Yet again, something unexpected erupts from me…
Ok who’s got the dirty mind?
You can stop the sniggering now and grow up.

So, as I was saying, before I was so rudely interrupted, an unexpected story from me, as it just slipped out while I was concentrating on other things. It owes a hell of a lot to Heinlein and E.E. ‘Doc’ Smith, but I am pretty sure it is all my own work (It may sound silly but a few wonderful ideas I had recently have been written already. John Campbell and his crew must have used time travelling spies against me…me paranoid, never). See what you think and tell me if it does anything for you.

Many thanks are due to Maggie Finson, Prue, Koos, Geoff and Charissa for their tolerance of me while creating this and their help has been most welcome too…

Hypatia  pboauk@yahoo.com

 

The Good Ship Venus

by Hypatia

 

‘Twas on the good ship Venus
By Christ, you should have seen us,’

Traditional

 

‘There is less harm to be suffered in being mad among madmen than in being sane all by oneself.’

Denis Diderot (1713–84)

 

BEGINNING OF TRANSMISSION

For the attention of:- Director of Manned Planetary Exploration Centre, Jet Propulsion Laboratories, Pasadena. Declared confidential at source.

 

Contents:- Diary 90kb

Report 8kb

Supplementary Report 6Kb

 

Item 1:-Diary

Thursday 1^st August 2075

The skipper suggested we all keep diaries of our thoughts and feelings while we are on this mission. At first, I was a little sceptical, but on reflection, I can see his point. This is the first interstellar mission and the eight of us will be of some public interest when we get back. Yes, it will be the Skipper that gets the attention and it’s only right that he should, but there will be money for all of us, with the right agents. So, from today I am going to keep a record of the events that happen and my thoughts and feelings as they come to me. I have decided to waste some of my weight limit on this paper diary; working with computers, I know how little security our logs have. Here I will not have to worry about the Skipper seeing anything I don’t want him to, or the doctor psychoanalysing me from my written thoughts.

The first rule for getting a prime mission spot is to do and say nothing abnormal. If you open your mouth, you consider everything that comes out before you say it. The Skipper should be told what is necessary, when his system will be repaired and why it doesn’t work after a cup of coffee is poured in it. No more.

The doctor you tell nothing. This man is the enemy and though he has an active flight status that must never be mistaken for him being one of us. He must be treated like a mushroom, kept in the dark and fed shit, at all times. One word spoken to a doctor in jest has lost many people their flight pay before now.

So a little about why I am writing here is called for, I think.

This is the private diary of Chief Electronics Specialist Sylvester Blakelock of the I.S.C. Aphrodite Anadyomene. As always this got shortened, at first to The Anna, but the name Venus seems to have caught on, due to it being used by Captain Lannerman. The logic of this will probably confound the casual reader of this diary. However, a ship must have a pet name, known to the crew; through this we get closer to her and gain some protection from her fickle nature. She is still ‘The Anna’ to me though. Our mission is a little matter of the first interstellar manned mission to Tau Ceti and I want all the help ‘The Anna’ can give us.

No, we are not expecting to find life; the unmanned missions have shown that its planets are without life, but for the first humans to make the jump to another star, to come back without exploring would seem to be a wasted journey. We get two months on Heinlein. Bradbury and Asimov, the other inner planets, are a little too hostile for our first trip and the gas giants Pournelle, Clarke and Niven may look pretty, but they are not for man to visit. It is an 11.9 light-year hop to show we can do it with a landing to get the public interest. I don’t think these names for the six planets will last, they are the nicknames used by the Pasadena team and I wholly approve of them, but I am sure more rational names will be found for them by respectable people…boring people.

What are my feelings at the moment? Excited and slightly apprehensive I suppose. Kylie, my Mother in Law, doesn’t believe in all this space flight nonsense and my presence here is another example of my complete disregard for Alicia, my wife. Alicia understands and this year away will be the most important year in my career, from here on, we reap the rewards and with this diary and a good editor, we should be comfortable for the rest of our lives.

The run to Phobos we have just done was a short proving run to warm the engines up, something I am not willing to waste valuable paper on. Our crew though I better list, not that they are likely to be forgotten, the titles are purely for the record. Mission Specialist means Geologist/Biologist/Palaeontologist, Doctor Grant as well as his medical ticket has a doctorate in physics. Myself I get away easy, electronics and computers are a big job here, so I only get Media Officer as well, which has to be someone’s idea of a joke.

Captain-Adrian Lannerman (The Skipper)

1^st Officer and Navigator-Amanda Thompson (Mandy)

Pilot-James Pritchard (Jim)

Co-Pilot and Drive Specialist-Simon Spencer (Si or Simon)

Drive Specialist and Mechanical Engineer-Emily Stuart (Em or Emily)

Doctor/Cook/Science Officer-William Grant (‘Call me Bill’ ‘Yes Sir, Dr Grant’)

Mission Specialist/Hydroponics/Dogsbody-Stephen Allenson (Steve)

Electrical Engineer/Computer Specialist-Sylvester Blakelock (me)

 

I am not going to list their professional titles and doctorates, nor am I going to list mine, we are all overqualified for a test run like this, but the new Anglo-US Space program isn’t willing to risk irritating other nations by placing a military officer on board. With the crew we have on board even the Pakistani Confederation cannot deny the fact that this is a Scientific Research mission.

Anyway, we boost very soon making our way out from Phobos before the dive towards the sun. We make passage for Jupiter first, down into the gravity well and then inbound for the sun. At the bottom of the Solar Gravity Well, the induction from our passage through the stellar magnetosphere should initiate the Stellar Drive and on September 12^th, we should jump almost twelve light years in no perceptible time. I will have to go now, duty calls, I will continue with my thoughts tomorrow.

 

 

Saturday 3^rd August 2075

I might have known we would be late, at twenty-seven minutes to boost we got a hold. A back up system, for a back up system at JPL was acting up. Then the idiots had the temerity to tell me the fault was at my end. I spent twenty-four hours going through circuits and code before they would believe me. Some of the implications of this I am not happy with, it is always bad luck to set off on a Friday as we did yesterday. Worse though is the fact that we will make the jump on Friday 13^th of September. Now you see why I do not entrust my thoughts to the computer, though everyone here is superstitious, the mere admission of the fact would get you a posting on earth for the rest of your short career.

I have had to send a message to Alicia; Kylie has been at it again. She started on what will happen if I am injured that far from home. No hospitals that far out and I was sure to die with the primitive medical care on ‘The Anna’.

I explained to her, again, that we have all the facilities a major hospital has. Anything up to and including a major organ transplant can be handled easily. The only thing that could kill me out here is a major head injury. I don’t know what Doctor Grant has in the freezer, ready made for us. Hearts and livers I would suspect, but anything else like a limb or an eye can be grown in a week or two, in just the same way our fresh meat is, from a starter culture. I have seen little Sly, my genetic twin and anonymous benefactor, two pounds of nondescript flesh kept alive, fed and healthy in a jar. It was a small tissue sample taken eighteen months ago, now it is the source for any spare parts I need. Doctor Grant has promised that we won’t find ourselves eating any of the pruned parts of the cultures. We all know nothing goes to waste and off cuts of little Sly will be processed for the hydroponics and I will quite happily eat what is grown with it.

The other comment that my beloved Mother in Law had, was about my two female colleagues, Amanda Thompson our navigator and Emily Stuart part of the Drive crew. This I got very angry at.

We are in a tin can with eight people; yes, it is a large tin can by normal spacecraft standards, but an affair here?

Where does she get these stupid ideas?

For the next year every little thing I do will be monitored by computer, even when we leave Sol far behind, the recordings will continue, to be transmitted on return. I can just see them not noticing a sexual encounter on the traces. I can’t take a leak without teams of scientists pondering over deep and hidden meanings within my urine. Besides all of that, at the end of the day, I love Alicia and never would I jeopardise that.

We are on our way anyway, the mission is go and, unless they abort, in a few months I will be standing on an alien planet looking up at a strange sun. I must finish now for today and I will continue again soon.

 

 

Wednesday 14^th August 2075

I know, I know. If I want to do anything with this when I get back then I have to write in it...or make it up when I get back. But, things are busy The Skipper isn’t willing to leave anything to chance. I have been over systems that are perfect time and time again, drills are endlessly repeated and in our spare time, we are supposed to learn other systems. Where does he get the idea we have spare time? Yes, our geologist/biologist/hydroponics farmer, Steve Allenson, has enough time to plague me with questions he doesn’t understand the answers to. Most of us are barely coping with our own work. I am supposed to be refreshing my knowledge of flying ‘The Anna’, me fly her…who is he kidding. I can just see me trying to bring her in for a planetary landing; I might just be able to make an orbital insertion manoeuvre, by pre-programming the computer and letting it do the work.

I know what he is doing; there was a lot of unease when our jump date was announced. It seems I am not the only one with a superstitious nature, as we all know, shit happens. He is doing two things, first of all ensuring we all know our jobs backwards.

Trying to teach the ignorant is one of the best ways of making sure you know your job.

Secondly with the schedule he has us on we will be too busy to worry. I am getting some time to sleep, eat and drop the odd message to Alicia, but to actually get the time to lie strapped in here, in my little cubicle, and write is a rarity. We hit Jupiter in five days then we become a cometary object sweeping in from far out in the Solar System, at a rate that man has never travelled before. If all goes to shit, we could be back this way again in a few thousand years. Well I intend to try and grab at least four hours sleep now so I will call it a day here, leaving you with that thought.

 

 

Tuesday 20^th August 2075

Well the boredom and the monotony were broken yesterday, as we shaped for the Sun, around Jupiter. The huge globe was visibly increasing in size as we approached at a rate undreamed of a few years ago. The savage kick of acceleration as we made our encounter forcing us around the planet onto the correct course for a passage to destiny…well it sounds good.

