[Log Entry: February 27th, 711 A.S. | Omega-41, Echo-4 sector, "Sargasso Nest"]
Commanding Officer: Capt. Klaus von Tanner | E.V. Morgenstern
Classification: Emergency Operations Log, Survival Protocol Theta-5
"This will serve as the twelfth—and possibly final—log regarding the state of this vessel and her crew during our internment within the wreck field known locally as the 'Sargasso Nest.'"
Before I proceed, I must briefly address the irregularity of this record-keeping.
Should this log be reviewed by the Rheinland authorities, it must be noted that detailed entries were not maintained on a daily or even weekly basis.
Initially, it was a matter of futility.
In the days following our isolation, albeit the initial spike of hope, survival seemed improbable. I deemed it unwise to waste our dwindling reserves of energy and morale on recording what would likely become an epitaph.
Later, it became a matter of necessity. Repairs demanded every hour, and the weight of responsibility left little room for anything but action.
Monthly summaries were all I could afford: enough to preserve the core facts without surrendering to despair or self-indulgence.
If disciplinary review follows our survival, I accept full responsibility."
"Over the past twelve months, through sheer will and considerable improvisation, we have restored the Morgenstern from a derelict hulk to a barely-operational vessel."
"Structural markings identifying the vessel as Rheinland Navy property have been permanently removed via precision plasma erosion and applied thermal abrasion. External hull now bears generic plating fragments sourced from auxiliary wreckage. Visual profile adjusted to resemble abandoned Pilgrim-class transport."
"Our work was piecemeal, desperate, and often dangerous. Supplies and critical components were scavenged from the surrounding wrecks—some barely holding together, others long dead and cannibalized before us.
In the earliest months, we focused on stabilizing the reactor and cooling arrays, adapting salvaged heat exchangers and secondary reactor cores stripped from what once had been civilian transports. The Morgenstern's primary power systems now operate at approximately sixty-eight percent of original design output. It is sufficient to maintain full life support, environmental controls, and maneuvering thrust."
"Cruise propulsion systems were patched using a combination of improvised thrust regulators and cannibalized drive assemblies. After exhaustive field repairs, we restored roughly seventy-eight percent of the engines' capacity. While the ship can now maintain sustained travel at moderate speeds, high-acceleration maneuvers remain a risk; directional thrusters are unstable beyond acceptable tolerances."
"Life support required constant attention. Breached sections of the hull were sealed using welded scrap plating and, in less dignified cases, hardened sealant foam. We restored environmental stability to ninety-two percent of habitable areas.
Nevertheless, several compartments remain permanently depressurized, and radiation shielding throughout the ship remains suboptimal."
"Navigation was perhaps our greatest obstacle. With our long-range sensors crippled, we resorted to assembling a hybrid system from scavenged modules, fusing Border Worlds electronics with Rheinland military arrays. Accuracy is limited, but sufficient for short-range plotting and obstacle detection."
"All modifications documented in supplementary schema (ref: TechAppendix748-3). Note: repairs are not to full RheinTech specification and carry elevated risk under prolonged load. Crew advised to avoid sudden power demands or high-stress maneuvers."
"Conclusion: vessel flight-capable. Extraction now technically feasible under favorable conditions."
"As for supplies, we established a cautious resupply routine with Freeport 5. Every two weeks, we dispatched small, rotating crews in disguised shuttles, namely the old faithful Baltrum and Juist, devoid of any Federal insigna, presenting ourselves as independent miners conducting surveys near Omega-7's fringes.
We paid in barter: salvaged alloys, pre-war electronics, anything of value we could strip from the dead fleet around us.
The Freeport's denizens—too concerned with survival to ask unnecessary questions—accepted our story.
From them, we finally learned the truth of our location: we are in Omega-41."
"The psychological toll of this year has been severe. Despite outward discipline, weariness and resignation seep into every corner of this ship.
Still, the crew endures."
"On the anniversary of our internment, the men and women of the Morgenstern held a brief, secular ceremony in the main cargo hold.
No prayers were offered—only silence.
We raised our glasses, mismatched and battered like ourselves, and remembered those who had fallen:
in the battle, in the months that followed, and in the slow erosion of days spent adrift."
"Today, at last, the Morgenstern is more than a broken relic hiding in a graveyard.
She is a crippled vessel, yes—but a living one.
Our systems are fragile. But we are capable, for the first time in a year, of movement.
From now on, me and the senior staff will think at our viable options to leave this hellhole."
END LOG
The recording ended with a faint, apologetic beep — as if even the computer felt bad for interrupting.
For a few seconds, the bridge of the Morgenstern was unusually quiet.
Not the good kind of quiet, like the one before a ship jumps into a Jump-Gate..
The heavy kind, the kind that settles in your ribs and makes breathing feel like a deliberate act.
The overhead lights buzzed faintly in the cold, recycled air, casting long, tired shadows across the battered consoles.
A fine film of dust clung stubbornly to the edges of the displays, caught in the low gravity like a memory unwilling to settle.
Hans scratched the side of his nose "One year," he said slowly, the words dry in his mouth. "One entire year... living in a scrapyard."
Albert leaned back in his chair, letting out a slow breath through his nose. "I remember basic survival training," he muttered. "Tents, ration packs, three days in a controlled forest. We thought we were tough."
Hermann gave a low, humorless chuckle. "Controlled," he repeated, savoring the irony. "There was a cafeteria two kilometers away from BSCI Rebensbuerger."
They'd all served, once.
Not because they wanted to — but because every Rheinland citizen did their time. "Three years of structure, tradition, lectures about honor and endurance." started again Hermann, "But none of that, none of it, prepared you for this — for hiding a crippled ship in a graveyard, bartering scrap for oxygen, erasing your very existence with a blowtorch and a prayer."
Hans ran a hand through his hair, leaving it sticking up awkwardly. "Von Tanner’s crew... they weren't just surviving," he said. "They rebuilt her. They fought to stay invisible. Every day."
Albert shifted uncomfortably, drumming his fingers against the console.
"No orders. No reinforcements. Only sheer will and each other"
The silence that followed wasn’t empty.
It was heavy with a strange, reluctant respect.
Hermann tapped a few commands idly on his console, more to feel the keys under his fingers than for any real need.
Outside the viewport, the stars wheeled slowly — silent and indifferent as ever.
"They could have given up," he said finally. His voice was low, almost thoughtful. "Most would have."
"Maybe that's why they didn’t," Hans said.
Albert offered a faint, sardonic smile. "Or maybe Rheinland conscription breeds a particular kind of stubborn idiot. I mean, look at us"
Nobody argued the point.
For a moment, the three men sat there, adrift not just in space but in the quiet weight of memory — their own training, their own small struggles, suddenly thrown into sharp, almost shameful perspective.
At length, Hermann exhaled through his nose and straightened up.
"Alright," he said, with the briskness of a man folding away dangerous thoughts. "Assuming they could move... where exactly were they planning to go?"
The others exchanged glances. In a Sector filled with enemies, treacherous voids, and the charming possibility of spontaneous decompression, their list of 'good options' was somewhere between 'very short' and 'hilariously theoretical.'
Hermann smiled faintly, not without admiration.
"Hope," he murmured, almost to himself. "The most inefficient fuel in the universe."
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Maintenance and Discretionary Survival Misures, Month 12