TSD: 3049-10-07 — Local: 16:48
Leopard-class DropShip Wayfarer — Galatea Highport Departure Lane / Burn to Jump Point
The DropShip's interior smelled like warm metal, recycled air, and the faint sharp bite of disinfectant that never fully left a ship once it had tasted blood.
It wasn't a home. It was a container.
Cargo bays were stacked tight—crates strapped down, vehicle wheels chained, ration packs slotted into netting. The Zeus and Valkyrie sat in their cradles like caged predators, inert but never truly asleep. The ship's deck plates hummed under thrust, a constant vibration you stopped noticing only when your body was too tired to complain.
Kel moved through it all without rushing.
Calm didn't mean soft. It meant controlled.
He checked straps. He checked personnel. He checked lanes—because on a DropShip, a bad fall could kill you as easily as a bullet, and panic could be contagious in cramped steel.
Elin had claimed a corner of the mid-bay as a medical station—fold-out cot, med crate open, cooler latched. She'd rolled her sleeves up and tied her hair back tighter than usual. Everything about her looked practical, but her eyes were still sharp with leftover anger from the port.
Nadia sat on a crate near the med station, hands clasped so tight her knuckles were pale. Her coat was off now, folded beside her, and her hair had finally come loose from its knot. She looked younger without the armor of layers—nineteen and shaken.
Elin squatted in front of her, voice blunt. "You did what I told you."
Nadia stared at the deck plates. "He… died anyway."
Elin didn't soften it with lies. "Yes."
Nadia flinched like she'd been slapped, eyes shining.
Elin continued, almost harsher because it mattered. "And if you hadn't pushed, he would've died sooner. Or he would've died while I was dealing with someone else. You don't get to rewrite what happened. You only get to decide if you freeze next time."
Nadia swallowed hard. "I didn't freeze."
"No," Elin said. "You didn't. That's the point."
Nadia's breath hitched, and she looked away, like praise was a foreign language she didn't trust.
Across the bay, Avery sat on a storage trunk cleaning her weapon with obsessive care. Her flak vest lay beside her like shed skin. She kept wiping the same spot as if friction could erase memory.
Jori stood nearby, reading a route schedule on a wall display like she could memorize her way out of fear. Her ponytail was still tight, but her jaw worked as if she'd been chewing on words she couldn't speak.
Sienna leaned against a bulkhead, arms crossed, expression casual on the surface and watchful underneath. She'd changed into a fitted shipboard top and looser pants—comfortable, functional—and her hair was down now, tousled from the helmet and the rush. She looked bored only if you didn't know what boredom looked like on someone who expected trouble.
Rina Vale sat on the lowest rung of the Zeus cradle ladder, tool kit in her lap, staring at the hip actuator panel like it might whisper secrets. She wore a cropped mechanic's hoodie over a work top—warm but mobile—and her curls had escaped the cap completely, puffing out in a halo she kept pushing back with her wrist.
Tessa was up on the maintenance platform, checking the actuator readings again even though they'd already passed.
She didn't need to do it.
She needed to be near the machine—and near Kel—without admitting either.
---
Mara ran the shipboard workstation like it belonged to her.
Tablet plugged into a data adapter. The port attacker's seized kit spread out in neat lines: a scorched comm puck casing, a strip of cheap det-cord, a hand-scrawled timing slip with abbreviated route notes. She wore her jacket zipped, gloves on, hair pinned back again. Controlled. Clean. Focused.
Kel approached, stopping just behind her shoulder. He didn't crowd her. He didn't hover.
He simply looked at the screen.
Mara spoke without looking up. "The port attacker wasn't freelance. He had a handler schedule, and it matches the pattern from the relay case."
Kel's voice stayed calm. "Coda."
Mara nodded once. "Or someone under him."
She scrolled. The display filled with corridor tags—merchant shorthand, time windows, and a repeating note that made her eyes narrow.
"HPG blackout windows again," Mara said quietly. "Someone wants predictable silence."
Kel: "Which means they want predictable blindness."
Mara finally looked up at him.
Her gaze lingered—just long enough to be noticeable, then she looked away as if she'd caught herself. It wasn't a constant thing, not a habit.
It was a slip.
A real one.
Tessa noticed from the platform.
Kel didn't, at first.
Mara returned to the screen, voice steady. "If we make Summer on schedule, we can file this as attempted sabotage under MRB umbrella. It strengthens our position."
Kel nodded. "Do it."
Mara hesitated, then said, softer, "You handled the port well."
The words weren't flirtation.
They were trust.
Kel answered evenly. "So did you."
Mara's throat moved. She nodded, and that was all—but her shoulders eased a fraction like she hadn't realized she'd been holding tension until he said it back.
That was when Tessa's voice cut down from above—too casual to be truly casual.
"Kel," she called, "if you're done hovering, I need you to put weight on the left hip for a stress read."
Mara's eyes flicked up toward the platform.
Not angry.
Just… sharp.
Kel looked up. "Now?"
Tessa wiped her hands on a rag. "Yes, now."
Mara's stylus paused.
