The nine (or debatably ten) planets of Earth's solar system had barely begun adapting to interacting with one another when the strange transmission arrived. Allegedly from the administrators of an alien empire so distant it was as unfathomable as im...
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Captain's log—Day 157 of the voyage.
I'm honestly not sure why I'm even notating the passage of time in days at this point. But to be fair, saying we've been in the cold darkness of space for something a little over five months doesn't convey the right amount of tediousness. In fact, counterintuitively, it's the larger measurements of time that are the most meaningless out here—months, years, decades—they're the ones that seem to matter less than the grueling seconds, minutes, hours, days.
Our ship doctor theorizes that Solarians' entire sense of time is based around the sun we all orbit, and that's how he explains the fact that if we didn't have clocks on the walls presumably keeping steady and telling the time accurately, the whole concept would be soon forgotten. Or so my First Officer tells me. I don't really care to keep up on the scientific theorizing of the crew. All I want is facts.
Speaking of facts, we're about to get some tomorrow. At long last, we've entered orbit of the first planet in our new possession, Uyorianto, according to the scanty files those alien overlords sent. If their bulleted list about the planet is accurate, then the place is covered in plant life in every form imaginable and more, with primitive natives scampering about under their branches. That, and its atmosphere just so happens to be oxygen-based. Lucky us.
Anyway, just before I left the bridge tonight, I gave the order to send out some probes to gather preliminary data, the results of which will come in at midnight, and the heads of our science departments will analyze it. My First Officer will compile their reports into a nice little grocery list for me to look over in the morning, and then we'll send a research team if I see fit. (Of course, it'd take a lot of explanation out of me to not see fit, but I digress.)
And that's about it. This voyage so far has been ... incredibly wearing, I guess, and even if it's only been actualized once, a spirit of mutiny has lingered among the crew. So having something, anything happening at all is a breath of proverbial fresh air. We'll see what mischief tomorrow brings to the table.
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For the 150th time, Captain Alex went about his regular morning routine of jolting awake to his cursed alarm, wincing and clutching his sore back as he rose to his feet, dressing, cleaning up and grooming himself in the bathroom, and microwaving some breakfast. The only difference was that today, he readied himself quicker than usual and picked a more exuberant instance of his uniform, this one a long-sleeved white tunic with a stiff collar.
Once his pair of tamales had finished cooking in the microwave, Alex dumped them onto a plate that wasn't scorching hot, and then he headed to the ship's bridge with the steaming breakfast balanced in one hand. The elevator ride was uneventful and solitary, but the sliding aside of the double doors instantly thrusted the 26-year-old captain into his day of decision-making.
