TSD: 3049-10-04 — Local: 20:46
Galatea, Galatea System — Continental Route 7 (Final Leg / Vantrell Delivery Zone)
The last stretch of Route 7 felt too normal.
The road widened, the rock walls fell away, and the convoy rolled into a delivery zone lit by sodium lamps and guarded by men who looked like they'd never had to fight for their lives over a shipping manifest. Tall fencing, floodlights, and automated gates—civilization's idea of safety.
Kel didn't relax.
He watched the perimeter like it was a firing line.
"Delivery zone in sight," Hess reported on the net, voice clipped. "No contacts."
Mara replied, just as crisp. "No new bursts. Node quiet."
Tessa's voice came through Kel's private channel, controlled fatigue in it. "Hip actuator is still holding. Barely. If you make me rebuild that joint in the dark tonight, I'm going to start believing in machine spirits out of spite."
Kel's reply was calm. "I won't."
A pause—then Tessa, muttering like she regretted speaking at all: "Copy."
Sienna's voice followed from the flank. "Ridge line is clean. If Coda's watching, he's doing it from far away."
Kel didn't answer with praise this time. Not because she didn't deserve it—but because he was saving bandwidth for the next turn of the knife.
"Convoy," Kel said, steady. "Maintain formation until gates close. Then we unload. Then we disappear."
Hess exhaled hard. "Copy that."
The gates opened. Trucks rolled in. The delivery zone swallowed the convoy and shut behind it.
For the first time since morning, Kel let his shoulders drop a fraction inside the cockpit.
Not relief.
Just transition.
Because a contract ending didn't mean danger ended.
It meant the shape of danger changed.
---
TSD: 3049-10-04 — Local: 21:33
Galatea, Galatea System — Galaport City (MRB Liaison Annex / After-Hours Window)
The MRB liaison annex was quieter at night—less noise, fewer eyes, more consequence.
ComStar staff moved like ghosts in white, efficient and unreadable. The same acolyte from the day before sat behind the counter, posture perfect, expression polite in a way that meant he'd seen men beg over far worse than money.
Kel stood at the counter with Mara beside him and Hess just behind, arms crossed like he didn't want to be here but couldn't afford not to be.
Frey stood slightly to the side, guarded by two of Hess's security men. He looked like he'd been scrubbed clean and still couldn't get the fear off his skin.
Mara slid the statement packet across the counter—cleanly formatted, timestamped, signed.
"Route controller Dallon Frey testifies under Vantrell validation," she said. "Approached by a contractor using the name 'Mr. Coda.' Directed to alter convoy timing. Evidence attached: waveform signature, receiver hardware photos, node token strings."
The acolyte's fingers moved over his terminal. His eyes flicked once at Kel, then back down.
"MRB arbitration will accept the filing," he said. "Review schedule will be determined."
Kel's voice stayed calm. "I want temporary protection for Frey."
The acolyte looked up. "ComStar is not a fortress."
Kel replied evenly. "It's better than a roadside grave."
A beat. Then the acolyte nodded, almost imperceptibly. "Witness protection can be arranged under limited conditions."
Mara didn't smile, but the tension in her shoulders eased a fraction. "Thank you."
The acolyte's gaze shifted to the packet. "This token string—'HARROW-ENGAGE / ADDENDUM-6HR'—is unusual."
Kel's eyes didn't change. "It's why we're here."
The acolyte slid the packet into a sealed tray with practiced care. "Your provisional status remains pending. Your bonded obligations remain."
Kel nodded once. "Understood."
It was transactional. Cold. Necessary.
And it moved Kel's father's ghost from whisper to record.
That mattered.
Outside the annex, a news holo played in the hiring hall corridor—muted volume, scrolling captions for tired mercs who pretended they didn't care about anything beyond pay and salvage.
A Periphery bulletin. Grainy footage. A burned-out convoy on some nameless border road.
UNKNOWN ATTACKERS REPORTED IN DEEP PERIPHERY TRADE LANES
"DISCIPLINED FORCES," "ADVANCED EQUIPMENT," "NO IDENTIFICATION"
COMSTAR DECLINES COMMENT
Kel didn't stop to stare.
He only noted one thing: the way ComStar declined comment.
Mara noticed it too. Her stylus paused against her tablet like a held breath.
Hess muttered, uneasy. "That's not our usual raiders."
Kel answered, calm. "No."
Then he turned away.
Because tonight wasn't about chasing rumors to the edge of space.
Tonight was about the warehouse.
---
TSD: 3049-10-04 — Local: 23:02
Galatea, Galatea System — Galaport City (South Cargo District / Cold Storage Row)
Cold storage warehouses were built to preserve things.
