// Voice Log: Julie d’Aubigny // Timestamp: Post-Breach Recovery // Encrypted //

  //PERSONAL RECORD // NOT FOR REVIEW //

  [Background noise: gel flow regulators, scalpel buzz, soft haptic chirps]

  “Je suis venue trop tard.”

  “I came too late.”

  – Phèdre, Act IV, Scene 6

  [background: soft hiss of suction, rhythmic beep of vitals, faint clink of metal tools on a tray]

  I always liked that line. Overwrought. Tragic. Beautiful.

  Feels a little too on the nose right now.

  [scalpel clicks into place, low buzz of a medscanner activating]

  Saito’s on the table—again. He’s half gel, half blood, and I’m elbow-deep in the bits they don’t teach you to fix at fancy Federation academies.

  And I smile. I joke. I tell the bots where to hold the light.

  Because that’s what I do. I’m the glue. The clever one. The spark that makes the others feel like this isn't all collapsing around us.

  [short pause, her breathing hitches slightly, then stabilizes]

  I hate it. Not the cutting. Not the work. The pretending.

  **[PAUSE]**

  Hold that clamp. No, the other one. There. Okay, where was I—

  —Right. But I still smile. That’s the job too. Smile, and make it look like none of this is as bad as it is...

  Watching either of them bleed and still having to grin like it’s just another Tuesday on some polished space station.

  [tool tray rattles, heartbeat monitor blips steadily]

  We survive because we fake it. Because I fake it.

  One of these days, I won’t get to him in time. One of these days, my hands will shake too much.

  [whispered, forced]

  But not today.

  [longer pause. faint hiss of non-Newtonian fluid filling the pod. gel-bubble release]

  If anyone ever listens to this log—delete it.

  This one’s for me.

  [end log]

  Smoke hung in the air like breath from a wounded ship. Emergency klaxons had faded into background static. The bridge was broken—but intact.

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  G?tz stood in the middle of it.

  Julie had already carried Miyamoto off, her footfalls gone silent. Lila hadn’t moved. Her ghostly spearman still loomed at her back, heavy as judgment.

  No flicker. No fade.

  Too long.

  G?tz flexed his prosthetic fingers, trying to ignore the smell of scorched metal and cooked meat. His clothes were torn where the railrounds had grazed him, smoldering quietly.

  The bridge crew kept their distance. They always did after a fight. Whispered thanks. No eye contact. Just the way he liked it.

  He walked to the shattered Kingsback, dropped to one knee, and wrenched open a scorched access panel. Beneath the armor—the saddle. Rider's rig. Neural interface. Still intact, if barely.

  "Let’s see who you were, bastard."

  He jacked in. Not elegant. Not clean. Just brute force.

  The interface screamed static, but data bled out in corrupted flashes. Tactical logs, damage readouts, encrypted command strings. Then a pair of messages blinked past, distorted but legible:

  PR!M@RY A$$ET: ?'??NN?LL, L!L? – L!V3 ?CQU!S!T!0N

  ?NRY? B?UNT!ES (?L?$$ B/L???L): ??T!V3. N?N-PR!0R!TY. ?PP?RTUN!$T!C ??T!0N P3RM!TT3D.

  He growled. So that was it. Bait and bonus.

  He disconnected. Closed the hatch. Let the cooling metal hiss as it sealed again.

  Then he turned to look at her.

  Lila.

  Still not shaking. Still not hiding.

  The spearman behind her shifted—only slightly. Like it saw him too.

  G?tz didn’t flinch.

  He nodded, once. No words.

  And walked off the bridge. His blade sheathed with a final clack.

  Julie waved to him halfway down the corridor, hands still red from patching Miyamoto's wounds.

  "Sensei’s stable," she said, tired but steady. "Pod's cycling now, but he'll need more surgery before we can entrust him to modern medicine. He'll be conscious in a couple days. Month or two until he's back to form."

  G?tz gave a tight nod. "Could be worse."

  He handed her the datapad without a word. She scanned the corrupted strings, frown deepening with each line.

  "Jackpot Jane," she muttered. "They thought she was one of those?"

  "That’s not the worst part," G?tz growled. "We were tagged too. Local bounties. Nothing professional, just... incentive."

  Julie exhaled slowly. "So we were dessert."

  "And she’s no goddamn Level Five," he added. "Not with that manifestation. Not with that gravity trick."

  Gotz stepped into a suite and grabbed a bag of tools resting by the door. He slung it over one shoulder, snagged a datapad from a charging dock, and stalked out.

  "Where are you going?"

  "To get some answers," he said, voice low. "And maybe yell at someone until something makes sense."

  He didn’t look back.

  He marched toward the Bridge.

  Toward Lila.

  Toward the questions still radiating in the air like residual heat.