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182 1 2139 > LINKID 111-13 Elizabeth Aran 182 1 2139 > ID linked. Initiate suspended animation protocol. Y/N? 182 1 2139 > Y 182 1 2140 > Protocol initiated. Pre-checks complete, all vitals nominal. Initiating…3…2…1…process complete. Good night. 183 1 0000 > … 184 1 0000 > … 185 1 0000 > … 186
It’s been a while since I did one of these. We’re at a constant 0.1g acceleration now. Nowhere near what I was hoping for, but 14 years to AC isn’t too shabby considering we have engines from a different fucking ship. The days have started to blur together. Nothing happens. There is nothing left to
Got a lot of time on my hands now. There’s not much to do but stare at space and blast my dad’s trash metal into the great beyond. Me and Al have instituted chili Tuesdays. It’s a shitshow and I’m still not completely sure what’s in the chili, but I love it. I didn’t defrost
The burn was successful, so there’s that, but it’s not smooth sailing yet. I don’t want to lose an engine, or have another meltdown, so I’m slowly dialing up the acceleration. If I can get to a quarter or even third of the speed this ship was designed for, we should be able to get
I wrapped up the new—old engines faster than I thought. Been running checks for the last few hours and most systems show nominal, or at least within acceptable range. Guess I’m just that good. I’m also scared shitless, talking to a computer, and boasting to cope. Now that imminent death is no longer on the
I should have known better than to declare victory. Reeling in an albatross is never a good idea, and I had to go fucking jinx it. The core is just fine, don’t get me wrong, but welding engines from a different ship type to the ark while maintaining structural integrity will be a major headache.
I found one. I fucking found one. A core, intact and offline, flying behind us like a God damn albatross. Me and Al started celebrating already, but if you’re out there, if you’re listening, I’m calling it. This is the best day since… since forever.
Sitrep. There’s fuck all in front of us, but we’re still dragging along the shit I harpooned. Debris mostly, and parts of smaller ships, all wrecked—but their thrusters might not be. I have my eye on a nice piece of ass, the rear end of a transport, but there’s a couple others out there too.
I figured we could all do with a reset, and I’m calling it. Like Jesus. Hungover space Jesus. I’ve also decided it’s Tuesday, because yesterday was definitely a fucking Monday. While I’m at it, another decision. Just because nobody answers don’t mean anyone isn’t out there. Maybe we’re like ships passing in the night. Maybe
I’ll admit, I broke out some navy strength bootleg. The grog didn’t cut it. They say your life flashes by at the end but let me tell you, it’s more like slow motion—and there’s nothing but the dark of space in the direction we’re drifting. The firework sendoff is a nice touch though. A comet
Henrik Refsnes 