Reclamation by Sarah Zettel

die and Eric had done as the Words instructed and Lady Fire had cursed him for it.
    And now there was war. Maybe in the First City. Maybe not. War over the Skymen’s presence, and it was known that Lady Fire had consorted with him and that he had left with the Skymen and …
    Maybe the war was for the best. Maybe the Heretics and the Skymen would weaken the Words, would destroy the hold they had on the Realm and on Lady Fire. Then he could go back, and he could …
    Eric knew he was deceiving himself. Ten years and ten times as many light-years of travel hadn’t been enough to wipe the Words out of him. No matter how hard he’d tried. Part of him would never call anywhere but the Realm home, and it would not stop resenting the ones who drove him away from it. It would take the death of every Teacher in the Realm to silence the Words in the world.
    Somehow, he doubted liberation of the People from their superstitions was what the Skymen were after.
    I don’t care, I can’t care! Eric buried his face in his hands. It’s the Rhudolant Vitae I’ve got to worry about, not … not the Realm or their war. It’s their war, over their laws. Not mine. Not anymore. Not again.
    He stayed like that for a long time. When he was finally able to raise his head again, he stared out at the void, hearing the screams of women in his mind.

3—The Hundredth Core Encampment, Hour 11:34:25, Core Time
    Our world is gone. Gone. They stole the whole world while from on high … we watched.
    Fragment from “The Beginning of the Flight,” from the Rhudolant Vitae private history Archives
    W HATEVER ELSE, I WAS honest. I held to the terms of my contract. Whatever judgment they make against me, it will not be for breaking my word.
    The thought did nothing to warm Basq. In truth, the chill hadn’t left his blood since he’d reported the loss of the artifacts. He sat stiffly in the shuttle’s padded seat, hands spread on his knees. The robe that covered him was pure white, a color that allowed no status, no allegiance, and no work.
    “You do not have to wear this,” said Caril, even though she got it out for him with her own hands instead of leaving it to the automatics.
    “I do. Eric Born was my study. The security of him and the other artifacts was my responsibility.” Basq could still feel the rough edges of the shattered bolts under his fingertips.
    “The Contractors will not say it was a breach. They will see there is no way you could have known. All the evidence indicated that he manipulated datastreams, not hardware.”
    The memories of Caril’s reassurances didn’t offer Basq any more warmth than preening himself for his honorable behavior had. His study of Eric Born had contributed directly to the rediscovery of the Home Ground. The promotions that had followed had been exhilarating. He had been able to tell himself that memory of his past shame had been wiped away by this success.
    Do I have the strength to defend myself again? Do I have the means?
    Basq felt his whole body slump farther down in the seat. I don’t know.
    The view wall in front of him showed the gleaming length of tether stretching out to its anchor on the encampment’s core. Outsiders compared Rhudolant Vitae encampments to spiderwebs or jewels on strings, depending on how they felt toward the Vitae at the moment. For this gathering, fifteen white and mirror-skinned ships had been moored to the elongated core. Each ship was tethered to its neighbors as well as to the core with bundles of polycarbon cable. When a current was applied, the strands maintained a crystal-fiber structure that allowed the tether to remain rigid. The core’s rotation kept the ships at an even distance from each other and kept all the tethers taut.
    If the current was cut, the tethers could fray and tear, sending the ships careening out into space.
    Basq realized, with a small jolt, why he was brooding on them. He felt as if his tethers had already been torn.
    At this distance, Basq