When Jax said fifteen minutes, she meant it.

  Kaden slid the last drawer shut and straightened, fingers unconsciously checking the line of his blanket even though nobody had told him to make the bunk yet. Around him, the bay had settled into that weird half-quiet of people pretending not to rush.

  “Form up,” Navarro said quietly, mostly to herself, but the habit caught.

  There were only four of them plus Jax. Not a lot of ways to get that wrong.

  They drifted toward the center aisle, boots thumping on the deck, until Tanaka stopped roughly halfway down and just… planted. The others gravitated around that anchor, forming a single staggered rank facing the hatch: Tanaka on the left, Vos next to him, Navarro, then Kaden on the far right.

  Four marines. One Shock Leader somewhere outside the hatch. A room full of lockers that still remembered other names.

  The hum of the ship seemed louder with everyone quiet. Someone’s locker clicked shut late.

  Jax stepped through the hatch like she’d been waiting just outside for the last drawer to close.

  “Good,” she said. “You figured out how to stand in a line. We’re ahead of where I thought we’d be.”

  She walked past them to the far end of the bay, turned, and leaned a hip against the central table, arms folded. From there she could see all of them at once: four marines and a lot of empty space.

  “I already know what your files say,” Jax said. “I know what Aurora thinks you are. I know what the Academy signed off on, and what Okafor expects to get out of you. That’s all paperwork. Paperwork gets people killed if I trust it too much.”

  Her eyes swept left to right, weighing.

  “So,” she said. “You’re going to tell me who you are. Out loud. For the benefit of the squad. Name, rank, role. What Aurora’s given you so far. What you think you’re actually good at. If those don’t match, I need to know now, not when Opp rounds start coming through a bulkhead.”

  She straightened slightly, giving them a flat look.

  “This isn’t an icebreaker,” she said. “You’re not speed-dating. You’re threat-assessing the people who are going to be breathing your air and taking your fire.”

  She pushed off the table and took one step forward.

  “I’ll start,” Jax said. “So you have a bad example.”

  She didn’t bother with parade stance, just planted her feet and spoke.

  “Rhea Jax,” she said. “Staff Sergeant. Squad Leader, Theta-3. Shock Leader class, tier two, level twelve. Aurora thinks I’m good at making other people move through bad corridors without tripping over their own boots. I hit hard on entry, I keep the stack flowing, and I call shots when things go sideways.”

  She ticked off fingers.

  “Skills: I can tighten your reaction time and keep your heads clearer when we need it. I can make a breach feel like we practiced it instead of dreamed it up in the elevator. I can drag a push forward under fire when you’d rather be hugging the deck.”

  Her expression didn’t shift, but Kaden felt the weight of it. Level twelve. Tier two. Aurora had already bet heavily on her.

  “Traits,” Jax said. “Combat Intuition. The System likes to tap me on the shoulder when something nasty’s about to come through a door. Anchor. I don’t come apart easily, and if I’m not panicking, you’re less likely to. That’s baseline for me. You don’t have to match it. You just have to not waste it.”

  She nodded, as if that covered it, and looked to her left.

  “Tanaka,” she said. “Front.”

  Tanaka stepped half a pace out from the line. He didn’t snap to attention, just squared his shoulders, hands loose at his sides. Up close, Kaden could see the thickness of his forearms under the fabric, the scars along his knuckles.

  “Kenji Tanaka,” he said. His voice was low, a little rough. “Lance Corporal. Heavy. Bulwark class. Tier one, level four.”

  He didn’t sound proud of the number, exactly. Just factual.

  “Aurora’s opinion,” Tanaka went on, “is that I stand in front and take the hits. Physical’s high enough I can carry the shield, armor, and whatever else we’re dragging. Stress resistance is decent. Agility’s not pretty. You don’t want me dancing, you want me planted.”

  He lifted one hand slightly, like he was feeling the weight of an invisible shield.

  “Shield Anchor,” he said. “When I set in a doorway or a lane and dig in, it gets harder to move me. Less push from explosions, less punch-through up front. Bulwark Advance for when we need to cross something ugly. I can walk a few steps into fire without all of you eating the full fear tax.”

  His lip twitched, almost a smile at his own phrasing.

  “Trait’s Pain Conditioning,” Tanaka added. “I stay functional longer than I should when I’m leaking. Doesn’t mean I don’t feel it. Just means I don’t drop the wall until I actually fall over.”

  Jax watched his face, not his hands.

  “What do you say you’re good at?” she asked.

  Tanaka thought for a second.

