The First Tag
The power signature caught Amara Osei’s attention at 04:17 orbital time, a clean pulse where everything else in the debris field read cold and dead.
Fold Drive. Active. Intact.
Her breath stopped. Three months of empty wreckage. Three months of ceramic shards and hull fragments that barely covered thruster fuel. Three months watching Lia’s medicine ration shrink to single doses.
The signature blinked again. Seventy-three thousand kilometers off, still buried in a tumbling mass that had been a Vethrak cruiser before Earth’s combined fire turned it into spinning metal.
Amara keyed the nav without thinking. The Marrow’s thrusters fired, shoving her into the acceleration couch hard enough to feel it through the restraints. The drive core hummed as it spun up, feeding power to systems she had been babying for weeks.
“Computer, plot intercept. Fastest safe trajectory.”
The display painted a golden arc across the orbital map. Nineteen minutes. She could be there in nineteen minutes.
She opened the comms panel, fingers hovering over the emergency band. UEN Security monitored all salvage zones, logged every claim. They would want to know about a working Fold Drive.
They would also take four hours to respond. Minimum.
Amara closed the comms panel and burned harder.
The wreckage grew into distinct shapes. Hull sections tumbled in slow rotation. Crysteel fragments caught sunlight like oil slicks. The Fold Drive’s power signature pulsed stronger with every kilometer, steady and mechanical and worth more money than she would see in five lifetimes.
Worth Lia’s medicine. Worth air. Worth time.
The Marrow slid into the debris field’s outer edge. Amara fired retrograde and let the ship drift, eyes locked on the scanner feed. The drive sat deep inside a shattered engineering bay, protected by half-collapsed bulkheads and a forest of torn conduit.
She pulled her suit from its locker. The seals hissed as she checked them twice, then checked again because vacuum killed fast and stupid.
Twelve minutes had passed since detection. Amara grabbed her salvage kit and cycled the airlock.
Space opened around her. Earth curved below, blue and scarred by orbital haze. Debris moved in silence, patient and deadly. She clipped her tether to the Marrow’s hull ring and kicked toward the wreckage.
The engineering bay gaped like a wound. Amara pulled herself through twisted metal, careful not to snag her suit on jagged edges. Her helmet lamp swept across Vethrak text burned into bulkheads. Alien script she could not read, did not need to. The power signature told her everything.
The Fold Drive sat in its housing, untouched. Matte black casing. Crystalline interface nodes still lit with faint internal glow. Every seal intact.
She let out a breath that fogged her faceplate. Her hands shook as she reached for the mounting bolts.
A light flared behind her.
Amara turned. Another helmet lamp cut through the darkness, attached to a figure pulling itself into the bay from the opposite breach.
Military suit. Hard shell composite. Weapon clipped to the chest rig.
The figure stopped. His lamp swept across her, then locked on the Fold Drive.
Amara’s pulse hammered in her ears. She stayed still, one hand resting on the drive housing.
The military suit moved closer. Thrusters fired in short, controlled bursts. The figure stopped three meters away, close enough for suit comms to link automatically.
“Civilian.” Male voice. Calm. Tired. “Step away from the drive.”
Amara found her voice. “I got here first.”
“That does not matter.” The soldier’s lamp stayed on the drive. “Military salvage protocols apply to strategic assets. Fold Drives are strategic assets.”
“There are no protocols.” Amara’s grip tightened on the housing. “Nobody made rules yet. You know that.”
The soldier did not move. His nameplate read REHN. No rank visible. “I have orders. You have a civilian skiff. This is simple.”
“Simple.” Amara laughed, a harsh sound in her helmet. “You have orders. I have a daughter who needs medicine I cannot afford. Nothing about this is simple.”
Rehn’s posture shifted. Small change. Shoulders dropping half an inch. “I am sorry about your daughter. The drive still comes with me.”
“No.” Amara moved between Rehn and the housing. “I got here first. You want it, you go through me.”
Silence stretched. The engineering bay creaked as metal cooled. Somewhere far off, hull sections collided with a vibration that traveled through Amara’s boots.
Rehn’s hand moved to his chest rig. Not the weapon. A tool kit.
“I do not want to hurt you,” he said.
“Then leave.” Amara’s voice cracked. “Just leave. Please.”
“I cannot.” Rehn pulled a plasma cutter from his kit. “I have three people on my transport who will die if I come back empty. Their families need this drive’s bounty. Same as yours.”
The cutter’s pilot light flared blue.
Amara grabbed the Fold Drive housing and pulled. The mounting bolts resisted. She braced her boots against the deck and pulled harder. Metal groaned. The first bolt snapped free.
Rehn kicked forward, closing the distance.
