The lifepod is unmoored once again. I’m not certain of what it is I am seeing when I look out the window. A trackless scrub dotted with discarded dog dishes, a bent antenna and a tomato plant that didn’t ever happen. Most of the comm channels are thick with static, though someone has taken to playing the Van Morrison cover of Comfortably Numb. I send out guarded queries, hoping for another mission, however lean. Received a map. Islands and a volcano. Migration patterns of tropical pigs.

As my interest with the mainland wanes, I spend more and more time hacking the Hanso frequency and scanning the transmissions from New Caprica. It is never good news, but it helps pass the time. A distraction from the food dilemma. Every meat has grown strangely repulsive as I slide towards vegequarianism and the perfection of banana bread recipes. This time I will use 3 bananas instead of 2.

I am tempted to begin a conspiracy. A viral marketing campaign, complete with carefully seeded jpeg images encrypted with vague riddles. There would be no ultimate product, just the stroking of some reptilian breed of hope.

The pneumatic tube coughs. LA, Montana and Phoenix on the line.