“Ask those accursed fools, holed up in their sky-fortress on Kaado! Why do they not use their magick to wish for the people of the galaxy to be fed, to be protected from the very tyrannical government that oppresses them? Make no mistake—the Synatorium Allegiant is the enemy of all people it rules, and the Order of Riiva’s scholars are just as much their puppets as the Chidron.”

—Qerys Normitan, the Last Duke of Faldria, in correspondence with his captains during the Faldrian Conquests

Zaina woke to the wet warmth of Kitali licking her face. Gir was tending to a fire and giving happy clicks as he pulled another roast off the flame. The mid-morning sky was black with streaks of crimson.

After packing up the tent, Zaina fed Kitali and nibbled on a fruit bar. Gir’s head rocked back and forth as he hummed to himself. Once the chunk of meat was cool enough, he raised it toward Zaina; again she declined, waving her hands and head, but Kitali eagerly tore off a mouthful. After a shrug, Gir consumed it in one bite. Then he patted his stomach and released a deep, satisfied sigh.

Neither said a word. Gir stared out at the horizon while sipping steaming black liquid from a metal container. A frown clung to Zaina’s face. Is he looking for something? Taking it in? It’s not exactly picturesque.

Gir shifted his weight forward and rested his hands on his knees. “All right,” he said. “It’s time to meet Gizmo.”

Zaina tilted her head. “Gizmo? Who’s that?”

Gir scowled. In a low voice, he said, “The most annoying glyph in the galaxy, that’s who.”

He pulled a vis-screen up on his wrist and pressed a button—a small, hovering drone popped out of the ship’s cockpit. The glyph was circular with two glowing micro-engines attached to the main body via magnet slides. The outer hull was gray with a single blue light front and center.

“Hello,” a robotic voice chirped from the glyph’s audio emitter. “Hello! Oh, hello! My name is—zzz Giz—zzz—mo. How can I help you today, Giramodo?”

Gir whispered to Zaina, “The damn thing can’t even get my name right, it’s so old.”

“Giz—zzz—mo’s—zzz audio detector didn’t—”

Gir turned and interrupted the glyph, “That’s quite all right, now. Gizmo, I’d like you to meet Zaina.”

Gizmo turned to her and said, “Z—zzz—Zaina! I think that’s—zzz a lovely name. Welcome to Demelia!”

She raised a hand and gave a curt wave. “Um—thanks, Gizmo. It’s good to meet you.”

“You too, Z—zzz—Zaina! The pleas—zzz—ure is—zzz all mine!”

Gir shook his head, then turned to the glyph and said, “Gizmo, please finish collecting the samples.”

The drone emitted a chirp and said, “Anything for you, Giramodo!”

Two small tubes extended from the front of the glyph, and light flashed from their tips. The drone spun around for a few seconds, orienting itself properly before hovering off, singing in a glyph language of whirs and beeps.

Silence again fell over the camp—Gir was staring into the fire. Zaina wondered what he was thinking.

An idea popped into her head, and she blurted it out. “Why don’t we just drop the warhead into the pit from the ship?”

Gir chuckled. “That was my initial hope. Unfortunately—or rather fortunately, I should say, on account of your survival—either way, a glancing blow likely won’t be enough to deter the Eldritch. Plus, if we miss or misjudge the chasm’s shape, we risk not kick-starting the planetary regeneration,” he said. “There’s no room for error—we only get one shot at this.”

Crossing her arms, she asked, “Well, where the hell do you need to put it, then?”

“As close to the Eldritch as possible. Preferably inside its Hollow.”

“This whole thing sounds like a crapshoot.”

Gir shrugged again. “Cut the Order a little slack. This is only the second time the Eldritch has ever done this, and we got lucky the first time. We’re still figuring things out.”

“That first time—with that other High Lancer, right? What was her name again?” Zaina snapped her fingers, trying to jolt her memory.

Gir grinned. “High Lancer Ela Artfor, one of the legendary lancers of old. She fought the Eldritch off with her cipher before detonating the bomb that saved Symerda from total planetary collapse. She stands as the Order’s greatest hero in its ancient war against the Eldritch.”

“Wait—so she isn’t the only one who’s fought it?”

“No,” he replied. “Several lancers throughout history have fought it—before it started trying to destroy planets, of course—but oddly enough, their ciphers and magick were largely ineffective against its ethereal flesh. Only High Lancer Artfor and her cipher were able to impede it.”

