*** "By the time Babylon 5 came on line at the beginning of 2257, the Nova Class dreadnaughts in Earthforce's arsenal were beginning to be upstaged by their generational descendents, the far more powerful and numerous Omega Class Destroyers. For the most part, in their years of service prior to and during the early and middle stages of the Great War, the Novas were reduced to escort duties, dealing with local planetary insurrections, and, occasionally, to be utilized as exploration platforms on the Rim, although this style of mission was limited in scope due to the Class's microgravity operating mandate...
...of the vessels dispatched on Rim duties, some were associated with ill-fated Interplanetary Expeditions endeavours. The fate of those ships, will, for the most part, never be known, but the one notable exception to this rule began something that would not be repeated until Captain John Sheridan and his crew entered the theater of War in the early months of 2260...***"
Amanda Zefram Teague, "Holding the Line: A History of the Army of Light, 2257 - 2271" ::Universe DataNet, Oct 2279::
* * *
Chronicles Log, First entry: October 14, 2258.
Hyperspace has always been a dark and hellish place, and this far off the Sector 900 Jump beacon, there is probably now only a faint cloud of debris sliding down the gravitational incline to show the way to the ATLANTA, my dark and slowly dying prison. I have a problem, you see...the problem being that, unlike the rest of my crew, I am still alive.
What those things were, I don't know...I don't WANT to know...but we never stood a chance. Black against space, almost invisible...until they fired on us. We tried to run, but that failed us, as well. Was this what Interplanetary Expeditions sent us to find, out here among the Wastelands and dead worlds of the Rim? To die, far from our homes, far from our loved ones? Typically, it seems, no one is willing to tell anyone the whole story, and no one told us about those dark nightmares when we were sent out here.
But I digress, and for the purposes of history and this log, I guess I’d best introduce myself, for posterity's sake, at least. My name is William Geoffrey Westcastle, Lieutenant Commander, Earthforce...and I think I am slowly going mad. My last memory before the attack began was of my Captain, Benjamin Frye, slowly turning towards me; then, a purple flash...and darkness. Now, my memories are full of holes, and at the same time, not, but if I don’t survive, what possible difference can these falsehoods make... these memories not my own?
Memories. A city on the edge of a vast legion of trees. A sparkling lake, amid enormous snowcapped mountains. A barren hillside, under a vast bowl of stars..I think, the stars of Earth. What am I to make of these mysteries?
If I AM to survive, it is clear that I must act. Moving through the dimmning red glare, I manage, at the same time, to glance at the single environmental montor still functioning on the bridge, and avoid taking in the sight of those I knew in the Living World, Death has taken them all, why not I? ATLANTA is tumbling at speed; this is both a blessing and a curse, as gravity is near normal, it is easy for me to move about... however, the centrifugal force is, at the same time, gradually drawing the precious air out into that godless red vacuum outside.
Time is short. Call me what you want, whoever finds this message. Call me Historian, if you like, or Prophet of the times to come. Call me whatever the Hell you want, I didn't ask for this job. I didn't ask to survive the attack that all but destroyed my ship, killed all my friends as well as my Captain, and also, as a side note, seemingly injured me rather seriously as well. I was quite happy to serve President Santiago in my own way. But I haven't been given that choice, now have I? What is to come...what has been unleashed upon the galaxy by the hidden masters of the Truth?
It is enough that I have discovered a survival suit undamaged by the attack and subsequent explosions. I am bleeding, perhaps it’s to death, I’m not so sure that I will mind, in any case, but I have enough energy to put the suit on and seal it. The air is getting much thinner now, and I have no desire to die in that fashion.
I return to the relatively undamaged portions of the bridge. It is evident that many, if not all of the power couplings leading to the fusion reactor have been cut away or damaged enough that power is unavailable. Anything that can run on battery is...that which continues to function, of course.
Good. It seems that there is still enough power, and that I have enough interest, to inquire on ATLANTA's status. For that matter, I suddenly discover that "Athene", ATLANTA's primary computer(and muse), is still with me as well...
"ZXXIDSVDDK. STATUS. STATUS. SURVIVOR, ENABLE. SURVIVOR, IDENTIFY, ENABLE." It takes me all of several seconds, even in my weakened state, to reach the primary terminal behind the blackened remains of Captain Frye's station. My gaze drifts across the body of Commander Miranda Cochere, ATLANTA's exec...and passes onward. I am sorry, Miranda, I cannot cry for you...not yet, not while the demons of hyperspace are hungrily waiting for me to make my next mistake...
