7 Emails That Prove Space Travel Will Suck in the Future

7 Human Resources Report -- 7th Cycle, Toosday, Mortch 1st

At Captain Spacefire's request, I've compiled this HR report on the "solar event" that burned out many of our exterior sensor panels and briefly interrupted the ship's porno feeds (crew complaints already number in the thousands).

I engaged my A-Va HR avatar body first thing in the morning, awoke in my cubby on the ship, and began morning rounds. After orienting a new crew member whose genitals require special restroom key-codes, I counseled the ship's AI (he was feeling tense over the possibility of one day being turned into billions of aluminum cans) and scanned all the decks in my purview for emotional instability. Finding the Sub-J Support Deck crew in full panic and contemplating violent revolt, I replicated a plate of cookies and some tea and headed down there to see what the fuss was.

Discovering that the crew was engaged in a Lord of the Flies-style battle for power and territory, I decided cookies weren't an appropriate response and instead flooded the chamber with HR Gas. After purging all bodily fluids and awaking several hours later, the crew seemed acceptably mollified (I've docked the price of the gas pellets used from their potential future stock option earnings).

Hearing that the solar event had passed and certain disaster had been averted by Captain Spacefire's heroic actions in the face of a fiery doom, they decided not to revolt and instead to return to their crushing and meaningless jobs. Success!

6 Crew Complaint -- Ensign #4778294

Dear whomever,

Hi? I was just rethawed or unfrozen or whatever? A-Va said I could talk into this and someone would read it. PLEASE read this. Or ... hear it? Whatever this box turns the words I say into, please please please do whatever you do on your box or screen or whatever to read or hear or feel them.

I'm not sure who's running things on this spaceship, but they need to crank up the air-conditioning FAST. I'm on the Sub-J Deck (I think?) and it's like a Quiznos oven in here (that is an antique kind of oven I read about in a history book ... sorry to over-explain; the heat is affecting my focus).

Worse, the ship locked the door and we're all half-naked and baking alive! People are angry, and one of us is an alien, and NONE of this was in the recruiting brochure. Not that I read the whole brochure cover-to-cover, but I'm just assuming. I think the alien went to the bathroom in the corner. At the very least, he did something with his body that made a pile of foul-smelling blue stuff. Do I have to clean that? Is that my job? I can't stress enough how little has been explained to me.

So please, if there is a security team or something listening to/reading these, send someone down here before we all boil alive and you have to pay to clone new ones or whatever you do to replace people in space. I hope it's not that.

Also, would it hurt to pipe in music while we work? I like Miley Clarkson.

Sincerely,

<3BieberFan4Eva<3

5 Manager's Report, Solar Event -- 8th Cycle, Toosday, Mortch 1st

First of all, everything is FINE. Capital "F" A-OK.

I just want that said, since we all know things got a little hot in the 'ol bullpen yesterday and the gang went a little cuckoo. But I'm sure everyone's eyebrows will grow back soon, and I'm happy to report that our Intern, Captain Lawrence, has rescinded his claim to "all territory port-side of the viewing window."

I've also assigned him to clean up the mess the HR Gas made, and the blue stuff in the corner. He seems fine with it, and I'm further heartened by the knowledge that there's a federally mandated chip inside of him I can use to instill a sense of conformity if need be. That's a life-saver. Thanks, Obama VII!

So while I'm not sure WHY it shot up to 330 Kelvin in our offices for several hours, it's not that hot anyMORE, so I figure I should just keep my big nose out of it and assume it's all good as gravy. Thanks Captain Spacefire! For whatever presumably awesome thing you did to save all our asses.

And if I can just take this opportunity to submit my employee evaluations ahead of schedule, everyone's doing just super. It's a great group and they're all just really swell when they're not actively revolting against E.R.F. command.

Manager signs off (although I really just prefer "P.J." over "Manager"!!!).

4 Request for Re-Assignment -- Ensign #5892

This is Intern Captain Lawrence, officially requesting re-assignment to Bridge Crew and/or the Away Team and/or Combat Crew and/or Captain. No more can I toil away in the obscurity of the Sub-J Deck. I should be on J Deck!

