Somewhere, in a well-decorated, rustic-looking captain's quarters, a small audio recorder is tucked away, password locked. A small piece of tape on the back has, "Do not touch, will throw you overboard. -The Cap" written on it. A clicking sound could be heard, and the quiet splashing of waves after, the noise being somewhat muffled by the safety of whatever interior this recording is being done in. The fact it was indoors is obvious enough. A few seconds of silence would pass before a deep sigh could be heard, then a quiet cough as if to clear one's voice. The voice that follows is most comparable to what one would imagine a crab to sound like in a cartoon about the life of a sponge under the sea. "Captain's log, day...I don't even fuckin' know anymore..." Another long pause would follow, as well as the noise of perhaps, the man recording tapping his foot in frustration wondering what to say next. He sounds irritated. "Whatever. It's August the nineteenth, thirty-two-seventy-four, and-" A sudden, loud banging noise could be heard, much akin to someone bashing their hand against a desk, the voice almost shouting in frustration after, "-the teleporter, is still broken!" There'd be yet another pause, some angry, heavy breathing being audible for a few moments before the voice continues. "Had we a more talented engineer, I'd a' shaved bald the one who decided to just hardwire our teleporter right to the reactor four months ago. 'They take a lotta power,' he says, 'fore fryin', our most valuable salvage, and blowin' out the power to the whole vessel for. Three. Days. We had to turn on the emergency floaters to keep adrift 'cause some people thought it would be a good idea to keep some a' the doors open durin' a monsoon to let some water in and keep cool, but I can't blame 'em! They were dyin' a' heatstroke 'cause we had no power!" The one speaking evidently needs another moment to regain his composure. "...At least the power's up now. I'm surprised the batteries were all that exploded and not the reactor. I'm not throwin' that teleporter away though. If he don't get it fixed in the next few months, I'm shavin' 'em bald. No more a' his stupid excuses."
Somewhere, in a well-decorated, rustic-looking captain's quarters, a small audio recorder is tucked away, password locked. A small piece of tape on the back has, "Do not touch, will throw you overboard. -The Cap" written on it. Click. The chime of tool box and lumbering footprints are heard over the sea waves. There's not even a second of full silence before a voice starts to mutter into it. It's scratchy and low, with an inelegant drawl. All and all, they sound like the personification of a grease-rag. "Mech'nic's log, day uh.. whatever the cap'n said in 'is last one, plus two." There is a splashing of water below, the speaker swears. The word itself is unintelligible. "Cap'n keeps tryin' get me to fix that damn telly-porter, I keep sayin' I'mma go'n'dote, but I ain't touchin' that thing. Not after last time, not 'til Cap'n gets some respect fer me job, anyways. Bastard keeps fergettin' I los' the feelin' in me right hand for SIX DAYS! af'er last time. I ain' riskin' me fingers just t' get yelled at!" A brief pause, the guy talking goes into whistling for a little bit. It is unmelodious and dry. "Oh, anutha thing- Poor bas'ard keeps threatenin' t' shave me. But, 'e's forgotten sumin'. Who on this ship fixies all the barba's razers, eh? Ain't no guy gonna go n' ruin his hair-snippers on ol' Oily's luscious locks, least when 'e's not gonna be in the mood t' fix 'em!" Then comes a little laugh, going gradually louder before spinning out into a coughing fit. "An' the ol' fool still hasn't realized I've been usin' his recorda fer me logs. I doubt he'll ever caution onna it at this point! Poor coot ain't even know an hex key from a monkey wre--" "Will you STOP talking to yourself and fix the damn radiator!?" "--Eerr, yessuh!"
Click. The recording has started again. The voice from the first log is speaking again this time. Some quiet, classical music is playing in the background. "Captain's log, September thirteenth, thirty-two-seventy-four. I'm not sure how 'ya figured out th' password on my tablet, but I'm changin' it later, and I found your recordings. I got 'ya yer own tablet fer next time." There'd be a long pause. When he next speaks, he'd speak in a somewhat more mildly irritated, foreboding tone. "Oh, and meet me at the fishin' balcony." . . . Click. Another recording would begin. "Captain's log. Same day as th' last time. Just doin' a sorta...part two." He'd say with a quiet, gruff-sounding laugh after. "That...was funny. I threw ol' Oily overboard. Did it a little different from other times, though. We was stopped at a port with a buncha them nice Floran folk earlier - I told a few a' them to wait in the water for 'em to splash on down in there an' do what they can 'ta make 'em think he was bein' swarmed by a buncha them tiny man-eatin' fish!" He'd break out into more joyful laughter right after for another few seconds. "...Think the cold water woke 'em up a bit! Was a bit more busy after he got washed n' dried off. Actually managed to finish 'is checklist today, 'spite all a' that, so the rest a' the residents're happy."
Another message. It opens with a sigh, or, maybe a groan? "First off. I ain' apologizin' fer Shirley's nose. If ye bastards wanna go splashing water around ol' Oily, should expect the tusks! The doctuh'll fix'im up, I guess, but that ain't mah issue." One can hear the dribble of water off hair, like one ringing out a mop, or walking into a running showerhead. "Second off. Where's't'fun in me own tablet? Guess it works, but it ain't got the same style. ..I'll be figurin' sumin out, I guess." "Checklist's done, aye, but Iunno 'bout the tele. Thing's fried and if ye wan' slippery fingers 'ere to take a look at it, y'll need to get me some gloves, or get the doc some'a that new-fangled cloning tech what can regenerate specific body parts. I ain' LOSIN' these hands, y'get me, Cap'n O'erboard? Y'get me. No amounn'a water's gonna make me start jeoparadizin' me hands wiffout a backup." "Think ah'll be lookin' into audobooks, fer that new tablet."
Years of audio logs from the captain pass. Most rather mundane and not so serious in nature. Occasionally he details their run-ins with hostile natives or something of the sort, in between more frequent encounters with friendly natives. Things just keep getting better, but the teleporter still hasn't been fixed in all this time, in spite of more safety equipment for the engineer's work being procured. Eventually, a log is made detailing that some salvage is found in the form of a medical transport ship that was passing through and crashed in the ocean, its crew long gone. Enough is intact though for just what was asked for to be brought onboard and repaired over a lengthy period of time: Cloning technology, among other things that would prove useful to them. Click... "Capn's log, December eighteenth, thirty-two-eighty-five." There's the ambient sound of waves crashing in the background, muffled by whatever interior this is being recorded in as usual. Aside from that there's what sounds like the scratching of a pencil on paper. "Th' medical bay's finally got jus' what the doc ordered, so t'speak. Means Oily shouldn' have any more problem with the occasional loss o' a finger or two, an' neither should the rest a' the engineering department 'er anyone else. 'Sides that, gonna have an easier time carin' fer the residents. More important, even without tha' damned teleporter." There'd be the sound of something rolling- likely the wheels of the seat the captain's in, as a voice that's distinctly his could be heard muttering a short distance away. It's not very intelligible, but it seems he's speaking into some kind of radio comms system. A few moments of that would pass before he speaks into the recorder again, "Settin' a reminder t'myself to nag Oily a little again. Gave the man a break for a couple a' years from th'more complex work. Hopin' he learned a thing or two in all tha' downtime - vacation's got a way a' increasin' morale. We's gonna be gettin' that thing runnin' again, n' gettin' back open for business. We got too much here t'not exchange a little with the rest a' who's out there. Got a world a' opportunity ahead of us."
