TSD: 3049-10-03 — Local: 22:07
Galatea, Galatea System — Galaport City (Bay Ring C / Galaport Mech Services)
The bay heat clung to skin the way sweat clung to cloth—honest, unavoidable, and faintly metallic.
Kel stood under the Zeus's left torso, looking up at the massive platework like he was studying a map. The work lights above turned the patched armor into a geography of scars: bolt heads like riveted islands, mismatched plating like stitched borders. The HARROW stencil—half buried under sanding and paint—showed faintly when the light hit it at an angle.
He didn't stare at the name. He acknowledged it, then moved past it.
That was how he stayed upright.
Tessa's tool cart rolled across the deck with a rattle and a squeal. She moved fast, the kind of speed born of long shifts and too little patience for wasted motion. Tonight her coveralls were tied at the waist, sleeves knotted, the upper half hanging down and bunching around her hips like a heavy skirt. A dark sports bra and a thin tank clung to her torso, damp at the sternum where sweat had soaked in. Her forearms were streaked with grease; her hands were clean enough to work, not clean enough to pretend she lived anything resembling a normal life.
Her hair—normally a tight bun—had been reworked into two braids that started high at the scalp and ran back, tucked tight so nothing could fall into her eyes. Practical. Different. Not boring.
She caught Kel looking at the actuator diagnostic display and misread it as doubt.
"It's going to hold," she said, a little too sharp.
Kel turned his head to her—calm, direct. "I know."
The edge in her expression softened, and she looked away like she'd been caught doing something she didn't have practice at. She wasn't used to reassurance that didn't feel like pity or flirting.
Kel didn't push it. He simply let the moment settle into place.
Mara sat on an upturned crate near the bay office door, tablet balanced on one knee, her stylus moving in quiet, relentless strokes. She'd changed from her hiring-hall jacket into a lighter comms-and-admin layer: a fitted long-sleeve in charcoal, sleeves rolled cleanly to her elbows, and a utility vest over it with pockets for data wafers and seal stamps. Her hair was still controlled but altered—pulled into a neat side braid tonight, pinned behind one ear with a simple clip. Less "meeting," more "work."
She looked up without lifting her head fully. "Bond acceptance is filed. Vantrell confirmed. The liaison stamped provisional status pending arbitration."
Kel nodded once. "Good."
Mara's eyes lingered on him for half a heartbeat longer than necessary. The look wasn't hunger. It wasn't romance. It was assessment—of the kind that could become trust if repeated enough times.
Then she returned to her tablet like nothing had happened.
Elin arrived with a soft tread, med kit slung over one shoulder. She'd swapped her clinic vest for field gear: a lighter armored medic harness with marked pouches, durable pants, and boots meant for running on broken ground. Her sleeves were rolled to identical widths again, as if symmetry could hold the world together. Her hair was pinned back in a low bun tonight—tighter than the braid she'd worn earlier—because she was expecting dust, sweat, and the kind of chaos that grabbed loose strands like hands.
She stopped close to Kel, looked him over the way only medics did, and asked, "Any injuries you're hiding?"
"No."
Elin's eyes narrowed. "That wasn't the question."
Kel held her gaze, unruffled. "No injuries," he repeated. "I'm tired."
Elin's expression softened by a fraction, and she did something that made her look briefly unsure of herself: she reached up, then hesitated, then adjusted the collar of Kel's field coat where it had folded wrong.
The touch lasted a second. It shouldn't have meant anything.
But Elin's fingers were warm, and her closeness carried the clean smell of antiseptic and soap—a sharp contrast to the bay's oil-and-metal breath. Kel felt her pause after she corrected the fold, as if she expected him to react.
He didn't move. He didn't step away.
He simply said, "Thank you."
Elin blinked once, faint color rising in her cheeks like a delayed warning light. She stepped back and cleared her throat as if she'd just performed a medical procedure.
"Don't make it weird," she muttered.
Kel's mouth almost tilted. "I won't."
Tessa watched from the edge of her tool cart, pretending she wasn't watching. Mara didn't look up, but Kel was certain she'd seen it in the corner of her eye.
The bay door hissed.
Sienna Kells walked in like she belonged there.