  “Standing between the squad and what wants to kill it,” he said finally. “Holding lanes. Doing the dumb thing on purpose so the rest of you don’t have to.”

  There was something in the way he said dumb thing that made Kaden’s stomach knot, an edge of brittle humor over something sharp.

  Jax held his gaze a moment longer, then nodded.

  “Tanaka and I have worked together before,” she said to the rest. “His job is not to die theatrically in front of you. His job is to make sure you don’t die stupidly behind him. Learn the difference.”

  She jerked her chin toward Vos.

  “Vos,” she said. “You’re up.”

  Tanaka stepped back into the line without comment. Vos slid out and into the aisle, light on his feet despite the duffel strap still slung crosswise over his shoulder.

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  “Eden Vos,” he said. “Corporal. Combat Tech, Shock. Tier one, level five.”

  He had the sort of voice that sounded like it wanted to be joking even when it wasn’t.

  “Aurora says I’m better with systems than with people,” Vos continued. “Cognition’s high, physical’s fine if you don’t ask me to carry Tanaka. I’m not the one lugging bodies or shields, I’m the one swearing at doors and cameras.”

  He tapped the dataport on his wrist with a knuckle.

  “Rapid Override,” he said. “I can make most hatches and bulkheads behave faster than they want to. Open, closed, locked, pick two. Ghost Ping lets me throw a fake signature somewhere the enemy can see. Turrets and patrol routes are very polite when they think you’re somewhere you’re not.”

  He lifted his wrist, glancing at the bare skin where a drone harness would sit when he had armor on.

  “I’ve got a drone,” Vos said. “Wasp. Small recon platform. Peeks around corners, marks targets, can blind or annoy things for a second. It’s fragile as hell, so if you use it as a shield, I will be sad and you will be on your own.”

  Jax’s eyebrow twitched.

  “And what does Vos think he’s good at?” she asked.

  Vos shrugged one shoulder.

  “Reading rooms,” he said. “Physical or digital. Spotting ambush places. Bad vents. Doors that look too clean. I can make a ship do things its designers didn’t intend. Sometimes even what we want.”

  Jax thought for a moment.

  “Theta-3’s spine is Tanaka’s shield and Vos’s doors,” she said. “If either of them falls down on the job, you feel it first. Navarro.”

  Navarro stepped forward with a little more visible energy than the others. She caught herself halfway into a casual stance and straightened, hands behind her back more out of habit than regulation perfection.

  “Talia Navarro,” she said. “Private. Rifleman, Shock. Tier one, level two.”

  Her mouth twitched like she wanted to make a joke about the number and forced it back.

  “Aurora likes my physicals,” Navarro went on. “I’m strong and quick for my size. Rifle-qualified out of the Academy with marks a little above average. I’m built for the mid-line. Behind the shield, ahead of the stretcher.”

  She paused, glancing at Jax.

  “Skill-wise,” Navarro said, “I’ve got Controlled Burst. If I take a second to brace and actually breathe, my next few bursts go where they’re supposed to instead of decorating the wall. No traits yet. Just training and bad decisions.”

  A couple of the others huffed quietly at that. Jax’s gaze sharpened.

  “And what does Navarro think she’s good at?” she asked.

  Navarro rolled her shoulders.

  “Moving where you point me,” she said. “Putting rounds where you say you need them. Adjusting when whatever plan we had meets reality and starts bleeding. I’m not fancy. I’m flexible.”

  “Flexible is useful,” Jax said. “As long as it doesn’t mean you try to solo a corridor because you got excited.”

  Navarro’s ears reddened just a little.

  “Yes, Staff Sergeant,” she said.

  Jax’s attention slid past her.

  “Mercer,” she said. “Front.”

  His legs carried him out before his brain could decide if it wanted to. He took the space in the aisle, aware of every breath, every eye.

  “Kaden Mercer,” he said. “Private. Combat Medic, Shock Outfit. Tier one, level two.”

  His voice felt too loud in his own ears.

  “Aurora’s sheet says PHY six, AGI four, COG seven, RES six, AP five,” he went on. “So I can carry what I need to carry, I’m not winning any obstacle courses, but I think fast enough and I don’t shake apart as easily as I should when things go bad.”

  He swallowed; the next lines already queued from the status sheet he’d stared at.

  “Skill: Field Stabilize, rank one,” Kaden said. “If I can get my hands on you, I can slow bleed-out and make the stuff in my kit work better for a short window. It doesn’t fix you by itself. It just buys time so the rest of what I do matters.”

