Captain's Log, Supplemental DDSN-X1OO USS Discovery Captain James Nolan recording
Christening Date plus 8 days
Lunar Re-Fuel and Refit Station — final hours docked
The funerals are done.
Henry and Victor committed to the black.
The station licks its wounds.
Marduk limps away.
We resupply.
We reinforce.
We prepare to hunt.
The crew carries the grief like extra armor.
It weighs, but it hardens.
The shuttle bay doors parted with a low hydraulic sigh, admitting the sleek personnel craft from Earth Spacedock. It settled onto the deck with the soft kiss of landing struts, ramp lowering in a smooth, practiced arc. Major Jack "Blackjack" McCain stepped out first—tall, lean, flight suit still bearing the faint creases of fresh issue. Duffel slung over one shoulder, helmet tucked under his arm. His face was calm, professional, but the set of his shoulders spoke of a man walking into a room that didn't quite feel like home yet.
The Raptors were waiting.
Valkyrie stood front and center, arms loose at her sides, silver cross catching the hangar lights. Dragon flanked her left—broad, steady, expression unreadable. Phantom and Ice a step behind, quiet. The rest of the squadron formed a loose semicircle—eleven pilots now, the gap where Henry should have been a silent presence.
Jack stopped a respectful three paces away. "Colonel Grey. Reporting as ordered." Valkyrie's nod was measured, voice even but not cold. "Major McCain. Good to have you aboard."
Dragon offered a short nod. "Locker's ready. Same as always. "Phantom gave a quiet "Welcome back, Blackjack," and Ice added a simple "Glad you're here."
Most of the squadron dispersed slowly—quiet murmurs, a few claps on Jack's shoulder as they passed. Respect for his record. Acknowledgment that someone had to step in.
Kaze lingered.
She stood with arms crossed, wind chime silent around her neck, eyes fixed on Jack like she was measuring the space Henry used to occupy and finding it wrong.
Jack met her gaze—steady, but not pushing. "Kaze."
She didn't answer right away. When she did, her voice was low, edged with something raw.
"You know this doesn't fix anything."
Jack's reply was quiet. "I know. I'm not here to replace him. Just to fly with you."
Kaze looked away first, jaw tight. "We'll see."
Dragon put a hand on her shoulder—gentle this time. "Come on."
She didn't shrug it off. She just turned and walked with him. Jack watched them go, then looked to Valkyrie. "I'll earn it."
Valkyrie's expression softened a fraction. "You will. We all do."
In the guest quarters—cramped but clean, with a small porthole showing Luna's gray curve —Tanya Chen slept fitfully.
The light field holo above her bunk played a soft loop: Henry's memorial service, the casket sliding into the void, the flag fluttering once before disappearing. The image was gentle, almost dreamlike—the stars behind it swirling slow, the way they did in old vids when someone was remembering.
It felt like dreaming.
Then the banging started—hard, insistent on the hatch.
Tanya jolted awake, heart racing. The holo flickered off as she sat up.
The banging again. "Tanya! Open up—it's Nan!"
She swung her legs over the bunk, rubbed her eyes. "Coming!"
The hatch slid open. Nan—her cameraman, lanky, always moving—stood there, gear bag slung over his shoulder, face flushed.
"They're kicking us off," he said without preamble. "All the press pool. Orders just came down—embedded slots revoked except one."
Tanya blinked. "One?"
"You," Nan said, grin breaking through. "Captain Nolan approved you and me. Limited access, but we stay."
Tanya leaned against the bulkhead, processing. "Why me?"
Nan shrugged. "Your track record, I guess. Belt coverage. Ceres. You never sensationalized. Told it straight—even when it hurt."
She exhaled slow. "Yeah. Okay."
Nan glanced past her at the darkened holo. "You were watching the service again."
Tanya's voice quiet. "Hard not to."
Nan's grin faded. "Henry was good people."
"Yeah," she said. "He was."
In the captain's ready room, James sat across from Commander Jeff Halsy—coffee steaming between them, the low hum of the station outside the viewport.
Halsy had been with him since the first shakedown runs—steady, by-the-book when it mattered, but with the kind of quiet insight that kept a captain grounded.
James leaned back in his chair, rolling the mug between his palms. "New blood settling in?" Halsy took a sip, considering. "Reyes and Shadow Company—solid group. They move like they've done this before. Quiet professionals. They'll fit right in." James nodded. "Good. We'll need them if this hunt goes loud. And McCain?" Halsy set his mug down. "Good pilot. Nine kills. Henry trusted him with his life more than once. That counts for a lot."
James exhaled slow. "It does. Squadron's taking it hard, though. Kaze especially."
Halsy's mouth twitched—the closest he came to a smile. "She loved him. Didn't matter what regs said. We all saw it." James stared at his coffee. "Yeah. Grief's messy. She'll come around—or she'll carry it. Either way, McCain's not the enemy."
"No," Halsy agreed. "Marduk is."
They sat with that a moment—comfortable silence, the kind built from years of shared watches and hard choices. Halsy spoke first. "You holding up?"
James met his XO's eyes. "l have to. That's the job."
Halsy's voice was quiet, steady. "Doesn't mean you do it alone." James allowed a small, tired smile. "You've been saying that since the Belt."
"And I'll keep saying it till you listen," Halsy replied, deadpan.
James chuckled once. "Fair enough." He leaned forward. "Reporters?"
"Cleared out," Halsy said. "All except Tanya Chen and her cameraman. She made her case— embedded coverage, morale back home. Brass approved limited access."
James considered. "Tanya's alright. War correspondent—covered the Belt actions, Ceres raids. Never went for cheap shots. Honest reporting, even when it made us look bad. If anyone earns a seat, it's her."
Halsy nodded. "She knows the rules. No flight deck during scramble. No faces without permission. She'll respect the grief."
"Good," James said. "Keep an eye on her anyway."
Halsy's mouth twitched again. "Always do." They sat a moment longer—coffee cooling, station lights glinting outside. James finally spoke, voice low. "Jeff... something's been nagging at me. Engineering flagged an anomaly in the grav coils during the chase. Minor overload trace. Could be battle damage... or could be something else."
Halsy's expression sharpened. "You thinking sabotage?"
James shook his head slowly. "Too early to say. Just a feeling. Keep it quiet for now. Dig deeper when we're underway—discreetly."
Halsy nodded. "Will do. If there's something there, we'll find it."
James met his eyes. "l know you will."
The station lights faded behind as Discovery eased clear of the berth—thrusters gentle, clamps releasing with final clangs.
Fuel tanks topped.
Missiles loaded.
Exotic matter reserves replenished.
Crew aboard, ready.
The ship hung free against Luna's gray curve.
Earth a blue marble in the distance.
James on the bridge. "Helm, ahead full. Course for outer system patrol."
"Ahead full, aye."
The fusion torches lit—blue-white fire pushing them into the black.
The hunt began.
Captain's Log, closing entry — Chapter 10 complete
Resupplied.
Reinforced.
Crew grieving, but focused.
The black waits.
We hunt.
James Nolan, Captain
DDSN-X1OO USS Discovery