Midshipman’s Log Part 104
October 29, 1252 CNS
I bet you’re thinking it’s all sunshine lollypops and rainbows everything. I admit, I really didn’t expect to see what I did; makes me terrified about what might have been on the other side of the door that horrifying night when I was plaything for whatever remained of my half-score of comrades smiling wickedly between the shudders of absolute darkness. So you might remember, I managed to monkey-rig a sort of vault-cracking device that got the bulkhead open—just enough to get me access to the armory, the mess, even the command module. I believe I was voraciously consuming the stale and time-besotted contents of a chicken sandwich of questionable mayonnaise whilst I was recording my long day’s triumph. But we’ve got a few hiccups, not the least of which is my repeated need to shatter the porcelain goddess with the barely-digested contents of my last few days. Admit I hadn’t eaten much for days, but this just isn’t fair. I’m trying to keep down a lot of water; there’s a real danger of dehydration, but there’s some sort of rust content or something in the pipes. Sometimes they run clean, but at other times they put out H2O stained with this sort of greasy substance. Besides someone literally scumming the water recycling system with tubs and tubs of hydraulic grease, I literally have no sane conclusion.
Anyways, you’re probably sick of my rambling, would prefer I get to the point. Well, I can assure you I safely made it to the command module; got the doors locked behind me. I traveled unmolested to the starboard armory, but—well—she won’t be doing anyone much good. You couldn’t force a lock like that. The door was ripped open—I think from the inside—and the arms were completely torn to shreds. I was able salvage a few mags for my pistol, but I think that’s the most I’m gonna manage. Broken to fucking pieces. Whatever’d done it even discharged a good portion of their contents; chamber was all scored beyond recognition. Would have killed a normal man, and I don’t think a normal man could manage that kind of assault against inanimate objects.
Anyways, I have a tendency to wander. My father used to make fun of me; I was never really able to communicate with other people. There was always this disconnect. I’d bend over backwards to make whatever rose into my noggin comprehensible to normal people, but it was difficult, and I frequently failed, and I often came across as cruelly callous and otherwise evil. It’s not like I intended to ostracize myself.
So, back to my points. My bowels are on fire. Anyways, I made it unopposed to the command module. Shit was locked down tight, same as I left it. Who the fuck was sealing the bulkheads? Worry it might be a question left to the generations and the academics after they haul my rotten corpse out of the waste disposal system.
So anyways, I made it back to the command module, checked out navigational data; the navigational AI was on the verge of tears. Told her to grow the fuck up. She complained that she received some communications from passing vessels. This caught my attention; someone heard our emergency message. But that was it. They heard it, but someone from the command module relayed a response, saying that our hardware was malfunctioning and to ignore further communications of this nature. Didn’t even follow protocol. Passing transports might take it as a dead give away that something’s wrong, or they might not. I don’t know.
Anyways, I go on duty in a few minutes; the lieutenant will have my guts for garters if I don’t take stock, and it’s been too long since anyone’s cared about routine maintenance. Apparently, some shit-head ripped out a bulkhead with stock stolen from the holds. I really have to complain about the quality of the food here. Think I’ve gotta make another trip to the head.