A Thousand Years Of Nanking

The security crew found her in one of the Buffer’s depleted waste cisterns. She’d triggered a gantry trap and been dropped in the stuff.

The trap sent an automated alert: the crew was there within fifteen minutes. In the darkness, she’d struggled out into the center of the cistern, rather than head toward the relative safety of the wall. She was panicking, thrashing about. Her screaming gave the crew a place to aim their flashlights.

Gravity was low in that part of the Buffer, but she’d managed to stay upright and keep the residue out of her lungs. It was smeared all up her legs and splattered on her body and arms. Her feet had been immersed the entire time it took to reach her.

The crew should have shot her cleanly, there and then. But two things made them to decide to haul her in alive.

Firstly, she was in the early stages of labor.

And secondly, the thing she was screaming was my name.