The reality of it was that we got the occasional look at the planet on a monitor; windows are a weakness our hull can’t afford. The kick as we made our encounter was vicious and seemed to last an eternity. We were in close, very close, but the mass we collected in our scoops will be well used. I believe we got 15% more than best estimations, something to do with how close we got to the atmosphere. To be honest I am not exactly sure about the mechanics of it, this is a new idea and I am an Electron Pusher and Programmer by trade, space is just the place I work. There was an enormous sense of relief though as we passed this crucial point in the mission, the worst thing any of us can think of is coming home with our tails between our legs, having failed before we started. At least after having done a four hundred and eighty million mile run towards the sun in twenty-four days, we would have broken every speed record ever set. That in itself would be an achievement, even if all we ended up with were a good view of the sun. I am going to have to end this entry now as we intend to have a little celebration after they confirm we are ‘In the groove’ as Mandy always refers to it. Time to call it quits, alcohol is calling me, a little drop anyway.

 

 

Thursday 22^nd August 2075

We are on our way, ‘In the groove’ and looking at ‘Translating’ at 15:07 Greenwich time, on Friday 13^th of September. The first thing that everyone noticed was the fact that the numbers added up to 13, but The Skipper isn’t willing to change anything. I don’t blame him, it would be giving in to superstition and that he will not do. Me personally though I don’t like it, too many coincidences and not enough has gone wrong yet. A perfect flight is nothing to boast about, until you get back, as often it means you have a shit-load of bad luck just waiting around the corner.

The little celebration went well, all twenty minutes of it, once we were 24 hours out from Jupiter, they could say if we needed further course corrections. At the moment, we are in the clear, which means more juice when we need it. My concerns are probably groundless, but all of us, except possibly The Skipper, are showing our concern, it is causing more than a little stress too. Nothing we can’t cope with but as always, the first signs are the fraying tempers when things don’t go right. Once we make the jump, or ‘Translation’ as our drive crew insists on calling it we will be in the clear, if I survive all the jargon they have adopted. Once we are out there, the attitudes will change and then we will be down to business.

Tomorrow we start the dry runs for the jump, yes, we all know the procedures but The Skipper’s motto seems to be ‘Practice makes perfect’. I have a number of procedure sheets to read and re-read, procedures worked out Earthside for any emergency. Some of the emergencies are more than a little unbelievable, but it is part of the job. The general rule is if anything isn’t right before the ‘Translation’, we abort the mission and make our way back to Earth in a leisurely fashion. The Skipper wants anything rectifiable known off by heart so that if we do have to abort, no blame can be attached. I must admit though, if anything does look ‘iffy’ he will not hesitate to pull the mission, not a responsibility I would like.

Well if we have to abort it isn’t going to be down to my systems so I will end here for today and hit the books.

 

 

Tuesday 27^th August 2075

Sol is grumbling, perhaps irritated by our impending attempt to leave her clutches. This had to be a possibility; a decent CME could wipe us out (That is Coronal Mass Ejection for anyone scratching her head at this…dear Mother in Law.) There shouldn’t be a big event but it is a possibility. Anyway that is one of the risks of the game, if you don’t like it then you find another game. Some of our crew though have been very much institution based over the years, sat on Earth looking out of their windows at the campus of whichever famous university they hail from. Risk in their lives is something new and they aren’t exactly happy about it. Simon, Steve and Doctor Grant have been hard at work trying to construct a mathematical model, so they can work out the odds. The model, if they can do it, will be worth a few more honours between them; as for the odds, Emily said it for the rest of us…

"You can work the odds out all you want, but at the end of the day when shit happens you can still lose."

She’s right, I have enough space time to know I am a lucky bastard, which at the end of the day is a lot more important than anything else. One day my luck will run out but by that time I intend to be safe on Earth, where an accident or incident shouldn’t normally mean your breathing is compromised.

We are splitting into two camps here now, those with major space-time, James, Emily and me and those without Steve, Simon and Doctor Grant. The Skipper and Mandy seem to be above all this petty tribalism, but I know which camp they favour. Both of them are professionals, each with a list of commendations longer than the rest of us put together. Who out there hasn’t heard of Captain Lannerman? I was part of the crew of the ship that rescued The Momotaro; I did the run back in her, with The Skipper, trying to put the bitch back into some sort of order. Three of them survived out of the twelve, Captain Lannerman is the only one who has lifted again. Three months in the dark and cold was too much for the other two, they couldn’t even do anything with the dead bodies. They were wrapped up and left in a room. Just the thought of that smell still turns my stomach.

To be honest, I’m sure that’s why I’m here; the return trip was just the two of us. The Skipper was unwilling to abandon ‘The Little God’ as he called her and though The Daedalus shadowed us, it was a risky and interesting trip. I think that is where he got this idea that I could possibly pilot ‘The Anna’, he said I had distinct potential when under his tuition on the way back. He also said my cooking had potential, though he has warned me to stay away from the galley here.

We are still go for our translation, the press back home have picked up on the date and time now. As The Skipper said, ‘Confidence is high and everything is A-OK.’ How corny can you get? But the press loved it. I have done my bit; I said ‘hello’ when the camera was thrust into my face. The Skipper made some comment about me being the quiet and fastidious one of the crew "For Sly here everything has to be perfect on his systems, I know that if anything goes wrong he will be the one with the solutions. Though I am the one credited with bringing The Momotaro back, this is the man who made it possible. We sat there in the dark with no communications for three months. This man took two days to get both working."

It was nice to be appreciated, though he neglected to tell them I had the benefit of spare parts and an understanding of the systems, neither of which he had. That is his way; he makes all of us feel important. After he has been around to see how things are going and he has had his little chat you feel good, despite the fact he has just doubled your workload.

That is what he did after my little television appearance and I have to try and think of new problems that could occur and ways to counter them.

"You Sly, alone out of this lot, have seen what can happen when the shit hits the fan, you alone know how much we could lose in one simple accident. I am bringing this ship home, with her crew, if it is physically possible to do so. Think of the worst-case scenarios, and then counter them. I know you can do it."

What could I do but say ‘Yes Sir,’ and watch him leave with a smile on his face. Though what I can do to counter the things going through my mind, I don’t know.

 

 

Sunday 1^st September 2075

I had a disagreement with our illustrious Mission Specialist today. I was working my way through live circuits trying to identity why we appear to have areas in the ship where the biotelemetry doesn’t register (It scared the shit out of a number of people at JPL the first time it happened, now it seems to be spreading.). I was working in a confined live area when Steve suddenly appeared, peering over my shoulder. In my surprise, I caught a jolt off a live bus and was not a happy teddy bear. I was having a most interesting discussion with him about his ancestry and life expectancy, when The Skipper arrived with a pained look on his face. He has a habit of doing this, not saying anything or doing anything, just looking disappointed.

‘Are you hurt Mr. Blakelock?’ He asked with genuine concern. I had to admit that besides scaring myself silly I had been lucky.

‘Good’ he replied nodding slowly and looking at the open panel, I was working in. ‘Mr Allenson may I suggest that you avoid disturbing Mr Blakelock at the moment. When he is in action he is one of the most single-minded and tactless engineers I have ever met. He can work wonders with a computer, but don’t jiggle his elbow because he bites. I found that out a few times in my misguided attempts to help in the past’

That was it, situation defused, and The Skipper led off Simon. I though had been reminded that sociability is an essential skill for anyone spending time in space.

Simon though should have known better than to stick his nose in.

There is nothing more volatile in space than the crew of a ship and despite The Skippers little jibe I am a tolerant soul, some of the crews I have been part of would have broken a bone or two just to keep him out of the way. We who work in space have three real risks when we lift, ourselves, the rest of the crew and anything else. It doesn’t often happen now, but you still get people coming back from long missions restrained for their own safety. There are the stories about crews being lost from someone forcing open an airlock to step outside. These are probably pure fiction, the mechanics of opening both lock doors at the same time are damn near impossible, but crew problems are a different matter.

It starts of great; you and your ‘oppo’ are best mates, known each other for years and are inseparable. After the first couple of weeks out the novelty wears off and you start noticing the little things, how he snores or that irritating thing he does with his teeth after eating. At two months, you aren’t particularly talking, but in most ships the option of keeping out of his way is impossible. By four months, you hate each other, then one day as you ask him to pass a screwdriver he jams it between your ribs. It may sound sensationalist but despite the inherent dangers in working in space, more people die from suicide than accidents, the major cause of injury is assault. That’s why The Doctor always has a Space Psychology qualification and why he can bounce anyone back to earth. This is also why he is the enemy.

Given space-time, you get used to reading how people are, it is an essential skill for a good crew. Our colleagues from Earth lack these skills and have an air of superiority; they feel they are the intellectual part of the crew. This in itself is a mistaken belief; I was looking at a University teaching position, if I didn’t get into space. When I finally decide enough is enough (or our Doctor does), a University is one of the many options open to me. The problem is these idiots hear the term ‘Engineer’ and immediately think of a man in dirty overalls, scratching his arse, while looking at a car engine. The main difference between them and me is the fact that I can live in the real world and look at problems affecting us now; they seem to live on their own level of reality. Give them a tin of beans and with a glance they will tell you how many beans are in it, give them a tin opener and they are lost. No, I lie, they are not lost when you give them a tin opener, and they will tell you how there should be a better way of opening a tin. Then they disappear for five years to work it out, when all you want is dinner.

Anyway, that is my rant for today and I will call it quits for now, I still haven’t found the source of this failure and I don’t intend to let it stay that way.