Kel didn't react to the tone. He just nodded once. "Copy."
He stepped away.
Mara watched him go.
Her face stayed controlled, but the way her jaw set suggested she didn't love being interrupted—especially by Tessa.
Tessa watched Kel approach the platform, and her posture changed by a millimeter—like she'd won something she hadn't meant to compete for.
---
Kel climbed the short ladder to the platform and planted his boots where Tessa indicated. He didn't touch her. He didn't need to.
Tessa leaned in, reading the diagnostic display. Her bandana was tied tighter now, braid resting forward over her shoulder. She smelled faintly of bay solvent and warm steel.
"Shift your weight slightly," she said.
Kel did.
Tessa's hand lifted as if to guide him—then she stopped short, pulled it back, and pointed instead. "Like that. Good."
No touch.
Just proximity.
Rina, halfway up the ladder, watched with wide eyes and immediately looked away again when she realized she was staring.
Tessa muttered without looking at Rina, "Read it."
Rina blinked. "Uh—yes." She leaned in, cheeks warming. "Load response is stable. No spike."
Tessa nodded once. "Good."
Rina looked like that single word had hit her harder than the ship's thrust. "Thank you."
Tessa's eyes flicked toward Kel, then away again. "Don't thank me. Thank the parts we paid for."
Kel's voice, calm, "It's good work."
Tessa paused—just a fraction too long—then grunted like she didn't know what to do with the approval. "Yeah."
Below them, Mara glanced up, saw Kel on the platform with Tessa, and her expression tightened in a way so small it might've been imagined.
But it wasn't.
She went back to her tablet and scrolled harder than she needed to.
---
A thump rolled through the ship—dull and heavy.
Not an impact. A docking clamp release.
The Wayfarer was clearing the last lane and transitioning to its main burn.
Shipboard intercom crackled. "All personnel secure. Thrust increase in thirty."
Kel descended the ladder and moved across the bay, voice steady. "Harnesses. Now."
Everyone complied—fast. Even Sienna, even Avery, even Nadia with trembling hands.
Jori struggled with a strap buckle, fingers stiff.
Kel stopped near her—not looming, not soft. Just present. "Breathe," he said calmly.
Jori's eyes flicked up to him. She swallowed. "Yes."
She got the buckle seated.
Kel nodded once and moved on.
It wasn't romantic.
But Jori's face warmed like she'd just been praised by someone she didn't know she wanted praise from.
Mara saw that too.
Her eyes narrowed—just a flicker—then she looked back down like she was annoyed at herself for noticing.
Tessa noticed Mara noticing.
Her mouth tightened.
Not angry.
Just… aware.
The ship's thrust increased. The deck plates pressed up harder. Loose straps creaked. A few unsecured tools clinked once and went still.
Rina's eyes were huge, but she kept her hands steady on her kit.
Nadia closed her eyes and breathed through it.
Elin checked her med crate latch again like anxiety could be solved with hardware.
Sienna watched the bay door as if expecting it to open and let trouble in.
Avery stared at nothing, jaw clenched.
Kel stood in the center of them—calm and solid—like the one piece of structure that didn't vibrate under acceleration.
Mara looked at him for a long moment.
Then, quietly, she stood and moved her workstation case closer to the bay's center—closer to him—without making it obvious.
It wasn't touching.
It wasn't a constant brush.
It was positioning.
Tessa saw it.
Tessa didn't call it out.
She just climbed down from the platform and chose to "check straps" near Kel's position—another excuse, another reason.
Mara's eyes flicked to Tessa.
Tessa's eyes flicked to Mara.
Neither smiled.
Neither looked away first.
Kel looked between them and understood immediately what was happening.
He didn't mind.
He also wasn't going to let it crack cohesion.
Not now.
Not when the Periphery was waiting.
"Report status," Kel said calmly, forcing the unit back into structure.
Mara answered first. "Data copied. Two backups. I'll file at Summer."
Tessa answered second. "Zeus hip stable. No spike under thrust."
Elin: "Med locked."
Avery: "Security ready."
Jori: "Driver rotation planned."
Nadia: "Logistics… ready." Her voice wavered, then steadied. "Ready."
Sienna: "Overwatch ready."
Rina: "Tools secured."
Kel nodded once. "Good."
The Wayfarer burned out-system toward the jump point—toward Summer, toward the corridor, toward disciplined unknowns.
And behind them, Galatea shrank into distance.
Not forgotten.
Just… no longer the center of the story.
---
Unit Ledger — Iron Inheritance (Running C-Bill Log)
(Maintained by Mara Saito; updated end of TSD 3049-10-07, 16:48)
Liquid on hand: 75,350 C-bills ✅
Restricted/held: 25,000 C-bills (not accessible)
Minimum liquid reserve floor: 60,000 (never spend below)
Transit costs (prepaid / immediate):
DropShip berth & handling surcharge (post-incident "risk fee"): −3,500
Emergency comms hardening (shielded cable set + spare encrypt module): −1,200
New liquid total: 70,650 C-bills ✅ (still above 60,000)
Operating liquid above reserve: 10,650 C-bills