“Settling into a new normal takes time. Unfortunately for us, in our line of work we have little time—and no hope of ‘normal,’ whatever that is.”

—Legendary High Lancer Pria Song, as quoted by her apprentice Kadelaw Bringer in his biography, Collections of Riiva: The Life of a Lancer

Zaina waited for about an hour before a young woman approached. She was a human and wore regular clothes—a white blouse and black slacks, with sandals. Her hair was short and dyed bright blue, and her nose was buried in a vis-screen projected from her wrist.

“Zaina Quin?” she shouted, clearly disinterested.

Zaina jumped off the ship. “That would be me.”

“Yes, very good. Follow me.”

Zaina nodded. At least this person didn’t seem to hate her immediately.

Always a plus.

She tagged along behind the woman, who was still studying her clipboard.

A question burst from Zaina’s lips. “So, where are we going?”

In an absent voice, the woman said, “We’re going to your housing unit. It’s a starter, nothing special. Then, to your sector armory. There you’ll meet the person who will teach you how to be a lancer.”

“Are you a lancer?”

The woman looked up from her clipboard. She turned and stared at Zaina with bright green eyes. “I was. I renounced my powers on my thirtieth birthday. Now I work for High Scholar Elest Vae as an attendant.”

“That’s really cool. Well, you know my name. I think it’s only fair you tell me yours.”

The woman chuckled. “No one’s asked me my name in a long time. I’m Ovela Midor. Pleased to meet you, Zaina.”

“Pleasure’s all mine,” Zaina said with a grin, and Ovela returned it. “So really, no one’s asked your name in a long time? What, are people here not very friendly?”

Ovela shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know. I guess lancers are really busy—I know I usually was. People like me kind of fade into the background.”

As they continued moving Zaina asked, “Well, you’re not in the background to me. You got any tips for a beginner?”

Ovela thought for a moment. “I’d say, aim for the stars. To be honest, I feel like I could’ve done more in my time. We don’t have long to do this—make it count.” She blushed and turned away. “There are times I wish I could have it all back, even for one day. But, such is not the Path of Riiva. Either way, here’s our ship, right there.”

She pointed toward the nearest platform, right by the edge. A small transport awaited, big enough for four people at most. It was rectangular in shape, and the gray exterior was chipped and rusted. Zaina stooped to fit under the raised door and then held on to her seat as the craft sputtered and spat.

Ovela turned to her and said, “Don’t worry. She does that sometimes.”

They floated up. The controls extended toward Ovela, and she grabbed them and pulled back, accelerating a bit faster than Zaina was comfortable with. Her grip on the seat tightened, and every muscle in her body tensed up in a single moment as they hurdled from the landing pad, back-flipping off the edge and tracing the jagged rocky ceiling at high speed. Ovela weaved through some of the island’s engine struts before pulling away.

Zaina took a few deep breaths. “Well, I wasn’t expecting that. You’re a hell of a pilot.”

Ovela chucked, then said, “Thanks. I don’t do that for everyone, though. Our little secret.”

“Right,” Zaina said. They made their way to the interior hull of Kaado proper and landed on a plain surrounded by sparse forest with tall, thick-leaved trees. After departing from the ship, Zaina followed Ovela toward a small hut in a forest clearing.

If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

“I’m sorry we couldn’t get you the deluxe package,” she said, “but it has everything you’ll need. Here, I’ll show you.”

The hut was bigger up close and had a dark blue color. It was made of polysynth and shaped like a dome, standing about fifteen feet at its zenith. There was a large door shaped to conform to the hut’s arc with a metal handle. Ovela turned it and popped the door open before ushering Zaina inside.

The interior was more spacious than expected. There was an actual bed—something she hadn’t slept on in almost a week—a small kitchen, heating and cooling elements, a closet, a lounge chair, two small tables with drawers, and a hygienic chamber. The walls had a window strip to allow natural light in. The polysynth slowly changed color, starting as a relaxing green and turning into a soothing light blue.

Ovela scratched the back of her head, averting her gaze. “Well, as you can see, it’s not much. You can rearrange it however you’d like, and whatever you purchase while you’re out and about, you can bring back with you. Eventually you’ll get a bigger place in the same sector. The wilderness is largely reserved for new inductees because—oh, you’ll learn all of this soon enough. Looks like you don’t have much to unpack. Come on, let’s go meet your mentor!”

