Inktober 2026 16, Gangly

Captain’s log, Day 16

Movement in the corridor outside Medical. Gangly. Jerky. Too many joints, none of them bending the right way.

Then the noises: nothing a human throat should make. It was coming from the medical unit, and the unit was meant to be sealed.

I saw it clearly for three seconds. That was enough. Never unsee this. It will live in our nightmares forever.

Inktober 2026 15, Hooray

Captain’s log, Day 15

The rescue is complete. Against every odd, the crew is home, and for the first time in weeks the cargo hold rings with laughter.

Banners hang from the bulkhead. Glasses are raised. And somehow, impossibly, there are balloons. We are light years from anywhere, and I will never know where they found them.

For one perfect hour, nobody is afraid.

Then the alarm sounds…

Inktober 2026 14, Lady

Medical log, Day 14

Pod survivor recovered. Unconscious. Vitals steady, which is more than I can say for me.

The rope held. Just. I keep checking the knot.

The crew are calling her “the Lady.” She looks human. Almost. Something about the eyes sits wrong, and nobody will say it out loud.

How did she get into a sealed rescue pod? Nobody launched it.

I don’t know what we’ve brought aboard. We’ll find out when she wakes. If she wakes.