Midshipman’s Log Part 101
October 17, 1252 CNS
I just wish that something would happen. After all that madness just a few days ago—I admit I haven’t slept much in the mean-time—to just fall into this steady pace of zero progress. I think I’ve begun to miss the noise; all that’s left me is the dull rumbling of the lonely engines and the occasional hissing switch of the hydraulics to keep you on your feet. But there’s nothing else—no whisper of whatever monstrosity nearly tore out the bulkhead, no hint of my erstwhile comrades looming like grinning shades at my bedside. I could believe that it’s all in my imagination—but how to explain the annihilated bulkhead? High out of my mind or lost in the throes or psychosis, I don’t think even I would prove so capable. Perhaps I especially would prove insufficient. I should stop rambling on. This isn’t going to prove of any use to you. If in the future I should have gone silent, assuming I’m still alive, I will leave leaflets in sealed cargo containers detailing my progress, detailing my frame of mind. Anyways, let me get to the meat of it.
Someone’s been real busy the last few days. I’d be convinced there’s someone else alive on the ship the way this is going if just fucking anything would show up on the closed-circuit surveillance system. Someone’s always just a few steps ahead of me, closing off bulkheads and deactivating the lights—in one particularly brutal case I was nearly asphyxiated when in a closed section someone shut off the life support on me. Luckily, it’s actually somewhat harder to kill a man; even bad air can support a reasonably healthy young man for a good period of time, long enough to fumble about with the half-rusted plasma torch long affixed upon the wall.
For all my hard work, I haven’t been able to make it to the armory, which has me really worried. If they can manipulate the ship to this extent, can they break the armory’s encryption? Of course, I know where they’d likely be, holed in the command module, but that just shouldn’t be possible. It was well locked behind me.
I can’t risk seeing Sally. Whatever they are, I don’t want them being curious about her.
I’ve gotta get some sort of trump card, something that allow me to side-step all this additional and unnecessary security. Might be something I could use in the cargo. I think the situation is sufficiently fucked to justify this sort of theft.