Captain's Log, Supplemental DDSN-X1OO USS Discovery
Captain James Nolan recording
Christening Date plus 26 days (estimated)
Oort Cloud — repairs ongoing
The ship breathes easier. The crew stands taller.
heal.
Marduk waits.
We will find him.
James Nolan had been confined to med bay for three days since the briefing, and the walls were closing in. The ache in his ribs had dulled to a manageable throb, the headache reduced to a faint echo, but the inactivity gnawed at him worse than any wound. Vasquez's orders were clear —light duty, no heroics—but light duty in a bed felt like surrender. He needed to move, to feel the ship under his feet, to see her healing with his own eyes.
Cabin fever, plain and simple.
He swung his legs over the side, testing weight. Steady enough. Leanne had left hours ago—back to the core room where A.L.l.'s reintegration demanded her full attention. She'd kissed him goodbye with a warning look that said she'd know if he pushed too hard. He dressed slowly—uniform loose over bandages—and slipped out before Vasquez could catch him.
The corridors felt different. Cleaner air. Steadier gravity.
Crew passed with nods and quiet smiles—relief in their eyes at seeing him upright.
A young ensign—Ramirez, engineering—nearly dropped his toolkit. "Captain on deck!"
James waved him off. "As you were. Carry on."
Ramirez grinned. "Good to see you walking, sir."
James moved on, the deck plates familiar under his boots, the low hum of the ship a comfort he hadn't realized he missed. The hangar first. Petrov's kingdom hummed with purpose. Welders sparked against fresh hull plates, cranes swung new armor into place with rhythmic groans. Techs swarmed the Raptors—birds patched, scarred but proud, their matte black hulls gleaming under work lights.
Petrov spotted him from across the deck, wiped grease from his hands with a rag, and strode over. "Captain," he said, voice gravel but warm. "You're early." James leaned against a bulkhead, watching the sparks fly. "Couldn't stay away. How's my Petrov's grin broke through exhaustion. "Tough as ever. Reactor two steady. Half drives online. Coils rebuilding—three rings fully synced now. We'll be moving soon." A tech nearby—Petty Officer Lang, young and freckled—paused her welding, lifting her visor. "She's singing again, sir. You can feel it in the deck." James nodded toward her. "Good work, Lang. Keep her purring." She flushed, returned to her torch with renewed focus. James watched the sparks a moment longer—the rhythm of repair, the smell of hot metal, the quiet determination in every movement. Engineering next.
The air warmer here, thick with ozone and hot metal. Patel's teams worked ring by ring—sparks flying, voices calling measurements in tired but determined tones. Raj looked up from a console, grease under nails. "Captain. You're walking." James smiled. "Doctor's orders were vague." Patel laughed, wiping his hands. "Coils at seventy percent. Four rings rebuilt. We'll have warp in ten days if we push."
A crewman—Torres, his second—called from a panel. "Ring six aligned—holding steady!"
Patel shouted back. "Lock it down! Good catch!" James clapped Patel's shoulder. "You're doing miracles." Patel shrugged, but his eyes were bright. "She's a tough girl. Just needed a little love—and a lot of swearing." The computer core was quieter. Leanne at the console, A.L.l.'s avatar bright beside her.
She looked up—surprised, pleased. "You're supposed to be resting." James pulled up a stool. "Sitting counts." Leanne's mouth twitched. "A.L.I.'s one hundred percent. She's back."
The avatar turned—luminous eyes calm. "Captain," she said. "l am glad you are well."
James smiled. "Me too. Thank you—for holding us together."
A pause.
"I tried," she replied, voice soft. "l am... learning." Leanne's hand brushed his. "We all are."
He stayed a while—watching her work, feeling the ship's heart beat stronger. The ready room last. Valkyrie with the squadron—sims running, voices sharp with focus.
She saw him, nodded.
"Captain."
James leaned in the hatch. "How's the team?"
"Holding," she said. "Flying tight. Ready." Kaze glanced over—quiet nod.
Dragon offered a grunt of acknowledgment.
Jack—new but earning—gave a respectful "Sir."
James nodded back. "Keep pushing."
Valkyrie's eyes softened. "We will." He walked back to med bay—tired, but alive.
The ship healed around him—slow, stubborn.
Crew moving with purpose.
Morale climbing.
The black waited.
But they were ready.
James slipped into bed just as Vasquez rounded the corner. She raised an eyebrow.
He smiled innocently. She shook her head, but didn't scold. The hunt waited.
They would answer.
Captain's Log, closing entry — Chapter 15 complete
Walking the decks.
The ship heals.
The crew endures.
The hunt waits.
James Nolan, Captain
DDSN-X1OO USS Discovery
Oort Cloud