Ninety-Fourth Entry

March 16^th, 2037

2210

Dear Space Diary.

The Zubrin is floating in the air right above me.

I don’t mean floating in the magical pink unicorn sense. I mean the loud, smoking, burning smell of rocket fuel sense.

I guess I wasn’t dreaming. But Mary is almost certainly dead. I saw her drop into the pit!

…I saw her drop into the pit. Hmm. I guess I didn’t actually see her die. And I never saw the body. Could she have survived?

As far as I can see, either a) Mary Survived, b) Mary is a God, c) Mary is a Zombie, or d) Something less stupid.

If so, my actions must be either a) ask her how off Earth she survived, b) Convert, c) Scream, or d) Something less stupid.

Either way, I guess all I can do is see what happens next.

THUNK

What happens next is The Zubrin is shooting at me. I’m dead.

2215

I may not be as dead as I previously had indicated. No shot followed the first one. To be honest I’m not even sure what I was shot with. Tough to see from inside the ship. And I’m not entirely keen to go out when people appear to be shooting. Plus I’m not sure what’s up with that whole ‘dying of lead poisoning’ thing. If indeed that still is a thing. It may be not a thing.

Hmm. If I crane my head ever so slightly, I can just make out… something. Some kind of cord connecting the Zubrin to my ship. Like a mother with a baby, if the mother was a rocket ship and the baby was also a rocket ship.

The Zubrin hasn’t moved.

2220

Surely it’s going to run out of fuel at some point. How does it even have fuel? The whole reason it ended up 20 years later out here is that it had none.

And yet, above me it is.

2234

Well? Do something! I’m getting bored.

Bah. I wonder if there’s still solitaire on this thing.

2235

Typical. Moment I assume it’s not going anywhere, it goes somewhere.

And me with it. That’s a magnet, or an electronic latch, or a harpoon or something. The Zubrin is towing me along.

2239

Had a hunch, and seems I was right. It’s taking me back to the city.

Should be a short ride given how fast we’re – oh we’re here.

2246

Landing took a bit of fancy driving, given the Zubrin was trying to a) land me safely and b) not land on top of me, but must say it was handled pretty well. I am impressed.

Ok, we’re inside, we’re safe, now who the hell are you?

2249

Come on! Come out! I can bang on this door all day! Well actually, I’m pretty tired, so could you come out soon please?

Door’s opening. The spacesuit is looking at me. The visor’s opaque, so I can’t see who it is.

They’re raising their visor…

Oh.

Ninety-Third Entry

March 16^th, 2037

1815

Dear Space Diary.

Can’t… think… properly. Words… go… wrong… ish.

“Stop talking. Go back to sleep.”

1827

Ow.

“Sorry. You’re heavier than I expected.”

Don’t mention it.

“Shh. We’re almost back. Try and keep the oxygen mask on.”

…The what?

“Never mind. I’ll try and keep it on you.”

Oxygen… Good.

“Yes. Oxygen very good. Deep breaths.”

Ok. Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.

“I’m going to give you another shot.”

Is the lead… still there?

“Yes. Also, your talking is less than useful.”

Ow.

“Ow indeed. Don’t worry. I’ve almost carried you back. You can sit down soon. Back in your ship. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Being back in your ship?”

Mary… was going to help me. But she’s not going to help me. Is she?

“…Mary is going to help you.”

I don’t understand.

“Shh. Nearly there.”

I’m going to pass out now.

“You do that.”

1903

“You’re in your ship now. I’m going to strap you in and get you set up.”

Thank you Mary.

“…You’re welcome. Ok, left arm up. And through the strap. Good boy. Now right arm. No, that’s your left arm again. Right arm. On your right. Hence the name.”

This one?

“No.”

Oh. This one?

“No, that’s still the same one.”

Oh. Really?

“I assure you, it is. There we go. Ok. Just clipping you in. Now, I’m just going to adjust your tubes.”

Glaaarhghghghabblle.

“Ok, that’s the food one in.”

