Location: USS Sapphire, en route to Sirius, Space
ID: 4112 48 522
Good thing our medic was also trained in chemistry because he made us a cocktail similar to one we had in the hibernation pods. Daily Injections kept us in a state of slow metabolism, but nerves were fed properly. We could operate, but lost the need to urinate, eat, sleep. We were active.
After a few more months traveling in high speed, I made a swing by the gravity pull from the ongoing asteroids, passed an old base that got stuck in space and corrected our path to meet the Sirius. A few more weeks until we see it.
Captain Claydon was tired of counting days, hearing Steve screaming in the corner and P.A.S. Private bitching about his life. Horny medic finally got something to dip his rod in. Our navigation officer let him do his thing. He never stopped bothering her after that and our suggestion to take a procedure was being neglected. So we forced him to take a pill or cut himself – downstairs. It was terrible to watch him do it, but he became more passive, kinder, friendlier.
Checking the ship and damages we suffered was being reduced to one visit a week. The Captain wouldn’t let anyone else but our P.A.S. prisoner and me to go on the missions. I hated Claydon for that but made a friend in the process.
“Did you know that ‘pas’ in some languages means ‘dog’?” The P.A.S. Private said puffing smoke while resting from closing the old hatch.
“I did,” I replied. “My dormitory cycle had a database of languages implemented in my training. That’s why I called you that way.” I gave him a smile.
“You bastard.” He smiled back and took another swig. “It’s actually funny. Sirius is in a Dog constellation. A Dog star. That could be my star.” He looked at the nebula from the barged window and exhaled.
“Maybe it could. You lucky dog.” I added.
“You mut!” He replied.
“You son of a bitch!” I smiled.
“Fuck you.” He exhaled again.