April 26, 2194 - 0300h ... Hour 29 of this space-borne orgasm.
If you are unfamiliar with this part of the galaxy -- perhaps if you are reading this from the distant future (or the distant past, for that matter) -- in the system known as "Sol", in the third orbit around its primary (actually, its only) star is a debris field. The rocks and dust and other chunks in that debris once happily commingled to form a planet named "Earth": the birthplace of humanity.
Ok, if you're from the past, it's -- I'm kidding -- it's still there. However, Minbei and Swahili are now the official languages of mankind. And all entertainment is French-Canadian.
I finally received a response to my distress call, an automated message -- a directional beacon of sorts. The signal from my transmission was perhaps too weak for "them" to determine my whereabouts, so they sent their own, stronger transmission with the idea that I can home in on them. Or, they're just lazy.
This was, of course, a glorious turn of events. Right up until the part where a chunk of something smashed into my ship, followed by a ship-is-now-sad sound , and topped off with a big scoop of you're-not-going-anywhere. Should have gone with the 3-layer nanomesh rather than cheaping out on the single layer.
Hour 30 will be my hour. Yap's Hour. Everything turns around in hour 30.
Yeah.
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