Hobson's Shoes

Captain’s Log, Day 8191

Ship operations were as normal as could be expected today.

It feels weird writing that. I have this nagging feeling inside me, that I can’t live up to Hobson’s standards, but everybody else seems to have faith in me. I guess that’s good enough. Well, excelsior, I suppose.

Heh. Excelsior.

Good news and bad news. Good news: The third list of recyclees need not be published. This is due to the bad news: We had not anticipated the many who would elect to die, by our or their own hands, because of loved ones or friends going to the vats. Hobson went. So did some poor sap from Maintenance. Cracked his visor after finishing a patch job. More bad news: There are just shy of 350 left.

I’ve read and reread this diary countless times. One phrase Hobson used stands out: Is there no more sand in our hourglass?

How far we’ve come…but at what cost? If our survival as a race is to be built on foundations constructed of the corpses of innocents…

I wonder if I can truly fill Hobson’s shoes.

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