Inktober 2026 4, Cactus

Scrubbers at 87%. Cactus at 100%.

Chief Engineer’s quarters are the only place on the ship with a plant, and technically it shouldn’t be there. The mass allocation sheet lists it as “personal effects, 0.4 kg, non-essential.” The pot is a standard-issue ceramic planter, orange from the factory, bolted to the desk with two repurposed cable clamps.

The cactus is a prickly pear. He’s had it longer than the posting. It’s flowered twice, and both times it was a surprise. Nobody has ever been able to tell him why it flowers now and then.

Inktober 2026 3, Miniature

Captain’s personal log, day 3

Tea’s gone cold again. The Pennywhistle is parked next to the mug, where she’s sat since we left dock. She’s about as long as my forearm, and she’s held together with solder and stubbornness.

She was my first command, a Class-4 cargo tug. Eleven years of hauling ore pods through the belt in a hull that rattled and leaked and stank of coolant and old coffee.

A random sketchbook drawing, nothing to do with Inktober this time. It’s three cacti in ink and paint pens: a prickly pear, a pair of tall ribbed stems and a round barrel cactus, each with a few red flowers.