Chương 98: 39.Orbital Drop 39-1

When the transport entered drop preparation, the air in the bay seemed to harden by another layer. Not temperature. The kind of hardness that comes when everyone knows it's about to start and automatically starts breathing shallower, swallowing their noise back down. The intercom had just finished the final drop assignment readout when B-17 mid-level went quiet like someone had drawn a blade through it. Half the ambient chatter died instantly.

What remained was either low-voiced cursing or last-minute rule cramming. Someone was working their harness obsessively. Someone else was checking their ID tag for the eighth time. One cadet had already gone pale—not like they were about to drop into a combat zone, but like they'd just been scheduled for decommissioning. I looked around and felt nothing particular. Fear was normal. Performing fear like a stage production was a traffic hazard.

The forward bulkhead projection switched to new red text: Drop Pod Bay Opening Squads Move in Assigned Order Final Internal Confirmation: Complete Within 5 Minutes Jess looked up and let out a quiet whistle.

"Right. The Federation has finally decided to can us."

"Get your mouth under control before you go in, or if you get stuck in the hatch, that's on you." I stood, tucked the manual into my inner chest pocket, and patted it once—confirming Aki's note was still sitting there quietly. Stay there. Don't come out and cause problems yet. Harvey had already unclipped his pack from the mounting bracket and swung it on, every strap pulled to spec, like his gear wasn't allowed to have opinions.

Maki stood too, slid her clipboard into the outer pocket, and pressed her fingertips once against the medical module at her hip—checking quick-access. Small motion. Practiced. I looked at the three of them and felt something faintly strange. Yesterday this team was in a dorm room still deciding if we could survive each other. Today we were about to get loaded into four metal cans and dropped at a planet that would evaporate us without ceremony. Healthy development.

"Frost, on me," I said. Jess grinned immediately.

"Final formation. You really do look like you're taking us on the most cursed field trip in history."

"Less commentary. Get over here." She was still smiling, but her feet moved without hesitation. That much I'd give her—mouth ran constantly, body didn't drag. The four of us formed a loose half-circle in the small clear space along the bulkhead. Other squads were clustering the same way nearby, every group looking like a farewell roll call. From further inside the ship came the heavy grinding of metal gates opening—like the ship's belly was slowly spreading its teeth. Perfect.

Very much the sound of being swallowed. I swept my gaze across the three of them.

"Last round. No speeches. Just confirm you know your job," I said.

"Frost-03." Harvey looked at me.

"Here." If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

"Your job." He didn't need to think.

"Post-landing: pod integrity, hatch, ground load-bearing. Strip what can be stripped, leave what can't. Anyone with broken straps, shifted pack, or twisted ankle—fix it immediately. No heroics."

"Good. At least you know your whole purpose in life is to repair our gear before you have to collect our bodies."

"If it comes to that, I'm starting with you," Harvey said. This bastard was genuinely gifted at conversation. I turned to Jess.

"Frost-02." She raised a hand and executed a very informal salute.

"Present and marginally functional."

"Your job."

"Listen, watch, record, and provide commentary," she said with complete sincerity.

"Left flank, secondary comms, external movement, other squads' expressions, who's thinking about running, who's thinking about taking something that isn't theirs, who looks like they're about to be the first casualty."

"You don't need to flag that last one specifically," I said.

"It usually announces itself."

"Not always. Some people only become identifiable halfway through dying." Maki added quietly from beside her:"Like the cadet in row three who kept touching his ID tag." I looked at her.

"You were tracking that?"

"Nine times," she said. …Right. This woman's observational range was sometimes enough to make you feel sorry for anyone who'd end up across from her. I shifted to her.

"Frost-04." Maki stood straight, gaze steady.

"Here."

"Your job."

"Initial atmospheric and terrain assessment, water source candidates, plant threat identification, three-dimensional perimeter monitoring, shared supply and medical quick-access management." She paused, then added with the same flatness: "And reminding you not to make a stupid decision when your temper gets ahead of you." Jess burst out laughing.

"Finally someone put it in the job description."

"I didn't agree to that being an official duty," I said, frowning.

"But you need it," Maki said. I stared at her for two seconds. She looked back—steady, not retreating, expression infuriatingly calm. And I couldn't find a clean line to fire back with. Shit. I redirected the irritation toward what mattered.

"Fine. Stay alive long enough to do the reminding," I said. She nodded, as if that were a perfectly reasonable response. Then it was my turn. Jess cleared her throat with theatrical intent.

"And now, Frost-01. Please deliver your inaugural address."

"Address nothing." I gave her a flat look.

"I handle final calls, route decisions, shelter assessment, and last-word authority. You don't have to like it. Just don't go independent when it counts." Harvey made a low sound of acknowledgment. Jess shrugged. Maki said simply: "Understood." Not the dismissive kind. The kind where she'd actually filed it. I could tell the difference. That was annoying. Also marginally better than performed compliance. The intercom went again.

"Section B drop teams: enter drop pod bay in three minutes. All squads move to assigned positions." The bay started moving. Squads shouldered gear and filtered toward the inner passage. Someone walked too fast and clipped a seat frame—metal rang out, an instructor's steady cut through immediately. Another cadet was walking on flat deck but looked like they'd already started falling, shoulders locked up tight enough to hang things on. I looked at it and thought one thing. Fresh. Not contempt.

The difference was just visible. First-timers wear everything on their faces. Others tuck the face away and let the brain work instead. Fear in your chest versus fear in your limbs—the gap matters. I wasn't responsible for anyone else's limbs. Just my own squad.

"Final bottom lines," I said, voice low.

"Four separate pods doesn't mean four separate plans after landing. First: whoever lands first, reports first. Second: if I don't hear someone's voice within three minutes, we don't wait for a broadcast—we go straight to lost-contact protocol. Third: if there are other squads near the landing site, observe before approaching. Fourth—" I stopped and looked at all three of them.

"If anyone feels like they're breaking, don't perform. Just say so." The easy edge of Jess's smile faded slightly. Harvey said nothing. Just nodded. Maki looked at me, then said, perfectly evenly: "That goes for you too." My eyebrow went up.

"What goes for me too."

"If you're breaking, say so," she said.

"That rule shouldn't only apply to everyone else." The air stopped for a beat. Another squad moved past—shoe soles scraping the deck in quick succession. The red indicator lights on the ceiling began firing one by one, like an impatient countdown that had stopped pretending to be polite. I looked at her. First instinct: fire back. Second instinct: also fire back.

"Getting bolder, aren't you, Frost-04."

"You're the one who said to speak directly," she answered fast.

"Right, so I'll speak directly—" I stepped forward half a pace, dropping my voice.

"If you touch my pack without telling me again after we land, I will personally bury you on that planet." Jess's shoulders were shaking with suppressed laughter. Harvey, beside her, added with complete composure:"At least she'll pick you a spot with good drainage." Maki paused half a beat, then actually responded.

"I'll mark the coordinates." My mouth twitched before I could stop it. Not because it was funny. Because these people were genuinely unwell. But that exact brand of unwell was, for some inexplicable reason, holding the tension together. Not making it light—just keeping it from sliding into the kind of spiral where nerves start feeding on themselves. Good enough. That was enough.

"Move out," I said.

"Frost—into the pods."