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Tuesday, April 11, 2000

Simon's Log, Stardate whatever whatever...

Simon's Log, Stardate whatever whatever...

I've been floating out in the void for about six years now. No sign of rescue yet. I programmed the ship's nanobots some years ago to assemble food from space dust, but I fear entropy is taking its toll: it just doesn't taste the same anymore.

One strain is producing a rust-like substance that smells like hot dogs and chocolate and causes me to throw up for hours if even a trace of it contaminates one of my food balls. Fortunately I have managed with standard nano-sterilization techniques to limit it to its originating colony in the rubber soles of my shoes, so it suffices for now to simply avoid that corner of my escape pod. I would space them (it's not like I need the shoes) but I can't afford to loose any mass this deep in space where the space dust is so thin. If only it didn't smell.

I'm about 90% complete programming a replica of me, to live on in my place should one of the nanostrains switch to eating human flesh. (I already had a close one a year or so ago, but most of my hair has grown back.) I'm finding myself entertaining at times, annoying at others. The worst part is when I snore... Wait...

Correction: I am the replica. I forget that sometimes. I'm only 90% complete, after all. But I realize the replica wouldn't snore, so I must be the replica.

Or did I program it to snore? I don't remember. Oh well, what does it matter?

The days all blur together.

All the time in the world, or none at all -- what difference does it make? In the end, entropy. Always entropy. Hot dogs and chocolate.

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