TYPE 4 Remnant

Intro "snagger" for a space-operatic-type story (written in 1996, just discovered disc)

A remnant had survived.

Collins strained to hear another scrape of fabric or flesh. The rough stone caused the fingers of his gloved hand to tingle, as he braced himself against a roof outcropping. He gripped his other fist, reassuring himself the ceramic blade was there. Turning towards the crawl opening, residual vapors caused his eyes to water. Blinking, Collins saw retinal flashes. He held his breath when he heard the breathing of the approaching remnant.

Two containers of Hydrox should have removed enough of the cavern's oxygen to kill all eight as they slept. Something or someone had failed. Collins sucked a breath from his respirator piece, hot and wet from the frothy liquid that poured down upon his lips.

Pain throbbed to near-paralysis through his lower back as a small spot of hemolymph solution coiled slowly from his pores within his biospheronic support suit. He clutched his blade once more and, regardless of the bolts of pain sprinting throughout his body, held desperately to the spinning astral-meteor cavern's mouth.

Winds from within the cavern stilled as any remainder of oxygen gases bubbled out into the vacuum of space. In seconds whatever wanted to remain alive inside that cavern would wiggle under his psudograv boots. Collins contemplated the cleanest method to extinguish the survivor without fucking up his suit.

In the time it took to exhale, Collins saw the survivor, realized it wasn't a remnant, and decided his sanction didn't extend to orange, fur-covered, midgets, with over-large yellow eyes. He put his respirator to the survivor's mouth.

The cat inhaled.

Re-mouthing the respirator, Collins said, "Harvesters should be within burn soon. By license, they can't mine inhabited rock. Are you coming?"

The cat began to stand. Back in it's mouth, the respirator's translator said, "Is choice?"