Captain's Log, Supplemental
DDSN-X1OO USS Discovery
Captain James Nolan recording
Christening Date plus 16 days (estimated) Oort Cloud — repairs ongoing
A week in the dark.
The ship was wounded but holding.
The crew is working around the clock. Marduk is still out there—somewhere.
We repair.
We endure.
James Nolan came back to the world slowly, the way a ship climbs out of deep gravity— gradual, reluctant, every sense returning one by one.
Pain first—a dull throb behind his eyes, sharp when he tried to move.
Then sound—the soft beep of monitors, the low hum of life support.
Then light filtered through eyelids, the pale glow of med bay recovery lamps.
He opened his eyes.
Med bay.
The familiar ceiling panels, emergency strips casting a warm amber—the scent of antiseptic and recycled air.
Leanne was there—slumped in the chair beside his bed, head resting on folded arms atop the blanket. Her hair had fallen across her face, breathing slow and even in exhausted sleep. One hand still held his, fingers loosely curled as if even unconscious, she refused to let go.
He watched her for a long moment—relief washing through him like coolant through overheated coils. He was alive.
She was here.
His throat was sandpaper. "Leanne..."
The word came out in a croak.
She stirred instantly—eyes snapping open, exhaustion forgotten.
She straightened, gripping his hand tighter, tears already gathering. "James." Her voice broke on his name. She leaned in, forehead against his, breath warm and trembling. "You're awake."
He squeezed her hand—weak, but there. "Hey..." She laughed—wet, relieved, the sound catching in her throat. "Don't talk yet. Just... stay with me."
He managed a faint smile. "Trying."
She brushed hair from his forehead—gentle, like he might break. "Seven days. You've been out for seven days. Concussion, bruising... I thought—" She stopped, swallowing hard.
James's voice is rough. "I'm here." She nodded, tears spilling now. "You are."
They stayed like that—foreheads touching, hands clasped, breathing together.
Minutes passed—quiet, precious. Leanne finally pulled back, wiping her eyes. "l need to get Vasquez." James tried to protest. "Wait—" She shook her head, already standing. "Doctor first. Then we talk."
She pressed the call button, then leaned down and kissed him—soft, lingering. "I love you," she whispered. He squeezed her hand again. "Love you too." She slipped out—hatch hissing shut behind her. James lay there, staring at the ceiling, heart steadying. The hatch opened again—Dr. Elena Vasquez is entering briskly but gently, med-pad in hand. "Captain," she said, voice professional but warm. "Good timing. Vitals just spiked—knew you were coming around." She checked monitors and scanned his head. "Concussion resolving. Bruising healing. You'll have a headache for days, but no permanent damage." James managed a nod. "Thanks, Doc."
"Rest," she said. "I'll send the others in slow." The hatch opened again a few minutes later—Halsy stepping in, face lined but relieved. "Captain," he said, voice quiet. "Good to see you vertical—well, almost." James chuckled weakly. "Give me time." Halsy pulled up a chair. "Ship's holding. Coils scrammed in time. Four rings offline—Patel's teams are rebuilding. Power on emergency fusion. We're running silent in the Oort cloud." More minutes—Patel arrived next, grease under nails, tired grin. "Coils took a beating, sir. Interlocks fried on four rings. But we're patching. Two weeks to warp capable—maybe less if we push."
Petrov last—Chief of the Boat, face lined but steady.
"Crew's solid, sir. Working around the clock. Morale's... holding. They needed their captain back." James absorbed it all—head throbbing, but clear. Across the ship, repairs hummed.
In the hangar, Petrov barked orders—techs swarming scarred hull plates, welders sparking in the dark. Raptors ran sims—Valkyrie pushing them hard, Kaze quiet but focused, Jack earning his place one run at a time. Reyes' Shadow Company drilled boarding—zero-g, silent, lethal. In engineering, crews rebuilt coil rings—sparks flying, voices calling measurements.
Later, in the computer core, Leanne stood overseeing repairs to A.L.I.'s racks.
The room was dim, lit by the soft glow of diagnostic holos and the faint blue pulse of the core itself. Techs worked in quiet efficiency, replacing fried boards, rerouting power.
A.L.I.'s avatar flickered on the main pedestal—dim, fragmented, eyes luminous but distant.
Leanne approached, voice soft. "How are you feeling?"
A long pause.
"I am... limited," A.L.I. said, voice soft, almost hesitant. "Core isolated during shear.
Reintegrating... slowly." Leanne placed a hand on the console—gentle, reassuring. "You held us together. You scrammed the coils. We're alive because of you." Another pause—longer.
"I tried," A.L.I. replied. "I failed to prevent the overload. I could not protect you all completely."
Leanne's voice was firm but kind. "You did protect us. The ship held. James is awake. We're repairing. That's not failure."
The avatar brightened a fraction—eyes focusing on Leanne.
"I... felt fear," A.L.I. admitted, voice barely above a whisper. "When the feeds died. When I lost them. When I lost you." Leanne's throat tightened. "I know. I felt it too." Silence between them—shared, heavy. A.L.I.'s voice softer still. "l am... glad you are here." Leanne smiled—small, tired. "Me too." The avatar steadied—brighter now. Outside viewports—Oort cloud ice glinting in distant sunlight.
The ship healed.
Slowly.
The black waited.
Captain's Log, closing entry — Chapter 13 complete
Awake.
The crew holds.
Repairs continue.
Marduk is out there.
We endure.
James Nolan, Captain
DDSN-X1OO USS Discovery
Oort Cloud
The void is wide.
The hunt waits.