Dear diary,
You might be my only friend for the next couple of years, so please keep me sane.
I don’t know the date. I don’t know the coordinates. I should be on my way to the Orion’s Betelgeuse. Something went wrong. The emergency aux guard system woke me up to show me complete deadness coming from the rest of the ship. Even though airflow is working, agrav is working and heating is ok. I have rations for two years. After booting into the ship’s computer from my wrist term, I found no trace of software running the ship. I found no backup. I made no backup on the wrist term because it was too large. I found a hard copy of the system on the ships backup titanium bars. Never thought the molecular data preservation would be so useful. Always considered it a waste of space. And then the mol.reader told me that the inscriptions in the plates were messed up. Not even bits of it could be read. Gotta be the supernova radiation. Oh and did I mention that I didn’t even think of a way to wake up the crew? Not even the captain. The chambers’ interfaces refuse any input. Their thick diamond glass shells refuse any input from my crowbar also. The only way, to resurrect the ship, is to rewrite the code. Rewrite the code. Rewrite. The whole operating system. Oh I just love those archaic names. The whole FUCKING OPERATING SYSTEM I HAVE BEEN WRITING FOR THE PAST TWO YEARS! ALL FUCKING GONE! ALL MY WORK! STUPID FUCKING SUPERNOVA! FUCK YOU NEW WORLDS IN CREATION! FUCK YOU!
Okay. I got that out. Now, I have enough time and rations, to do it before the emergency power dims out. I did it alone in two years on Earth. Shitty fucking job, but paid well. I was going to do the same for the Transcender on Betelgeuse. Only it would have taken me four years. And that would have been it. I could have retired. Now, I have to write the same shit all over again.
What am I going to do?
I could write the code differently. Yes. I could own the ship. My personal control routines, that only I could understand and use.
I could encode complete control and then wake up the crew. I guess they wouldn’t like it. So I could just drop them off and cruse away. But, my own ship! My own fucking interstellar!
I could go everywhere.
I could see everything..
But fuck it. Everybody would hate me. And even I couldn’t live with myself. Fuck that.
I’ll fucking rewrite the code. I know a billion corner cuts. I’ll make tons of improvements. I’ll do it under a year. I’ll fucking enlighten the ship’s systems. Then I’ll rock the fuck out of the Transcender in just three or maybe two years. They will love me. They will adore me.
Better erase this entry.
Now where the fuck is my ancient rock music library. Ah, vinyl chloride, I love you. Sex and drugs and rock ‘n’ roll. Without the sex for now. And I’m all out of drugs. Only medications. ..this thing still recording? I’m gonna be a crackpot in a month, I’m already talking to myself. Off.
Dedicated to Dennis Ritchie
