Seventy-Eighth Entry

March 15^th, 2037

1555

Dear Space Diary.

NASA I have to compliment you. I don’t want to, but I have to.

You build ships to take a beating. My spaceship, so far, has been sent across the galaxy, crashed into many, many things (I’ve kind of lost count) and eventually been set on fire.

And there’s not a mark on it.

If only we designed people that well…

Actually, apart from the whole not moving thing, Mary looks in pretty good shape. So I’m not entirely sure why she isn’t moving. I can see any obvious marks or burns; the spaceship shielded her from the worst of it.

Hmm. She’s not breathing either.

…crap.

What do I do? I don’t know CPR; I’d probably end up breaking her ribs or inflating her like a balloon or something. And NASA’ll take half an hour to respond, which could be half an hour too long.

If I’m going to do something, I need to do it now.

Damn it NASA, why did you just throw me in a spaceship and press “Blast Off?” Couldn’t you have at least taught me some survival skills? You knew I was going to end up here. That this was a rescue mission.

And now I’m here and I want to rescue her, and I don’t know how!

No, you had to leave it all up to your computers, your nutritional paste, and your emergency survival systems.

…That’s it! When I stopped eating after NASA “accidentally” sent me out of the solar system, an automatic feeding mode activated. That’s tied into a whole range of survival mechanisms that monitor the occupant and correct anything that slips out of balance.

All I have to do is put her in the ship, wait for the systems to kick in, and bingo! Alive Mary.

I hope.

1557

Either Mary’s gained weight, or the adrenaline rush has worn off. Either way, she’s really heavy. I wish I wasn’t so exhausted from all the running. Come on, pull your weight Mary.

1558

Phew. Got her in. Now just need to shut the door…

1600

Well? Come on ship. Save her life.

1601

Anytime now. Whenever you’re ready.

1602

Anytime.

1603

Blast, this isn’t working! Why not?

…oh.

Just worked it out. It monitors you, and starts correcting things after extended periods of inactivity. Generally around 48 hours. Or at least that’s how long it took from me not eating for it to start spoon feeding me.

She’s going to be dead by then! She’s going to be dead in minutes, if she isn’t already!

Come on, I promise it’s been 48 hours. Scout’s honour. Just save her life!

Ok, ok, think. There’s got to be something I can do. Some way to exploit the system. Some tiny, inexplicable flaw in the system that NASA may have overlooked. So how do I make a 48 hour emergency monitoring system think that’s it’s been 48 hours?

…I guess I could wind the clock forward.