15kly into the core. 15kly of forgetting all that insanity surrounding the Bubble since those weird ships showed up. 15kly between my precious Cleo and whatever the heck is going on over there.
Mind you, there are some things amiss. You just can't step outside and touch up the paint. Cleo understands though. She still flies straight and true even if she's missing the soft, cool spray of a Gretchen's paintgun. She's a little lighter on the nose without her chin and cheeks full of naturally-defensive armament, but she holds the SRV close to her chest like the nurturer that she is.
Should have perhaps packed my hair trimmers, but we were aiming to drop the weight as much as possible, so I'm now a regular space hippy.
My wingmen set out a day behind me but they aren't keeping pace. They keep on being distracted but we shall all get together at that great empty space at the throbbing heart of our galaxy.
Time to go open up some more C-Rations though. Pretty sure there's something in the crawl spaces too, caught a peek of something round...like a beachball...might call it Pinbacker.