Rye, Isabo

[Rye]

<<Second Day Aboard USS Malinche, Personal Quarters, 0100 Hours>>

I'd like to make a personal note about the air quality aboard the Malinche. There's something unusual about it. There's something filmy about the edges, like a thin layer of oil over water, draping everything so I can't grasp the edges. Perhaps it doesn't have to do with the air quality at all, merely my own perception of the crew...They are a strange lot, to be sure.

Of course, I can't say a whole, because I haven't gotten to know any of them very well. I didn't get much of a chance to. Everything's in such a hustle and bustle. Furtive glances everywhere, darting glances that label me a perpetrator or worse. Finding my welcome to be neither warm, nor cool, just another event in a series of swirling chaos, I headed to the white-walled cage I'd be spending the majority of my time in for the next while. I call it a cage because that's what most of the crewmen think of it as. They like to think of themselves as indestructible and entering the infirmary is a stare in the face of their own immortality.

Which is a stupid idea anyway. Immortality. Takes away all the spice of life. There's not much to live for when you can't die. Oh dear. I'm up far too late thinking about death. Again. I have to report early tomorro...this morning. Better attempt to get a some rest. Rejuvenate my senses, get rid of this fog, grease, whatever it is.