It's... difficult to know where to begin, but I must document what happened.
It started during a classified project at the Evia Research Complex.
One moment, we were on the verge of a breakthrough; the next, a blinding flash.
My vessel, my team, their ships... everything was pulled into a place that isn't on any star chart.
I pray they are safe, but I haven't heard from any of them. I am the only one who has returned to tell this tale.
I awoke to the shriek of alarms in my Dromedary's cockpit and the biting, acrid smell of burnt circuitry and all this smoke.
I had no idea where I was. But a far worse question haunted me: where were my people? Had I failed them?
The silence on the comms was a crushing weight.
My NavCom blared warnings of gravimetric hazards. Then I saw it - a swirling vortex of nothingness that devoured the light around it,
the Baleful Eye, a black hole that consumes all. I don't think I have ever known fear like that.
Somehow, I pushed the panic down. I managed to divert auxiliary power,
coaxing just enough energy to engage the cruise drives. As my vessel lurched into the void, away from that maw,
I took a moment to assess my ship. That's when I found it. Something was in my cargo hold that wasn't there before:
a mysterious, intricate alien structure. In that moment, my fear was eclipsed by a singular, burning thought:
I had to get this back to the Evia Research Complex. My brightest minds needed to see this.
An eternity seemed to pass in that empty blackness, but finally,
a flicker on my scanner - an anomaly with the energy signature of a jump hole.
With little choice, I braced myself and pushed through.
I emerged into a new system, carefully scanning my surroundings. A highly radioactive asteroid field.
In a strange way, the radiation was a comfort; it meant I had found a place to hide. I navigated through natural tunnels in the rock formations,
dodging pockets of volatile energy. My luck held. As my old friend, Sacramento Serrano, used to say, fortis fortuna adiuvat.
Another anomaly with a jump hole signature appeared on my screen. Again, I plunged in.
After what felt like an endless flight, I found an Oasis-class Liner, 'The Intrepid Maiden'.
I was able to dock, and thankfully, my simple transport raised no suspicions that a Deterrence commander was aboard.
I managed to get my ship repaired while trying to remain inconspicuous over a few cold drinks.
I kept to myself; command teaches you a certain reserve, and I've always had my issues with trusting strangers.
Once the repairs were complete, I departed and continued my search. Just as I was about to lose hope, a third anomaly appeared.
Third time's the charm, they say, don't they?
My heart pounded as I looked at the NavComputer. No system data... not yet.
I pushed through, and then through another system that followed, and then... recognition.
Familiar stars. I was in Omega-49, close to Planet Gran Canaria.
The relief was so profound it almost brought me to my knees. My decision was simple - dock, find the nearest bar, and breathe.
I can't believe I'm safe. Before I left, I spoke to the barkeeper. I told him that if anyone from my fleet comes asking for me,
to tell them I survived. Tell them I'm heading back to Omicron Gamma. My work, my position... they demand my presence.
And now, with this artifact, that work is more important than ever.
Listen well, for I bring word of what befell me on my last exploration.
It began on the 30th day of August, 835 AS. I was sent on a search mission for a missing Correo research vessel, gone silent for more than seventy-two hours. No word, no signal. The ship had been operating in the Chugoku–Tohoku region, noting anything of value to the Imperio.
I took another Correo and charted my course through Omicron Mu. While passing Delta, I crossed paths with an Order pilot. I hailed him and asked permission to use the Mu jumphole, to cut my time. Every minute lost could mean death for the missing crew. He granted me passage but warned me—trouble lurked there, and it was not safe.
I entered the jump toward Tohoku, and as the light swallowed me, I felt the breath leave my lungs. My head spun, and blackness claimed me.
When I woke, I lay in a cargo bay—not of a Correo, nor of any Corsair vessel. Around me was a strange stone, carved with runes I half-recognized. Curious drafts in the ship’s hull led me to the cockpit… and there my jaw dropped.
Before me, a black hole. Not like the neutron star of Omega-41, no—this was a hungry giant, a beast in the void. I soon felt its pull dragging me closer. I tried to start the engines, but the circuits were fried. The vessel was a Dromedary—how I came aboard it, or what became of my Correo and crew, I still cannot say. That tale must wait. For now, I had to fight for my own survival.
I searched the cargo and found a toolbox with a handful of spare circuits. I patched what I could, and after what felt like an eternity, the engines coughed back to life. But the ship was broken—comms dead, weapons ruined, only a mining laser still working. I fed every scrap of power into the engines and clawed my way free of the beast’s pull.
The nav systems came online, weak but functional. I saw shattered planets, distant rocks, and—near the black hole’s core—something floating. I approached, and again my jaw dropped. A structure, of the same material as the stone in my hold. At its peak spun a shining cube, bright as a jewel. But the black hole’s pull grew stronger, and I dared not linger.
Instead, I turned toward a comet’s tail nearby, slowly being dragged to its doom. Beneath it shimmered a jumphole. With no better choice, I leapt.
On the other side—silence. A gas pocket, smooth and clean, its walls unbroken. In the distance drifted wrecks, circling an anomaly. I dared approach, but the pull toward the anomaly was strong, and I retreated, back through the jumphole—better the jaws of the black hole than that cursed trap.
I scanned again, finding more planets and wrecks. One hulk, the Argent, yielded another jumphole. My half-dead scanners spat odds of survival—28%, or maybe 82%. Bah. I jumped.
I found myself in another nebula, this one marked with buoys leading into an asteroid maze. My scans were worthless; I had only my eyes and my guts. I followed the trail, dodging smaller anomalies, slipping past shattered explorer ships that showed me what failure meant. At last, I reached another jumphole and jumped again.
The new system was thick with dense asteroid fields. In one lava-filled cluster, life signs stirred. As I entered, Rheinland and Hessian fighters swarmed me, eager to rip apart what little hull I had left. Fortune smiled—Corsair brothers appeared, distracting them long enough for me to slip deeper into the rocks. There I found yet another jumphole and leapt through, rather risk anomaly than die to Hessian guns.
On the other side lay more asteroids, less dense. My power reserves were nearly empty, but I limped onward. Finally, another jumphole—this one leading to Omega-55. From there, battered and scarred, I made for Omega-49 and the safety of Gran Canaria.
The flight there was mercifully quiet, giving me time to breathe, though not enough to understand what I had seen. Black holes, ancient stones, shining cubes… whole systems forgotten, filled with wrecks and death.
Now I rest. When I have gathered my strength, I will ask High Command to assemble a research fleet. We must chart these cursed systems. Perhaps we may even find my lost ship… and the crew I fear are gone.
Until then, hermanos, fly safe. Mind where you jump—for it may well be your last.
PS: i will attach some visuals as soon as i retrieved them from the fried blackbox
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