[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
"AUDIO LOG ONLY"
"+48 minutes since our “controlled crash” onto the asteroid, now affectionately renamed by the bridge crew as St. Klaus Boiling Rock
Internal temperature: 40°C and rising."
"The drone returned to Hangar 1 on schedule. Bringing it back to its maintenance bay would’ve been an inhuman task in this heat, so we opened it right there, right on the hangar floor."
"Luck, it turns out, hasn’t abandoned us—she just took a few steps back to prepare a surprise I’d scarcely dared to hope for."
"There was a roar when Lt. Radek read the gleaming golden nameplate on the Democritus’s hull: “OS&C|Cayman.”
“Kapitan, they’re Orbital vessels, I’m sure of it!” he shouted, while the rest of the team swarmed over the terminal.
“Silver hull, gold trim, sea-green accents—sir, it’s them! You’d know it even without the name!”
"The visual footage—grainy, yes, but unmistakable—left no room for doubt. The flotilla of eight ships includes: one Democritus-class yacht, three Pelican armored transports, one civilian gunboat, and three Roc-type bomber. Every single ship, without exception, bears the same markings: OS&C. Orbital Spa & Cruise."
"We expected hostiles. We were ready for the worst. What we got were friendly faces."
"Hangar 1’s docking bay erupted in uncontrollable joy. I don’t even clearly remember what I said or did the first seconds—I only know I’m now covered in the sweat of half the mechanics and petty officers as we embraced and jumped like children."
"I broadcast the news to the rest of the crew over the hangar intercom, along with the order to reopen all thermal vents. I have no intention of sweating another minute."
"As soon as I returned to the bridge, I ordered the ship dislodged from the asteroid and brought within visual range of the flotilla. And now, visible at last—after a year and a half in hiding—we will finally present ourselves for what we truly are:
Exploration Vessel Morgenstern, Rheinland Navy."
"The agony is over. Our suffering is truly nearing its end.
For the first time since leaving Omega-41, I see the light at the end of the tunnel."
END LOG
The log had ended a few seconds earlier, but the silence still clung to the communication deck like a guilty fog. It had been full of bliss, that log. Unfiltered, soul-warming joy. The kind that makes you want to believe in good endings.
“They thought they were saved,” Albert said, finally, voice brittle, stretched thin between disbelief and something crueler.. “They really thought it was over.”
“It was over,” Hans added quietly. “Just… not the way they meant.”
There was no video —just Von Tanner’s voice, alive with joy so bright it practically lit the room on its own. Yet each of them could see it: the hangar bathed in sweat and relief, uniforms crumpled, laughter echoing off bulkheads like champagne corks. A man, speaking with the certainty that fate had finally decided to be reasonable.
"He sounded... young," Hans murmured, as if surprised the past could still hold anything so alive.
"He sounded wrong," said Schmidt, but not with anger. It was the quiet, dreadful realization that comes when the magician pulls a rabbit from a hat, and you already know the trapdoor is stained red.
Hermann sat back and rubbed his temples. “The irony,” he murmured. “They crash-landed onto an asteroid, nearly cooked alive, clung to life in the dark for over a year... and their prize for surviving all that is a smile from Mr. Captain Redcroft and a boarding party with an allergy to prisoners.”
“Do you think,” Hans asked, “he even suspected? Even for a moment?”
“Who? Von Tanner?” Schmidt shook his head. “He saw ‘Orbital Spa & Cruise’ and imagined room service and a shuttle home. If someone had pointed a gun at him with the OS&C logo on it, he’d have asked for the cocktail list.”
They sat for a while longer, as if holding vigil for a hope already condemned. The bridge lights flickered faintly—perhaps out of pity. A quiet chime broke the silence—soft, respectful, almost apologetic.
Then, with the inevitability of a slow-motion train wreck, the next file began to load.
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Extraction Log 14