Tonight her flight jacket was off—tied around her waist instead—revealing a fitted top that clung to her frame and made it obvious how lean she was beneath the swagger. Long limbs, wiry strength, the kind that came from survival rather than training for show. Her pants were tight enough to move in, scuffed at the knees. Her boots were old but well cared for, laces replaced with mismatched cord.
Her hair was different from earlier: pulled into a high ponytail that swung when she walked, shaved side more visible now, stubble catching the light. She'd done it on purpose—half intimidation, half identity.
She stopped just inside the bay and looked up at the Zeus.
Even she couldn't hide the respect that flickered across her face.
"Damn," she said softly.
Tessa folded her arms, grease-streaked forearms crossing over her chest. "You're back."
Sienna's eyes cut to Tessa. "I said I'd be on Route 7."
Mara finally looked up. "And are you bonded to the same posting, or are you here to be dramatic?"
Sienna opened her mouth—then paused like she'd realized she was being handled by someone who didn't care about her charm.
She pulled a folded data slip from her pocket and tossed it lightly toward Mara.
Mara caught it, scanned it, and gave a small nod. "She's filed. Attached contractor."
Elin looked between them. "With what ride?"
Sienna's grin returned, quick and bright. "A Valkyrie," she said. "Old. Ugly. Mine."
Kel's gaze stayed on Sienna, calm. "You're under my rules."
Sienna's grin faltered—just a fraction.
Kel didn't raise his voice. He didn't posture. He simply stated a boundary like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Three days," he continued. "Escort. We don't chase glory. We don't break convoy integrity. You see targets, you call them. You take shots that matter. You stay alive."
Sienna swallowed—small, visible. For someone who flirted like it was a sport, the seriousness hit her like a door closing gently but firmly.
"…Copy," she said, quieter.
Kel nodded once. "Good. Get some sleep. We roll at oh-five-hundred."
Sienna blinked. "That's it?"
"That's it."
Her mouth opened again, then closed. She looked briefly, absurdly uncertain—like she'd expected a fight, or a witty exchange, or a flirt-off that would let her retreat before anything became real.
Kel offered none of it.
He simply turned back to the Zeus and said to Tessa, "Final checklist."
Tessa snapped out of her watchfulness. "Yeah. Okay." She wiped her hands on a rag, then touched the Zeus's leg plating with the kind of familiarity that bordered on tenderness. "Hip actuator temp is stable now. I bled the line, tightened the mount, and I'm praying to every machine spirit that ever lived."
Mara's stylus paused. "We don't have machine spirits."
Tessa shot her a look. "Then I'm praying to the concept of mercy."
Kel's voice was steady. "We don't need mercy. We need discipline."
Tessa's eyes flicked to him again—quick, flustered—and she looked away too fast. "Right," she said. "Discipline."
Elin muttered, "That's not what she meant."
Kel heard it. He didn't comment.
Dominance wasn't pretending he didn't notice. It was choosing what mattered now.
He climbed the Zeus's access ladder with controlled movements, not rushed, hands confident on the rungs. His lean frame moved easily, coat shifting around his hips. At the top, he paused, turned, and looked down at them—his forming crew in the bay heat, faces lit by work lamps, bodies caught between exhaustion and adrenaline.
"Tessa," he said. "You're with the support truck. If anything feels off, you tell me before it becomes failure."
Her throat moved. "Yes."
"Mara. You ride comms. You stay cold. You keep us legal."
Mara's eyes held his, and she nodded once. "Always."
"Elin. You ride the med vehicle. You tell me when we stop. Not the employer."
Elin's brows rose slightly at being given that authority. "Copy," she said, then added quickly, "And don't argue."
Kel didn't smile, but his voice warmed by a degree. "I won't."
He looked at Sienna last. "You stay on my left flank. You don't freelance."
Sienna's mouth twitched like she wanted to joke—then she didn't. "Copy," she said again, quieter than before.
Kel dipped his head once and disappeared into the cockpit.
---
TSD: 3049-10-04 — Local: 05:02
Galatea, Galatea System — Continental Route 7 (Staging Yard / Vantrell Logistics Depot)
Morning on Galatea was gray and cold, as if the planet resented the idea of sunrise.
