It’s lonely work, Computer. I realise that these entries can be quite repetitive, but it helps to go over things. It helps to keep my reason for being here fresh in my mind. Some days it takes every fibre, every scrap of my being to keep myself from walking down to the engine decks and turning off the cooling vents. The overheating of these humongous engines would most certainly be catastrophic.
Luckily, that long walk would be a requirement. I’ve been here long enough to know that overriding them here from the bridge would be futile. Without the proper clearance, the computer would simply re-engage the vents before any real damage was done. To really put this vessel in danger I would have to manually shut the vents down. And once again, I’ve been here long enough to know how to do that. It’s incredible what you can learn with just time and the right reference materials.
I have set out to the engine decks several times but have never quite made it there. And it is what I am about to input here that stops me every time. It is reliving the day of the launch that ten times out of ten, stops me from entering the engine decks and beginning a sequence that would destroy this vessel and everything on it.
I don’t know how long ago it was. I fear that if I knew that, even this story would bring little comfort. I was standing here on this bridge, no more than 10 feet from where I am sitting now. The captain had requested my presence, which had never happened before. He didn’t usually concern himself with the janitorial staff but on that fateful day, every member of the crew —from top to bottom— had to pull together.
He commended me for my work and my service. Never had the lavatories on Blue Deck been so clean. Despite the frequency of cleaning required, they were consistently spotless. The Zero-G testing facility, renowned for its vomit and faecal stains, had seen a new lease on life. He pinned a medal to my chest. The highest honour a lowly custodian could achieve, he told me. But that wasn’t all. He confessed to me that my dedication and unparalleled ability had led him to doubt his own. In such a great time of need, he believed that I was the only man who could succeed in a task that we, as a civilisation, were designed to fail.
Along with the medal (that I still wear to this day) he issued me with Captain pips, freshly plucked from his very own uniform. With a sturdy salute, he turned on his heels along with the rest of the command team and hurried to the Officer’s Cryo-Deck to fill the final places. And I was left alone, at the helm of my very own star ship. I was solely in charge of the vessel and seventeen cargo bays stuffed to bursting with human ice cubes.
I felt it important to relive this today as my now daily sessions with the ship’s automated psychologist recommends maintaining a healthy context of events. If I allow the reason for my current situation to be forgotten, I may lose all hope of finally reaching our destination. I look forward to that day so much! The CryoTubes opening with a soothing hiss, the captain stepping forth with a grin and another medal. They will name a day after me! They’ll throw a giant parade in my honour with huge floats designed in my image! My choice of women to assist in the strengthening of our new civilisation! Yes, it will be a joyous, exhilarating day, indeed!
I’m feeling better now, Computer.
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