ARGH!

“And there’s the other end. Now, just sit here. It’s going to take a while for the side effects to wear out. But when you wake up, your system will be clean. Back to normal. But don’t go outside again, ok? I’ve only got three shots left, and I’d prefer they went on emergencies rather than stupidity.”

Oooooookay.

“Right. Now wait here. I’ll be back to get you. I’m just going to empty the fuel tanks. They’re pretty empty, but hopefully I can get something.”

Fueeeel. Won’t I need that?

“It’s just to get back to the city. Don’t worry, I know where there’s more.”

Ooooooooookay.

“You keep telling yourself that.”

Ooooooooookay.

“On second thoughts, don’t. Just… go back to sleep. I’ll be back to pick you up.”

Goodbye Mary.

“…Bye.”

2200

Ow, my head hurts. Feels like I’ve been drinking for weeks. Man.

…How did I get back in my spaceship? Last thing I remember was…

Oh Mary.

Had the weirdest dream that someone carried me here. But it must have been a dream. There’s nobody else left. I must have gotten back here myself and passed out.

Odd. There’s a note taped to the dashboard. ‘DO TOXICOLOGY TEST.’

I guess it would be good to know how bad the poisoning is.

2203

It’s… clear! No lead at all. I don’t understand. How?

Maybe it wasn’t a dream. But if I wasn’t dreaming, who was in the spacesuit? And where are they now?

…And what’s that noise?

2205

There’s something flying above me. Something big.

2207

…It’s the Zubrin!

Ninety-Second Entry

March 16^th, 2037

1738

Dear Space Diary

The Lead poisoning must be making me hallucinate. I’d swear I saw someone in a spacesuit standing over there.

But the only person who it could be possibly be is Mary, and she’s currently a) dead, and b) dead.

So obviously it’s a hallucination.

True, I don’t really feel any ill effects of lead poisoning yet, apart from a deep and gut wrenching depression. Also a tendency to exaggerate, although they possibly both started long before the lead poisoning. In fact, unless I specifically get up and go eat something, I’ll probably starve to death before the lead finishes me off.

But either way, unless I can do a ten minute run in about a minute, I’m doomed. Doomed as a dodo. A dodo that’s doomed.

Doomed.

Oh look, the hallucination is walking closer. I suppose it can keep me company while I lie here in doomed misery. Hello Hallucination.

“Hello.”

You’re looking very hallucinogenic today.

“…Are you ok?”

Oh yes. Just making conversation before I die. I’m doomed, you see.

“How long have you been out here?”

About half an hour.

“No, I mean, how long have you been out here. On this planet.”

Oh. Weeks. But surely you know that. You’re a figment of my imagination, after all.

“…Sure. Listen, you’re going to need some clear air. I’ve got an oxygen mask trapped to my air filter here. Take it.”

No point. I’m doomed, you see.

“Yes, you mentioned that. I can help. NASA left some medicine in the Zubrin. It should help.”

I never saw any medicine.

“That would probably be because I took it with me. I didn’t expect to be coming back to the ship.”

Coming back?

“Ok, you know what? Time is running out for you, so if it’s ok, I’m going to ask you to shut up now while I save your life.”

Seems a fair trade.

“Ok, just lie still and breathe deep. Here’s the mask.”

Sure.

…She’s dead, you know.

“Stop talking.”

I wanted to save her.

“I know. I’ve been watching. Listen, you’re going to feel a sharp, stabbing pain in your arm in just a moment.”

Why’s that?

“Because I’m about to stab you with something sharp.”

Oh. A needle?

“Bingo. It’ll help clear your system out. I’ll carry you back to your ship.”

Why will you need to carry me?

“Well, you’re about to pass out.”

From exhaustion?

“No, from what I just injected into your arm.”

I thought you said it was medicine?

“It is. The unconsciousness is just a happy side effect.”

So I can rest?

“More so that you’ll shut up for a bit. But hey, everyone wins.”

Oh. I’m starting to feel woozy now.