As they walked on a dirt path in the clearing—Zaina kept peering at the edges, which were perfectly lined as if cut by a laser—Ovela asked about where she came from. By the time Zaina’s story was done, the sector armory had come into view—it was hard to miss at this point. It was wider than it was tall, a network of connected domes standing thirty or forty feet at their highest. Zaina followed Ovela through the door, not wanting to be the first one through.

They stepped into the nearest dome, and Ovela showed her clipboard to an attendant standing by the door. He punched a few numbers into a vis-screen on his wrist, and a green circle lit up in the corner. The metal door retracted upward with a mechanical hiss. The attendant gestured for them to enter before sticking his nose back into a book.

“Follow me,” Ovela said. They turned left, walking into a narrow hallway. The halls were gunmetal gray and had image feeds lining the ceilings, which hung low over their heads. The walls were lined with metal doors with blank vis-screens. They walked through seemingly random corridors before Ovela stopped at a door, then checked her clipboard and said, “Okay, here.”

The door was exactly like all the others. Ovela turned to Zaina and said, “This should be door 153.”

She touched the door’s vis-screen, and it sparked to life. Sure enough, the number 153 was displayed in the bottom-right corner. There were other symbols Zaina didn’t understand, but Ovela was manipulating them with mastery, and within a few seconds, there was a large, echoing metal click. Ovela stepped back as the door opened inward.

With a wry grin, Ovela gestured for Zaina to go in first. The walls brimmed with shelving. A variety of devices and weapons were displayed, ranging from small discs to the particle hook gun Gir had given to Zaina.

“Most of this is standard issue,” Ovela said. “All of it, by the looks of it. Ooh, this here—” She scurried over to a shelf and picked up a small, flat metal circle with a glowing blue rim. “This saved my life more times than I can count. It’s a lancer beacon. Here, look.”

Ovela shoved it into Zaina’s hands. It was cold to the touch, and a little heavier than it looked—it felt indestructible. There, engraved on the front in green, was a shining sword with a flaming guard encased in a circle.

“That’s the lancer’s symbol,” Ovela said, pointing to the engraving. “You’ll learn about all of that stuff from your mentor. But the beacon itself—if you’re ever in trouble and think you’re beyond reach, rotate this twenty-five degrees. If you practice a little, you can do it with one hand, which is handy in sticky situations. Anyway, you twist it and the Order gets a signal no matter where you are in the galaxy.”

“Good to know,” Zaina said, slipping it into her pocket.

Ovela chuckled and covered her mouth. “Oh, don’t keep it in there—here.” She walked over to one of the lower shelves Zaina had overlooked and grabbed a utility belt. “Every lancer needs one of these.”

As Ovela fussed over it, making sure it fit properly, Zaina smiled and said, “Are you sure you can’t be my mentor?”

Ovela rolled her eyes. “I wish I could be that useful. Still, I bet they set you up with someone good.”

“I don’t know,” Zaina said, barely masking her frustration. “High Scholar Elest Vae didn’t seem to like me very much.”

Ovela grimaced. “Yes. To be honest, I had my own thoughts when I first saw you. But you seem nice. Definitely not like everyone says about—well, you know.”

“Right,” Zaina said. “Thank you, Ovela.”

“No problem. Now, I’m afraid I’ll have to go. Don’t touch anything you don’t know how to use, and don’t use anything you know how to use until your mentor gives the okay. I’m sure our paths will cross again—I might drop by to visit, if that’s okay. Best of luck, Zaina!”

“Thanks, you too! And I’d love that!” Zaina said as Ovela exited the room. The metal door’s locking bar, visible from the inside, slammed back into place.

A spark of hope surged in Zaina’s chest. Despite the Order’s misgivings, she’d already made a friend. Maybe winning people over wouldn’t be so hard.

There was nothing to do but wait to meet her mentor—it didn’t take long. Within a few minutes, there was a beeping at the other side of the door. The security bar retreated into the wall and slammed against its casing with a metallic clang; then, the door opened. Zaina gasped.

On the other side was a tall, human woman with long, disheveled brown hair and vibrant green eyes. She wore armor similar to what Gir had worn—thick, gunmetal gray plate on the chest and back, with pauldrons that clung to the shoulders. She covered her neck with a free-flowing red scarf, which clashed with the blue-painted words written on her torso plate. Her legs and arms were covered with sleek greaves, and her armor was pock-marked in several places.

The first thing Zaina noticed, however, was the black mark on the woman’s forehead—the Mark of the Recalcitrant.