The staging yard sprawled beside Route 7 like a scar of concrete and steel. Haulers lined up in disciplined rows—long, low cargo rigs with armored cabs and sealed trailers. Some rode on tracked platforms for rough terrain; others were wheeled, built for speed on paved stretches. Security vehicles idled between them: light armored cars with turret mounts, a pair of heavier APCs, and one squat command van with antennae like a nest of metal reeds.
Vantrell Logistics ran like a machine.
Which meant it would break like a machine, too—at the worst possible time.
Kel's Zeus stood near the front of the convoy, steam rising faintly from vents as the fusion plant warmed. The assault 'Mech looked even larger in the thin morning light, a walking fortress over a line of trucks.
Kel was inside the cockpit, neurohelmet snug against his skull, straps tightened. The familiar pressure around his head was almost comforting—like hands cupping his thoughts into focus. Displays glowed. The gyro hummed. The world narrowed to sensors, ranges, and the steady rhythm of the machine under him.
Outside, Mara's voice came through comms, crisp and controlled.
"Convoy lead to escorts: comm check. Zeus, Valkyrie, security wing."
Kel keyed in with minimal words. "Zeus online."
Sienna's voice came next—lighter, but trying not to sound eager. "Valkyrie online."
Vantrell security responded with bored professionalism. "Security wing online."
Mara's voice stayed even. "Route is one hundred and twelve kilometers. Two scheduled rest points. Employer wants no delays."
Elin cut in, dry. "Employer can want whatever it wants. I'm not letting anyone bleed out because of a schedule."
There was a pause.
Then, unexpectedly, the security chief chuckled over comms like a man who had heard worse. "Copy, medic."
Kel said, calmly, "We move when we're ready."
Mara's voice lowered slightly—only Kel would notice. "You're already doing it," she murmured, and then, louder, "Convoy begins roll in sixty seconds."
Kel watched the convoy start moving through his forward viewport. Headlights cut pale cones through morning mist. Engines growled. Tires and treads began their slow, synchronized grind.
The Zeus stepped forward.
Even a careful step shook the ground. Even restrained movement carried force. Kel felt it through the controls like a heartbeat traveling up his arms and into his ribs.
He kept his pace steady, matching the convoy's speed without crowding it. His left flank was open terrain—low scrub, scattered rock, and a ridgeline that ran parallel to the road like a patient predator.
Sienna's Valkyrie moved out there, lighter, faster, a shadow to the Zeus's bulk. Kel could see her through sensors—30 tons, jump jets hot, LRM rack ready. A small machine with an honest job: screen, harass, warn.
Tessa's voice wasn't on the main comm net. She was in the support truck behind the command van, listening and watching diagnostics. But Kel could feel her presence like a tether—someone who knew his machine's weaknesses intimately and would tell him when it whispered pain.
They rolled.
Kilometers passed.
The world stayed quiet.
Too quiet.
Kel's instincts didn't spike into panic. He didn't tighten up. He simply became still inside his own body, listening.
Mara spoke again. "Thermal on ridge remains low. No civilian traffic. No chatter."
Kel answered softly. "That's not comfort. That's absence."
Sienna, on flank, laughed once. "You really know how to make a girl feel safe."
The words were teasing, but there was a wobble beneath them—a quick uncertainty, like she'd stepped into something and didn't know if she should step back out.
Kel replied evenly. "Safety is work."
Silence.
Then Sienna said, quieter, "Copy."
---
TSD: 3049-10-04 — Local: 06:14
Galatea, Galatea System — Continental Route 7 (Ridgeline East / Grid KJ-118)
The ambush began with a sound Kel felt in his teeth.
A sharp crack—too big to be a rifle, too clean to be a rockslide—followed by the sudden bloom of heat on sensors.
A truck near the convoy's midline lurched as something punched into its front axle housing. The rig slewed sideways, trailer fishtailing, tires screaming against pavement.
Mara's voice snapped tight. "Contact! Midline disabled! Heat signatures—multiple—ridge east!"
Kel didn't swear. He didn't shout.
He moved.
"Convoy stop. Security wing form shield," Kel said, calm and absolute. "Mara, mark targets. Sienna, suppress ridge. Don't chase."
