It’s been a middling-light now for five months straight. The atmosphere simply won’t crest over into some determinant appearance of dawn or dusk. The maddening conditions are not just limited to weather-based instrument dependence either, all of our messages sent to N424224, remain unanswered; despite seeing their constant activity on all the monitors. To break up the monotony we had been climbing down the steep cliff to the narrow strip of beach to swim. The waves usually being quite large, always stirred up the sediment so we could never quite see the bottom — which we had assumed was simply sand and large flat boulders. After our last swim though, the water became quite glassy — and from up high we were able to see that the boulders were not boulders but some sort of giant, flat, very slow maneuvering fishes. Now we daren’t even do that activity anymore. When not receiving our routine maintenance in the mess hall, rebuffing the wretched, suspicious glances of the crew — we now spend most of our time in the glass turret. Here at least in a state akin to solitude, we can voluptuously comb the data sets of ancient language fiction; occasionally looking up at the distant orange-gray horizon.