Life Pod 3579

I will probably have my first drink soon.

I don’t even know if it is still March. There is no way of telling night from day, morning from afternoon or day from day. How long have we been here?

Sally or what ever her name is from the silent 5 started to complain about a bad smell, I didn’t notice it until she mentioned it. The smell is awful, a putrid rotting smell. We later found out from Ms Dangerfield that Mr. Hammond’s wounds have become festered. Gangrene is something that you associate with being lost in the jungle, not in a life pod in the middle of space.

It is getting cold, very cold, but our fearless leader still refuses to elaborate on what is going on. If communication doesn’t get better soon between Arbuckle and the rest of us, there will be trouble.

Well it finally happened, Dad Patterson, Mr. Holland and myself attacked Arbuckle in an attempt to find out the truth. His weapon, the devise that made him king, was not even loaded. In fact he has no ammunition at all. However we did find out the truth of the situation. The computer is corrupt; its systems are slowly but surely failing. The thermal control unit has given up the ghost; soon the temperature inside of the pod will be as he put it, just above absolute zero, -270 degrees Celsius or 3 degrees Kelvin, whatever that is. The good news is we should be dead long before we reach absolute zero. At least the Oxygen purifiers still work, for now.

This news started Ms Osborne to freak out; it took 4 of us to get her away from the airlock. The airlock is magnetically sealed meaning it can only be opened from the outside, but still it scared us. I have no idea of what she hoped to achieve, nor do I believe did she.

I never thought it would be possible, but Mr. Hammond is getting worse. It is still strange watching the poor old man sweat whilst everyone else is wrapped in blankets shivering.

Well, I finally had a "drink", it wasn’t too bad actually, I think it was merely the shear thought of it that was the problem. Nevertheless Ms. Dangerfield told us not to have too much as it is very salty and will only make us more thirsty. Party pooper.

No one can sleep as the cries of Mr. Hammond become increasingly louder. The poor fellow, we have nothing for him, not even aspirin. I hope that the Captain of the Grace, who ever he is, is suffering the same agony as Mr. Hammond.

Well the inevitable has finally occurred, and I must say that I am glad for the old man. Mr. Hammond succumbed to his injuries a couple of hours ago. We no longer need to worry about his health and well being, we just need to worry about our own. This brought up the problem that no one really thought about, what do we do with the old man’s body? The ever-optimistic Mr. Holland suggested cannibalism. Now there’s an interesting thought. We can now have Roast Hammond with our glass of urine.

As I am writing this, I can’t help but think of how much we have changed. We have gone from respectable sheep of humanity, constantly following the leader, to this.