Captain’s Log, Stardate 4.264. That’s how I’m supposed to start this thing, right?
To whoever finds this, I’m sorry.
If you’re Federation, then I’m sorry I failed you. I hope there’s some fight left in you. I hope that you can carry the flickering ember of hope we’ve been entrusted with to its final destination. I hope this wasn’t for nothing.
If you’re a Rebel, then I’m sorry we didn’t stop you. I hope a Federation ship decloaks this right off your starboard as you’re reading , missiles crashing through your systems, lasers punching holes in your hull. I hope the last thing you gurgle out is my name before the oxygen ignites and every breath is fire.
My name is Reginald Ferry. I was never meant to pilot a ship, but we were never meant to have our starbase overrun by Rebel frigates, either. I ended up, by some miracle, on the Osprey. She was meant to be the federation’s best weapon, an elite flagship piloted by the best of the best. She’ll have to settle for us.
Oni is on weapons. I know – a Mantis manning the guns? Cliched, maybe, but when you’re lucky enough to find a Mantis who doesn’t want to tear off your head, you let her do what she wants.
Kregan is manning the engines. He doesn’t mind the heat, though I swear his body vibrates at the same frequency as the thrusters. I don’t know how he handles it, I feel like my pupils are bouncing just trying to keep eye contact with him.
Auris has…his? It? I wish I’d paid more attention during that racial sensitivity course… He has his spot on shields. He has a kind of serenity in spite of this whole situation that’s both unnerving and emboldening. I think we could crash into the sun and he would stay cool as a cucumber. Well… not temperature-wise.
Then there’s me. Reginald, or Reggie, or… Captain, now, I guess. And I’m not sure what to say that hasn’t been said.
This damn nebula is giving me the creeps. I’m jumping. If we survive, then these logs will show it.
Another Castle 
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