 

 

Monday 2^nd September 2075

I don’t know what happened to quality control back on earth, but I found the cause of our problems with the Biotelemetry. A dry joint was at the root of it and has cost me too much sleep. That is unforgivable; it should have been caught long before it was ever put in a ship. Now though I have another job, going through every circuit board checking for similar problems. I have found two so far, well one and a one suspect, but one of those was in the flight control systems. The Skipper is happy; a problem was sorted before it became a problem. I on the other hand am well and truly pissed off. At three levels this should have been caught, yet wasn’t. Now I wonder what other checks were just signed for, rather than actually being done.

I vented my anger at JPL, the delay in communications meaning I could express my true feelings, without being interrupted. Surprisingly when the reply came back, I didn’t even get complaints over my rather colourful language. This in one respect worries me; it is not normal for the Pasadena team to ignore bad language. It is one thing on a commercial run or a local hop, you are not open to public scrutiny. We are working through the Jet Propulsion Laboratory at Pasadena, due to the planetary exploration nature of our mission. They have been jumping down my throat for my inadvertent comments when on VOX. I would have thought my comments like ‘fucking idiots that did the half arsed job’ and ‘we would have been well and truly fucked’ would rate at least a passing mention, but no, nothing.

Is this because there is more shit to follow or because in a report they have been told Blakelock is cracking up? Paranoia is one of the first signs, but then again if you are rational enough to question your sanity, you are probably fine. Though then again the self-introspection that goes with questioning your own sanity is probably unhealthy for me mentally too.

Therefore, after my little outburst everyone is staying out of my way. The Skipper turns up with a drink or food and watches for a while before leaving in silence. I think the fact of finding this problem has put things in perspective for some people here, that we are in a hostile environment, heading towards the sun where it will be a lot more hostile. I am not the type of person to sit worrying about nothing; my view of life is why worry about it. But this situation is bloody stupid.

These are not things I should be sorting out eleven days from translation, these things should have been sorted before The Venus lifted. Yes, The Skipper’s baptism has stuck and even I am using it now ‘The Good Ship Venus.’ I don’t know if our earthbound intellectuals know the connotations of the song associated with this vessel, probably beneath them, but I have heard The Skipper humming it more than once.

I asked him which verse he was humming, to break the silence of him standing there behind me, observing what I did.

"Ah yes well," he said slightly embarrassed at the question "The Captain of our Lugger"

"He was a dirty bugger, he wasn’t fit to shovel shit from one hold to another," I finished.

"Yes that’s the one," he admitted. "Seems the right song for this trip."

"That it does, but I wish I had ‘Fuck all else to do.’"

"You, are the only reason I haven’t scrubbed the mission and I guarantee that after we Translate you can catch up on free time."

"The work doesn’t bother me," I told him honestly, "though the eyes of the world on us doesn’t help."

"The eyes of the world are not important, the important thing is the crew, never again will I bring home a ship full of death. Will we be ready for the translation?"

"Keep people away from me and I will be done," I assured him.

"That’s why I chose you, carry on Mr Blakelock," and he left.

It was a strange little conversation; I feel he was trying to break the isolation imposed on him by command. In the trip back on The Momotaro I got to know him a little and when back he kept in touch. However, I can’t think of more than two or three other people he talks to in a non-professional context. He is a man alone and I think he came back to space because it was all he had. The other thing I realised was that I had never seen the lights off, either in his cubicle, laughingly called a cabin, or at his home on my few visits.

I think our Skipper is scared of the dark.

Not that this will affect the job he does or the mission. It just reinforces my respect for the man; it must scare him shitless to come back into space, yet he does. The one thing that makes me slightly uncomfortable is the fact that only my actions are keeping this mission a possibility, if I wasn’t so good we could miss this Friday 13^th nonsense and try again. There is one problem with this though, I am afraid it goes against my nature to leave a problem unsolved.

 

 

Wednesday 4th September 2075

We are back in full working order again; I have been over every system of the ship that I can think of. Pasadena has been having kittens as I take systems off line to check things out.

In a ship that has been commissioned for a while, all these problems are caught over time. They are rectified as the engineers get their hands on the systems. Emily and I have been damn near ripping the guts out of the Venus and putting her back together, trying to find anything and everything that could go wrong. The Skipper has almost spent as much time defending our actions to JPL. We have a faults list as long as my arm between us, yes most of them are minor things that normally wouldn’t get mentioned, but while they are kicking up a fuss at our actions we will list every deficiency. So none of them are potentially hazardous problems, more irritating than life threatening, but we shouldn’t be finding any.

JPL insisted that The Skipper brought Dr Grant in on one of the conversations; my obsessive behaviour was now causing others to emulate me (Emily). The Skipper went up the wall, blew his top at them. Despite the fact that I was working in the crew quarters, I could hear every word.

"Obsessive and compulsive, yes he is obsessive and compulsive and has been like that ever since he found this ship wasn’t fit to lift. It is our arses on the line here, if everything falls apart, we do not have the luxury of sitting back and figuring out what went wrong. As far as I am concerned, every system on this ship is suspect until Mr Blakelock and Miss Stuart tell me it is not. If you feel that is unnecessary and obsessive, I will pull this mission here and now."

It was about half an hour later that Dr Grant came past me, he went back with a rather sleepy Mandy in tow, dragged out of her bed. I was more than a little concerned at this point, as to disturb Mandy while sleeping is a sin that is only forgiven a few times. A moment or two later I could hear her voice, the lack of privacy on board ship was something we lived with but I could hear she was angry and I admit that I did take notice.

"Under no circumstances will I take charge of this ship, as far as I am concerned unless something happens to Captain Lannerman I am just here as a crew member. As has been shown by the defects list we have so far, the systems on this ship are far from perfect. The only place that this ship will get a new Skipper is in Low Earth Orbit. So if you don’t mind I am on duty in three hours and I am going back to bed."

She came back my way and I asked her if the shit that was flying, was down to me.

"Look Sly, you are a funny bastard at times and when you are working only The Skipper dares disturb you, but even our earth bound slobs can see that you do your job. I have even heard Simon comment more than once that, he thanks god that you are here. Nothing that you have done is to blame for this situation, complacency is to blame and that is unforgivable."

She gave me a reassuring smile, which did little to reassure me. I dislike conflict and aggression, like so many who make a life in space and only when working was I the creature that jumped down Steve’s throat. To upset someone intentionally or unintentionally would gnaw at me. This was far beyond that; I have caused problems for The Skipper, probably due to my little outburst.

I am unsure what I can do to correct this situation, The Skipper is still having long and loud discussions with JPL and I am going to have to try and sleep now as he continues defending my actions. What a shitty situation…

 

 

Thursday 5th September 2075

I remember an old song, over a hundred years old now which crops up some times on unhappy ships, ‘Sloop John B’.

The happy humming of ‘Good Ship Venus’ has gone; it has been replaced by ‘I want to go home…this is the worst trip I’ve ever been on’. I think it is Jim, our pilot, who has started it; he is the most dissatisfied with the situation. He is used to depending on what his engineers tell him, a pilot needs to know the condition of his ship. It is all our arses on the line if he doesn’t know what he needs to. Pasadena seems to be of the opinion that we should just do our jobs and leave the thinking to them.

I had a word with The Skipper about it, my actions and the actions of those back on earth are tearing at this crew, he was not pleased.

"Listen Sly, your job here is to solve problems and keep this mission on track. My job is to deal with the idiots on earth, you follow orders and see what else has been overlooked and I will be happy."

"But sir, we all know they tried to get Mandy to take command, they are pushing The Doc to sign your psych forms, you are likely to never lift again after this shit." I protested.

"Mr Blakelock," he started with and I knew he was pissed off, "the future of my career is not your concern, you will continue with your inspections and that is an order…do you understand me?"

"Yes Sir." I replied quickly bringing myself to attention and inadvertently started myself spinning in the air, he smiled.

"Relax Sly, but leave that worrying to me…you have your own worrying to do."

I just answered "Yes Sir." and he turned his attention back to the screen he was working on, I left.

I have a funny feeling that he isn’t planning to lift again; he felt the loss of the crew in The Momotaro was due to cost cutting and sloppy practice. This situation is a vindication of his campaigning and proof that nothing has been done to correct it. The refusal of him to relinquish command will be an interesting legal debate as a Skipper of a ship under way is still the supreme authority, only in near earth operations does the ground control take precedence. Personally, I trust him with all our lives…

 

 

Monday 9th September 2075

Four days to Translation and at last I am in a position to say, honestly, I am happy with the systems in my charge. Pasadena seems to have quit their bitching too. We have done our long burn, now we are committed to our appointment with Sol no matter what the weather forecast says. The Solar outlook is good for the next few days; Sol is quiet…though my sources (Emily, who heard it off Mandy) say that it isn’t worth the paper it isn’t written on. Sol, though it can be predicted, is a dynamic environment that as yet we do not understand fully, so we go with the best guess and at the end of the day, it is still a guess.

We are all in final preparations for the translation, everyone knows their places and everyone knows their job. My job is to keep out of the way and touch nothing till we are through it, not an exciting or important job for that moment…but as has been seen even I have my function here, though not at that time.

Where as I was running around like a blue arsed fly for the last week, it is now Emily who is working like a demented creature, I can now take things easy. I did offer to help, but as it was explained as I was escorted out of the drive room, "That is sweet of you Sly…but no, no, no." I admit I would have been the same had she offered to help me, I would rather share my underwear than let someone else play with my systems.

So now, the Skipper has me back on the helm, running simulations of various problems. I haven’t killed us every time but damn near…he is evil at times with the problems he thinks up and my protests fall on deaf ears.

"Don’t you remember the Adonis incident?" he demanded as we all died because the computer cut on me within moments of landing. I told him I had never heard of it.

"Look at Armstrong and Aldrin, landing on the moon with Apollo 11, exactly the same situation." He pointed out quickly. I am surprised he didn’t quote some examples from the Wright Brothers or Bleriot; they are of about the same relevance.