“Bang on schedule. Listen. Don’t worry. I’ve been keeping an eye on you. You’re doing fine. There’s nothing you could have done to save her.”

I guess.

“Anyway. Plenty more where she came from.”

…What did you just –?

THUMP

“Thank goodness for that.”

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.

Ninetieth Entry

March 16^th, 2037

1715

Dear Space Diary.

Keep calm.

Keep really calm.

Ok, so Mary’s sitting in the spaceship. That’s ok. That’s fine. She’s looking at the computer. That’s fine. That’s ok. The computer you left open confidential mission documents that you were expressly asked not to let her see.

That’s less fine.

The documents are all about her.

That’s not ok.

Keep calm. She may not have read it. She may be looking at something else. Maybe NASA sent a new message. Something harmless. Like, the rescue ship is here! And we brought doughnuts.

Or she could be reading the confidential mission documents all about here that I left open, on the screen, in plain sight. Because I’m real smart that way.

I should go explain. Or pretend I don’t know what they’re talking about. Whichever of those is the less cowardly.

She’s seen me. She’s not smiling. Is that good? Or bad? She doesn’t look angry, either. She just… looks.

I’m getting pretty close now. Should I wave? No, that would look stupid. Or a friendly thumbs up? No, even more stupid.

I wonder what she’ll say.

Oh. As it turns out, nothing. Instead, she’s running away.

With the spacesuit.

I should go after her. But I’ve only got 15 minutes of safe time before the lead in the atmosphere starts getting dangerous. I should just sit the spacesuit. But she could be miles away before I can safely get back out again.

…damn it. I better go after her.

1717

She’s a pretty fast runner, but the spacesuit is pretty ungainly, and I’m a decent sprinter in my much less baggy uniform. I’m catching up, but she’s still fairly far away.

1719

Getting closer. Starting to get puffed though. I really should have exercised more back on Earth. Like, more than once.

She’s heading up the hill. This is my chance to catch her.

Agh. The light is blinding. We’re running almost directly into the sun, and it’s still pretty bright. In fact we’re heading just a little south of west.

Hmm, that’s back towards the light dogs. Is that deliberate?

Should probably save my breath for this whole running thing.

1724

Ok, top of the hill. I must be close behind her…

The lightdogs have been busy it seems. That’s quite the chasm. Is it a chasm if it’s man, er, robot made? Either way, it’s an extremely large, very deep hole.

And Mary’s running right towards it.

Mary! Stop! Come back!

I’ve got to keep – ahh!

Ow.

Erk.

Ouch.

Ooh.

Urk.

THUMP

1726

…Falling down hills hurt, who knew?

Can see Mary from where I’m lying. She’s right on the edge of the pit now. Please stop, Mary. Please.

Oh good. She’s stopped. She’s turning back. That’s good. Now start walking.

1727

Ok, take your helmet off first. That’s fine.

Sure, wave at me, fine. Nice to see you too. Now, slowly start to walk…

No, forwards! Not… back…

She… stepped off.

She’s… she’s gone.

Eighty-Ninth Entry

March 16^th, 2037

1625

Dear Space Diary.

The mission parameter files have been unlocked. I can read them. Like, any time I want to. Any time at all. Now even. I could read them right now.

...I'm scared.

Not actually sure why, but I am nervous. There's clearly something cryptic that NASA has been hiding from me, artfully and masterfully hidden behind a veil of incompetence.

No, I'm pretty sure that was genuine.

1645

Well, it's a blessedly small 54 pages, instead of the 400 page document it was hidden within, but it's still a pretty dense read.

What I can make out so far is that the group that funded this mission (NASA still haven't said who) wanted to test out their new manufacturing systems. However certain laws at the time prevented them from carrying out tests on Earth. So they funded NASA to secretly launch their devices at Mars, under the pretext of the first human mission to another planet gone wrong.

Well, full points for determination I guess. Or stubbornness And being really, really rich. I guess they decided Mary was really, really rich.

