beasties. Emerging from our ship, we found ourselves in the midst of their yearly migration west. The massive herd stretches from one horizon to the next, headed to the thermal swamplands where they will overwinter.
Watching them drift slowly by gives us ample opportunity to examine their reproductive peculiarities. It is one thing to know that they are born pregnant; it is quite another to see through their glass-like skin to the fœtus inside, and the fœtus inside that, and the fœtus inside that, the as-yet unborn generations unfurling infinitely before your eyes.
Other mentions: Kamala alluded to the soothing properties of their baying (TNG).