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T-234 hours
New day, new take. I almost deleted the last log. Didn’t seem right. Talking to myself, to Al, is all I got, and I need to focus on the hours I have left, not dwell on shit that can’t be erased. I don’t have a plan but doing nothing is not an option. Any port
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T-247 hours
I got nothing and I’m three sheets to the wind. Heat and alcohol don’t mix, and I’m having another meltdown. Not because of heat. So, I’m cooking. I don’t know how to cook, but I’m using purple tomatoes from hydroponics—and beer. Would you like me to load a recipe? I don’t need your recipes, Al.
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A Murder Most Foul, part 2
No sooner had your weapons felled the demon, than it rose again. Not in undeath, but simply unkillable. You escaped down a flight of stairs into the catacombs beneath the temple. Down into dark empty halls, where only the dead keep company. You barred the first door you came upon, but the winged beast is
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A Murder Most Foul, part 1
Returned from your latest high adventure and back in the city of Byzantia, you decided to visit your old friend Kalan the Priest—only to find him dead, and yourselves implicated in his murder. The magistrate’s watchmen are wary of your martial prowess and have not dared to arrest you. Although that is a tenuous situation
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Automator and Scrivener
It is said that to err is human. But let’s be honest, a total breakdown requires a computer. Sooner or later you will lose files on your computer (or the entire computer) and if you have written a novel that gets lost in the process, well, it will be a slightly upsetting event. Now, I
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T-265 hours
It’s like Shrodinger’s fucking cryo in there. I finally psyched myself up enough to take a walk among the tombstones in cryonics an hour ago. To pay my respects, say something, sing Amazing Grace, I don’t know. 3000 souls. I didn’t really know any of them, but I scrolled through the subsystem figuring I might
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T-277 hours
New plan. I’m going to HALO to the surface. I’ll let the grav ring burn through atmo and act as a heat shield for as long as possible before I jump out. Then it’s just a matter of steering clear of the wreckage, deploying a parachute, and landing safely. On land. Hopefully. Al says the
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T-281 hours
Had another emotional rollercoaster today. I intercepted an encrypted message between com relays and got my hopes up. A sign that someone else is out there. Turns out it’s bounced for a while, years even. The original sender might be long gone. Maybe it’s from 600 years ago. I know, I know. The heat’s getting
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T-289 hours
This will be a bit touch and go. Bad news first. Not like there is any good news. Ok, that’s just… stay on topic. I know why the thrusters won’t fire. Because there aren’t any. Gone. The main engine is melted. I don’t know what could have caused that kind of damage, but it wasn’t
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T-296 hours
I’m in the airlock, strapped in. I don’t know why I’m recording. This rig is like a second skin, and I’ve done this hundreds of times. I just want someone to remember me if it goes to shit—if someone’s even out there. Guess the grog is making me sentimental. To be clear, I don’t drink
Henrik Refsnes 