I wonder what prevented them from building a city on Earth though? It's hardly illegal. In fact with the population levels as they are it's probably encouraged. We could all use a little extra leg room.

Also food.

In fact, why hasn't this nutritional paste been rolled out worldwide? Sure it's disgusting, but I know for a fact it's cheap to make. I've got enough on board hear to last me 50 years (I'm desperately hoping that was just generous overstocking on NASA's part). Plenty of people back home who are living like sardines. But without any actual sardines.

Probably a secret recipe or something. Bloody copyright.

1655

Strangely, for a secret plan to build a city on another planet, there doesn't seem to be much mention of, well, a city.

Hang on, I'll do a search.

Ctrl-F.

Oh good, that still works.

Enter Search word... c... i... t... y.

Searching, searching, searching, searching.

One match found.

ONE?! Really?

Footnote on page 37.

A city will be created by additional construction units to house manufacturing.

That's it. That's all it says. A city will be created... to house manufacturing. I thought the city WAS the manufacturing.

What's the footnote connected to...

1657

...Oh.

Oh my God.

I have to find Mary.

1700

Been a while since I've been outside without the suit. The air's worse than I remember.

She went that way, I think.

1702

...or was it that way? No, I'm sure it was this way.

1706

There she is! Just disappeared over the next hill. Mary!

1708

I don't understand it. She's gone. Where? She was here a moment ago

...Only 20 minutes until I need to be back inside. I should head back.

She'll come back. I'll talk to her then.

1711

Oh good! What a relief. She's back at the ship already, sitting inside reading the console.

...oh bugger.

Eighty-Eighth Entry

March 16^th, 2037

1615

Dear Space Diary.

Just as we were about to start up the hill, Mary decided she wanted a break after all. She wanted to stretch her legs for a bit, (well, as much as you can stretch them in a spacesuit, which is admittedly more than you can stretch them in a spaceship) so she took the suit and vanished over a hill to the… East? The direction the sun rises in. I’m calling that East.

Hmm. Which means the city is a little off North, and the curious incident of the lightdog digging in the sand is off to the south west.

Excellent! Well now that I know my bearings, I can… keep doing what I was already doing.

1620

Sigh. Bored.  Mary has the suit, so I’m stuck in the ship until she gets back.

Plus, we forgot to roll the ship back before she took off, so it’s not the right way up. I’m lying on my back, head tilted downwards, with the computer monitor hanging above my head. Have to clench my back muscles just to stop me sliding off the chair. Reminds me of when I was stuck down that hole.

Because that’s just a fond memory.

Actually, I really should take advantage of Mary’s absence to read a little of this mission log. 400 pages long so I won’t really make much of a dent, but I should at least be able to finish the table of contents to the table of contents before she returns.

1618

Ok, firing it up.

Oh, interesting, it’s an audio guide. I can’t decide if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, given the length.

BING

Welcome to the NASA 2017 Mission Parameter handbook. NASA, and its research departments are proud of the work we do. Like Ted here. He just loves working for NASA. Wave hi, Ted.

Given this is an audio recording, I can only assume that Ted is waving. Good for you, Ted.

That’s great Ted. Go to my office. Now, NASA considers itself at the forefront of modern, scientific, and cutting edge Mission Parameter Handbook design. I think we’ve taken Mission Parameter Handbooks well into the 22^nd, or even 23^rd, century. I’m sure you’ll agree.

-RECORDING PAUSED-

Thought I saw a spacesuit over there. Mary back already?

…No, it’s gone. Maybe she was checking on me, making sure I hadn’t manifested superhuman strength and lead immunity and had rolled the ship off without her.

 Isn’t that sweet.

-RECORDING RESUMED-

Chapter 1: Understanding this handbook. This forms pages 1-297 of this 400 page handbook. It will take approximately 72.354 hours. Please have a pencil and paper handy, as a test will follow immediately after.

-RECORDING PAUSED-

I don’t have three days to listen to an instruction manual for an instruction manual! All I want is to find parameter 234:10. Trouble is, I don’t know where bloody NASA have hidden it.

