Good evening, everyone. The long gap between my last posts and this one is due to a sudden career boost—followed by an equally sudden decline in both my free time and my already fragile sanity.
Now that I’m on vacation, I’ll do my best to continue (and hopefully finish) this story without letting another few months slip by in between updates.
Inside the Serendipity AKA the E.V. Morgenstern
Bridge 4B(S), communication deck: "A Brilliantly Profitable Tragedy"
A breath. She leaned in slightly.
The three looked at each other, stunned.
“You're joking, right, Director? You can't possibly mean that.”
“I’ve never been more serious in my life,” Cross replied calmly. “Do you have any idea what we’re sitting on? By Rheinland law, this ship is automatically classified as a historical asset. It’s not just a wreck—it’s a relic, a museum. No—a floating cathedral of memory. Imagine it. Or don’t. I already have,” she added with a smug smile. “We go to the Rheinland Government and say: ‘Esteemed members of the Ministry of Culture, we happen to possess one of your vessels, a ship from a hundred years ago. A national treasure, long lost. And now, we need your help to restore it.’”
“Aaah-ah. And what if they say: ‘Hell no, it’s ours—hand it over?’” Schmidt asked.
“Simple. We show them the bill of sale.”
“The forged one,” Schmidt noted.
“Yes, that one. And if that’s not enough, we show them some very unfortunate photographs of certain government officials.”
She paused dramatically. “We have them, you know? From Baden Baden. From Curacao. From our luxury liners. Very important people, in very unwise company. Or accompanied by companions their wives most certainly wouldn’t approve of.”
“Right, sure.” Schmidt waved off the mental image of some portly Rheinland Navy officers with a cocktail and a novelty hat. “Let's imagine this blackmailng works. They do let us keep it. What if they turn around and say, ‘your ship, your problem—pay for the restoration yourself’?”
“Then,” Cross purred, “we unleash the public.”
She leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “Just imagine the headlines: ‘Orbital Recovers Lost Icon of Rheinland’s Glorious Past – Government Refuses to Fund Restoration.’ Or better yet, ‘Beyond the War: Rheinland’s Fallen Heroes Rot in Silence While the State Looks Away.’”
“Damn, that’s brilliant,” Albert muttered.
“Exactly!” Cross beamed. “And that’s just phase one. We rebuild it—with their money—and then? Then we make it shine.”
“That’s… diabolical,” Schmidt said.
“But I thought you were the one who said Von Tanner’s story deserved to be told,” Cross replied, mock offended. “Look what I’m offering you: orbital exhibitions above New Berlin, fully reconstructed interiors, guided tours across the decks where history was written.”
She tilted her head, eyes sparkling with unhinged inspiration. “And then? Boom. We add her to the fleet: inaugural cruises through Rheinland space, re-enactments of their odyssey through the Omegas, maybe even exploratory routes through the Sigmas and Omicrons.”
“That’s incredibly macabre,” Hans muttered.
“No—it’s exactly what a people who traded a Republic for an Emperor would love. They crave tragedy. Heroes. Martyrs. Symbols of resilience. And we’ll give it to them. Tell me: who wouldn’t fall in love with this story?”
“What next?” Albert said sarcastically. “A holofilm?”
Cross spun toward him as if he'd just whispered the coordinates to the meaning of life.
“ALBERT NEER, YOU ABSOLUTE BLOODY GENIUS.”
“…thank you?”
“Of course! The ship is ours, the rights are ours! Think about it—holofilms, novels, documentaries, VR re-enactments of their voyage.” She laughed in disbelief at her own brilliance. “Comics for kids. Video games. Merchandising.”
“Director, there’s just one tiny issue,” Schmidt cut in. “We seem to be forgetting a minor detail. Us.”
“You three? Oh, I haven’t forgotten you,” she said smoothly.
“No. Us. Us as in ‘we killed Von Tanner.’ Kind of a big narrative problem.”
“Oh that? That’s manageable. We’ll erase the recording.”
“And the Cayman? Von Tanner mentions it in the logs. How do you manage their appearance and the "sudden", "unexplicable" death of Von Tanner?”
“Oh, right. The Cayman. Didn’t you know? That day, it got ambushed too.”
“Really?” asked Hans.
“No, Hans, for God’s sake,” snapped Schmidt. Cross waved dismissively.
“Our engineers will modify Von Tanner’s voice to say they were attacked by Corsairs, full stop. Then we leak the story. Say we kept it secret to avoid panic or damage to our brand—blah blah blah. And voilà, the Cayman? Lost heroically alongside the Morgenstern.”
She paused, then lit up. “Imagine that. Orbital and Morgenstern—united in tragedy!”
“This is so brilliant, cynical and terrifying that I’m actually scared,” Schmidt muttered.
