Captain's Log, Supplemental
DDSN-X1OO USS Discovery
Captain James Nolan recording
Christening Date plus 8 days
Lunar Re-Fuel and Refit Station aftermath
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 station's lights felt dimmer, even though the floodlamps burned as bright as ever.
Discovery hung in her berth, hull patched but scarred—black streaks from laser grazing, pockmarks from shrapnel, one rail turret still offline while techs swarmed it. Fuel lines snaked across the hangar like silver arteries, pumping helium-3 into her tanks. Cargo shuttles ferried crates—missiles, coilgun rounds, exotic matter canisters sealed in armored pods.
James stood on the observation deck overlooking the bay, hands clasped behind him. The crew moved with purpose, but slower than before. Eyes lingered on empty cradles.
Conversations hushed when someone mentioned Henry.
Leanne joined him, coffee in hand—real station brew, not replicator. "Admiral Nelson's holding for secure vid. He's... not happy."
James's mouth twitched. "When is he ever?"
They walked to the secure comms room—small, armored, walls lined with encryption gear.
The holo flickered to life.
Admiral Steven Nelson appeared—older than James's father, face carved from decades of command. Uniform crisp, eyes sharp.
"Captain Nolan." His voice was gravel. "Report."
James stood straight. "Sir. Station raid repelled. Marduk's force broken—flagship destroyed, remnants jumped. Station sustained damage but held. Casualties..." He paused. "Major Henry Kingston KIA. Victor Cromwell KIA. Additional station dead—twenty-seven confirmed."
Nelson's jaw tightened. "Kingston. Damn. Good pilot. Cromwell?"
"Direct hit to command center. He stayed at his post." Nelson exhaled slow. "The lanes owe him. Both of them."
Silence stretched.
Nelson leaned forward. "Marduk?"
"Escaped. Gravimetric signature—high-power jump. We have partial vector."
Nelson considered. "You want to go after him."
James nodded. "Permission to pursue, sir. He's wounded. We can end this."
Nelson rubbed his chin. "You're the only asset with warp capability. But you're battered. Resupply first. I'm sending reinforcements—two SV-44 Assault shuttles. Special Forces detachment, thirty operators. Black ops trained. They'll board at Luna before you jump."
James kept his face neutral. "Understood, sir. Thank you."
Nelson's voice softened a fraction. "James... I knew Henry since academy. Tell his squadron
—tell them we're proud. And tell yourself the same."
"Yes, sir."
The holo winked out.
Leanne's hand found his. "He's giving us what we need."
James nodded. "He's giving us a chance. We'd better not waste it."
The resupply accelerated.
Fuel lines snaked across the deck. Cargo shuttles ferried crates—missiles, coilgun rounds, exotic matter canisters.
Two sleek SV-44 Assault shuttles arrived hours later—quad-engine hybrids, matte black with reinforced armor, armed to the teeth with twin rail Vulcan cannons and stubby pylons crammed with ship-to-ship and ship-to-ground missiles. Ramps dropped. Thirty operators in black exosuits disembarked—silent, efficient, weapons slung.
Led by a woman with captain's bars and a scar across her cheek.
"Captain Nolan," she said, salute crisp but eyes warm. "Captain Elena Reyes, Shadow
Company. Heard you had a hell of a fight."
James returned the salute. "We did. Welcome aboard, Captain. We're glad to have you."
Reyes glanced at the scarred hull visible through the bay window. "Looks like it. My people are ready. Shuttles loaded—heavy weapons, boarding kits, the works."
James nodded. "Briefing in one hour. We'll jump when everything's locked down."
Reyes's scar twitched in a half-smile. "Looking forward to it."
The operators dispersed—gear stowed, shuttles secured in the hangar beside the gunboats.
The ship filled.
Fuel tanks topped.
Missiles loaded.
Exotic matter reserves replenished.
Crew back aboard, ready.
Discovery remained docked—thrusters cold, clamps secure.
The station lights glowed steady around her.
The hunt waited.
One more night.
Captain's Log, closing entry — Chapter 9 complete
Resupplied.
Reinforced.
Still docked.
The black waits.
We're almost ready.
James Nolan, Captain
DDSN-X1OO USS Discovery