Ninety-First Entry

March 16^th, 2037

1727

Dear Space Diary.

Mary’s gone. She just stepped off the edge of the pit. So presumably she’s down there, rather than simply vanished. But, she, um, is not exactly able to report on her findings.

Or maybe she is! She could be ok! Or even slightly mangled, which in the broad definition of alive vs dead, still counts as ok, if you remove enough decimal places.

Come on, get up! Stand up! You have to go check on her.

1728

Hmm. The edge looks stable enough to stand on. These lightdogs are good cutters. Just a perfectly smooth 90 degree angle. From horizontal to vertical, with no stops along the way.

…Right. That’s very deep. I wouldn’t go so far to call it bottomless (arguably you’d eventually come out the other side), but the light runs out before it does. I can’t actually see the bottom. The dust being kicked up the lightdogs – who are presumably all down there working – doesn’t exactly help either.

I think it’s safe to say that if I can’t see her, she can’t see me. Or indeed, anything.

She’s definitely gone. Barring the miraculous, she’s… dead.

…Mary.

I know we didn’t get on very well. At all. You did try and leave without me. Followed shortly afterwards by me trying and leaving with you. We both kind of failed in that department.

But still. You were the only other human around for light years and that meant you were the closest thing to a friend I was going to get.

You weren’t an enemy, anyway.

I’m… sorry you’re gone.

1729

There’s nothing I can do for her. I can’t even climb down to retrieve her body. The wall is as smooth as ice.

The smooth kind, not that rocky stuff.

I’d certainly never be able to carry her back up again. This pit, effectively, is a very, very large grave.

I guess I should head back to the ship. I don’t know how I’m going to move it, but I guess I’ll have to think of something.  Maybe NASA will have some ideas. Either way, I should be getting back before I’m exposed to too much lead.

…Which is in about 30 seconds.

Hmm.

Crap.

1732

Running like anything. But I’m not even close. I know it’s not an exact 30 minutes, but it’s close and I’m out of time.

I’ll never get back. The ship is at least 10 minutes run away at full breath, and I’m still worn out from the last run I did.

This appears to be it.

1735

Can’t… keep… running. Exhausted. Tired. Just need to… stop.

THUMP.

Now I’m lying down it seems. That’s ok. Might as well die comfortably. By the time I got back to the ship I’d still be doomed. May as well take it lying down.

1736

What a way to go. All alone. Dying and alone. Just me and that person in the spacesuit over there.

1737

Wait a minute.