ARCHIVED FILE 26fiqw

 The crew (officers, enlisted, the occasional civilian bystander or refugee) are so busy even though this is the quietest week we have had since the department declared itself in favor of division. They are busying themselves with the same rote tasks day in and day out. Searching for and trying to decode any stray signal they can detect, checking and double checking armaments, and what other little things they can do without wearing down our supplies. The most surprising part of it all, is that even the least of my patriotic fellows anxiously fill their time like this without having been told to do so by a manager. I found myself caught up in the same anticipatory twitches until I fainted from exhaustion. The moment I woke up on this infirmary cot was about the same time I woke up from that mindset. That is why I have decided to write in my journal again instead of jumping up immediately to lace up my work boots. One day, I might decide to publish these as some autobiographical history of the times… The success of that publication would be contingent on either the success of our efforts or my ability to make a name for myself during said efforts. Of the latter, I have very little faith. The most straightforward way to become famous in wartimes is to go out in a blaze of glory. You see how this would make it hard for me to become an author, then.

 I am also hesitant to let anyone know about my journaling. There are times, more than I will admit to anyone except this terminal and also more than I can keep track of, that I think the division of the company shall never be achieved. I think about it, what happens when if it turns out the war effort just was not enough in the end. We've roped breakaway colonies into supporting us in exchange for a terraforming support contract post-division. Our failure could mean the death of those people or, at least, something close to that like indebted servitude to the larger entity that takes pity on their emaciated (generous guess) masses. Of course, the company could just hold up our department's promise as a measure of good faith and forgiveness, but that would just be followed by phagocytosis as the history of acquisitions has shown time and time again.

 I find myself praying if not only to stop imagining that future. These ships' drives are the only thing I'll pray to, nowadays, since those things are the only stroke of luck I think we've had. Given the department's nature, it was only logical for the company to portion out more of these tunneling ships to us than, let's say, the pompous dipshits at the Department of Accounting. They could send a message or hologram (for a more personal touch) from the main office faster than a ship (inter-tunneling or not) could reach us. We provide actual, physical goods to the rest of the company that need to be transported across and beyond our borders. Actually, I should send a thank you out to the pirates that were stupid enough to keep attacking the department's cargo ships until we were given a fleet of corvettes each.