Sienna's voice came fast. "Copy!"
The Valkyrie leapt—jump jets flaring, a brief roar—landing higher on the slope to get angle. Its LRM rack spat a ripple of missiles, smoke trailing behind them like claws.
Kel brought the Zeus's torso around, presenting stronger armor. He felt the left hip actuator complain—just a whisper of resistance—but it held.
Two light 'Mechs broke from cover: a Locust and a Spider, darting down the ridge like insects, fast and fearless, trying to slip past the escorts and hit the trucks.
Vehicles followed—Scorpion tanks, their turrets swiveling, and a pair of fast hovercraft cutting toward the convoy's rear.
Raiders. Cheap. Numerous. Familiar.
But their timing was too clean. Their target selection too precise.
Kel tracked the Locust.
Range brackets ticked down.
He didn't fire immediately.
He waited until the Locust committed—until it angled toward the trucks, until it chose its line and could no longer easily break.
Then Kel fired the Zeus's AC/5.
The recoil traveled through the controls like a shove. The shell hit the Locust's torso and tore armor away in a spray of fragments. The small 'Mech staggered, tried to recover, and Kel followed with the Large Laser—bright and silent from the cockpit, a sudden white cut that burned into the Locust's shoulder.
Kel didn't chase the kill.
He moved his aim to the Spider—jumping, agile, trying to land behind him.
"Spider behind you," Mara warned.
"I see it."
Kel rotated the Zeus with controlled steps, torso twisting to keep the heaviest armor facing threat. The Spider landed and fired—medium lasers flashing, stinging the Zeus's rear plating.
Kel absorbed the hits, then returned one disciplined volley—Large Laser and a medium—aimed not to destroy, but to cripple. The Spider's leg armor sizzled, and the machine stumbled on its next jump attempt, balance thrown off.
Sienna's Valkyrie, higher up, kept spitting missiles into the ridge positions. "They've got spotters!" she called. "Someone's feeding them timing!"
Elin's voice cut in from the med vehicle. "We have wounded in the disabled truck—driver hit, bleeding. Security is pinned!"
Kel's mind stayed cold.
"Mara," he said, "smoke the midline. Get the command van behind cover. Elin, hold position until I clear lane. Tessa—status on hip?"
A pause—then Tessa, breath tight. "Temp rising but stable. Don't sprint. Don't stomp. Smooth steps, Kel."
Kel replied, quiet. "Copy."
He took the Zeus forward—slow, heavy, deliberate—putting his machine between the raiders and the convoy like a moving wall. The Scorpion tanks fired, shells sparking off his armor. The hovercraft tried to slip wide.
Kel didn't let them.
He fired a controlled LRM volley—missiles arcing out, scattering a hovercraft's skirt with fragments. It dipped, wobbled, and slammed into the roadside embankment.
He swung his torso toward a Scorpion, let the AC/5 thump again—
And felt the weapon feed hesitate.
A tiny stutter in the mechanism. A warning in the tactile feedback. The misaligned guide, just as Tessa had warned.
Kel didn't force it.
He didn't jam the trigger like a panicked man.
He switched immediately—Large Laser, medium laser—burning the Scorpion's turret ring, forcing it to back away while the AC/5 feed cycled itself back into alignment.
Mara's voice was tight with controlled fear. "You almost—"
"I know," Kel said evenly.
Sienna's voice came in, breathless. "Locust is trying to run! It's hit but moving!"
"Let it run," Kel said.
Sienna sounded startled. "What?"
Kel's reply was calm, unwavering. "It's bait. We hold the convoy."
There was a long beat—then Sienna, quieter, "Copy."
She obeyed.
That was the first time Kel felt the line between "flirtation" and "respect" harden into something more durable.
The Spider tried to jump again, leg damaged, desperate.
Kel stepped forward and angled his torso, letting the Spider land where he wanted it—close, too close to dodge.
"Now," Kel said.
Sienna's Valkyrie shifted angle and dumped a tight LRM spread into the Spider's compromised leg. The limb gave. The light 'Mech toppled sideways, crashing into scrub with a metallic scream.
Kel pivoted, controlled, and fired once more—AC/5 thump—into the Spider's torso. Not enough to vaporize it. Enough to end the fight.
