[Log Entry: February 21th, 710 A.S. | Unknow System, Echo-4 sector]
Commanding Officer: Capt. Klaus von Tanner | E.V. Morgenstern
Classification: Emergency Operations Log, Survival Protocol Theta-5
"The Baltrum has returned from its designated scouting sector after the allotted 72 hours. Report negative: no navigable jump anomalies, no stations, no artificial signals of any kind. Radiation density remains high. Hull stress is approaching critical thresholds on all decks below D."
"Chief Engineer Voigt recommends relocating all personnel to forward compartments until repairs can stabilize the aft shielding bulkhead. This has been approved."
"No word from the Juist."
"Estimated margin for safe return exceeded by 18 hours."
"Crew, Lt. Brenner and Lt. Muller, formally listed as MIA.”
"END LOG"
There was a long silence.
“Well,” said Neer, scratching behind his ear. “So that’s that.”
“No,” Belck replied, a bit too fast. “No, not necessarily. There could be interference. Delay. Fuel line freezing. Electromagnetic navigational jammings. Spontaneous sentimentality.”
“Sentimentality?” Neer raised an eyebrow.
Belck looked defensive. “I don’t know. Maybe they decided to watch the stars before turning back to their demise.”
Schmidt gave a soft grunt. “We’ll know soon enough. Keep playing.”
[Log Entry: February 23th, 710 A.S. | Unknown System – Echo-4 sector, radiation belt outer edge]
Commanding Officer: Capt. Klaus von Tanner | E.V. Morgenstern
Classification: Emergency Operations Log
"48 hours past estimated recovery. The Juist has returned.”
"Main hull compromised, forward antenna array inoperable. They were flying silent and nearly invisible. We did not detect them until visual range. I believe Lt. Muller flew the last leg manually, navigating solely on debris parallax. We will confirm during debrief."
"Despite all odds, despite the margin of error, and with what I must describe as almost theatrical timing… the Juist has returned.”
“They carry coordinates to a Zoner-operated civilian facility. Registered designation: Freeport 5...
The trio froze.
“Did he just say—” Schmidt began.
“YES!” Neer shouted, fists in the air. “They found Freeport 5!” Neer exploded, half-laughing. “Flying blind? In a floating tin can? While half the crew glowed in the dark?! That's a fucking miracle!”
Belck was laughing now, somewhere between amazement and relief. “They were dead! They were gone! They were flying blind through radioactive molasses! And they found Freeport 5?!”
Schmidt shook his head in disbelief. “They didn’t even know it existed. We have the nav charts, they didn’t. That’s not scouting. That’s…divine intervention paired with a flute full of Rheinlandish discipline.”
Neer wiped his eyes. “I hope they got a warm welcome. Hell, I’d give them medals. And schnapps. Liters of schnapps"
“Crew morale has shifted. The laughter was real this time. Not the brittle kind. Not the sort used to patch holes in the soul. The real kind, like wind returning to a dead sail.
I permitted the engineers a half ration of coffee. Even brewed it myself."
"The Juist’s report describes the station as neutral, independently run by Zoners. Basic life support and shielding equipment available. Friendly terms, minor Corsair presence, but platform enforces a no-conflict policy.. A fair trade."
"We cannot, however, take the Morgenstern there. Command staff unanimously agree: sending the Morgenstern directly would be a tactical error. Hull signature is too distinct. Too loud. Too... important. We’d broadcast our presence across the system, and this system has listeners. Unfriendly listeners.
For now, discretion must prevail."
"Fortunately, Lt. Krüger from the Baltrum, identified a solution. He passed during his outbound flight through a derelict area of quadrant Echo-4—likely a wartime graveyard—containing dozens of inactive hulls. Forgotten. We will attempt to conceal the Morgenstern among the wreckage and hide there."
"Plan is to dispatch Juist and Baltrum and begin regular runs to Freeport 5 under civilian identifier. Minimal crew, diplomatic protocol. Erratic and randomized outbound and inbound vectors from the Morgenstern and the Freeport to conceal our position. Primary objectives: – Acquisition of anti-radiation medication – Procurement of functional shield capacitors – Recovery of auxiliary power relays or modular control nodes"
"I will not pretend we are safe.
But today… we are closer.”
END OF LOG
“Coffee,” Neer muttered, still staring at the screen. “In a radiation belt. At half rations. He made them coffee.”
“It’s the most Rheinland thing I’ve ever heard,” Belck replied, deadpan. “Grim determination, tactical despair, and caffeine.”
“Morale boost,” Neer nodded, mock-sincerely. “Commander’s handbook, page thirty-two: ‘When all hope is lost, brew something dark.’”
Hermann tilted his head, still smiling. “Brewed it himself, too. That’s either leadership or a war crime, depending on how long the filters had been reused.”
Schmidt chuckled, crossing his arms. “Given the state of the ship, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was filtered through a sock."
They laughed—quietly, but fully. It was the kind of laugh that didn’t change the situation, but briefly made it more bearable. A pause in the pressure cooker of a story a century old.
Then Schmidt’s gaze lingered on the screen.
“Freeport 5…” he said softly. “They had no idea what they’d stumbled onto.”
“Luck,” Belck said. “It was pure, impossible luck.”
“A small freeport though,” Neer echoed. “Not a drydock. Not a repair facility. A glorified fuel stop. Barely enough to patch up a light freighter, let alone a Pilgrim liner.”
“They must’ve known they couldn’t fix her,” Schmidt said. “At best, they'd stay hidden and hope the radiation didn’t eat them alive before someone noticed.”
Belck’s fingers flew across the console. “Let’s see what their plan was next…”
A blink. A load command.
The next log entry refused to appear.
He frowned. Tried another. Then another.
Blank. All of them.
“No stream,” he muttered. “No playback.”
Neer leaned over. “Glitch?”
“Doesn’t look like it. They’re not deleted. They’re just… not there.”
Schmidt raised an eyebrow. “Like they stopped recording?”
“It seems. Or didn’t have the means to keep recording,” Belck murmured. “Power, damage, corruption—it could be anything.”
Silence.
Neer finally broke it. “So they hide the ship in a graveyard, start running medical and engineering supply runs from a half-functioning station, and then… what? Just vanish?”
“They went quiet,” Schmidt said. “That much is certain."
He looked at the screen again. Freeport 5. Coordinates. A miracle.
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Mission Record No. 126