I am going to put this in writing here, possibly for the title of the book or article that comes from this diary. "I AM NOT A PILOT…" I have never had any ambitions to be a pilot and my opinion of pilots in general is not good. My first posting was ground based, spending time repairing that which the pilots broke, my views may be prejudiced, but I tend to think the worst until proved otherwise. Jim at the moment is just okay in my opinion, as a person he is fine…it is just the pilot side that clouds my judgement. He didn’t laugh when I crashed again, which was nice of him, just showed me what I did wrong before the system was reset. Despite The Skippers objections, I think my culinary skills are better than my piloting skills…then again with the piloting being all simulation there are fewer casualties.

 

 

Tuesday 10th September 2075

Maybe, just maybe I can do all this pilot shit. I successfully landed one of our shuttles at, of all places, Heathrow. It’s all only a computer game, a very expensive one, but still a game. If the Bug Eyed Monsters from Venus reduce the earth and all the orbital stations to radioactive rubble and Jim, The Skipper and Mandy are out of action, I can land us at Heathrow Airport without any major loss of life…two times out of three anyway. ‘Captain Blakelock of the I.S.C. God Have Mercy’ does have a nice ring, however implausible. Anyway, I need sleep so this is my only entry today…though I am getting better, another two days with two entries, though I doubt I will get a book out of this diary I might just get a page in the Sunday magazines.

 

 

Thursday 12th September 2075

Ah well my good intentions went to pot. Work got the better of me yesterday and today as well. We are less than 24 hours from translation, all systems are fine, Sol is behaving and my next diary entry should have us illuminated by the light of a different star.

 

 

Friday 13th September 2075

We have translated…all has gone to shit.

I will explain later, if I get a chance…but if this diary is found at any time I want it known that I love my wife Alicia dearly, I am sorry I left her for this mission, but as she knows it was something I had to do. If this diary is found in her lifetime, please let her know how much I love her.

 

 

Saturday 14th September 2075 (I think)

I have been temporarily removed from duties, thanks to my own stupidity. I broke one of the most basic rules of my profession and it looks like I have paid the price…but let me deal with this in the correct chronological order…as I look at my last entry I can see it doesn’t explain anything.

As we made our close approach to the sun, the stellar drive was switched on and it began charging. At 15:02 GMT, all posts reported ready and the auto sequence was initiated, all we could do from this stage on was abort the mission. I think The Skipper would have happily scrubbed the mission if he felt it was necessary, no blame can be attached to him at all, this was something that none of us anticipated. This is something that none of us understands at the moment.

Just before the translation The Skipper again asked for a go/no go from all stations, all stations reported ready. A last signal was received from I.S.C. Charybdis, the ship placed to observe the translation. "Good luck and god speed to you, the crew of Aphrodite Anadyomene."

To which The Skipper replied with a message, "Thank you for that Cherry B, it should be a rather interesting ride, we will tell you all about it when we get back."

The Skipper then said, "Good luck and I will see you all on the other side," and at 15:07, we translated.

There was no sensation as we translated, I wouldn’t have known anything had happened, except every system shut down and it went dark. We lost the whole shooting match, nothing was working. Even the emergency beta lights didn’t seem to be providing the illumination that they should, the battery system hadn’t kicked in at all. It was in this initial panic that I scribbled my last entry.

It was shortly after this that I fucked up in a big way.

My initial reaction, seeing we had lost everything including the emergency battery system, was that there were possibly two places for the fault, just before the main bus and just after. These are the only two points in the system that a fault could account for the loss of all power. The digital multimeter I damn near sleep with refused to work, I dug up the old analogue spare (there at my insistence), checked there was no juice on the system and put my hand in. I woke up some hours later under Doctor Grant’s care.

I don’t know what happened but a line I checked had no electricity running through it was live and from the state of my left arm it was carrying a lot more amps than it should have been. Something is very wrong here; the system shouldn’t have been carrying that much current and the Avo should have shown there was juice there…what the hell is going on. I can’t think properly at the moment, I am strapped in my bunk and Dr Grant has given me something for the pain. I am going to sleep now, as I don’t think I have much choice in the matter.

 

 

Monday 16th September 2075 (I think)

Well we now know some of what is going on, we have translated, but we haven’t re-emerged on the other side. Mandy did an EVA to get this information, manually cycling the airlocks to get outside. She says it is a void without form, a uniform greyness out there, it sounds sort of religious in its connotations to me, not to mention scares the shit out of me. We are now wondering if this place, where we are, has some of the fundamental rules of physics that aren’t quite the same, as we understand them. What exactly this means I am not sure, but if things like the speed of light and the charge on an electron are different, then everything that makes this ship work has changed, there has even been the comment from Simon that perhaps even time might work differently here. This is heading into the realms of weird shit to me, but to some of them, the fact that we are not here and not there seems to make some sense. Yes, I mean that quite literally, that we are not here because here is not anywhere. Schrödinger’s Cat seems to keep popping up in conversations and they are talking about us being in some sort of probability flux…

Bollocks.

Yes Bollocks, that is what they are talking, a load of them, we are stuck in whatever place we have to go through to get from Sol to Tau Ceti. We might not know where that place is, but by the mere fact of being here, it makes it an observable fact.

I don’t know the details, I haven’t got enough information to figure anything out…all I know is my left arm is useless and unless I get some light in the hydroponics soon we are going to be in deep shit. The chemical scrubbers can only deal with the CO2 levels for so long, after than we die. At best, guess we have three days before we start to feel it, we might last five before we are all dead. Our options are get the UV lights working, or start choosing who takes the honourable option and allows the rest of us a little more time.

 

 

Friday 20th September 2075 (I think)

And as the lord said, "Let there be light…and you could see for fucking miles." We have light, photosynthesis will now take place and we can breath again. It was a close thing, to get the lighting system up and running has meant we are diverting all power to the lights…don’t ask me what the hell is going on, it is beyond me. I cant see why it is taking all our juice to run a simple lighting system and I haven’t got a clue as to why this is happening. It shouldn’t be the Stellar Drive, its power needs are minimal and nothing else on the ship seems to be working. So where is the power going and why the hell, did my arm get fried?

It’s in a bad way, my arm that is. Dr Grant is dubious if he can save it. Another one can be grown but even with accelerated growth, I am going to be without an arm for six weeks…if I can get some power to the sickbay. Don’t think I am the brave man soldiering on despite my injury, as this diary might suggest. I am just the brain at the moment ordering people around; to be honest I am in a bad way and a hell of a lot of pain. But, as The Skipper said my brain is the one thing that has to be clear at the moment, so minimal drugs. Oh God, how I want the oblivion offered by those painkilling drugs.

I am also going to have to figure out something about dates for these entries, at the moment any date or time is meaningless, as we have no way of measuring time, an annoying problem but of minimal importance at this time. I am going to try to sleep now, as it has been a hell of a long time since I last did and now at least I know I wont asphyxiate in my sleep.

 

 

Fifth Entry After Translation

Today Captain Adrian Lannerman and Drive Specialist Emily Stewart died, they gave their lives trying to save the rest of us and knowing full well the risks. They died with their eyes open to those risks and if this information ever reaches Earth, I pray that their actions are recognised for the heroism it was.

Yes, The Skipper and Em’ are gone, they were trying to disconnect the Stellar Drive and there was some form of discharge. I can’t believe it happened and my mind wont come to terms with the fact that The Skipper has gone. Yes I am upset about Emily, she was a good friend and one of the best engineers I have ever known, but The Skipper gone…The Great Captain Lannerman, hero of the people is no more…It just seems impossible.

I better document what happened, as this is the only form of recording we have on board now, my diary the only log and record of what has happened to us. My rambling thoughts and moans a record for posterity, I wish I had thought more about what I was writing.

We spent a long time…possibly days trying to figure out what had happened and where we were, but we were coming to a common brick wall, not enough information. It was Jim who pointed out that despite the fact that little was working; there was a vibration through the bulkheads. I hadn’t noticed, I rarely come in contact with the bulkhead when working in zero-g, as with the rest of us. Jim it seems has his own little foible, like my superstitions, which have now been totally justified. He talks to the ship, as we all do you might say, but he has to be in contact with the ship and feel her metal as he talks to her. During one of these conversations, he felt the vibration, almost a hum at low frequency and we all started hunting around trying to find where it was coming from.

It was a silly game all of us floating around the ship placing our foreheads against the metal of the ship to see if it was any stronger in any one place. But, it worked; the vibration was coming from the Stellar Drive. Despite the fact that it was only supposed to be engaged for an immeasurable period of time, the time to get from Sol to Tau Ceti…now days later the bastard was still running.

It was decided that the thing would have to be disconnected, what that would do wasn’t known, but destruction of the drive was not an option. After much arguing it was decided that Emily would be one of the people who disconnected it, as for the other one The Skipper vetoed both Simon and I as irreplaceable at the moment and the argument then began between Mandy and The Skipper. The Skipper won, or lost depending on your point of view.

The Skipper and Emily disappeared along the central shaft down to the drive room, all airtight bulkheads were closed and the rest of us were in the control room. Supposedly the safest place, the point furthest away from the drive room, it was safe for us. After a few minutes there was a crackle and the one circuit breaker working, the hydroponics lighting popped. Then nothing…Mandy and Simon went to find out what had happened after about fifteen minutes of silence. The bodies were both there badly charred. Emily had her hands up covering her face, from the position of The Skippers body, we have assumed he was trying to place himself in-between Emily and the discharge. The only good thing that can be said about the situation is that death was instantaneous. The bodies have been attached to the hull outside, so that at some point we can give them a decent burial. If we ever arrive at Tau Ceti they can be placed into a cometary orbit, visiting that star every couple of hundred years. Who knows they may keep us company in the same orbit until we die of old age, far off in a strange place.