"Athene. Enable. Identifier..Westcastle. Status."
"EMERGENCY. EMERGENCY. DIRECT ENGAGEMENT WITH ADVANCED, UNKNOWN ALIEN VESSEL FORMS, CLASS AND TYPE UNKNOWN, AT TIME INDEX 1741.14.10.58, HAS RESULTED IN 87 PERCENT LOSS OF SHIP FUNCTIONS. SENSORS HEAVILY DAMAGED. RECORDING SYSTEMS NONOPERATIONAL. JUMP ENGINES OFFLINE OR DESTROYED. COMMUNICATIONS ARRAY, PARTIALLY DISABLED. FUSION REACTOR, CRITICALLY DISABLED. WEAPONS...OFFLINE. LIFE SUPPORT...MINIMAL. POWER RESERVES...MINIMAL. SITUATION...CRITICAL."
No...kidding. "Lifesigns."
"ONE. IDENTIFIER WESTCASTLE."
So. It is as I thought...I am alone. Possibly more alone then any human being has ever been in history...but I doubt that. No way of escape, no source of food, and my vision is beginning to blur. It is clear now that I have received possible lethal internal injuries in the alien attack. As I gaze at the internal sensors on my survival suit, I find that there is little more then 2 hrs of air remaining in the tank. What is there to look forward to? If I am to go, let it be peaceful, most of all, let it be before the air runs out, for without any power to move this wreck, what hope do I have?
And then, all of a sudden, the impossible occurs...
"ATTENTION. WARNING. SENSOR SWEEP."
No..it can’t be!...I will not let myself hope. This has to be a mistake..a matrix error. Have the demons come back to finish their work?
"Review..status of sensor damage."
"FORWARD SENSOR BOOM INTACT. ECU CONNECTOR GRID RATED AT 34 PERCENT OF NORMAL OPERATING STRENGTH. SENSOR SWEEP IS CONSISTENT WITH DEEP RANGE HYPERSPACE PATROL PATTERN."
Do I dare let myself hope? Could there be another Earthforce ship close enough to be dispatched on the search that has invariably just been called, and equally invariably, will soon be abandoned, after all, 'ships are lost in hyperspace all the time'. I cannot hope...NO, I refuse to allow myself that emotion.
"SENSOR SWEEPZZGVXZ II...II...IS NARRZFOWING. RANNG ONE XZZZXXX KILZXX.." Athene falls silent. It is clear the damage has been too much.
But what am I to do? I feel so weak now...wait. Athene had said...the comm array was PARTIALLY disabled.
Enough. For the memory of the Captain, if for no one else, I will do this thing. I move to the comm array station. The chair is empty, I do not see Lieutenant Morgan. Perhaps that is for the best.
"If..anyone is out there. Mayday. Mayday. Lost in hyperspace. EAS ATLANTA, lost in hyperspace, critical damage. Engagement with unknown alien vessels resulting in critical damage. Assistance requested, I repeat, assistance requested. I repeat..."
A deep crackle, and then, amazingly enough, my prayers are answered. "This is Deep Range Patrol Nine Seven, EAS AGAMEMNON. Identify yourself, your r..k and p..s.n. We are triangulating your position from the beacon, A..T..A."
AGAMEMNON! I don't...believe it, Sheridan himself came out to find us! U..understood. This is Lieutenant Commander Westcastle, Secondary Operations officer, EAS ATLANTA."
"Roger that. Do you kn..w of any other survivors onboard your vessel? We have been hunting for you for some time now."
Good Lord. How long was I unconscious?? "Negative. I say again, negative. No other survivors."
"Understood. Stand by...request coming for direct relay of y..r signal to the AGAMEMNON's bridge. Stand by."
And then, an all too familiar voice. Someone I never expected to meet again, not so soon...and not in this fashion. But this assistance I will not complain about, least of ALL from Captain John Sheridan himself!
"From what we can see of your ship, Lieutenant Commander, you're lucky to be alive. What the hell did you run into out here that cut you up like that?"
I lean against the console, hope has freed me from Death's grip enough that I can begin to forget that long wait in the dark. I am free enough to smile as I key the link one more time.
"I wish I could tell you, Captain. But it's not..."
The bridge fades around me as I slump. Had Death caught up to me at last? My last thought is quite clear on that subject.