From the Desk of Director Sarah Martinez, Entry 10
October 21, 2101
Okay. Fine, Friez. You win.
This has been making me feel a little better. And goddamn, do I need to feel better right now.
The “Sovereign State of Erias” blamed me for everything.
Everything.
Can you fucking believe that? Water supplies, O2 delivery; sure I can take responsibility for that. That’s under my purview and my team miscalculated the sheer amount of H2O waste non-astronauts cause when doing spacewalks, eating, or pissing. Theoretically, every molecule should be accounted for because it’s a closed system.
Theoretically doesn’t take into consideration that “normal” folks will use an airlock to flash freeze leftovers.
Yes. You read that right. The commissary chefs have been taking leftover meals, dumping them in a secured uninsulated box inside the airlock, and opening the fucking door.
It’d be ingenious if HUMANS DIDN’T NEED WATER TO SURVIVE.
I mean, when Jabari told me about it this morning, I’d initially been impressed, but then Connie cocked her head, stared right at him, and asked: “Is this why your water rations are misaligned?”
The answer is yes. There’s some lost water vapor every time we open the airlock; it’s just the way of things. However, that’s negligible and we account for that.
What we didn’t account for was the still hot food getting flash frozen and losing that moisture in the process. Food which we went out of our way to provide, by the way. We could’ve just sent them all up here with those old fucking astronaut packs, but no. We have rice, vegetables, fruits; hell, every second Friday, we have chicken shipped in.
It’s days like this that I really miss ALIZA. Processor progress has been cripplingly slow since her. I don’t know what it is about ELISE, but she doesn’t have… interest in molecular food preparation.
Everything tastes like shit. Not cardboard; actual human waste.
Just because that’s where a large portion of the nutrients and molecular structure come from doesn’t mean it should taste like it, you know?
Oh, but Erias. That brings me to Jabari. That big mountain of a fucker has a silver tongue, I’ll give him that, even if he doesn’t have any idea how interstellar resource management works.
And he knows Erias. I remember reviewing his application for the greenhouse director position about six years back. Had some great recommendations from the Tycho Crater Biome for his work on gene-editing earth flora for the Moon’s soil and 24-hour sunlight exposure.
There wasn’t anything in there about leading a coup. I fucking remember that, too.
I guess it could be worse. That fucknugget Lawrence could be in charge. He hates me like I kicked his favorite puppy. Blames me for a depressurization event last month even though I have no control over idiots doing unauthorized space walks HALF A GALAXY AWAY.
Ugh. I just miss my bed. I hate doing overnights out here. The gravity on the central station is technically a standard gee, but it really doesn’t feel like it. Small-scale rotational gravity just tugs at my guts weird; makes me nauseous and gives me a headache.
But I’m here until we get the situation under control. Luckily, between Connie and I, we should be able to address most of their survival concerns. (even if they’ll still blame me for everything afterwards).
Unfortunately, that “citizen of the Earth” thing isn’t our scope and based on the shouting I heard a few minutes ago, it’s not going well.
Once the UN folks storm out, I’ll go over and remind them it’s an absolute necessity to bring these people back into the fold, regardless of the cost.
I’m sure that’ll go over well. Wish me luck.
Until next time,
Sayre