We will not starve; though things like coffee will not last, though air and water are fine, we will quite happily survive in our tin coffin until we die. I just wonder if we will ever see Tau Ceti.

 

 

6^th Entry Since Translation

Things haven’t changed since my last entry; at a guess, I would think it has been about two weeks since my last entry and The Skippers death. I have managed to get one light running in each compartment, though the light provided isn’t much and the sick bay has some power. I don’t think I can get anything else running without risk of losing the lot. I don’t know what’s happening with the reactor, as far as I can tell everything is still running, but fusion isn’t my specialty. The mechanical side of the power generation is still working, the generators are still turning and though my instruments refuse to detect it, there is electricity. I am wondering if there is a different relationship between magnetism and electrical induction here…wherever here is. One good thing, the temperature drop has stopped, I hadn’t mentioned it because to be honest we had enough problems and the cold wasn’t as life threatening as the risk of CO2 poisoning.

I have had some bad news off Dr Grant; my arm is going to have to come off and probably tonight. He has been fighting a losing battle against necrosis. Perhaps if everything was running in the sick bay he might have been able to do more, but under the circumstances he has no other option. With the limited power I could be without an arm for up to a year, as accelerated growth is out, how he will reattach it I don’t know, but he just smiles and says, "Let me worry about that."

If I am lucky, I might be back home by that time and it will be unnecessary for him to even contemplate a reattachment, but we can’t guarantee that and I like having two arms. I must admit my left arm at the moment is more a hindrance than a help and though I dislike the thought of losing my arm, I am better off than Emily and The Skipper.

 

 

7^th Entry Since Translation

Well I am short a wing, my left arm is now feeding the plants in hydroponics. It didn’t hurt, though it hadn’t been hurting for about a week before it was removed, but the bastard has started itching something terrible since it came off. Supposedly, it is a common symptom for amputees, but common or not it is driving me mad. It has been a couple of weeks since my last entry and most of that time has been me convalescing. I tried to set up some measure of time while I was stuck in the sick bay, a simple circuit with a flashing light. It wouldn’t work, the rules governing semi-conductors are screwed here, or the translation has burnt them all out. Nothing using a semi-conductor works, no matter how I rig it, even basic induction, moving a wire through a magnetic field seems to be a hit and miss thing, sometime it works other times it doesn’t. I did ask the question ‘Why are we still alive?’ as we are just a collection of bioelectric responses. The answer was that they didn’t have a clue.

Are we alive?

Are we actually here, wherever here is?

Are we just dreaming all this in the time it takes to translate?

Why do they keep asking these bloody stupid questions that even if they had the answer to, it wouldn’t make any difference?

Mandy is now settling into the role of Captain, she isn’t The Skipper, that was Captain Lannermans’ job, but she is an effective Commanding Officer of this ship. Our Educated Brethren had a few objections, both Simon and Dr Grant seemed to object to Mandy taking charge, but both Jim and I made it clear that she was in charge or heads would be cracked. It was a vain threat from me, the one armed man in his sick bed, but it worked and they have shut up. I am busy using our mission specialist Stephen as my arms at the moment, not that I have got anything else working, but I have to try.

While I have been here, I have been wondering if I had got the lights working sooner, The Skipper might have delayed trying to pull the plug on the drive. I know the darkness was getting to him, as was the thought of losing another crew…If only I could have made things less dark then maybe just maybe he would still be here.

 

 

8^th Entry Since Translation

Things are tense here, it has been at least three weeks since my last entry and the friction within the crew is growing. The boredom is the problem, there is so little to do for most of them, everything entertainment based needs juice to make it work. Yes, we have a few options, using some of my valuable paper we now have a pack of cards and a crude chess set has been improvised, though both provide problems in Zero-G. However, I am the only one with anything to occupy my mind, trying to figure out what else I can get on line. Simon lost his temper with me today, due to my inability to get any of the computer systems running. He hadn’t spent enough of his life in Zero-G to be able to hit me and I used his outstretched arm to bounce him off a bulkhead.

Mandy took one look at him with the blood floating from his nose, and decided I was in the wrong, so I am in the shit with her now. About the only person who seems to be on my side is Dr Grant; he believes that this was only to be expected. If he had the option, he would bounce us all Earthside and we would probably never lift again. I tend to agree with him this crew is getting weird, I am the only one who is actually doing anything to try and better our situation and I am the one that everyone seems to hate most, for not being a miracle worker.

I wish The Skipper were here to sort this shit out…

 

 

9^th Entry Since Translation

Mandy is losing it, giving impossible orders then shouting when they aren’t done. She came demanding the computers up and running ASAP. I asked her what the hell she thought I had been doing with myself for the past couple of months and she said she was asking exactly the same question.

I nearly lost it with her. I don’t know what the stupid bitch thinks she is doing lording it over us. She wanted me to try to repair the cold fusion system, yes, I know the theory and from what I can see, it seems to be working, as the generators are turning fine. No she wants me to strip down a working system that keeps us alive and tinker with it, she must be out of her tiny mind.

Dr Grant has a new arm that is growing well, I have seen it an ugly pink thing. He says it is healthy and that he can reattach it, when it is ready. He is going to have to use nerve re-growth to connect all the hardware to my body, but that is because he would need the full lab setup to be able to reconnect things directly. It means that I am going to have to learn to use the arm again, rather than it coming all plumbed in as such, but I can live with that.

He is about the one person on The Venus that I actually trust.

 

 

10^th Entry Since Translation

James and Mandy seem to be getting too friendly in my opinion, despite the fact that irreplaceable commodities are rationed I know I smelt coffee today. I found the two of them as cozy as anything ‘having a little chat’. When I questioned them about the coffee smell, they were too defensive. James was right in there, defending her from all accusations. I left them knowing my feelings, but refusing to back down. The limited air-circulation we have means that yes smells linger, but it has been days since we had any. So I know they are guilty, my only thought on the matter is what else are they hoarding and making illicit use of.

 

 

11^th Entry Since Translation

Things have got worse, Mandy declared James as her First Officer. This means that they have a nice cozy arrangement, lovers and in charge. This also means that the rest of us who don’t agree with them are out of luck.

Stephen jumped into bed with the two of them, probably literally as well as figuratively, due to his dislike of me. He never forgave me for that incident before the translation.

Dr Grant says that Mandy is unstable, paranoid tendencies long suppressed are surfacing in her and I agree with him. She is using the fact that she is a woman to get James to support her, as usual a pilot thinks with his dick rather than his brain, but I am worried that the bitch is planning something.

Paranoid she may be, but she is a smart and devious bitch.

 

 

12^th Log Entry A.T.

Decided to change the method of dating these entries, date means nothing to us now. We think that it has been six months since we translated and seeing this is the only record of what is going on here, I want it to be sort of professional. A.T. is after translation and this is a log of a sort. There is no denying the relationship between Mandy and James now; they don’t even try to hide it. Stephen I think shares her bed occasionally, there is some twisted relationship between the three of them and before you decide this is just jealousy, I wouldn’t touch the bitch with a bargepole.

Something is going on, they are always huddled together discussing things and if any of the rest of us interrupts them, silence suddenly descends. They are up to something, I don’t know what but I will find out. At least she has stopped giving orders now; we just tend to do our own sweet thing. I have been busy stripping the shuttle of anything we could possibly use, as a landing isn’t an option now.

I wish I could rig some method of cooking. Soon we are going to be on an emergency diet, algae from the hydroponics. It is bad enough when cooked and flavorings added, raw it’s going to be disgusting. The same with our ever increasing supply of meat, if necessary, I can eat it raw, but given a choice I would rather have it cooked. A simple heating coil shouldn’t be a problem in theory, in practice, now though, anything could happen.

 

 

13^th Log Entry A.T.

Something is brewing, I don’t know what the bitch is planning…but I am watching her.

 

 

14^th Log Entry A.T.

We are now in two camps, Mandy moved into the Hydroponics bay with her entourage last sleep cycle. She also took with her most of the luxury items and prepackaged food. We went to demand some of the food back and found the hatch dogged shut and jammed from the other side. I think she was intending to asphyxiate us, no fresh air in our compartment.

I cut the lights on her and left her in the dark for a day, the hatch was opened and a dialogue started. She doesn’t trust us and we sure as hell don’t trust her, but we have a hold on her, as she has on us. We don’t need to trust her to trade electricity for food and air. With her down at the other end of the ship I may just sleep a little easier.

 

 

15^th Log Entry A.T.

Things have settled down a little, we have a hostile truce but negotiations have worked. I have had to cut the lights there a couple of times, just to get a point across, but we control the light and when the food runs out the meat too. She controls the air and the algae. Water is freely available to both sides and isn’t a problem as the biological reclamation system pressurizes naturally. Mandy says that they moved out because we were planning a mutiny…not that far from the truth, but only because of her irrational behavior.

 

 

16^th Log Entry A.T.

There will be a delay with my new arm; I don’t know what the problem is exactly, but it will be at least another few months. It’s an irritation, but I know Dr. Grant is doing all he can, as he says he needs me fully fit just in case the bastards decide to try and take us. As I told him, anyone tries to take us and the power is going to stay off until the bastards are choking on the CO2.

 

 

17^th Log Entry A.T.

Someone got their fingers burnt last night; I connected a live line to the hatch that seals this compartment of a night. The screams woke us. Dr Grant was ecstatic, he had been proved right that they were scheming against us…I am not so sure. I have been reading these entries for a few days, looking at how my attitude changed and I think we all may be rather fucked up mentally.

I don’t know what I can do, except possibly talk Dr Grant around, he is a rational man and he should understand that what he is doing is irrational.