Zaina’s head tilted. “Why do you think that is?”

“Me, personally—I think it’s because she bore the mark.”

She flinched, but now she was curious. “You mean—like me?”

Gir nodded and replied, “Yes. The Mark of the Recalcitrant is a connection between the Eldritch and whoever bears it. That makes the afflicted vulnerable to its influence—but that connection can also become its weakness, one only you and others with the mark can exploit. The scholars have debated the Symerda Crisis for five hundred years with no consensus—but it seems obvious.”

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As Zaina pondered his words, her eyes drifted over the landscape. Demelia’s desolation was unsettling. The clouds were twisted and black, showering the northern valley in rain, snow, and lightning.

Whispers capitalized on her unease, invading her mind. The multitude of voices returned in force, all shouting Zaina’s name. They were endless, like ants with human screams crawling on her brain.

Zaina covered her ears and jammed her eyes shut. “No, no, no—stop!”

The ground trembled and shook, and Zaina stumbled. A yelp escaped her lips as her shoulder slammed against the ground.

When she opened her eyes, Gir’s hand was there to help her up. “Are you all right, Zaina?”

Taking his hand, she stood up. “Yeah,” she said between short, deep breaths. The worst of the voices had passed. Kitali, her tail tucked, cowered and whined by Zaina’s side. “Yeah, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. What the hell was that?”

In a concerned voice, Gir asked, “Seismic aftershock—and it’s bound to get worse. You sure you’re up for this?”

She sat back down. “Of course. I need a moment, but I’m fine.”

Gir sighed and sat across from her. “Mind if I change the subject?”

Zaina waved an okay. Any distraction from the whispers was welcome.

“If you do join the Order, make sure you get assigned a working glyph. It’s not life or death, but a matter of frustration. Gizmo’s been malfunctioning since my first solo mission on Gorvan.”

Gir’s voice helped soothe her pulsing headache. Shaking her head to rid herself of faint whispers, Zaina replied, “You still haven’t exactly made the case for why I should join the Order.”

Gir shrugged. “Using your gifts to serve the galaxy—it’s the honorable thing to do. And contrary to what mercenaries, politicians, and pirates will tell you, honor still matters in the Nova Rim. Although I was hesitant at first, I haven’t looked back with any regrets. There are people—families, who wouldn’t be alive if not for my actions. I can’t describe how important that is to me. Don’t get the wrong idea, though: it’s not always rewarding or exciting, and the life of a lancer is short—and harsh.”

Zaina contemplated this as Gizmo floated back over. “S—zzz—amples—zzz ready to be shipped back to Kaado, Giramodo. Is—zzz there anything els—zzz—e I can do for you?”

“Yes,” Gir said. “Please deploy the descent pod, and grab the spare particle hook-gun.”

“Anything for you, Giramodo!” The glyph fluttered off.

Zaina turned to Gir. “What about Kitali?”

He stared down at the whimpering limphor and said, “It’ll be best if she stays with the ship. Gizmo will make sure she doesn’t wander off.”

Zaina leaned down to comfort Kitali. “Okay, girl—you stay up here, all right? You’re on guard duty.”

Kitali didn’t understand a word—her big, bright eyes were full of trust and love. Zaina sighed.

“Stay, girl.”

Kitali’s head tilted, but she listened—for once.

The belly of Gir’s ship split open, and a dome-shaped pod lowered—gray on the outside, with barred hyper-glass windows and a single, open door facing them; its underside emitted a bright light-blue glow. Inside was a circle of uncomfortable-looking polysynth chairs, each outfitted with an open restraining rail; at the pod’s center was a black pole with flashing lights and instruments running up and down its side. Gir walked up beside Zaina.

“Let’s hope for the best,” he said.

She forced a half-grin. “Yeah, let’s hope she doesn’t get him into trouble.”

Gir glanced over. “You know how to fly one of those?”

Zaina’s head tilted. “The pod?”

“No, the ship.”

Zaina stared ahead. “Never even been in one.”

Gir nodded. “I’ll show you once we’re clear of Demelia’s atmosphere. It’s pretty easy. Like most things, a little practice will get you good enough—but mastery is a lifetime endeavor.”

She sighed. The idea of getting into a metal box and flying into space was crazy a few days ago. Now, compared to what they were about to do, it seemed sane.

