Page 130 of Star Claimed Omega
‘Don’t lose sight of it!’ Santi growled.
Followed by a louder, roaring, guttural: ‘FOKK!’
His violet-gold eyes burned as the rogue craft disappeared into a vortex that swelled up ahead, bright as a blade drawn through starlight.
The vessel twisted into slipstream, its form elongating, then vanishing in a breathlesswhipof distortion.
Santi hovered in space, chest heaving in rage, alone in the frozen dark.
She was gone.
21
Chapter 21
SANTIAGO
Santi moved through the wreckage, his jaw clenched so tight it ached.
Fury burned behind his eyes, but he didn’t let it rise, not yet, not until the fires were out, the bodies counted, and the wounded were safe.
TheSombrawas still vulnerable in places, micro-shudders rippling through her bones from the breach that Soleil’s incendiary blew through the isolation unit.
Bulkheads warped.
Hull plating bent inward like crumpled paper.
Debris hung suspended in caught-gravity eddies, flickering beneath red emergency lights.
Santi made sure his crew secured the prison level first, rerouting security staff into place.
Zev oversaw the re-calibration and urgent repairs to the shields.
Kaal and Miral held the rest of the decks with all non-critical movement curtailed and a curfew in place throughout the ship.
No one other than essential personnel was permitted to move about the dreadnought.
Santi helped lift Boaz from where he had been pinned under a collapsed rail conduit.
The large man’s leg bent wrong, bones splintered through his flesh.
He winced but gritted his teeth as medics braced the limb and carried him to the med unit.
Then came the call from the maintenance head, Wren.
Two external riggers, sucked out by the breach, had been found.
Santi’s blood turned to ice as he caught sight of two black body bags lying zipped tight on collapsible hover gurneys.
The crew stood in grim silence, in respect for the dead.
Santi stepped forward, boots echoing on metal grates, until he knelt beside the bundles.
He recognized a face in the clear plex window of one bag.
Marko Antonelli.
A mature, jovial, wiry scaffolder always humming old synth tracks through his helmet comms.
