The jungle didn't like the wound.
Trees hissed in the smoke, scorched vines curling from the heat as Toren's team cut a swath through the brush. The frigate's trail was unmistakable—broken trees, torn earth, and metallic debris strewn like breadcrumbs in a forgotten warpath.
Mira led from the front, machete slicing through tangled roots with practiced ease. Wess and Grum carried field emitters on their backs, mapping radiation pockets and active fume zones.
The wreck came into view just after the second ridge—a hulking, silver-gray spine of durasteel buried nose-first into the basin floor. Its port side was sheared away, exposing gutted corridors, burned medbays, and shattered consoles blinking dimly with reserve power.
Toren stopped at the base of a scorched hull panel.
Proximity Alert: GAR Medical Ship – Verified
Stasis Units: 3 DetectedLife Signs: 1 Stable, 2 UnresponsivePrimary Datacore: Present. Sealed.
Force Field Signature: ResidualOrigin: Unknown. Strength: Minor Echo
Mira crouched near a shattered window, her eyes narrowing.
"This thing's been floating for decades," she muttered. "How the hell did it land now?"
"Gravitational slip," Wess offered, voice low. "Some hyperlane ghosts drift until a tug pulls 'em."
Toren said nothing.
He felt something.
Not the system. Not threat.
Just... presence. Distant. Lonely.
Inside, they found three pods.
Two were cracked. Dark. Ice-shrouded.
The third flickered—lights dim, status orange.
Inside it: a man.
Bald. Scarred. Dog tags still hanging.
Clone armor dulled with time, fingers curled like he'd never stopped gripping a rifle.
CT-1992 – "Tarn"Status: Stasis Duration – 25.6 yearsVital Signs: StableMental Index: UnknownWake Protocol: Available
Toren placed his palm on the interface.
And opened the pod.