The remaining raiders hesitated.
Then they broke.
Scorpions reversed, kicking dust. The Locust limped away. The hovercraft that still functioned fled down a ravine line.
Kel didn't chase.
He held.
Mara exhaled audibly over comms, as if she'd forgotten breathing was optional.
Security wing moved in, forming a protective arc around the convoy. The command van shifted behind a rocky outcrop. The med vehicle rolled forward.
Elin's voice came sharp. "Kel, I'm moving. Cover me."
Kel answered, calm. "Covered."
Elin stepped out of her vehicle into the cold morning like she'd done this a hundred times. She moved fast, confident, and then—when she reached the disabled truck and saw the blood—Kel heard a tiny hitch in her breath.
She pushed past it.
Because in her world, hesitation killed people.
Kel watched her through external cams. Her hands worked. Her posture stayed steady. She did not look at Kel again until the driver was stabilized.
When she finally did, her voice was quieter. "He'll live."
Kel replied, "Good."
---
TSD: 3049-10-04 — Local: 07:03
Galatea, Galatea System — Continental Route 7 (Rest Point 1 / Roadside Cut)
They made rest point one under a sky that had brightened just enough to show how ugly the landscape really was.
The convoy parked in a shallow roadside cut, vehicles tight together, security posted. The Zeus stood like a monument at the perimeter, heat venting in soft breaths. The Valkyrie paced on the flank, restless.
Kel climbed down the access ladder with the same controlled movements he'd climbed up with. When his boots hit the ground, he rolled his shoulders once—quietly relieving tension.
Tessa met him at the Zeus's leg with her field kit already open. She'd changed again: coveralls pulled up this time, zipped halfway, sleeves rolled. A different head wrap—dark bandana tied at the back—kept her hair contained. She looked like she belonged under the Zeus, not beside it.
She crouched, pressed a sensor patch to the actuator housing, and frowned. "Temp's high," she said. "Not catastrophic. But you're flirting with it."
Kel didn't bristle at the word. He held her gaze. "Tell me what to do."
Tessa blinked—caught off guard by the simple respect in the phrase. Her cheeks flushed faintly, and she looked away too fast.
"Uh—" She cleared her throat, annoyed at herself. "Walk it. Don't run. No sudden turns. If they hit again, you anchor. You don't dance."
Kel nodded once. "Understood."
Tessa's mouth tightened, and she blurted, "And—good job. With the jam. You didn't force it."
The compliment came out awkward, like a tool dropped from a nervous hand.
Kel answered smoothly, "You warned me. I listened."
Tessa's face went redder. She ducked her head and pretended to be very interested in the actuator readings.
Mara approached from the command van with her tablet held close. She'd added a light jacket now—functional, fitted—zippered up against the morning chill. Her braid was still pinned, but she'd tightened it into a more secure coil, as if the fight had demanded she become more armored.
She handed Kel a data printout. "After-action summary," she said. "We stayed within contract terms. Defensive action only. No pursuit."
Kel took it, scanned it. "Good."
Mara hesitated. Her eyes flicked to his chest, to the way his coat sat slightly crooked from climbing down.
Her hand lifted.
Then paused.
Then—very quickly—she adjusted the zipper line at his collar, straightening it with two fingertips.
The touch was brief and careful, as if she were afraid of being obvious.
Mara stepped back immediately and began speaking faster. "Also, raider comm traffic was strangely disciplined. They had route timing data down to minutes. That's not normal bandit work."
Kel watched her, calm. "You okay?"
Mara's eyes widened, then narrowed as she tried to pretend the question was purely operational. "Yes," she said. "I'm fine."
Kel didn't push. He simply said, "Good work."
Mara's throat moved. She nodded too quickly and turned away to her tablet like it was a shield.
Elin came up next, pulling off her gloves. She'd swapped her harness for a lighter medic vest now, the fabric darker in places where blood had soaked and been wiped. Her hair was slightly messy—first sign she was human. Her eyes were steady but tired.
"He'll live," she repeated, as if saying it twice made it more real. "But we used a lot of clotting agents. If we get hit again, I'm not as well stocked."
Kel nodded. "We resupply after the contract."
