TSD: 3049-10-09 — Local: 07:41
Leopard-class DropShip Wayfarer — Galatea Zenith Jump Point Holding Box / Traffic Stand-Down
The JumpShip kept bleeding.
Not in the dramatic way people imagined—no roaring fire, no screaming hull apart in bright fragments—but in a thin, constant vent that turned into a cloud of glittering ice and drifting debris. Every few minutes, another small failure flashed on its stern: a brief spark, a shiver of metal, then more silent fragments joining the field.
Traffic control tried to put order back into the universe.
It didn't sound like calm. It sounded like clipped voices stepping over panic.
"—all craft maintain hold. Repeat: maintain hold."
"—evac shuttle inbound. Give them lane—"
"—unauthorized craft last seen vector—"
"—ComStar security will—"
ComStar. Always ComStar, whenever the rules got threatened.
Kel kept the Wayfarer outside the chaos cone, thrusters feathered, distance measured and re-measured. He didn't let the ship drift closer out of curiosity. He didn't let them become "helpful targets."
He watched. He listened. He waited.
That was what kept you alive.
Mara sat at the mid-bay workstation with her tablet braced on her knee, eyes scanning transponder chatter and the partial signature she'd captured. She looked composed, but her fingers had a habit now of tightening around the stylus when something didn't add up.
Tessa was up on the maintenance platform again—partly because she wanted to keep the Zeus "ready," partly because she didn't like sitting still while other people decided their fate. Her braid was tighter, wrapped high. Sleeves rolled. Hands busy. Her restlessness had purpose.
Avery and Jori stood strapped near the forward viewport, watching the evac shuttle wobble out from the damaged JumpShip like a drunk animal trying not to fall. Nadia sat with Elin, still pale from the port, breathing carefully like she didn't trust her lungs not to betray her.
Sienna watched the small craft vectors instead of the damage—predator focus. She didn't speak much, but when she did, it mattered.
"Those weren't pirates," Sienna said quietly.
Kel didn't answer with reassurance. "No."
Mara's voice stayed controlled. "Control's suppressing details. They're treating it like an 'accident' while they lock down the lanes."
Tessa snorted from above. "An accident with two off-lane craft and a timed release? Sure."
Kel's tone stayed calm. "We don't argue with ComStar over open channels."
Tessa didn't argue.
She just kept working, wrench turning with a little more bite than it needed to.
---
A new voice came over traffic control—rougher, urgent.
"Any DropShip with medical capability, we have evac inbound with multiple injuries. Repeat: multiple injuries. We need a receiving bay."
Elin's head lifted instantly. "We do have medical."
Kel's gaze stayed on the viewport. The evac shuttle was closer now—too close. He could see its hull scorch marks, the jitter of its attitude jets, the way it drifted slightly off-axis like it had lost something important.
He weighed the risk like he weighed ammo.
Then he spoke, calm and decisive. "Elin—prepare triage. Mara—confirm this is the evac shuttle's actual transponder. Sienna—watch for a second hit."
Mara's fingers flew. "It's real. It's broadcasting distress authentication."
Sienna's eyes narrowed. "No new off-lane contacts. Yet."
Kel: "We take one shuttle. Fast. Then we back out."
Elin didn't thank him.
She just moved.
Nadia startled as Elin grabbed a med pack and shoved it into her hands. "You're with me," Elin said. "You don't freeze."
Nadia swallowed hard. "I—I won't."
Avery and Jori unstrapped and moved to the bay door—security posture automatic now, fear forced into a corner by training.
Rina stared at Elin like she wanted to help and didn't know how.
Elin pointed at her without looking. "Vale. Gloves. Bandages. Now."
Rina jolted. "Yes!"
She scrambled to the med crate with trembling urgency, then forced herself to slow—Tessa's voice in her head: Slow and correct.
Kel saw it. Noted it. Didn't comment.
---
The evac shuttle docked hard.
Clamps grabbed. The hull rang once like a gong.
The hatch opened and the smell hit them first—hot metal, coolant, burned insulation, and the copper-sweet stink of blood.
Two JumpShip crew spilled out carrying a third between them.
The injured man was conscious, but not truly awake—eyes unfocused, mouth opening and closing around air. His pressure suit was torn at the shoulder, and the fabric beneath was soaked dark. Every breath made wet, bubbling sounds in his chest.
"Shrapnel," one of the crew shouted. "Through the ribs!"
Elin didn't flinch. She shoved Nadia forward. "Pressure here," she snapped, pointing with absolute clarity. "Both hands. Push. Don't lift. Don't peek."
Nadia's hands landed on torn suit fabric and immediately came away slick. She swallowed a sound that wanted to become panic and pressed down harder, trembling.
The man's lips quivered. A thin foam of pink gathered at the corner of his mouth.
He tried to speak.
No words came out—just a wet gasp.
Elin cut the suit open with a practiced, brutal motion.
The wound was ugly—ragged punctures under the rib line, edges blackened where something hot had kissed flesh. Blood seeped in slow pulses. Every inhale dragged it deeper.
Elin's hands moved fast—sealant, compress, injector.
"Stay with me," she ordered him, voice sharp enough to be a command. "Stay here."
His eyes rolled toward her like he heard her but couldn't find the strength to obey.
A second evac crewman stumbled out with his helmet off, face gray. His forearm ended in a jagged stump wrapped in emergency seal tape that was already leaking red. He stared at it like it belonged to someone else.
