Sarah Zettel: Reclamation

Like anybody on May 16 is going to be able to do anything about it, thought Burig.

Dorias must have read his mind or the set of his jaw. “And if anything does go wrong, maybe we can’t help, but we’ll need to know about it as soon as it happens. We don’t want to risk losing an emergency burst to interception.”

“By the Vitae?” Burig asked.

“Who else?” said Dorias calmly.

Burig mouthed “I told you,” toward Ovin. The entire project had been padded with excessive caution from the beginning. The Runner had been registered as an independent cargo ship. Except for Ovin and Burig, it was crewed with contract fliers from half a dozen disparate systems, none of which called themselves Family. May 16 had been watching Vitae movements nonstop from the moment they left dock. All normal. There hadn’t been even a twitch in the Runner’s direction. Despite that, Burig couldn’t bring himself to believe they were home and clear yet.

“So,” said Dorias, settling back, “what did you think of the Realm?”

“The Realm?” Burig’s eyebrows rose.

“MG49 sub 1,” said Dorias. “Its people call it the Realm of the Nameless Powers. Didn’t Jay give you a history lesson?”

“That’s Cor’s job,” Burig reminded him. “She was out playing native. We didn’t get to hang about to say hello.” He rubbed the back of his neck as he realized how harsh his words sounded. “We didn’t stay grounded very long. That place…it’s not exactly easy to get off of, you know. Especially with the number of eyes and ears the Vitae’ve got in orbit. Has there been any…”

The shrilling of the ship’s alarm cut through his sentence. Reflex jerked Burig’s head up.

“Blood…” he croaked out the syllable just as the world shuddered.

Bung’s shoulder slammed painfully into the wall. He gripped the edge of the seat reflexively to keep from being thrown to the floor. Ovin dropped herself into her security seat, fastening the belts down and locking the struts into place so she’d stay within arm’s reach of the capsule.

The ship jerked back and forth for a bad moment before the regulators kicked in again. The racks jingled and rattled and three of them collapsed. A dozen different alarms sounded and the ship’s voice came from every direction. Hull breach, hold evacuation, engine shutdown. Bung’s head spun.

What in the God’s name’s happened! We hit an asteroid? What…

“You’re being boarded!” shouted Dorias.

“How’d you know?” Burig punched up the view from the hull cameras. Over the back of the ship’s pitted hull hung a black, unmarked cylinder with its nose buried in the Runner’s side.

Ovin’s eyes went round. “Who…”

“It’s the Vitae.” Dorias’s voice cut across the visual.

The screen blurred and cut to black.

“Couldn’t see where they’re coming in…” Burig hit the CALL key to the bridge, and hit it again.

“Tai is on her way,” reported Dorias’s voice from the intercom. “Going to intercept them at the airlock…blood, blood, blood…They’re cutting in through the cooling tanks!”

Bung’s gaze jumped to the wall in front of him. How like the Vitae, he thought ridiculously. Go straight in. No fussing around with airlocks where someone might be able to slow you down…

“Suit!” shouted Ovin a split second before the breach alarm blared inside the bay.

Burig made it to his feet. The outside image flickered back into place on the intercom. All he could do was stare at the unmarked ship with its nose stuck into the Runner’s flank. A thin, silver ribbon of coolant rippled into the vacuum, dispersing in a flurry of sparkling crystal.

Two points of pressure slammed against his back, knocking some wind out of his lungs, and sending him stumbling toward the cargo bay door. “Suit, Burig!” bawled Ovin.

Reflexes honed by years of drills let him yank the locker open and start shoving himself into the pressure suit, despite the trembling that threatened to overwhelm him. Ovin twisted her helmet sharply, left then right, to lock it into place. Her fingers, blunted by the white gloves, stabbed Burig in the collarbone and rib cage, closing down his seals for him just as Tai, in her own suit, shoved open the hatch.

“Ditch the find!” Tai yelled into her transmitter loud enough to make Burig wince. “And get outta here!”

“No!” Ovin shouted back.

“We can’t let the Vitae have it!”

“No.” Ovin’s steady voice carried more weight than Tai’s shout ever could have. “No one’s committing murder in my bay!”

The ship’s voice droned on, calmly reporting the hull breach, the tank breach, the coolant drop.

Burig’s jaw clenched. The Runner was already dead. He was probably already dead in his tracks. The realization broke a fresh sweat on his brow. The only thing left to do was to keep the Vitae from getting their hands on what the Family had found.

She’s not really Family, he told himself firmly as he pushed past Ovin. Ovin shouted something, but Tai grabbed her shoulders and dragged her toward the airlock. Burig stretched his hand toward the main power feed for the support capsule.

Behind him, metal screamed and shattered. Burig’s feet flew out from under him, propelled by the rush of freed air. The deck smashed against his back, splashing a wave of coolant across his faceplate.

Burig rolled onto his knees and tried to scrabble to his feet. Above him, a human figure in a red pressure suit climbed out of the flood of coolant gushing through the tear in the hull. The alarms shrieked. Ovin and Tai shouted. Burig couldn’t even stand. Two more suited humans waded out of the broken tank.

The invader lifted a half-meter-long stick from its belt. A twin bore down on Ovin and Tai. The first bent toward Burig.

Burig swung his arm. The invader blocked it almost casually and knelt on his chest. The stick had a razor-edged blade on the end. Burig could see it clearly as it flashed down toward his throat.

Burig gagged on nothing at all. His lungs burned and his arms flailed randomly, splashing coolant across his faceplate. The invader stood up. Burig clutched at his helmet lock. His hands dropped away and a grey haze swam in front of his eyes. There was nothing to breathe and no strength in his arms and the God knew where Ovin was and all he could do was watch while the invaders typed the release code for the support capsule and waited for the rack to retract its hold on their find.

How did they know about her? Burig thought. How in the name of the God did they know…

With his eyes wide-open, Burig died.

Born watched Haron Station’s hull rise. It filled the bottom half of the view wall with an ungainly conglomeration of gold and steel blobs. The scene jiggled slightly as the docking clamps took hold of his ship and hauled it into place over the airlock. Behind him, the common room’s terminal chimed twice to indicate an incoming message. Through the doorway that led to the bridge, he could hear the precise voice of Cam, his android pilot, delivering the ship’s maintenance requirements to the station’s docking authorities.