The Raolgrian crossed his arms. “Are you sure about this, Zaina? There’s a very good chance it’s a one-way trip. Doors may be opened that can’t be closed.”

She nodded. “Yes. My mind’s made up.”

Gizmo floated over, its magnet-drive holding a strange gun with a circular core. An elongated hook jutted from the barrel. Gir reached into the suspension field and grabbed it.

“Thank you, Gizmo, perfect timing.”

“Giz—zzz—mo lives—zzz to s—zzz—erve Giramodo!”

Gir raised his hand and said, “Yes, that’s quite all right. Please watch over Kitali. Keep her out of trouble and near the ship.” He turned to Zaina and handed her the odd weapon. “Do you know what this is?”

Zaina stared down at it. “Some kind of grappling hook?”

Gir nodded. “Yes, a very special one. It’s a hook-gun powered by a miniature high-energy particle accelerator. I call it a particle hook. We’ll lodge the tracking tips up here in case we need to make a quick escape. If we do—and I hope we don’t—aim the barrel at the tip, and when you pull the trigger it’ll retract at high-speed thanks to a unique entanglement with a particle found only in this tracking tip’s metal. And make sure you secure it to your hand before pulling the trigger—you don’t want it flying away on you. And don’t use it if you’re stuck to anything, or it could tear your arm off.”

Zaina waved it around. It was light in her hand. “Okay, got it.”

“Be careful with it, now—there’s a high-energy core in there. If it gets knocked around or heated up too much, it can explode.”

She grasped it with both hands to keep from dropping it. “Are they that dangerous?”

“Not as long as we’re diligent. Remember—secure, point, shoot.”

Her voice resolute, she replied, “I’ve got it.”

He nodded. “Good. This could very well save your life if things go wrong. We need to be ready in case that happens.”

She stared at her hand, which held life and death. I can do this.

Gir aimed to the side, and the tracking tip detached. The tip’s end was fitted with a micro-engine—there was no cord. Zaina fired hers, and it hovered alongside Gir’s as he controlled them via his wrist-screen, lodging them into the black stones encircling the chasm.

Ready to embark, Zaina stepped through the pod’s threshold. Once Gir was onboard, the door swung closed with a hiss. Kitali’s whines were shut out. The restraining rails closed over Zaina’s lap and chest as soon as she sat down, pressing her back against the chair. She stared down at the ground through a ring of hyper-glass where the floor met the wall. Gir fiddled with the vis-screen on his wrist until the pod’s engine came alive with a vibrant hum.

The pod shook as it ascended. For an instant, Zaina was weightless—as their vehicle lurched, her stomach turned. Every muscle in her body tensed. Her crushing grip left two handprints on the metal restraining bar. She glanced out the hyper-glass pane lining the floor—Kitali was pacing back and forth below, staring at the hovering pod and madly loosing muted yaps. Her eyes were heartbroken—and scared. Gizmo was trying to get her attention to lead the limphor to the ship.

Zaina hated seeing Kitali so upset. I’ll be back for you—I promise. Wait for me, girl.

Gir steered with the vis-screen on his wrist, adjusting the engine’s thrust to rise or fall in order to navigate the black stones surrounding the pit. Zaina strained to get a view of the impact site—the abyssal chasm’s depths unnerved her. The pod rattled as she shifted her weight back into the seat.

“Not a fan of heights?” Gir asked.

“I just wasn’t expecting—that. How deep does it go?”

“I don’t know for sure. That’s why we’re using a controlled high-speed descent. When we reach the Hollow, we’ll know. It’s a foul place of the Eldritch’s creation, spawned by using its magick to alter reality.”

Zaina gulped as they pulled over the pit and stopped. It was forty feet in diameter, and pitch black except for a few streaks of sickly green lights swirling down into the planet’s guts.

“Last thing’s last,” Gir said as he grabbed a clear, tube-lined polysynth breathing mask from his utility belt and affixed it to his face. “I’d recommend putting yours on, too. The pod’s sealed, but it’s not airtight. We have no idea what’s in the air down there.”

Zaina took one last deep breath and summoned as much courage as possible. Ready or not, there was no way forward but down. She held the mask to her face and the cold polysynth bands clasped to her cheeks. It was strangely reassuring, filling her with a flush of bravery.

“All right,” he said. “You ready?”

Zaina nodded, her grip tightening on the restraining bar. “Let’s go get Demelia back.”

Gir adjusted the engine’s output and began their descent.