"I… I didn't—" he started.
He swayed.
Jori caught him before he hit the deck plates, hauling him upright with both arms. Jori's face went tight with effort and shock, but she didn't let go.
"Sit," Jori said, voice too firm for a nineteen-year-old who'd never done this before. "Sit down."
The man sagged onto a crate, breathing fast, eyes wild.
Avery moved to the hatch, weapon low but ready, scanning the shuttle interior for anything that didn't belong.
Sienna hung back near the viewport, eyes still on open space, watching for the "second hit" she'd warned about.
Mara didn't approach the blood. She stayed at the workstation, listening to the evac crew's frantic chatter and recording everything she could without making herself visible.
Because Mara's war wasn't bandages.
It was evidence.
---
Kel stepped into the triage lane, not crowding, not taking over—just present, calm gravity.
Elin glanced up, saw him, and her eyes flashed once with gratitude she didn't speak aloud.
"Hold her steady," Elin snapped at Nadia, then to Kel: "I need space."
Kel nodded. "You have it."
Tessa appeared at the edge of the bay, wiping her hands on a rag. She'd come down from the platform fast, like she couldn't stand to be distant when blood was on the deck.
Kel didn't call her. She came anyway.
She moved to his side and spoke low, voice for him alone.
"If anyone touches my Zeus with a bomb again," she said, quiet fury, "I'm going to personally—"
Kel cut it off calmly. "We'll prevent it."
Tessa's jaw tightened.
Then—briefly, deliberately—she leaned in closer than she needed to, close enough that someone watching might assume familiarity. Her voice dropped a fraction further.
"Stay near me," she said.
It was framed like a tactical request.
It wasn't entirely tactical.
Kel didn't react. He didn't pull away. He didn't play into it either.
He simply answered, calm as ever. "I'm here."
Mara, across the bay, looked up at the sound of Tessa's voice. She saw the proximity. Not a touch—just closeness.
Her expression didn't change much.
But her eyes narrowed for a heartbeat before she went back to her screen.
Tessa saw that too.
Then she stepped away like nothing had happened and returned to hovering near the Zeus cradle, hands busy again.
One small move.
One small needle.
Then nothing.
---
The man with the shrapnel wound started to seize.
His whole body tightened, eyes going unfocused as his lungs fought against blood.
Elin cursed under her breath—one harsh syllable—and drove an injector into his suit port.
"Breathe!" she commanded, like her voice could force air into him.
Nadia's hands shook as she held pressure. Tears slid down her cheek without her noticing.
The man's eyes snapped open wide in sudden, animal fear.
He tried to inhale.
He couldn't.
His chest hitched.
Then—slowly—his body sagged, the tension draining out as if someone had cut a cord.
The wet bubbling stopped.
Elin stared at him for half a second, jaw clenched, then closed his eyes with two fingers.
She didn't say "he's gone."
She didn't have to.
Nadia made a small, broken sound and tried to pull her hands away like the blood was burning her.
Elin grabbed her wrists—firm, not cruel. "Look at me."
Nadia's eyes met hers, wide and terrified.
"You didn't kill him," Elin said, blunt and absolute. "You held him long enough that he had a chance. Understand?"
Nadia shook, then nodded once—tiny, forced.
Kel watched that exchange and filed it away.
Nadia wasn't brave yet.
But she was trying.
That mattered.
---
A new transmission hit the general band—routed through a different controller channel, quieter, almost like someone wanted it to be heard only by the right ears.
"Multiple incidents along rimward corridors," the voice said, strained. "Targets are being hit clean—no looting, no random burn. They're taking specific hardware, leaving the rest. Survivors describe… coordinated doctrine."
Mara's stylus stopped.
Sienna's head tilted, listening.
Tessa froze mid-wrench turn.
Kel's expression didn't change. But his focus sharpened.
Mara said quietly, "That's our pattern."
Kel answered, calm. "Yes."
The voice continued, almost breaking. "And they're not broadcasting. No taunts. No demands. Just… disciplined silence."
Avery's face went pale.
Jori swallowed hard.
Rina stared like she'd just realized space could contain monsters.
Kel looked at the bleeding JumpShip in the distance and understood what this really was:
Not revenge.
Not a grudge.
A shaping operation—someone making the Periphery corridors less stable, less reliable, less safe.
Preparing lanes.
Preparing fear.
Preparing blind spots.
Kel didn't say "Clans."
Not yet.
But the horizon was starting to form teeth.
---
End of Chapter Status
Jump point traffic is compromised; ComStar is locking lanes and delaying berth assignments.
Wayfarer took evac casualties; one deceased aboard despite triage; survivors stabilized.
New rumor packet confirms: coordinated, doctrine-driven strikes along rimward corridors.
---
Unit Ledger — Iron Inheritance (Running C-Bill Log)
(Maintained by Mara Saito; updated end of TSD 3049-10-09, 07:41)
Liquid on hand (prior): 69,100 C-bills
Minimum reserve floor: 60,000
New expenses:
Additional trauma supplies used (sealant, injectors, compress packs): −850
Shuttle docking service charge (emergency clamp use + decon fee): −600
New liquid total: 67,650 C-bills ✅ (still above 60,000 reserve)
Operating liquid above reserve: 7,650 C-bills
Restricted/held: 25,000 C-bills (not accessible)