CODE 234:10 VERIFIED. UNLOCKING CLASSIFIED PARAMETERS

…Well that was easy.

Eighty-Seventh Entry

March 16^th, 2037

1133

Dear Space Diary

That was actually rather fun.

Ok, back to being an adult. Let’s get rolling.

Did you hear that, Mary? I said: Let’s get –

“I heard you.”

See, it’s funny, because we’re rolling the ship, and I said –

“I do get it, I assure you. Can we hurry up?”

Some people have no sense of humour.

“And they’re currently in a space suit.”

…Touché.

1144

Can’t see the valley of the lightdogs anymore, the hill blocks the view. Guess we just have to leave them to their mysterious machinations, n’ stuff.

1230

Stopping for lunch, which given our food systems are all built in to both suit and ship, means we just stand still for a bit and suck on the appropriate tube.

1235

Back to it.

1400

Extremely dull couple of hours. No hills, no chance of getting lost, just roll towards the ever growing dome and the city inside.

Mary hasn’t said a word in hours. I’m actually starting to worry a little. Something is clearly bothering her. Her reluctance to return to the city, her rage at the lightdogs, her sudden insistence on returning to the city. It all adds up to something. Problem is I don’t know what the answer is, what the question is, or why it’s being asked.

Mary crash landed alone on a planet, with about a hundred construction robots, who proceeded to build a city, then wandered off and started digging a hole. Possibly another city now I think about it, but nobody’s using the first one (except Mary, several hundred times), so I can’t see the point to that.

Also, Mary is about 20 years younger than she should be. I’m filing that under the “I’ve got nothing” box of my investigation.

I can’t help but feel the answers for all of this are in the 400(!) page mission document I’ve been sent. Unfortunately at the same time I was sent a warning that under no circumstances was Mary able to see the mission document. Meaning I can hardly say “Mary, can I borrow the spaceship, I want to read a mission document you’re not allowed to know about.”

So the sooner we get back to the city, the sooner I can hopefully find out what’s going on.

Oh well, no sense worrying about it now, we’ve just got to roll on.

…I say, Mary, I just came up with another one. We’ve just got to –

“I don’t care.”

Fine.

1600

Starting to get close to evening and we’ve just hit another hill.

I’m pretty tired from all the pushing. Mary’s probably not feeling the best either.

“I’m fine.”

You sure? No deep dark secrets bothering you? No mysterious fits of rage you need to get off your chest?

“No I’m good, but thanks.”

Ok. Well, up to you. We can rest, or get over the hill first.

“Let’s keep going. We’re on a roll.”

Ha ha ha.

“See, it’s funny, because -”

Shut up.

Eighty-Sixth Entry

March 16^th, 2037

1045

Dear Space Diary.

Been watching the lightdogs for about 20 minutes. They’ve been steadily digging up the ground with their lasers, cutting out cubes of soil, then carting it away.

Strangely, they seem to be changing colour on their own now, without any direct intervention from us. They glow green while cutting up the rock. Then one turns to a yellow light and drags it over to a pile. Then they turn blue and start neatly stacking and sealing them into giant squares of rock, so smooth you’d hardly know they used to be separate pieces if you hadn’t just see them use to be separate pieces. Then it’s right back to Green and back to chopping up more rock.

Quite the production line. Kind of like if you had your house assembled by Christmas lights. Christmas lights with lasers.

Based on what I’m seeing I’m pretty sure they weren’t after us with the lasers, we just happened to be in the middle of their plan, whatever that might be. It is odd that they only began to change when Mary and I approached them, but on the whole I’ll take a little odd over a horde of rampaging killing robots any day.

So all in all, we’re good.

I’ve been trying to work out what they’re up to, but nobody left an instruction manual lying around, so I’ve narrowed it down to two possibilities.

1: They need a great deal of rock, or

2: They need a very big hole.

Not the most comprehensive of analysis I’ll admit, but it’s the best I can do with the evidence at hand.