 

 

18^th Log A.T,

Dr Grant may be more screwed up than I thought. I brought up the question of our actions and all he responded with was accusations about my loyalty to him. Simon was there to back him up, agreeing with everything he said, no matter how much crap the man spoke. I backed off the subject and apologized quickly, blaming my doubt on the stress of the situation. He seemed to accept that quite easily…possibly too easily; I will have to be careful.

I look around me and the full impact of the situation becomes clear. We have been lost now for possibly a year, I think, and this place is a filthy stinking hole. Due to the sanitation arrangements, you crap and pee in a bag before it is dumped for recycling, the bulkheads have a film of human waste over them, as do we. Anything and everything possible is hoarded and kept safe, no matter how little use it is to us. The hatred that Dr Grant and Simon have for Mandy is amazing and unbelievable, yet I was that way too. This crew has lost any grasp on reality that it had and if the reaction that I got from my two companions is anything to go by, things are not going to get better.

How we need Captain Lannerman’s wisdom and skill now, he wouldn’t have let things get to this; he would have had us home by now. I wonder how Alicia took the fact that we are now overdue, is she still there waiting, hoping…

 

 

19^th Log A.T.

It appears that Mandy has got herself pregnant. Dr Grant flew into a rage, saying that now it was obvious, they couldn’t take us as they were, so they were going to outnumber us, then attack when they have numerical superiority.

It is so easy to slip back into that way of thinking, especially with the behavior of Mandy’s crew in hydroponics. Anything we get from them is accompanied with threats and demands. A number of times they have tried to catch whoever goes to get the supplies. What they would do if they caught someone I hate to think…

 

 

20^th Log A.T.

I haven’t seen anything, barring the occasional glimpse, of Dr Grant for weeks; he has been in his sick bay working. I hope it means my arm is almost ready, when that is back and I can defend myself again, I can try to sort this situation out. Something has to be done quickly, before this ends in bloodshed.

 

 

21^st Log A.T.

The loonies in the hydroponics have weapons…

Short spears, thrown by a hand-held sling arrangement, nasty bastards if they hit you, as Simon found out. Just a nick in his arm, they aren’t that accomplished at using them yet, luckily.

Dr Grant is insisting we need some weapons ourselves, as we cannot allow ourselves to be caught unarmed against the threat that those in the hydroponics pose. We are lost in a place that I doubt god himself knows exists, trapped in a tin can and we are starting an arms race. How the hell I can bring some sanity to this situation I am not sure, the last thing we need here at the moment is a third hostile group, comprising of just me.

 

 

22^nd Log A.T,

We have two simple bows and a crude crossbow now. This seems to have eased the fears of Dr Grant, though I am not sure he is totally convinced about my loyalty. I am hiding this diary with a lot more care, I am sure my kit has been moved. The thought of someone going through my personal gear is enough to make me start to lose what little control I have on my emotions. The mere sight of that mans smiling face and patronizing tones, makes me want to beat him within an inch of his life, just for the pleasure hearing the sound of his moans of pain. Simon is always there with him, agreeing with everything he says and laughing at his jokes however bad. I can’t cope with them for much longer. Oh how I long for solitude, the thought of opening the airlock and stepping outside into the cool, darkness is so tempting…the fact of being alone out there with only Emily and The Skipper for company makes it almost welcoming.

 

 

23^rd Log A.T.

It is looking possible that I might get my arm in the next week or two, Dr Grant has eased up on his preparations for war. He has spent his time preparing the Sickbay. I have been concerned about this; zero-g surgery is a specialist skill with many hazards. I have only encountered it once and it turned my stomach. Blood is one of those substances that spread everywhere; a little blood can look like a major wound. Without gravity, an operation can make the sickbay look like an abattoir. A limb reattachment is never a minor surgery, in these circumstances it could be classed as suicidal.

Given all the options I would rather not have this procedure, but I can feel myself slipping again, my hatred for everyone is growing and soon I may be as mad as the rest of them. If I am as mad as they are, then we will be well and truly fucked, we need someone to try and bring sanity to this situation and that might require me defending myself.

So in the vain hope that I might be able to end the madness, I must endure a risky operation, in a risky zero-g environment, in a tin can little cleaner than an open sewer and have the operation carried out by a doctor whose lack of sanity is obvious. It must be me who is the craziest of the lot of them.

 

 

24^th Log A.T.

Dr Grant is ready; today I go under the knife. His belief that we need all the able bodies we can get, gives me some confidence in his actions. If anything were to happen to me it would mean that Mandy’s crew outnumbered him. I will be glad to get my arm back; it is a right pain in the arse trying to do things with only one hand. Besides in the zero g environment that we are living in two arms are essential really. It would be a lot easier to get around with no legs than short one arm. How the hell I am going to bring order to this madhouse I don’t know, but at the end of the day I control the electricity. If they want to grow anything or have oxygen everyone will have to talk to me.

Thinking about it seriously though, the one I will have to watch out for is James. He could be a nasty bastard in freefall combat; though I doubt he will have had the years of nasty tricks I have learnt. The others I can handle quite easily…with two arms that is.

Again I am stating for the record, that I love my wife dearly and I could even cope with my mother-in-law for short periods of time, if only I could get back home. This is just in case something does go wrong while I am under the knife. Not that I am expecting to bleed to death on the table, but as has been seen so often on this trip, shit happens and I am scared shitless about it.

 

 

25^th Log A.T.

How to start this entry that is the question…

Perhaps this way…DR GRANT IS A SICK FUCK, WHO IS OUT OF HIS FRIGGING MIND…BASTARD… BASTARD… BASTARD… BASTARD… BASTARD…

That doesn’t exactly explain much, does it?

I will try to make it that little bit clearer, not that I want to but if we ever get back I don’t want that fucker practicing veterinary science, let alone medicine. As for him lifting again, if I don’t space the bastard I cant see him being cleared to lift ever again, but sanity has never been necessary for a doctor. Plenty of mad bastards out there enjoying cutting into people, saying ‘well it’s a job and its for their own good’…sick fucks all of them.

I have no idea how long it has been since my last entry, I think I am talking months, but I have nothing to gauge it by. Simon wont tell me how long it has been…I am rambling again here trying to find something else, anything else to talk about…rather than the important shit.

I went under the anesthetic as I expected and woke up some months later, I think it is months anyway, with two arms and pregnant.

Yes you read it right, the bastard gave me an arm back and spent Christ knows how long cutting me up and replacing parts with bits of Emily’s tissue. Not much of Sly left here, he has tinkered with all my immune system, so though I will be more susceptible to disease I will not reject the tissue.

 

The part of me I would have happily given up two legs and one arm to save has gone, as if it had never been there…I am anatomically correct as a female, in all its horrific detail. Yes I know it is not exactly a new procedure, things like this have been done to men who wanted to be women for years…BUT I NEVER WANTED TO BE ONE…yes fifty percent of the world enjoy life on the other side of the fence, but I have always enjoyed my own backyard.

What am I going to do about it, at this stage I don’t know. Too long inactive has left me only able to move around thanks to the fact that we are in zero g. My coordination is all to pot, my arms and legs aren’t as long as they used to be and even my body…my torso…is different in its proportions. I don’t know exactly how much work the bastard did on me but even Alicia wouldn’t recognize me now, I haven’t had access to a mirror but I doubt I would recognize me.

Our sanitation facilities have never been what could be called pleasant up to this point, I have found though that I had nothing to complain about. Freefall sanitation arrangements for a woman is hell…

 

 

26^th Log A.T.

Only a couple of days since my last entry, I just need to get this on the record…you never know it might save me from a charge of mutiny, manslaughter is a lot less time inside.

The Bastard, our illustrious doctor has let it be known that he intends to keep me pregnant. He feels we need a larger force than the enemy, to ensure our survival. Yes he is talking like that, like some fucking military commander, my duty is to produce the children and to attend to his needs. He didn’t explain what needs they were; just that I was too important to risk anywhere that Mandy’s mob might be able to get at me.

I know what needs he wants me to attend to, I have been able to see that he has done a hell of a lot of unnecessary cosmetic work on me and there is only one possible reason for that…I intend to kill Doctor Grant before that happens…I will try not to enjoy it too much.

 

 

27^th Log A.T.

I am a murderer, or should that be murderess. Cleaning up in the sickbay, one of my new duties, I had the chance to make some alterations. A live line to the handle on a storage hatch, an earth line running from the toe strap used for leverage was the simplest of plans and easily disguised with all the junk strapped to every surface.

It took what must have been two days for him to open the compartment. The lights flickered, there was a shout and pulled myself through to the sickbay carrying the crossbow that I used while I was short an arm. He was floating there his foot still in the toe hold, I don’t know how many amps he took but he was burned quite badly but still alive twitching…the smell…the smell of burning flesh and hair…NO I am not getting into that, I have no guilt for my actions I did what was necessary…nothing more nothing less…

Using a bulkhead for support, to stop me being thrown across the room as the bolt was released, I took aim at his chest and fired. It is strange the trajectory of a bolt in zero g, totally flat, spinning along its axis till it hits the target. Dr Grant gurgled as it hit, his foot coming loose allowed the body to drift across the room bouncing off a wall. I reloaded and fired a second bolt, catching him low in the stomach and a third in the back…each impacting added a new impetus to his motion, twisting him pushing him and bouncing him of the walls. After the forth bolt hit him, Simon came in…

"What the fuck…" he shouted, until I raised the crossbow in his direction. I made him check if the Doctor was dead, he was. I made Simon take the body out of the sickbay…he looked ready to kill me.

I explained slowly and carefully that if he tried anything against me I would kill him and that even if he did kill me he then had the problem of Mandy alone…his anger cooled visibly. As I dogged the hatch shut, I shouted to him that the hatch would be live and if he tried to get in I would kill him.

Now I float in the middle of the room shaking…the smell though…the smell of burning flesh lingers…burning flesh and burning hair…long after his body has gone…

WHAT THE HELL DO I DO NOW?

