Start at the beginning:
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T-320 hours
I give up. I don’t even know what date it is. The ship’s computer brought me out of cryo yesterday and it’s acting completely out of whack. For starters, it can’t tell me the exact date. Its best guess is my suspended animation lasted 600 years. Its guess. It’s a fucking knowsoft. So much for
Teleport to the end:
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Syslog, Cryonics
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
Or get lost in the middle:
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T-88 hours
I have a plan. Bear with me here. I’m going to slingshot the Ark into the moon. I know, I know, but Al’s scans show another object in orbit large enough to alter the trajectory we’re on. An Icarus-class carrier, or rear end of it anyway. Hooking up a cable between us will be enough
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T-64 hours
I don’t have enough cable. There isn’t enough fucking cable. I’ve scavenged every piece of usable metal wire I can find on the Ark and it’s not enough. Which leaves me with only one option. I have to get it somewhere else. Fuck.
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T-61 hours
Sitrep. 61 hours to point of no return, and I need another quarter mile cable. It’s close enough that I could dismantle my makeshift coms array and use that cable. I’ll get a smaller window to hit the Icarus, but at least it’s possible. On the flip side, I would be flying blind. Al’s calculations
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T-55 hours
I’m alive. Mostly thanks to duct tape and dumb luck. Found some cable, don’t have it, long story. Arm’s not doing great, but I can pilot a rig withou—Al, is the other one charged yet? You need to lay still. No, I need to get out there. I need more adrenaline, not—
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T-32 hours
Let’s try a different tack. 32 hours and I haven’t keeled over. Still don’t have the cable, but I know where it is. It’s where my rig is. I’ll get to that. I went for the option with the cable. In no way was I going to launch myself into space without a lifeline, and
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T-24 hours
There’s nothing quite like sunrise in space, especially from the outside. Seen it twice now in the last couple hours, in absolute silence, and let me tell you, it makes this whole shitshow seem so insignificant. Humanity, so insignificant. We’re nothing but a blip in time. Floating out here made me think of a book
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T-4 hours
4 fucking hours. That’s what it’s come down to. I salvaged the cable drum easily enough and inspected it at least ten times. There’s plenty. Everything is prepared. Over-prepared. The rig is reinforced. I repaired and charged up a second, well, third depending on how you count. I spread out tools and suits in strategic
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T+2 hours
I give up. It’s too hard. On another note, the slingshot worked, and nobody is going to burn up in atmo. Which is a small fucking consolation when the moon passes by the observatory window. That’s where I’m at now, back where this shitshow started, with grog from the mess, here to watch an epic
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T+4 hours
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
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Day 1, Year 1
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
Henrik Refsnes 