[Log Entry: March 14st, 711 A.S. | Omega-5, Beta-3 sector]
Commanding Officer: Capt. Klaus von Tanner | E.V. Morgenstern
Classification: Emergency Operations Log, Survival Protocol Theta-5
"Day 16 since extraction from the Sargasso Nest. We are, once again, immobile. Concealed."
"Navigation from Day +2 had remained uneventful until a few hours ago. Despite proceeding at reduced cruise speed due to ongoing engine strain, no significant anomalies were recorded. Long-range scanners registered only minimal activity—fast-moving objects on tangents or retreating vectors, far from our trajectory."
"Today was different."
"At 20.1 klicks from the presumed coordinates of the Cambridge jump hole, our scanners detected eight signatures consistent with medium-to-large vessels. These were positioned at +3° offset from our approach vector, approximately 2 klicks from the jump hole itself. Their configuration appeared static. Confirmed with follow-up scans at 18.6 and 18.1 klicks. No variation."
"I ordered an emergency drop from cruise and the immediate ignition of forward and portside inertial thrusters to slow our advance and redirect course."
"Initial response was nominal."
"At +8 seconds, however, a critical drop in thrust output occurred—85% loss forward, 65% portside. Increasing core output and shutting down secondary systems failed to restore functionality. At +30 seconds, an explosion was registered in the forward array, followed by detachment of one forward and three portside thrusters. Net deceleration capacity reduced by 92.5%."
"The ship began drifting inertially—directly toward the unidentified flotilla, now 15.3 klicks away."
"After consultation with senior officers, we ruled out direct approach without intelligence. Using the remaining docking thrusters, we reoriented 90° to port and engaged starboard thrusters to decelerate further. The maneuver succeeded in changing heading but would not stop us in time."
"A decision had to be made."
"Approximately 12.7 klicks from the flotilla, a large ferromagnetic asteroid was identified—positioned just off our new vector. I issued orders to alter trajectory and execute a controlled collision with the object. With luck, the mass would absorb enough momentum to arrest and shield us from detection.”
The silence after the log ended wasn’t a comfortable one. It felt like the kind of silence that had taken a long journey through the ship’s vents, picked up some rust and regret along the way, and decided to settle next to them.
For a moment, none of them spoke. Even Albert, who had perfected the art of talking through silence, let the moment breathe.
“Huh,” he said eventually. “I’d almost forgotten what he sounded like.”
Hans gave a faint smile. “It’s strange. I knew it would be him, but—still feels like hearing a ghost clear his throat.”
Schmidt leaned towards Hans' console, arms crossed. “If this is one of the last times we hear his voice… I’m almost glad he sounds exactly like he should. Stern, almost slightly annoyed"
Albert tilted his head. “He sounds… alive.”
“Yeah,” Schmidt said. “He does.”
Albert leaned back against a wall, staring at nothing in particular. “Anyway. They slammed into a rock to stay hidden. Honestly, not the worst plan we've heard today.”
Schmidt rubbed his temples. “I suppose ‘controlled collision’ is the optimistic term.”
Hans muttered something about thruster failure rates that no one really wanted translated into percentages.
They sat in silence for a moment, surrounded by the gentle hum of aged electronics and the faint, persistent smell of singed rubber.
“I have a feeling,” Albert said, staring at the screen, “that this was the easy part.”
[Log Entry: March 14st, 711 A.S. | Omega-5, Beta-3 sector]
Commanding Officer: Capt. Klaus von Tanner | E.V. Morgenstern
Classification: Emergency Operations Log, Survival Protocol Theta-5
"We are currently stationary, resting against the surface of the asteroid. Structural integrity of the hull at the impact site is negligible. The portside thrusters have been rebooted, now expected to function at 50% of nominal output."
"The real issue, however, lies with the nearby vessels. Our arrival does not appear to have been detected. Their formation remains unchanged, and—hopefully for a little while longer—the size and mineral composition of the asteroid we’ve grounded ourselves against seem sufficient to shield us from visual and radar-based detection.
Thermal detection, however, is another matter entirely. We’re too close."
"Until we can determine the nature of those ships, I’ve ordered the immediate shutdown of all external radiators and thermal exchangers."
"Engineering estimates give us four hours before critical systems begin to fail due to heat buildup, four and a half before the first signs of hyperthermia appear, and five before total crew loss due to thermal exposure."
"Yes, we are invisible. But we are also slowly boiling."
"I am fully aware of the desperation in this maneuver. But with salvation so tantalisingly near, we cannot risk exposure. It is, undeniably, a madness. But a justified one."
"Fortune, though visibly disinterested in our recent trajectory, has not entirely abandoned us. Inventory shows we still have two operational drones aboard—one mining probe and one maintenance unit.
We’ve opted to deploy the latter. It is small, fast, and effectively undetectable unless one knows exactly where to look. It has been launched from Hangar 1 at 1143. Estimated return: 1230."
"With any luck, it will bring back visual and audio confirmation of what we’re dealing with.
Failing that… we shall reconsider our remaining options."
END LOG.
The console light blinked off with a soft click, and silence—thick, buzzing, almost humid—settled over the dusty, cramped communications deck of the Morgenstern.
Albert, who had at some point stopped sitting and started slowly oozing downward into a crouch of existential fatigue, ran a hand through his hair. “Right. So, uh. That’s... definitely happening.”
Hans was still staring at the thermal graph, as if it had personally insulted him. “Four hours before vital systems collapse. Five, tops, before they all boil in their uniforms. And he just—” He gestured helplessly at the screen.
“He's just trying to keep them alive,” Schmidt said, voice quiet but taut. “Buying minutes. Betting that desperation can outthink physics, if only briefly.”
Albert snorted softly. “A bluff against thermodynamics. Very bold. Very desperate. Very Von Tannerish”
Hans shook his head, visibly shaken. “He’s not being reckless. He’s being… methodical. That’s what’s terrifying. This isn’t a madman screaming into the dark. This is a man planning in it.”
Schmidt didn’t reply immediately. He looked down at the deck plating, like it might offer a better version of the story. “They had a way out. They were right there. And now—” His voice trailed off. “Now they’re hiding in an oven, because hope’s the only thing left that hasn’t exploded.”
Albert leaned his head against the bulkhead. “He’s doing everything right. And we already know it doesn’t matter.”
Hans gave a bitter nod. “Yeah. Every move he makes just tightens the knot.”
Silence again. Not contemplative—claustrophobic.
Schmidt exhaled slowly. “Let’s see what the drone saw. If it even made it back.”
Hans turned from his console. “Do we have to? I mean, we could just... I don’t know, invent a happier ending? Write it down, burn it into a plaque. ‘The Morgenstern heroically slipped past undetected and now runs tours around New Berlin.’ That sort of thing.”
Schmidt gave him a look. Not unkind. Just tired.
Hans exhaled and reached for the next file with the slow resignation of a man opening a final bill after declaring bankruptcy. “Alright. Bring on the inevitable. A new episode of "Our Journey to Death: The Audio Experience.”
![[+]](/forums/images/collapse_collapsed.png "[+]")
Extraction Log 12