MISSION LOG – SOL 110
Forty-nine packs.
On full rations, that’s sixteen days for one person plus one left over.
On three-quarters rations for three people, that’s seven days.
That’s how close we came to extreme measures in feeding the ponies.
Those forty-nine packs are in a separate locker now, all their own, and that’s where they’re going to stay. That’s the emergency reserve for Cherry, Starlight and Spitfire. Along with them are Fireball’s six remaining food packs, which are the only food packs remaining from their ship. (Only he can eat them, because although they’re normal food mostly, they’re liberally sprinkled with chips of rocks, nice and sharp and intestine-destroying for non-dragons.)
Yes, I know they can probably stomach meat if they have to. They shouldn't have to. (Besides, I can still hear Spitfire saying "crunch crunch crunch" in my head. It's really fucking creepy to think about. I suppose I should be grateful we don't have any magic pig aliens in the crew. Earth pigs are cannibalistic given the right circumstances, and I'd never have a good night's sleep again.)
Cutting the hay crop was simplicity itself. Starlight can make her horn-laser turn right angles, because screw the laws of physics, we have a magic unicorn. It took literally the time it takes to walk forty meters to cut the hay more perfectly than any harvester ever did. In fact, the perfectly level remaining stalks look a little creepy sticking out through the fallen cuttings.
No, the time-consuming part of the harvest is hauling our produce back from the cave to the Hab. That’s no surprise- carrying a field of hay twenty-five kilos at a time, as I mentioned before, is bound to be slow. We had two tubs of a size to carry a twenty-five kilo roll of hay each, so we would load those up, cycle out the pony airlock, walk to the rover, cycle that airlock, unload the tubs into the cargo area, cycle airlock, walk up, cycle airlock, start again.
As it was, we got three-quarters of the harvest into the rover before we had to go back to the Hab and end the EVA. We’ll get the rest tomorrow after we unload the rover. Next time, knowing what we know now, we should be able to do it all in one sol.
Yesterday was potato feast; today was alfalfa feast. I even had a small plateful of the stuff, raw and fresh, or as fresh as it could be. The tubs are airtight but not temperature-proof, so it got pretty chilled on the way out to the rover. It doesn’t seem to have hurt. The ponies like this a lot better than what came out of the Hab, though they say it’s pretty bland compared to homemade.
Also they wish they could cook it. Starlight has even given me a word that twists my brain every time I try to figure it out: hayburger. They know what a hamburger is on Earth (and at least two of them would say they know who it is), so Starlight put that word together deliberately. It is a thing that they have, and I’m still wondering how.
But that’s only one of hay’s many uses, apparently. Hay fries (how? And why?). Hay bacon (blasphemy). Hay and anchovy pizza (I think they may have been pulling my leg with that one).
Anyway, I had a little salad dressing, and now I have a little less. It wasn’t that bad. I could get used to an alfalfa and potato diet.
ESA: To Dragonfly. Message begins. Quote. Hello, fellow adrenalin junkie. Finally got yourself in a mess you couldn’t fly your way out of, did you? Just remember, so long as the Pale Horse hasn’t called in all your chips, you’re still ahead of the game. If I could, I’d fly there now and return the favor from years ago. Keep working the problem, and we’ll be there as soon as we can. – Gordon the Griffon. End quote. Over.
AMICITAS: Message received, over.
ESA: Addendum: Like he said, get back to work. I want my flight engineer back – Chrysalis. Out.
INTERVIEW #4
What is your name? Spitfire.
What did you do on your ship? Junior pilot, medical.
How did you get into space flight? I led Won-der-ful Thun-der-bolts team. Bring astronauts back from fly. Train as astronaut, never go up. Spar-kle Drive crew need pegasus, I was best choice.
Who do you have waiting for you back home? Mother and father, fly team, Princess (nAAYYfollII).
What are your impressions of humans? Brave. Can do things. Need di-ci-pline.
Do you look forward to visiting Earth after your rescue? Want see fly machines, cars not on TV. But really want go home.
What will you do when you finally go home? Train. Get healthy. Then fly again.
What is your favorite disco song? “Celebration.”
If there were one little thing (not a ship) you could have from home, what would it be? I want to fly. I was born to fly. I need air to fly, magic too. Sorry not little thing.
What message do you have for the people of Earth? Thank you for having base here when we crash. You save our life. We not forget.
MISSION LOG – SOL 110 (2)
Technically it’s Sol 111, because it’s 03:18 as I type this, using the Hab’s toilet for its proper purpose for the first time in months. I had to. The gas pains were too much to sleep through. Apparently my intestines refused to even try to digest the alfalfa stems.
I know you’re laughing, future historians, NASA engineers, and whoever else reads this. You’re laughing at the mental image of me with my pants around my ankles, seated on a $1.5 million throne, computer on my lap, undergoing extreme intestinal rebellion.
But I don’t care. I am in pain and I want somebody to know, but I don’t want to wake the ponies.
Well, I woke one up anyway. Dragonfly just handed (hoofed?) me a mostly-clean recycled sanitary wipe. I shall be eternally grateful. I want to remember her in my will. Could this log count as a legal codicil?