On a space outpost, even a crap one like this one, it pays not to ignore the lights-flashing lights, warning lights, winking comms buttons. Mostly they are false alarms because the electrics are falling apart. Last time I ignored flashing lights we lost one of the landing bays. It wasn’t my fault mind you. How was I supposed to know that Gris was repairing the heating unit of the life support down there? He had mentioned he was doing something, but in vague way like he usually does.
It all turned out well, I suppose. We had less work to do to get the scrap we needed.
What’s that smell. Oh, it’s dinner. Better go while the beans are still warm.
Being stuck out here on this miserable excuse for a rock, I don’t get much chance to communicate. But now there is this thing called Twitter and Facebook and I thought it would alleviate the boredom to play around with these things. Too bad I don’t know anyone but Gris and scummy space pirates. I wonder if @Curry_Eater is really a space pirate name. It sounds like one.
Today was my birthday and Gris found a packet of jerky to go with our beans and hard tack. It was a bit chewy and salty but it was nice of Gris to share it with me. He was so sweet about it I had to wipe tears from my eyes. Silly old oaf he is.
We’re expecting a lone space pirate in a few days. I’d better go. We have more corridors to scrap so we can exchange the metal for food.
Geez what’s that smell. Oh no! The rotten reclamation unit has gone again. Sorry, gotta go. I have to clean some pooh out of the airlock.
Here is the cover of the book. Stay tuned as I fill up this place with Rayessa guff.