Elin's gaze stayed on him a moment, and something in her expression softened—then she looked away like she'd caught herself.
"I'm going to check you," she said abruptly.
Kel didn't argue. He stepped closer and stood still.
Elin's hands were competent, warm through thin gloves. She pressed fingers against his ribs lightly, checking for bruising from cockpit jolt. The touch was clinical—until it wasn't.
Because Kel wasn't bleeding.
Because there were no screams around them.
Because it was just her hands on him in the morning light, and Elin's breath caught once, barely audible, like she'd realized how intimate simple contact could feel when it wasn't survival.
Kel's voice stayed low. "I'm fine."
Elin swallowed. "I know," she said quietly. "I just—"
She stopped. She didn't have practice finishing that sentence.
Kel didn't force her to. "Thank you," he said again, steady and sincere.
Elin's cheeks warmed. She pulled her hands back quickly and stepped away like she'd touched a live wire.
Sienna arrived last, swagger reduced by the fact she'd actually been scared.
Her ponytail was looser now, strands escaping around her face. She'd put her flight jacket back on, but it hung open, and the way she kept her hands in the pockets looked casual until you noticed the tension in her shoulders. She stopped near Kel, close enough for conversation without making it a performance.
"You were right," she said.
Kel didn't pretend he didn't understand. "About bait."
Sienna nodded once. "I wanted to run it down. Prove something."
Kel's gaze stayed calm. "To who?"
Sienna's mouth opened—then closed. She looked away toward her Valkyrie like the machine might provide the answer.
"…I don't know," she admitted, quietly.
The confession didn't match her earlier bravado. It sounded young.
Kel said, evenly, "You don't need to prove anything. You need to live."
Sienna's throat bobbed. She tried to grin. It came out crooked.
"Copy," she said again, softer than before.
There was a silence between them that felt like something standing in a doorway, unsure if it was allowed inside.
Sienna cleared her throat and pulled something from her jacket pocket—a small comm unit, casing scuffed. "We pulled this off the Spider pilot," she said. "Security didn't notice. Or didn't care."
Mara's head snapped up from her tablet. "Give me that."
Sienna handed it over quickly, like a kid handing over contraband to a teacher, and then seemed embarrassed by how fast she'd complied.
Mara's fingers moved, extracting a data chip.
Her eyes narrowed as she read.
"This isn't random," Mara said quietly. "They had our departure time before Vantrell even broadcast it to their own drivers."
Tessa's voice went flat. "So someone sold it."
Elin's expression cooled. "Or someone inside Vantrell."
Kel took the chip from Mara carefully and looked at the one line that mattered:
ROUTE 7 / KJ-118 / 06:12 — PACKAGE WINDOW CONFIRMED
Package.
Not cargo. Not convoy.
Package.
Kel's calm didn't crack. But something in his eyes turned colder.
He handed the chip back to Mara. "Copy everything."
Mara nodded once, already moving. "Yes."
Kel looked at Tessa. "Zeus status?"
"Holdable," she said, then corrected herself, flustered, "Uh—manageable. It'll finish the contract."
Kel looked at Elin. "Medical stock?"
"Enough for one more hit," she said. "After that I'm improvising."
Kel looked at Sienna. "Flank discipline?"
Sienna swallowed. "Yes," she said, very serious now. "I'll hold."
Kel nodded once.
Then he said, calm and absolute, "We finish the contract. We don't get isolated. And we find out who thinks we're a package."
No one argued.
Not because Kel was loud.
Because his composure made the plan feel like gravity—something you could rely on.
---
Convoy Notes (Mara Saito — Draft)
Raider force: light 'Mechs (Locust, Spider), vehicles (Scorpion tanks, hovercraft)
Target priority: convoy midline disable → attempt to breach security arc
Timing: attack initiated within minutes of optimal "window" (suggests insider intel)
Recovered: comm unit + chip containing route timing labeled "PACKAGE WINDOW"
Zeus Field Check (Tessa Rook — Quick)
Left hip actuator: high temp, stable under controlled movement
AC/5 feed: hesitation observed once, recovered without jam
Armor: minor scarring rear plating; no breach
Recommendation: no sprinting, no sharp pivots, anchor defense posture