 

 

28^th Log A.T.

Simon and I have reached an accord, it has taken a few weeks, but at least I can sleep without worrying about him trying to kill me. The man is a coward, no backbone and as such if I am not trying to kill him, his worries are Mandy and her crew. Doctor Grants’ body has been passed to them for recycling. I tried to initiate discussion with them, but it was impossible…they seem to be in a worse state than Dr Grant was. Mandy is running the show and after a moment or two’s shock at my new appearance she decided we had nothing to talk about.

I left her with one last thought as they dragged off Dr Grant…I told her that before I would get captured by her, I would destroy the ship…I mean it…I just have to figure out how to do it.

 

 

29^th Log A.T.

A few things to mention about the past couple of weeks, the idiots in hydroponics have resumed hostilities…nothing serious, just the odd missile and a couple of times I have heard them moving around of a night. It hasn’t been a proper attempt at an attack…but I am not taking any chances.

Secondly, I think I have a solution to the way to destroy the ship…as I promised I would if they attack. It has been a problem figuring out how the hell to do it, most of the systems being out means I couldn’t make the engines explode or anything like that. So I went digging in sickbay…

What the hell is Hydrofluoric acid used for in a sickbay? I have no idea, but I have a pressurized reinforced container of it…I cant see an external bulkhead lasting long against it…I can depressurize the whole ship.

Finally, the part I am reluctant to put down, but it is an occasion I have to make note of…I am now wearing a bra. The smallish breasts I started with have increased in size as my pregnancy has continued. In zero g maneuvering, it is damn near impossible to cope with them swinging about…one goes one way, the other acts in reverse and my whole body ends up playing silly bastards as they swing. Besides at times it hurts…so I now have a bra that sort of fits…as for the rest of the clothes, a flight-suit isn’t exactly sexually dependant and the rest of the underwear…well with the hips that Grant gave me I have been limited to female underwear… knickers…since I woke up. I have decided this is again a personal diary; I can take notes out of it as necessary for whatever official enquiry occurs…if we ever get back, but I need to get some of this shit down, just to try and keep my sanity. If nothing else it proves to me that this shit wasn’t my choice or my fault…

 

 

30^th Log A.T.

I need to figure out a dead mans switch for the hydrofluoric acid, some form of timer arrangement so that if I do not return in a set time…we are all dead. It would be a hell of a lot easier with gravity, but I think I am going to need some clockwork…or even elastic based system with a regulator to keep the speed constant.

I have my ideas and I will crack it before this baby comes…that is what is worrying me, then I will be vulnerable. Then Simon or Mandy’s crew could try something and there is bugger all I could do about it.

I thought about trying to terminate the pregnancy, but I haven’t got a clue how to do it and my sense of self preservation is strong…besides terms like termination sound so clinically clean…what is it at this stage, when I am god only knows how many weeks pregnant but killing it? Not that I am against abortion, in better circumstances I would have aborted early on…in better circumstances I would not be here pregnant…but I am…my feelings are changing. Hormones must be to blame, there is no other reason why I would be feeling this way about something growing inside me…I am scared…very scared, but it is also tinged with anticipation. God I wish I wasn’t in this position…GOD I WISH I WASN’T ON THIS FUCKING SHIP.

God I wish I had more to offer this child than this shithole…

 

 

31^st Log A.T.

I have the solution to the self destruct problem…it has taken me a few weeks of working on it, but now I can release the contents of the tank after a predetermined time, from five minutes to twelve hours. The only problem is that sometimes it jams…I would rather that it jams, than goes off early. I am not going into details, the device is well hidden but if I went into details and the bitch in hydroponics found this she could disarm it.

Next time we exchange food, I intend to tell them about it. Basically if anything happens to me, this ship is fucked and she will never know how long it is set for. I wonder what the reaction will be…

Simon is being rather strange with me, protective to say the least. The problem is I do not dislike it, hormones again I bet…they have a hell of a lot to answer for. Not that I can see what he sees in me, yes Grant did a good job on me, I have seen worse looking women, but I am fat…well pregnant and getting more pregnant every day…and I must stink. We all stink…the showers are out of action with every other system on the ship and this ship as I have said is like an open sewer. It was something I coped with before, now again thanks to those hormones, I presume, I am concerned about how I smell…and how Simon sees me.

I need to analyze these thoughts, to try and make sense of what is going on in my mind…I am I realize in a vulnerable state…but god Simon is the last thing that should interest me, he is the last thing I want interesting me, but he does.

I don’t need this additional shit in my life…it is fucked up enough already…

 

 

32^nd Log A.T.

I think Simon saved my life today…I am grateful but that is all he is getting from me.

Things had been quiet with Mandy’s lot for a few weeks, I became complacent, it was my own fault. The food was a little nearer to their hatch than normal and I thought nothing of it. I drifted across to get it without thinking and suddenly I was hit by Simon, launching himself from our hatchway, as something went whistling past me. He managed the rebound on the far wall like an expert, launching us both back to the safety of our territory…with me in his arms.

He said he had seen the crossbow taking aim and reacted instinctively. I have no doubt he saved my life…that is not my problem, I am grateful for that and I know where his loyalties lie. My problem is those arms around me…they felt…well they didn’t feel unpleasant. The physical contact, the heat of his body, his strength…it is all burnt into my mind. I keep replaying it over and over again and the feelings and sensations it causes are wrong, very wrong…but oh so nice.

I have experimented a bit since I was this way, who wouldn’t? Now though, I am getting some of those interesting sensations without experimentation. Now it is not Alicia I see when I get them, now it is Simon…as I said earlier, I don’t need this shit.

 

 

33^rd Log A.T.

The boredom is the worst thing, there is very little to do here. I have been busy trying to clean things up and get things in order…I wonder if that is hormonally driven too, the nesting instinct…anyway what I am trying to say is that anything that might happen isn’t through choice. We have been stuck here long enough that any physical contact would be welcomed…it hasn’t happened anyway…it was nothing at all really…

It was this pregnancy that caused it; again it must be the hormones…because it isn’t me. The baby moved for the first time…well the first time that I can say it was the baby and not indigestion. In my excitement I called Simon over, he put his hand on my stomach to feel it…and I didn’t object…it didn’t feel bad…it should have and I should have pushed him away.

But I didn’t…the hand stayed on my belly for a few minutes, until the beast within moved again and he felt it.

Then he hugged me tight, he didn’t kiss me or anything, just hugged me tight…the contact with another human was oh so good…

He kept trying to reinitiate the contact, though the zero-g environment gave me an advantage…it is difficult to casually slide alongside someone when you have three dimensions to consider, but it is not impossible, as I have found out repeatedly.

To be honest I am finding fewer objections to the arm that slips around what is left of my waist…as long as it goes no further…

 

 

34^th Log A.T.

It has to be the boredom…Simon is taking up more and more of my thoughts. The concern he has for me is nice…very nice. He is concerned about my diet; saying that I need more fat and protein in my diet now I am pregnant…calcium is limited too. He has come up with the idea of using the spare parts growing in the sickbay as a supplement (the animal cultures don’t grow fast enough without power) …who do I eat? The Skipper and Em’ aren’t going to need any spares, but it seems so wrong…I could eat Simon, and myself but that seems too gross. That leaves the loonies in the hydroponics…not a nice thought but a possibility. I will have to think about it…seriously I will have to think about it, my thoughts are changing as to this creature, which shares my body. No longer is it totally abhorrent to me…now my feelings are…no, I am not going down that road in my thoughts. There are enough problems with my relationship with Simon…I must think of another word rather than relationship, that word has too many connotations.

 

 

35^th Log A.T.

Mandy’s crew tried again yesterday; again as we went to collect food, they tried to kill us. I hadn’t seen Mandy for a long while, she has had the kid…but we have heard nothing.

I think she must have lost it.

We don’t know what radiation there is around here, we are obviously not at lethal levels…or we would be long dead…but it should be considered that long life and healthy children may not be a viable option.

It is a risk of working in space; it is the reason that Alicia and I decided to wait until I got grounded before having kids…get on earth let them clean up all the damage and then have a healthy happy kid with two parents around. I don’t know…Dr Grant would have done all that was necessary to ensure a healthy brat. I am now doing my part eating everything that Simon puts in front of me…without asking questions.

Anyway it is getting rather dangerous to go and get the offerings that Mandy’s crew leave for us and the look of hate I got when she saw how pregnant I was scares me…I think above all else she wants to kill me and this kid…that was what started all the shooting, her reaction when she saw me like this. I think any hope for peace has now gone out the window, at least with Mandy; this is now a kill or be killed situation.

 

36^th Log A.T.

James Pritchard, pilot of this floating cesspit known as the I.S.C. Aphrodite Anadyomene died this morning.

I need to get this straight; I need the record to be clear that we did not want to kill him…we had to kill him.

As we slept he broke into our section, obviously his intent was murder…the knife he had fashioned out of a hunk of metal was not for show. The thing was he went for Simon first, reasoning that he was the greater threat, which was his mistake. The sound that woke me up was as he launched himself at the wall, which Simon was strapped to. Before he reached his target he had a crossbow quarrel buried in his back and was spinning aimlessly (the crossbow is for the protection of my virtue, I may be knocked up but no one is taking advantage of me), an arrow from Simon then took him in the chest and his struggling ceased…eventually…

We dumped the body in the access hatch and left it there to be found, Mandy’s screams echoed through the ship for a long time after it was found…I almost felt sorry for her…

Later on the shouting started…

"I am going to kill you Freak!"

"I am going to kill you Freak Bitch!"

"I am going to kill that brat you carry and its father too!"

I didn’t bother explaining that nothing had happened between Simon and me, the sound of her chanting it over and over again was enough.