Amara swung the salvage wrench from her belt. The motion carried her in a slow arc. Rehn caught her wrist mid-swing. His grip locked like a pressure clamp.
They hung there, tethered by mutual grip, the Fold Drive between them.
“Let go,” Rehn said.
“No.”
He pulled her toward the deck plating. Amara twisted, using the momentum to swing her boots at his faceplate. He turned his head. Her boot caught his shoulder instead. His grip loosened. She yanked free and grabbed the drive housing with both hands.
The second bolt gave. The drive shifted in its cradle.
Rehn’s plasma cutter screamed to life. He did not aim it at her. He cut the deck plating beneath the housing, carving through Vethrak metal in bright, molten arcs.
Amara kicked away from the cut zone. The deck section dropped free, spinning into the debris field with the Fold Drive still attached.
She launched after it.
Rehn followed.
They tumbled through wreckage in parallel trajectories, reaching for the same prize. Amara’s fingers brushed the drive casing. Rehn’s hand clamped onto the mounting frame. They collided. Her helmet cracked against his shoulder plate.
Warning lights flashed in her HUD. Suit pressure holding. Seal integrity yellow.
The drive tumbled between them, still attached to its deck section. Amara grabbed a mounting strut. Rehn grabbed another. They hung on opposite sides, the drive spinning slowly in the void.
“This will kill us both,” Rehn said. His breathing came hard over the comms. “We are too far from our ships.”
Amara checked her nav display. He was right. The struggle had carried them three hundred meters from the Marrow. Her tether had detached somewhere in the fight.
Rehn’s tether hung loose too, severed by debris or plasma.
“We take it together,” Amara said. “Split the bounty.”
“I cannot.” Rehn’s voice held something raw. “Military claims get logged differently. Splitting with a civilian will flag it for review. Review takes weeks. My people do not have weeks.”
“Neither does Lia.” Amara’s chest tightened. “She is seven years old. The medicine lottery gave us nothing this month. This drive is the only thing keeping her alive.”
Rehn’s lamp went dark. For a moment, only Earth’s reflected light illuminated his faceplate. Amara saw his face clearly. Young. Gaunt. Eyes with the wrong kind of tired behind them.
“Her name was Hana,” Rehn said quietly. “My daughter. She was six. The lottery gave us nothing either.”
Amara’s throat closed.
“I am sorry,” she whispered.
“Me too.” Rehn’s lamp flickered back on. “I still have three families counting on me. You have one. The math is simple.”
Amara closed her eyes. Opened them. “Then we are at an impasse.”
“Yes.”
They floated there, two people holding opposite sides of salvation, neither willing to let go.
A new light washed over them. Harsh. White. Floodlights.
A Security cutter dropped into view, thrusters firing in precise bursts. Military grade. Heavy plating. The kind of ship that ended arguments by existing.
The comms crackled. “Civilian vessel Marrow and military transport Vigilant. This is Commander Diana Okonkwo, United Earth Nations Security Division. Release the salvage and clear the debris field immediately.”
Amara’s stomach dropped. Security meant confiscation. Strategic asset protocols. No bounty. No medicine.
Rehn’s grip tightened on the mounting strut.
“Commander,” he said, “this is Lieutenant Marcus Rehn, Transport Corps. Military salvage claim in progress. Civilian interference.”
“Commander,” Amara cut in, “civilian salvage, logged discovery. Military interference.”
Silence. The cutter drifted closer. Its cargo bay doors opened, spilling more light across the debris field.
Diana’s voice came back flat. “Both of you filed discovery at the same second. Both of you are armed. Both of you are about to die from hypoxia while fighting over a piece of equipment neither of you will live to spend.”
Amara checked her oxygen. Forty minutes remaining. Rehn’s HUD display reflected in his faceplate. Thirty-seven minutes.
“Lieutenant,” Diana said, “what is your transport’s air status?”
Rehn hesitated. “Critical. Six crew. Four days reserve at current consumption.”
“Civilian Osei. Your daughter’s medical need?”
Amara swallowed. “Seven days. Maybe ten if I cut her doses. Doctor says cutting doses will cause permanent damage.”
The cutter’s thrusters fired again. It moved into position between them and their distant ships.
“I am going to tell you both something,” Diana said. “Last month, I pulled two bodies out of Sector Hotel. Civilian and military. They killed each other over a nav computer worth six thousand credits. I wrote the report. I notified the families. I watched a mother scream at me because her son died for grocery money.”
The cargo bay’s magnetic grapple extended.
“I am tired,” Diana continued. “I am tired of writing reports. I am tired of notifying families. I am tired of good people dying over metal.”
