[Log Entry: March 2st, 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
“To all crew. This is Captain Klaus von Tanner of the E.V. Morgenstern… recording what may be our final operational directive here in the Sargasso Nest.
Earlier today, I spoke with Engineering. We went over the calculations again—thrust intervals, power flow, reactor pressure tolerances. They said it might work. Then one of them laughed and said it definitely wouldn’t work quietly. I took that as approval. I hereby announce to you all that, finally, the Morgenstern will leave this place.
Now... I speak to you not as your captain, but as a fellow companion travelling with you in the dark.
It has been one long, arduous year. We have drifted in isolation, cloaked by the deadly embrace of the radiation field, our every day a testament to survival amid constant dread—dread of being discovered, of being eradicated. The ship, once a proud survey vessel, now wears its patched-up scars as a badge of our resilience.
We have suffered the relentless assault of this hostile environment; our systems have been corroded, our navigation and communication reduced to mere shadows of their intended purpose. And yet… in this slow decay, a sliver of hope has emerged. A window. A moment. A chance.
Now, with Freeport 5 and, hopefully, the whole system momentarily clear of Corsair patrols, we engage the only course left to us. We initiate maximum impulse thrust. Not cruise—just raw, churning inertia, aligned with the pulse of the neutron star. Each burst of our engines is synchronized with its electromagnetic flare, in the hope that the chaos of cosmic radiation might grant us cover. It is a crude, desperate maneuver. But it is ours.
Navigation has been recalibrated. Emergency protocols are active. Our heading is locked toward the Omega-5 Jump Hole—our one possible exit. Our last act in this system. This maneuver represents the culmination of everything we have endured.
Today, I ask every member of this crew—each of you who has weathered fear, silence, and despair—to offer one more sacrifice. One final act of resolve.
As Dante wrote, thousands of years ago—long before mankind had even dreamed of crossing stars:
“Fatti non foste a viver come bruti, ma per seguir virtute e canoscenza.” Those were the words he gave to Odysseus, and today, I echo them. Not as literature, but as conviction.
You are not just my crew. You are my companions in both venture and misfortune. Let it be said that when fate demanded our surrender, we answered with defiance. We answered as explorers. As survivors. As human beings.
I am not naive. I know the odds. But what is a life if we do not dare to search for light in the darkest of voids? We have endured, we have fought silently against the forces that would have us forgotten, and now—despite the toll upon our bodies and minds—it is time to reclaim our future.
Let history not mark our absence but remember our course.
This is Captain Klaus von Tanner… over and out.”
The log ended with a soft click, the ghost of von Tanner’s final words lingering in the recycled air like dust catching the light.
For a moment, no one spoke. The only sound was the gentle hum of the repowered console and the distant, arthritic groan of a bulkhead that had clearly seen better centuries.
Neer leaned back and rubbed his face with both hands. “Right. So. We’ve officially uncovered a lost Rheinland expedition, a ship no one remembers, a crew that didn’t give up, and now… a speech worthy of theatre. Preferably with a full orchestra and dramatic lighting.”
“I’m not sure whether I want to cry,” Belck said, adjusting his glasses, “or file a patent on that engine burn synchronisation method. Who thinks of that? ‘Let’s ride the heartbeat of a neutron star and hope no one notices.’ That’s... brilliant. Insane. Beautiful. A little like Neer’s flying, honestly.”
Neer didn’t even protest. He just nodded toward the screen, where von Tanner’s name still glowed faintly in archival amber. “He was Rheinland Navy, you can hear it. Structure, clarity, and almost a complete inability to express emotions without a tactical framework.”
Schmidt remained silent for a few seconds, gaze fixed on the now-blank screen. “He knew it was a long shot. Probably knew he wasn’t going to make it.” He tapped his finger against the edge of the console. “But he didn’t go out begging. He went out commanding.”
Neer let out a low whistle. “And to think… this entire history came to us because a Corsair got drunk and couldn’t keep his mouth shut.”
“That,” Schmidt said, “it's because a drunken Corsair is the most reliable intelligence source in the Edge Worlds."
Belck nodded solemnly. “Alcohol-fuelled piracy: not great for trade routes, but excellent for historiography.”
They all chuckled, just briefly. Then silence settled again. Not the heavy, haunted kind that had surrounded the ship earlier, but a quieter, thoughtful one—like the echo of something sacred in a very strange, very dented cathedral.
Schmidt spoke again, this time more softly. “You know… I never thought I’d feel patriotic about a half-dead ship buried in orbit over Baden Baden.”
“Me neither,” Neer said, arms folded. “But they were ours. These were our people. And they didn’t go down quietly.”
Belck gave a small nod, then raised an eyebrow. “Did he really quote Dante?”
Schmidt smiled faintly. “He did. ‘Fatti non foste a viver come bruti…’”
“…but to follow virtue and knowledge,” Belck finished. “I had a literature professor who tried to say that right before every exam. Made a lot less sense in the context of calculus.”
“Still,” Neer murmured, glancing back at the dimmed console, “for a man orbiting the edge of death and unknown… quoting a medieval poet? That’s style.”
“And guts,” Schmidt added. “The man was piloting a coffin and decided it needed a soul.”
They stood in silence a moment longer.
Then Neer gestured toward the next batch of encrypted files. “Come on. Let’s see what else the ghosts have to say. Who knows, maybe they actually made it.”
“Or at least left a few more dramatic final acts,” Belck added, already tapping at the console.
As the Morgenstern hummed softly around them, the three leaned in once more, following a trail left by voices that refused to be forgotten.
![[+]](/forums/images/collapse_collapsed.png "[+]")
Extraction Log 1