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The gun's already up before I finish reading the vault message.
I don't hear her. Don't see her. Just the muzzle six inches from my temple and a voice that's all gravel and old smoke.
"Don't move."
I freeze. My implants are screaming proximity alerts now, way too late, painting a thermal outline behind me. Woman. Taller than me by half a head. Armed. Heart rate steady.
Mine's trying to punch through my ribs.
"Hands where I see them," she says.
I lift them slow. The vault interface flickers in my vision, still open, still waiting. I blink it away. Don't need her seeing me twitch at ghosts.
"Turn around. Real slow."
I do.
She's maybe thirty-five, maybe older. Hard to tell with the scar tissue running down the left side of her jaw. Short dark hair, tactical vest over ship-rat grays, and a pistol that's seen more action than I've got memories. Her eyes are locked on my face like she's reading something written there in blood.
"Sable," she says. Not a question.
I don't know what to tell her. That name came off the cryo manifest, off the implant headers, off the ship's damn welcome screen. But it doesn't feel like mine. Doesn't fit right.
"Yeah," I say anyway. What else am I supposed to do?
Her jaw tightens. The gun doesn't waver.
"Prove it."
"I just woke up," I say. "I don't even know where we are."
"That's not proof. That's amnesia. Half the caskets came out that way." She takes a step closer. The muzzle's close enough now I can see the bore. "Tell me something only she'd know."
My mouth goes dry. I don't have anything. No childhood memories, no inside jokes, no callsigns or safe words or whatever the hell she's looking for. Just cold storage nightmares and a ship that thinks I own it.
"I can't," I say.
Her finger shifts on the trigger. Not a pull. Just a adjustment. Getting ready.
"Then we have a problem," she says.
"Look," I say, talking fast now, "I don't know what you want me to say. I woke up in a box. Everything before that is fog. The ship's calling me Owner. I've got admin access I didn't ask for. If you know who I'm supposed to be, maybe you can tell me."
She doesn't blink. Doesn't lower the gun.
"You sound like her," she says. "Same cadence. Same tell when you're lying."
"I'm not lying."
"You are. You always talk faster when you don't have an answer." She tilts her head. "But that's reflex. You can fake memory loss. Can't fake muscle memory."
She moves before I can process it. Grabs my left wrist, yanks my hand up between us. I try to pull back but she's stronger, and my body's still running on fumes. She shoves my sleeve up to the elbow.
There. Three inches below the crook of my arm. A scar. Thin, surgical, maybe a year old. Maybe older.
She stares at it. Her grip tightens.
"You got that in the Kedrell job," she says quietly. "Cutting through bulkhead. Plasma torch kicked back. You wouldn't let me seal it because we didn't have time."
I look down at the scar. It's pale against my skin. I don't remember Kedrell. Don't remember the torch. But my hand's shaking now, and it's not from the cold.
"I don't remember that," I say.
"No." She lets go of my wrist. Steps back. The gun's still up. "But your body does."
She's watching me like I'm a puzzle with missing pieces. Or a trap she's about to step in.
"Briar," I say. Don't know where the name comes from. It's just there, like a file that auto-completed in my head.
Her eyes narrow. "How'd you know that?"
"I don't know. Same way I know how to breathe, I guess." I swallow. "You were supposed to cover me. That's what you do. You're my — what, my handler? My backup?"
"Something like that." She lowers the gun. Not all the way. Just enough that it's not pointed at my brain stem anymore. "You really don't remember."
"I really don't."
She exhales through her teeth. Looks me up and down like she's cataloging damage.
"Shit," she says. "Vey's gonna love this."
"Who's Vey?"
"Captain. Charter holder. The man who paid for your casket and every other piece of cargo on this tub." She holsters the pistol finally, but her hand stays close to it. "He's gonna want to talk to you. Soon."
"About what?"
"About the four hundred year job you never closed. About the keys you're carrying. About the vault." She nods at the interface I dismissed. "You cracked it yet?"
I hesitate. Don't know if I should tell her. Don't know if I can afford not to.
"It let me in," I say. "Admin access. Owner privileges. Didn't even ask for a password."
Briar goes very still.
"It recognized you."
"Yeah."
"Full access?"
"Everything I tried."
She stares at me. Then she laughs. It's short and sharp and doesn't sound happy at all.
"Of course it did. Of course." She scrubs a hand over her face. "You know what that means?"
"That I'm useful?"
"That you're expensive. That every captain and cutthroat in the Rimward Dark is gonna want a piece of you if word gets out." She crosses her arms. "Vey's already got buyers lined up. Salvage rights. Fleet intel. Access codes to Lattice transit logs. All of it's paywalled behind that vault. And you just walked in like you own the place."
"Maybe I do," I say.
Her eyes flick back to me. Sharp.
"Don't get cute. You don't know what you own. You don't even know what name you're using." She leans in. "That body? That face? That's Sable Quinn. But I don't know if you're still her. And until I do, you don't leave my sight."
"Is that an order or a threat?"
"It's insurance. You're worth more alive. But only if you're the right person."
Before I can answer, the hatch grinds open behind her.
A man steps through. Tall, lean, maybe fifty. Ship officer's coat, worn but clean. Gray shot through his hair and beard. His eyes land on me, and I see the calculation happen in real time. Assessing. Pricing.
Briar shifts. Not blocking him. Just putting herself in his line of approach.
"Captain Vey," she says.
He doesn't look at her. Keeps his eyes on me.
"So you're awake," he says. His voice is low, calm. The kind of calm that comes right before bad news. "Good. We need to talk."
"About what?" I ask.
He smiles. It doesn't reach his eyes.
"About what you're going to give me. The Long Invoice is running on fumes. The escorts are crippled. We've got two hundred dead and no idea where the hell the Beacon spit us out." He takes a step closer. Briar tenses but doesn't move. "You've got access to the vault. You've got the keys. You're going to open it. You're going to tell me what's inside. And then we're going to decide if you're worth keeping."
I glance at Briar. She's watching me. Doesn't say a word.
I look back at Vey.
"And if I say no?"
His smile widens.
"Then we find out how many pieces of you the vault needs to stay open."