This one felt like it preserved secrets.
It sat back from the main cargo lanes, fenced and dim, with cameras that looked newer than the building itself. Frost clung to the lower sections of the metal siding. The air tasted sharp and clean—refrigeration exhaust and sterile cold.
Kel arrived with Mara and Hess, plus two of Hess's men—quiet professionals who knew how to move without turning it into a show.
No Zeus. No Valkyrie. No convoy.
Just people, in the dark, doing something that didn't fit a standard contract.
Kel checked the perimeter, then walked to the door.
A small camera iris adjusted, focusing on his face.
A speaker crackled. "State your business."
Kel's voice stayed calm. "Window still open."
A pause.
Then the latch clicked.
The door opened just wide enough to admit them.
Inside, the warehouse was colder than outside. Concrete floors. Fluorescent lights that hummed. Tall racks stacked with sealed pallets. The smell of plastic wrap and coolant.
A clerk appeared—young, nervous, wearing a warehouse vest that fit too clean to be honest work. He didn't meet anyone's eyes for long.
"Delivery?" the clerk asked.
Kel replied evenly. "Pickup."
The clerk swallowed. "Name?"
Kel didn't give his name. He gave what Coda expected. "Package monitor."
The clerk stiffened—tiny reaction, immediate regret.
Mara saw it. Hess saw it. Kel saw it.
The clerk nodded too fast. "This way."
He led them down a side aisle toward a smaller interior door marked MAINTENANCE — AUTHORIZED ONLY.
Kel's hand didn't go to his pistol. His posture didn't tense.
But his senses narrowed.
Maintenance doors were where things went wrong.
The clerk keyed a code and opened it.
The room beyond was small, colder, and empty except for a single table.
On the table sat a sealed envelope. Thick paper. Clean edges. No corporate logo.
Just that same stark glyph printed in black:
A circle with a vertical line through it.
An eye with a spine.
The clerk stopped in the doorway and whispered, "I… I just work here. I don't—"
Hess's voice went hard. "Who brought this."
The clerk shook his head, near panic. "It was already here when I came on shift. They said—" He swallowed. "They said if anyone came asking, I was to open the door and leave."
Kel's voice stayed calm. "Leave."
The clerk didn't hesitate. He backed away and shut the maintenance door, leaving them with the cold and the envelope.
Mara stared at it like it might bite.
Hess muttered, "This is a message."
Kel stepped forward and picked it up.
He didn't tear it open immediately. He checked it first—weight, seams, hidden edges. No smell of chemicals. No obvious trap.
Then he opened it.
Inside was a data wafer, a strip of printed code phrases, and a single line handwritten in crisp, disciplined script.
YOU'RE NOT THE ASSET. YOU'RE THE LOCK.
IF YOU WANT THE KEY, COME WHERE PAPER DOESN'T MATTER.
Mara's breath caught. "That's—"
Kel answered calmly. "A dare."
Hess leaned in, angry. "Where?"
Kel flipped the printed strip.
Coordinates—rough, not HPG-grade precise, but enough for someone who knew Galatea's backroads.
And a timestamp window.
TSD: 3049-10-06 / LOCAL 03:00
LOCATION: OLD QUARRY ROAD / NORTH RIDGE SPUR
CONFIRM VIA NODE: WINDOW CLOSED
Mara's eyes narrowed. "He wants a response."
Kel nodded once. "He wants to know we're chasing."
Hess spat. "We shouldn't."
Kel's tone stayed polite. "We are."
Mara looked up at Kel, controlled tension in her expression. "Kel… this is bigger than a stolen crate."
Kel's eyes stayed steady. "I know."
He slid the data wafer into a shield sleeve and handed it to Mara. "You keep that. Copy it. Twice."
Mara nodded once. "Yes."
Hess's jaw worked. "This is going to get you killed."
Kel looked at him, calm enough to make the words bounce off. "Maybe."
Then Kel turned toward the door.
Mara followed. Hess followed. The two security men followed.
They walked out into the cold night of Galaport's cargo district, where the city lights didn't reach far enough to make anyone feel safe.
At the fence line, Kel paused and looked back once—not at the warehouse, but at the direction of the hiring hall and the bay ring beyond it.
His father's death had been a trap.
Coda was trying to make it a cage.
Kel decided, in that moment, that he wasn't going to live inside a dead man's last mistake.
He would solve it—cleanly, efficiently—and then he would move on.
Because bigger storms were coming.
The Periphery rumors. The ComStar silence. The way too many "disciplined unknowns" were showing up in too many places.
Kel didn't know the word Clan yet.
But he could feel history shifting.
And he intended to be standing when it arrived.