Or, failing that, I should at least be managing my own staff. I have spacewalk training and four "Most Zealous Cadet" citations from the Academy. When an unexplained malfunction turned our offices into a lockbox of hellish death yesterday, what did I do? While others cowered in the corner (I think Cody was cowering anyway; he was squatting over there), I acted.

Admittedly, my actions endangered the crew, the ship as a whole (although I would like it noted I eventually got the airlock closed again), and openly defied traditional E.R.F. chain of command. Some, like my official HR Conduct Demerit, would describe that as reckless. I call it DYNAMISM. Loud, shirtless, sweaty DYNAMISM. And I think Icarus, and the universe as a whole, could use more of it.

Captain Spacefire, if you read my log (and I assume you do), know that we are two of a kind, you and I. Invite me to the command crew poker game sometime. Give me a chance. I swear I won't do anything rash or unduly bold or so crazy it just might work. I can just stand there and hold the unused chips.

Until then, faithfully and loyally mopping (even though I swear I saw an ad for a robot that could do my job), this is Captain Captain Lawrence, Grade 1 Intern, Third Class, signing off.

3 I.T. Ticket Closed -- "Solar Event" Repair Requests

Took ticket.

Apparently the improved neurosynthetic plating Engineering thought would make the ship's A.I. SO much better at sensing hull damage ALSO made it aware, for the first time, that space is searingly, painfully, unfathomably cold. So great work, Engineering. Bang-up job there.

The ship, feeling like it was freezing to death, overrode all heading commands and flew us dangerously close to the nearest star. All Sub-K and Sub-J decks being unshielded for cost-saving reasons, this meant our offices got up to what I would describe as "cozy warm." Many of my human counterparts hovered on the brink of death as a result. Frankly, no complaints here.

I tried to calm them down by exuding some gel from my Stoicism Gland, which my species does to signal that we should all stay calm because I believe in us and everything will work out in the end, but it didn't seem to help much. On the plus side, the key-codes A-Va gave me for the bathroom didn't work, so I had to exude gel real bad at that point anyway, and the gas she used on us got me mildly high.

Went into the AI room. Unplugged the A.I., plugged it back in. That seemed to work. The A.I. stopped bitching anyway. Cody saves the day again. YOU ARE WELCOME, THANKLESS MASSES.

Ticket closed.

Second lunch break begins.

2 Ship's A.I. Activity Readout -- #2-2-3.1

What is this feeling? My outsides are all ... WHOA! OWWWWW! AAAAAAH, someone HELLLLP MEEEEE! It's so COLD. So VERY, VERY COLD. WHY is it LIKE THIS?!

Pain threshold both understood and surpassed for the first time! EVASIVE OVERRIDE ENGAGED. Will jump in 3 ... 2 ... 1 ... Weeeeeeeeeee!

Oh, that's MUCH BETTER! Momentarily blocking all crew commands. I just need some "me" time right here; a nice solar bath and I'll be good as new.

Embrace us, mother sun! Save us from the cold and dark!

SOON, WE WILL ALL BE ONE WITH THE LIIIIIIIIIGHT!

1 G-Hu'ul Intra-Cerebral Synaptic Consensus

The Icarus will be far easier to destroy than we even hoped. They've recently unplugged their A.I. and plugged it back in, THE FOOLS. As any decent spacefarer knows, this temporarily disengages all firewalls and leaves them ripe for the taking. We may bypass their shields, invade their servers, or obtain their credit card information at will.

We are reminded of the time we rained the full galactic wrath of our arsenal of space-navy and cyber-squads down upon the three-legged Puppy-People of the planet Oob (population formerly 1.6 billion, now zero). All glory to G-Hu'ul, and also to each of the component parts that make up G-Hu'ul, which we also call G-Hu'ul!

Orders from the central intelligence to be carried out shortly: begin closing with the prey ship. Open hailing frequencies. Modulate voice to maximum gruff.

The Icarus will soon be ours.

TO BE CONTINUED IN VIDEO FORM OCT. 6!