The grapple clamped onto the Fold Drive’s deck section. Amara and Rehn held on as it pulled them toward the cutter.
“Here is what happens now,” Diana said. “I am confiscating this drive as evidence in a salvage dispute. Neither of you get it. You both go home empty.”
“Commander…” Rehn started.
“I am not finished.” Diana’s tone could cut hull plating. “Or I log this drive as a disputed claim. I hold it in Security custody for seventy-two hours. Whoever files proper documentation first gets full bounty. The other gets nothing. You have three days to prove your case.”
The cargo bay swallowed them. Gravity plating engaged. Amara’s boots hit deck. Rehn landed beside her. They stood on opposite sides of the Fold Drive, hands still gripping the mounting frame.
Diana emerged from the cutter’s forward compartment. Tall. Dark skin marked with scars from old radiation burns. Eyes that had seen too many bodies.
She looked at them both. “Seventy-two hours. File your claim. Get your documentation in order. Whoever makes the better case wins. The other walks away alive and broke. Those are your options.”
Amara’s legs shook. “What counts as a better case?”
“Proof of discovery time. Proof of need. Proof you got there first.” Diana moved to the drive and inspected the mounting bolts. “I will review everything. I will decide. You will accept my decision or I will flag you both for prohibited salvage tactics and neither of you will work in space again.”
Rehn pulled his helmet off. His face looked worse in full light. Hollow cheeks. Eyes with dark circles beneath them. “Commander, my transport crew…”
“Has seventy-two hours to ration their air.” Diana did not look up. “Civilian Osei’s daughter has seventy-two hours to stretch her medicine. You both have the same deadline now. That is called fairness.”
Amara removed her helmet. The cutter’s air smelled like recycled oxygen and disinfectant. “How do we know you will not just keep it?”
Diana straightened. “You do not. You trust that I am sick of writing death reports. You trust that I would rather create a rule than bury more people.”
She walked to the cargo bay controls and keyed the comm panel. “I am transmitting claim window documentation requirements to both your ships. You have seventy-two hours from this timestamp. Whoever files first with proper documentation gets the bounty. Whoever files second gets to keep breathing. Questions?”
Rehn looked at Amara. Amara looked back.
“No ma’am,” Rehn said quietly.
“Good.” Diana opened the personnel airlock. “Your ships are fifteen minutes away. I am towing you both back. You do not talk to each other. You do not make deals. You file your claims and you wait for my decision. Clear?”
“Clear,” Amara said.
The cutter’s engines hummed to life. Through the cargo bay window, Earth rotated into view. Blue. Scarred. Still turning.
Amara sat on the deck and let the exhaustion wash through her. Seventy-two hours. Lia had maybe seven days of medicine if she rationed carefully. Rehn’s crew had four days of air.
Someone was going to lose this.
Someone was going to watch people die.
Diana secured the Fold Drive with mag-clamps and took a seat near the controls. She pulled out a slate and began typing, fingers moving with the speed of someone who had written too many reports.
“This is going into the Security log,” she said without looking up. “Salvage dispute. Civilian and military claimants. No existing protocol for resolution. Commander Okonkwo implemented seventy-two hour claim window pending documentation review. Precedent established for future disputes.”
Rehn leaned against the bulkhead. “You are making this up as you go.”
“Yes.” Diana kept typing. “Someone has to. The Emergency Council is still arguing about salvage jurisdiction. People are dying while they argue. I would rather invent a bad rule than watch you two kill each other.”
Amara closed her eyes. “What if we both file proper documentation?”
“Then I decide based on need,” Diana said. “Whoever needs it more, wins. The other one lives with it.”
“That is not fair.”
“No.” Diana stopped typing and looked at them both. “Fair would be enough medicine for everyone. Fair would be enough air, enough food, enough drives to go around. Fair died when the Vethrak showed up. This is just math with extra steps.”
The cutter shuddered as it matched velocity with Amara’s ship. Through the window, the Marrow drifted into view, patched and worn and barely holding together.
Diana opened the airlock. “Seventy-two hours, Osei. Make your case count.”
Amara pulled herself to her feet. Her legs felt like water. “What happens if I do not file?”
“Then Lieutenant Rehn gets the drive by default.” Diana’s expression did not change. “Same if he does not file. This is not a negotiation. This is a countdown.”
Amara cycled through the airlock and crossed to her ship. The Marrow’s hatch closed behind her with a hollow clang. She pulled off her suit with shaking hands and collapsed into the pilot seat.
The nav computer blinked with Diana’s transmission. Claim window requirements. Discovery timestamp. Need documentation. Proof of first contact.
Seventy-two hours.
Amara pulled up Lia’s medical file and started writing.
