Prologue SHETLAND ISLANDS AUGUST 30 1914

The sky was as clear as could be and the waters were calm. I was making my way to Scapa Flow in Scotland.

The fort was headquarters of Britain's Royal Navy and was well protected by garrisons overlooking the harbor. Nobody went in or out without the navy knowing it.

"What do you think Oceanic?" My captain, William Slayter asked.

"I think that this war is a foolish enterprise that will only result in losses for everybody." I replied.

I am RMS Oceanic, the leader of the prestigious White Star Line. I'm the second ship to be given that name.

Launched in 1899, I was the largest ship in the world at the time. My two funnels and three masts gave me a unique appearance of grace and power put together.

I was painted in White Star's livery. Defined by a black hull and white superstructure, with a gold trim just below the deckline. My buff funnels were capped with a black band to hide the effect of smoke.

I was not a fast ship. White Star dealt in luxury, not speed. But with a registered service speed of 19 knots with bursts up to 21 knots, I was fast enough to keep pace with the newer liners on the North Atlantic run.

I'd been leader of White Star since 1902, when the old leader Atlantic, had died from Sand Sickness.

I had tried hard to succeed in my leader's place but the role never really suited me.

I liked to blend, be a normal crosser.

Some ships found this odd and liked to tease me about it but others found this trait admirable.

I quickly established myself as a highly respected and reliable ship for my line.

But age and illness had taken their toll. I was in the final stages of a deadly disease called Propellerous.

Propellerous starts as an infection of the keel bottom. Usually caused by barnacles and plankton overgrowth, it slowly impairs the ship making it impossible for her to control her own movements.

The signs of this disease are coughing, mild chills and fevers, and excruciating pain in the infected area. There is no treatment and most of the time, ships die from it.

It had been little more than a year since I was diagnosed with it but I was feeling its affect and it was beginning to show.

Every move hurt me but like the fighter I was, I kept on going. Time was running out though and I knew it.

I could only hope that my deputy, a young liner named Olympic, would be able to carry on the White Star legacy.

A flash of green interrupted my musings. I was headed straight for an island. "Whoa!" Captain Slayter yowled. He turned the wheel just in time to avoid the beach.

"That was close." He muttered. "Yeah, too close so watch it next time." I growled.

"Will do." He replied, keeping a close eye on the island as we passed by it.

By morning, the island was still in sight but I seemed out of danger from it.

Captain Slayter had left the bridge after the night watch and put Lieutenant David Blair in charge.

David Blair was in the Royal Naval Reserve and was supposed to be the second officer of Titanic but was placed dockside at the last minute.

Lucky for him as four days later on April 14, 1912 Titanic struck an iceberg and sank with the loss of over half of her passengers and crew.

I shuddered at the memory. I tried not to let it get to me but I was reminded constantly by Titanic's identical sister, my deputy Olympic.

Olympic was devastated at the loss of her beloved twin but was determined to carry on. I admired that quality about her.

No matter what she was faced with, she always pulled through, emerging stronger than she was when she entered.

The tip of the island with a large beach appeared directly in front of me. It was the island of Foula and it was aptly named.

Many a ship before me had grounded here and I had no intention of adding myself to that long list.

It was then that my Propellerous took hold of me in a series of powerful spasms. I howled in a mixture of pain and fear as I saw that I was heading right for the beach.

"Jesus, full astern!" Lieutenant Blair called. It was no use though. Neither I nor my helmsman had control.

To bide me more time, I had been allowing my crew to control my course.

Usually, I drove myself and all the bridge watch had to do was be extra lookouts.

But that just sped up the process of Propellerous and I wanted all the time I could get so I'd been allowing my crew to run me instead.

Now, it seemed as though my borrowed time had run its course. No one had control, all systems had gone haywire and I was on a collision course with the island.

"Hold on, this may get rough!" I called. The men on the bridge braced themselves as I hit the sand with a loud series of bumps and jolts.

I hadn't gone aground very far, when the tide came in the water would be deeper than my draft but my weight caused me to be wedged in several feet of sediment and so I would not float free easily.

I knew that the end was near. "Don't give up yet, your sister is coming!" Atlantic whispered. I groaned. "Atlantic?" I asked. "Don't give up." My former leader replied.

"Oceanic, Oceanic!" I heard my name being called but I didn't respond, I was just too tired.

"Oceanic, talk to me." The voice whispered again. It was Olympic.

Atlantic was right, my sister had indeed come. I could not leave without saying goodbye first.

"Olympic, no matter how this war unfolds, no matter what the Triple Alliance does, promise me you will see that White Star makes it through." I whispered.

There was a war on and I wanted to be sure that my beloved fleet could make it through the difficult, dangerous times ahead.

"Oceanic, no I can't. Not without you. White Star needs you, I need you." Olympic moaned. She was stubborn like Titanic. I had my work cut out for me if I was going to get her to do this my way.

"Promise me you'll see my fleet through. Lead them to prosperity Olympic." I asked.

"Oceanic." Olympic protested. "Promise me." I said again, raising my bow out of the water as far as I could.

I locked eyes with my deputy. "I-I promise." Olympic said, her voice faltering.

We stared at each other. My blue eyes fixed into Olympic's amber ones.

Then darkness washed over me and I fell back into the water with a splash. I could see the Ancients, Atlantic and oh, my dear Lucania! My soul sister! No longer would we be separated.

I wasn't afraid of death, I welcomed it with the knowledge that Olympic would carry on the proud White Star heritage and become one of the greatest leaders the country of Britain has ever known.

With one last sigh, I left the earth behind for the wonderful realm of the Ancients.