Inktober 2026 10, Mystical

Captain’s log, Day 10

The mystical signal brought us here, and I wish it hadn’t.

At its source stands a structure so old that the land has grown up around it. The trees lean toward its walls like they are listening. The rock has folded itself around its base. Nothing about it feels abandoned.

Two enormous fins rise from the roof, tearing the air into plasma and forcing the signal upward in long, shuddering lines. It is not leaking out. It is being sent.

Inktober 2026 9, Ram

Cargo Chief’s log, Day 9

They call it The Ram. Earned it. Ten tonnes of scarred alloy that goes through a bulkhead door like it’s an insult.

Cargo droid. Generation AI, the kind with opinions. Mouthy, sulks, glitches hard enough to freeze mid-lift and stare at the wall. I’ve requested its decommission three times. Never filed one.

Bay Six went at 0300. Hull holed, air gone, the whole deck screaming. Nobody ordered it. The Ram put its own chassis in the breach and held it there while we dragged eleven people out.

Inktober 2026 8, Stinky

Engineer’s log, Day 8

Stinky. Always stinky.

Everyone else gets new planets and starlight. I get the waste recycler.

Elbow joint split open overnight, and the deck reeks. That recycler has never played fair. It chokes and cracks when it feels like it.

I’m knee-deep in it again, clamping and swearing. Somebody has to deal with the filth so the rest of you can keep breathing.

Space plumber. Not glamorous. Just necessary.