Three days later, the notification arrived at 09:34 orbital time.
CLAIM DECISION: FOLD DRIVE, SECTOR GOLF-7 DEBRIS FIELD
REVIEWING OFFICER: COMMANDER D. OKONKWO, UEN SECURITY
CLAIMANT 1: CIVILIAN AMARA OSEI, DISCOVERY TIME 04:17
CLAIMANT 2: LT. MARCUS REHN, DISCOVERY TIME 04:17
NEED ASSESSMENT: CLAIMANT 1 DEPENDENT, AGE 7, MEDICAL CRITICAL, 6 DAYS REMAINING
NEED ASSESSMENT: CLAIMANT 2 CREW, 3 PERSONNEL, AIR CRITICAL, 1 DAY REMAINING
DECISION: CLAIM AWARDED TO LT. MARCUS REHN, MILITARY TRANSPORT VIGILANT.
RATIONALE: GREATER NUMBER OF LIVES AT IMMEDIATE RISK. SHORTER CRITICAL TIMELINE.
COMPENSATION: CIVILIAN OSEI AWARDED 15% FINDER’S BOUNTY FOR VERIFIED DISCOVERY.
COMPENSATION VALUE: MEDICAL REDEMPTION CLASS C.
PRECEDENT ESTABLISHED: SALVAGE DISPUTES RESOLVED BY 72-HOUR CLAIM WINDOW.
MULTIPLE CLAIMANTS DECIDED BY NEED ASSESSMENT.
THIS RULING LOGGED FOR EMERGENCY COUNCIL REVIEW.
Amara read it three times. The words did not change.
Fifteen percent. Not enough for full treatment. Enough for maybe two months of rationed doses. Enough to keep Lia stable while she begged the lottery again.
Enough to stay alive. Not enough to stop hurting.
Her slate chimed. Private message. Rehn’s ID.
She opened it.
I am sorry. I wish there was another way. Your daughter’s name is Lia. I will remember it. I will remember you let go instead of fighting harder. Thank you for that. Use the finder’s bounty. Keep her alive. Maybe the next drive will be yours.
Amara deleted the message. She did not want his gratitude. She did not want his sympathy.
She wanted Lia to stop being sick.
The comm panel blinked. Diana’s channel, emergency band.
“Osei, this is Commander Okonkwo. I know you are reading this. I know it feels wrong. It is wrong. Fairness would be both of you getting what you need. We do not have fairness. We have math.”
Amara keyed the response. “Noted, Commander.”
“One more thing.” Diana’s voice softened, just barely. “I am submitting this ruling to the Emergency Council. I am recommending the seventy-two hour claim window become standard protocol for all salvage disputes. I am recommending finder’s bounty payments for losing claimants who file properly. I am recommending need-based assessment when discovery times match.”
“Will they listen?”
“I do not know.” Static filled the pause. “They will vote on it eventually. Thirteen votes to pass. Seven to block. It will be close. People hate rules that make them choose.”
“Then why make the rule?”
“Because the next dispute might end with two bodies instead of two heartbroken salvagers.” Diana exhaled slowly. “You both lived. You both got something. Nobody fired a weapon. That is a win in my book.”
The channel closed.
Amara sat in the pilot seat and watched Earth turn below. Blue. Scarred. Indifferent.
Lia’s medicine would last two more months.
Rehn’s crew would keep breathing.
Someone else would find the next drive. Someone else would file a claim. Someone else would wait seventy-two hours and learn what fair really meant when there was never enough to go around.
Diana’s ruling would go to the Council. They would argue. They would vote. Maybe it would pass. Maybe it would fail.
Maybe it would save someone.
Amara pulled up the nav display and plotted a course for the next debris field. The scanner showed three hundred contacts. Wreckage. Fragments. Ghosts of ships that used to fly.
Her fuel gauge read forty-two percent. Her life support reserve showed eleven days. Lia’s prescription counter ticked down in the corner of her screen.
Fifty-eight doses remaining.
Amara fired the thrusters and burned for the debris field.
The void opened ahead. Dark. Patient. Full of metal that used to be worth something.
She kept flying.
Someone had to.
Author’s Note: This story takes place in Year 1, Month 5 (2126), during the chaotic early salvage period before formal Salvage Protocol existed. Commander Diana Okonkwo’s seventy-two hour claim window ruling became the foundation for the Emergency Council’s later vote (13-7) that established standardized salvage procedures. Fifteen percent of early salvagers died in disputes over unclaimed wreckage. The claim window system reduced that mortality rate to single digits within two years.
If you enjoyed this story, you can follow the main story arc in The Exodus Rush, the first book in The Vethrak Requiem series.