  “Trait?” Jax asked.

  “Trauma Response,” he said. “Under… acute stress, my motor control doesn’t degrade as fast. I still feel it. I just keep my hands working.”

  There was a brief stretch of silence. Jax regarded him, expression unreadable.

  “Why’d Aurora give you that trait? Trauma Response doesn’t pop because you read the right pamphlet.”

  Kaden’s mouth went dry. Jensen’s face, blood and stray cards scattered on a training deck, flashed in his memory. His limp weight in his arms. The Academy node whispering its cold little notification while his world narrowed to a hole in someone’s chest.

  “Live-fire training accident,” he said. His voice felt like it belonged to someone else. “Final year. It went wrong. I didn’t… stop. Aurora must’ve liked the way my hands moved while everything else was coming apart.”

  He didn’t elaborate. The bay didn’t ask.

  “And what does Mercer think he’s good at?” she asked.

  The first answer that tried to come out was failing to keep people alive. Kaden shoved it down.

  “Not freezing,” he said. “Not looking away. I can run a corridor and shoot when I have to, but my job is making sure dead stays as far into the future as possible for the rest of you.”

  Jax watched him for a long second, something flinty in her gaze, then gave a single, tight nod.

  “Good,” she said. “We’ll see if it wasn’t a fluke.”

  She looked over the four of them together, like she was rearranging pieces in her head.

  “All right,” Jax said. “What I’m hearing is this: Tanaka holds the line. Vos makes the ship and the Opp’s toys behave. Navarro shoots what I point at and adjusts to whatever stupid surprise the corridor has. Mercer keeps you on your feet long enough to matter.”

  Her mouth twitched.

  “And I hit things and tell you where to stand while you do it,” she added. “That’s the kit Aurora’s given me for Theta-3. It’s not pretty yet. It might work.”

  She straightened away from the table.

  “You’re all tier one except me,” Jax said. “Your levels are low. That’s fine. You’re a pair of rookies and a pair of survivors. Aurora doesn’t care about your feelings about those numbers. Neither do I. I care what you do with them in the next three weeks.”

  She lifted a hand and pointed vaguely upward, toward the invisible curve of the ship around them.

  “Tomorrow morning, zero-six hundred,” she said. “We run Valiant. Ladders, corridors, pod access, med bays, choke points. If I drop you anywhere on this hull blindfolded, you will be able to find the marine deck, the pods, and a place to drag someone who’s bleeding. Aurora will be watching your times.”

  Her finger dropped.

  “Day after that, we start sims,” Jax went on. “Pods, again and again. You’ll get to see what it looks like to ride a drill into someone else’s hull from the wrong end. We’ll build from there.”

  She let that settle.

  “Questions?” she asked.

  Silence. A few throats worked. No one spoke.

  “Good,” Jax said. “I hate questions this early. It means you think you understand more than you do.”

  She glanced at the chrono in her HUD.

  “You’ve got the rest of the hour to finish stowing your gear, find the heads, and locate the chapel and gym,” she said. “After that, you’re on Korovec’s time for a bit. Dinner at nineteen-hundred. Sleep while you can. Tomorrow hurts.”

  She took a step toward the hatch, then paused and looked back.

  “Welcome to Theta-3,” Jax said. “Try not to make me regret taking what Erebus didn’t chew all the way through.”

  Then she was gone, boots fading into the corridor.

  For a moment, nobody moved.

  “Well,” Navarro said quietly. “I feel very motivated to not die horribly.”

  “Motivation is good,” Vos said dryly. “Execution is better.”

  Tanaka let out a breath that might have been a laugh and might not.

  “Make your bunks,” he said. “She’ll care.”

  Navarro elbowed Kaden lightly.

  “You did fine,” she said. “Didn’t pass out, didn’t cry, didn’t lie. Gold star, Mercer.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “I’ll put it on my file. Maybe Aurora will give me another skill.”

  Navarro smirked.

  “Careful,” she said. “It might give you something awful, like ‘resists sarcasm.’”

  Kaden snorted and turned back toward his bunk.

  The squad bay felt different now. Same bunks, same scratched lockers, same faded TRY NOT TO DIE above the hatch. But the people in it had stopped being names in his HUD and started being shapes he could feel around him: a shield, a rifle, a tech with a drone, a sergeant with too many losses behind her.

  And him.

  Combat medic. Shock outfit.

  It wasn’t much yet. But it was something to stand on.

  From now on the rest of this Arc will be one chapter a day...unless I get excited again.

  All the love,