I know that it means we have to kill her too and probably Stephen, there is no way around it, it is them or us. I for one intend to survive, I intend this child I carry to survive and I care too much for Simon to allow anything to happen to him. If that bitch comes we will be ready for her, if she wins she will lose as I will depressurize the ship and kill every bastard on board…just as long as I get her too.

I hadn’t been particularly using my dead man system…I built it since then it has only been armed a couple of times.

Now at the slightest provocation it is going to be running.

I just have to make that bitch understand that I will do it…

 

 

37^th Log A.T.

Can’t be much longer before this baby comes…Christ I am built like a whale…and I move rather like one too. Not that Simon seems to mind.

Our relationship has changed, yes I use the word relationship now…I dislike it but it is true…I love Alicia, but things have changed.

The noise of Mandy shouting how she was going to kill me continued long into what we call a night, in other words the time that we sleep and I admit, her continuous chant scared the shit out of me. Simon drifted across to me and put his arms around me…holding me tight…for a long time we floated like that, with me crying. Then as his hands explored my back and my rear he kissed me gently…I didn’t object…things developed from there…

In some respects I feel dirty, unclean, a bastard for betraying Alicia this way…but it felt so right, to be held, to be loved and I admit though just about the strangest sensation I could imagine, it felt good. Later on Simon tried to apologize, I just kissed him and told him to shut up and do it again…I cant see boredom being an issue for a long time.

 

 

38^th Log A.T.

I CAN’T GET MUCH BIGGER…any bigger than I am now and we are looking at an imminent explosion. The kid, my child is more active too. That though might be due to the activities of its mother; Simon has barely left me alone for more than a few minutes. I have to admit that I am as bad, if not worse…its fun and it sure beats eye spy…

On a serious note, Mandy and Stephen have changed their sleep cycle, they are now working in opposition to us and there is a hell of a lot of noise of a night. They are planning something; I don’t know what…but something is going on…the showdown is coming. Stephen isn’t a problem, I could take him on my own even in my present state, Mandy though is a different matter. Mandy is going to be a problem, she is now driven by hate as well as madness, I know if anything happened to Simon before this kid is born I will have no hesitations about ending it…and her. After the kid is born I don’t know, I have lots of strange thoughts and feelings that I am having trouble understanding, though I had similar problems with my feelings towards Simon.

Those problems have now resolved themselves…and I like the resolution…I wonder if he has recovered from earlier yet?

 

 

39^th Log A.T.

I have felt contractions…a strange sensation…then again I have had more than a few strange sensations in the last few weeks. My knowledge of obstetrics is rather sketchy but I seem to remember something called ‘Hicks’ contractions, there was another name before the ‘Hicks’ as well, but it wasn’t something I took a lot of notice of. It was something about them being practice for labor, not the real thing. I think that is what is happening to me.

It scared the shit out of Simon and me the first time it happened.

With the sounds of activity continuing from Mandy and Stephen, I have told Simon about how my final solution works. He had thought I was bullshitting, I showed him how wrong he was. He was silent for a long time before speaking…

"If you are alive or there is the chance that you are alive, I will stop that thing," he admitted, "but if you are dead…then I don’t care if the fucking ship goes."

I held him tight for a long time afterwards…

I know they are up to something; they have disturbed my lighting arrangements, now we have brighter light in here. My suspicion is that they are trying to get past us and launch an attack from the rear or even both directions at once. It doesn’t take much to defend against an arrow, though I am a shit hot shot with the crossbow…if it comes to hand to hand, despite my condition I feel I still have an advantage. In one way I wish that they would come and get it over with, so far I have set the self destruction system three times in two sleep cycles…it is playing on my nerves and my mind.

LET THE BITCH COME…I WILL TAKE HER DOWN.

 

 

40^th Log A.T.

Something is happening, we have had noises…clanging through the whole ship. The bitch is moving against me…she wants everything…she will have nothing…

 

The Bitch is coming…she has EVA suits working…the self-destruct is set and if this is my last entry I died trying to stop her. I love Simon, I love my wife Alicia and I love this child I have yet to give birth to…I pray that it has a better life that this…If we survive…

 

 

Item 2:-Report

 

CONFIDENTIAL

 

Report into incident Friday 13^th September 2075, concluding 16^th October 2075 relating to I.S.C Aphrodite Anadyomene

Report Source:- Captain Magdalene Finson, Officer commanding I.S.C. Charybdis.

Method of Transmission:- High speed encrypted data file.

Any other notes:-Due to the sensitivity of this information, I have decided to encrypt my report in a written form, rather than making a verbal report…this report is to clarify the events seen by the world on 16^th October 2075. I feel that someone more qualified than me needs to look at this new information and decide what, if any, should be released into the public domain. The information in the attached diary is of course the personal property of Sylvester Blakelock as is the diary itself…so if necessary it can be classed as breach of copyright to release such information…M. Finson (Captain, Officer commanding I.S.C. Charybdis)

Report Destination:- Director, Manned Planetary Exploration Centre…Pasadena.

C.C. :- None

Message Body:- Undoubtedly you have read the attached transcripts of the diary found on I.S.C Aphrodite Anadyomene, if not I urge you to read that first. It provides an account of the events that occurred on the ship and despite the deaths I feel that no blame can be attributed to any party on the ship. Even the most stable crew can have problems when put under stress, the situation that they were under was unendurable and it was only their ‘sheer bloody mindedness’ that kept them alive.

From our position, shadowing the I.S.C Aphrodite Anadyomene nothing appeared to be wrong on the run in to the translation point. I sent a message to the ship at 15:00 GMT wishing them good luck and received a message back moments before translation. All messages are logged and can be found in the copy of the ships log also attached to this message. At 15:09 local time (allowing for the fact that we were two light minutes out from them), the Aphrodite appeared to flicker for a moment. From that moment on, no more signals were received from her and no acknowledgment of our signals could be perceived. The Aphrodite from that time appeared to be at ‘dead stick’, even the automatic systems that should have returned her to Earth failed to respond.

As per orders, being the nearest ship and the only ship placed to catch them…we prepared to boost. This was knowing full well, that unless the Aphrodite’s tanks were well filled we were looking at a minimum of two years to get back to earth. I must report that I did not ‘ask my crew to vote’, as Pasadena suggested, nor do I ever intend to ask my crew to vote on anything. I make the decisions for my ship and I bear the responsibility. It comes with the four rings and had I felt that my ship was in danger I would have refused the rescue mission.

My crew coped well with the adverse conditions of such a long boost and we matched with The Aphrodite on 16^th October. In that time their had been no communication. After making hard-dock Doctor Michael Higgins, Warrant Officer Julie Mason and Myself made entry into the ship wearing EVA suits (as per standing orders).

On entry to the Aphrodite, the first thing that was obvious was the number of systems that were down; there was some limited light, which allowed us to see the filth on every surface. As we continued in our explorations, two projectiles, arrows, hit WO Mason as we later found one from a crude crossbow one from a bow. Though non-life threatening according to Dr. Higgins, I called for assistance while trying to reason with our attackers. As an obviously pregnant female came into view, Dr Higgins grabbed her…only to be attacked by a male…I use the terms male and female for these creatures only had a passing resemblance to human beings. They were covered in filth, hair matted, the male unshaven and both of them fought like demons. Petty Officer Wilkes arrived as the scuffle continued and managed to disable the male by use of a Tazar.

Doctor Higgins continued to try to calm down the female, as both he and I were unwilling to hit a woman that pregnant with an electrical charge strong enough to disable her. She did not calm down, if anything she began to fight harder.

At this point, the Aphrodite suffered an explosive decompression. As I tried to drag Warrant Officer Mason to the airlock, Doctor Higgins dragged the female and Petty Officer Wilkes the male. On repressurization it was found that all three were dead…Dr Higgins then performed an emergency Cesarean Section on the pregnant female, the time between depressurization and commencement of surgery only being a matter of three or four minutes, he felt there was a slim chance. I am happy to say despite this tragedy the child, a girl, survived and though poorly, she is expected to survive.

On re-entry to the ship this diary was found and we were able to determine that the male and female who attacked us were Simon Spencer the co-pilot and drive specialist for the mission and Sylvester Blakelock, Computer and Electronic specialist. Upon reading this diary, I feel that no blame can be attached to either of them for the loss of Warrant Officer Mason; this was a misunderstanding in exceptional circumstances that ended in tragedy.

Upon further exploration of the ship two more bodies were found in hydroponics, surrounded by many improvised weapons and two bodies were found attached to the outer hull. Two bodies do remain unaccounted for but by my understanding these have been destroyed.

So it is with great regret that I must report the loss of all of the original hands of the I.S.C. Aphrodite Anadyomene and the loss of Warrant Officer Julie Mason. I wish it to be recorded that in my view, they all died in the execution of their duty and all died bravely…I hope that despite the circumstances of their final demise they are remembered as the brave pioneers that they were. As it says in another place, for another crew, from an earlier time… but with the same spirit and determination,

AD ASTRA PER ASPERA

A ROUGH ROAD LEADS TO THE STARS.

 

M. Finson, Commanding Officer I.S.C. Charybdis

 

Item 3:-Supplementary Report

 

Supplementary Report

As of 09:00 GMT 20/10/2075 I have a report from Dr Higgins that the child is doing well and is expected to survive. We, well I after discussions with the crew have called her Dawn ‘One who lightens the darkness’, she lifts the darkness in our hearts left by this incident…but as in her mothers last request, this miracle child will have better. We have started shaping for Earth and will be there in time for her first birthday.

Our tanks are filled and seeing that the systems on the Aphrodite are impossible to repair in an acceptable time, we are letting her go. The bodies of all remaining members of the crew are on board (autopsies completed) and Captain Lannerman is back on his bridge…they will reach the stars…they are just going the long way…but he will get them there.

Captain M. Finson

 

END OF TRANSMISSION

 

 

 

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