Mary’s been oddly silent since her little outburst, now the fear and adrenaline have worn off. Just sitting in the spaceship, staring. Whatever enraged her enough to cause her to charge into the middle of the lightdogs has either warn off, or she’s decided discretion is better than stupidity. I’d call that a win. All she says when I talk to her is that we need to get back to the city.

I can’t work out what these lightdogs are up to. And to be honest if it comes down to mysteries, I’d just rather go home.

Let’s get back, Mary.

1100

…And back to rolling a spaceship. The ship was fortunately where we’d left it.

1105

Just reached the hill where I, um, tripped before. Mary’s still silent, but she did give me a glare that was most communicative. I’ll be more careful this time.

1115

We’re going slower, being surer of our footing. About halfway.

1117

Thought I saw a spacesuit over there. Crap, did we leave it behind?

…wait, I’m wearing it. Never mind. Imagining things.

1125

Nearly there. There’s the rock I was looking at when I slipped.

…Should stop looking at it.

1128

At the top! First good look at the city in ages.

The hill’s pretty steep, so we’re going to let it roll and chase it down.

1130

Whee!

Eighty-Fifth Entry

March 16^th, 2037

1005

Dear Space Diary.

The lightdogs are almost all green now.  And green was the mode used to, well, pretty much tear up everything in their path.

We’re in their path.

…Ok, Mary, can you hear me?

“Of course I can hear you. You’re standing right next to me.”

Ok, good. What we’re –

“You’re not even whispering.”

Great. Shut up. What we’re going to do is slowly back away, ok?

“Ok.”

Good. And starting… now. Back up.

1006

You’re backing away?

“I’m backing away.”

Well done. Ok. We’ve passed two rows of lightdogs already. Well done. How many are there to go?

“Uh, well they’re a bit difficult to count, but at a guess I’d say… 30 rows.”

…Right. Mary I have a favour to ask.

“Yes?”

Next time you decide to fly into a blind rage and charge straight into the middle of a group of benign robots that turn out to be ominous robots with the possible option to turn into murderous robots…

“Yes?”

Next time, don’t do that.

“Ok.”

Great. Go team.

1009

Ok, that’s six more rows. We’re making good progress. There’s nothing to be worried about.

“Except –“

NOTHING to be worried about.

“Except that they’re all green now.”

…Shall we back up a bit faster?

“Good idea.”

Excellent.

1011

12 rows. Ok, just a little faster. A little faster. What is it that kills you in these situations?

“Lasers?”

No, wrong. Yes, the lasers play a part. A very painful part. But it’s fear. Fear kills you. Also beauty kills beasts, didn’t I hear that once? Anyway. Fear is what is going to kill us. So we have to have no fear. It’s like a virus. No fear.

“No fear.”

Exactly right.

1015

19 rows. Brilliant. You see, we’re more than halfway. All we have to do is keep calm and keep to the plan.

“I think that one’s looking at me.”

Screw the plan. RUN!

1016

25 rows. Are you ok Mary? You’re not having trouble keeping up? Don’t get left behind!

“What are you talking about, I’m ahead of you!”

…Wait for me!

1017

29 rows! We’re nearly there! All we have to do is… Oh dear.

“What is it?”

The lasers are on! They’re firing!

“What are we going to do?”

Running sounds good! Keep doing that!

“Good advice!”

30 rows! They haven’t hit me yet! Just a few more and – ARGH!

“Are you ok?”

I’ve tripped! Just get out!

“I can’t leave you!”

Sure you can! I know it’s tough, but you can survive without me. I believe in you!

“No it’s not that! I can’t push the spaceship without you!”

Oh. Well you better get me out then!

“Working on it! Hold out your hand!”

Got me! I’m up!

“Great, now move!”

1018

…32 rows. We made it.

“Well done.”

…Can’t push the ship without me?

“Oh, I’m sorry. I was just scared. I didn’t mean it.”

Thank you.

“I probably could push it without you.”