Day 1: Something has wrenched my ship off course and drawn it to this planet for a not-too-gentle landing in the middle of an ocean. The integrity of the ship is intact, but the computer tells me that I will need to procure raw materials for fuel before it can launch again. As I sit atop my ship, bobbing in this alien ocean, I see only water to every horizon. Beneath the surface, illuminated in my ship’s running lights, I catch glimpses of another ship that was not so lucky in its landing.

Day 5: I have travelled for days toward the northern pole of this planet, seeking some chemical that the computer assures me can be found there. The cold is biting even through my environmental suit. I came across a glacier so suddenly that I barely had time to steer clear of its jagged point. As I glided by, almost close enough to touch, a shadow stirred within the ice.

Day 6: The computer has steered me to a vast glacier that is, evidently, safe to traverse on foot, so I have left my boat to stump across the ice. After mid-day, I reach my destination: a great tree that, from what I can tell, has burst up through the ice from somewhere below the surface of this ocean. It is several hundred feet high by my measure, and its leafless branches arch down to pierce into the glacier in a perfect circle around the trunk. The trunk itself is smooth and black, and though I would expect it to be covered in several inches of hoarfrost, it is warm to the touch. I loathe to disturb the thing, but the computer insists it is necessary, so I drilled a small hole and extracted several ounces of a thick, golden amber from within. I used a med patch to reseal the hole, is that ridiculous? 

I will camp here tonight, as it is late. I hope that my violation of the tree brings no ill will toward me.

Day 7: I emerged from my tent this morning to an amazing sight–a spectacular ombre aurora in the sky above the tree, pink and purple. I sense nothing malevolent here. I managed to record it, and though the images will likely fail to do it any real justice, it will make travel through the largely featureless void of space that much more pleasant.

Day 16: The computer has led me to a small island. It is barren and lifeless, water lapping at a rocky shore that seems embarrassed to even exist here. There is little here aside from a shallow cave. Inside the save are the remains of some other visitor and some kind of pod-like craft. Is this planet a trap? Some strange physical law here seems to bring–and doom–interstellar passersby. I followed the computer’s instructions, removing some bit of salvageable gloop from the pod’s storage containers, and then gave this poor soul a proper farewell. As their ashes scatter on the winds, I wonder if someone will do as much for me if I am marooned here?

Day 24: I tire of endless waves. Perhaps to some, this would be paradise, but I tell you, gentle reader (who might even read these logs some day, besides me, in a sullen fit of nostalgia?), they do grow tiresome. Today, though, a bit of a change of scenery: a field of what we would call water lilies back home. They are similar to water lilies, anyway. A broad, floating leaf with a stem that stretches down into the deep. There are devastatingly beautiful flowers on top, and if only the computer had asked me to bring back one of those. But no, I am forced to dive deep to reach some sort of branch on the stem of these lilies. I don’t know what might be swimming down there (though in truth I have seen no aquatic mammals or fish in my journey), but I have no weapons aside from my survival knife anyway, so what difference does it make?

I have acquired bits of…coral?…barnacles?…I am no sea biologist. They were growing on the sides of the stem, and I nearly broke my knife trying to pry them free. I will need to print a new one once I get back to the ship. At any rate, once these creatures are reduced to their elementary bits, the computer tells me, they will make a fine catalyst for the engines and I will be able to leave this damnably calming planet.

Farewell, Planet K-51. I am done with swimming for some time, I think.