“The Order of Riiva is not to be trusted. Long has it existed, since before even the Synatorium’s Founding Charter was written at Vylensus by Kol Vau Sonnem. It has never been beholden to any oversight by any of the governments it has outlived. Make no mistake, those Scholars are planning something, or are hiding something, and whatever it is likely won’t be as good for the commonwealth of the galaxy as they claim.”

—Former Dyarch Erus Etimin, in a personal correspondence to Chidron Vali T’Lohar

Zaina Quin’s eyes opened to a normal day. A beam of light shone through the glass window above her bed and hovered. A familiar aroma wafted into her nostrils, that of her mother’s roasted garden vegetables. The shuffling and clinking of pots and pans came from downstairs—her mother and siblings were making breakfast.

Her stomach grumbled. Oh, perfect. I feel like I haven’t eaten a hot meal in days.

She sat up and stretched before opening the window. A bright, familiar sun was ascending, shedding its warmth onto the endless fields of gently swaying grass. The plains extended toward the picturesque, white-tipped mountains obscuring the horizon. The sky was perfectly blue and clear of clouds. She opened the window and took a deep breath through her nose, inhaling the sweet scent of wild grass and flowers.

Zaina grinned. It’s good to be here—home.

A familiar voice entered her ears. “Zaina, breakfast’s ready! Come on downstairs!”

Mom. It felt like she hadn’t heard that voice in forever. Tears stung at the corners of her eyes.

“What’s wrong with me?” she asked, wiping her eyes on her shirt. Everything in her room was in its proper place—nothing was physically wrong, but—

A blurred robotic voice chirped in the background. “Here! Here!”

For some reason—something she couldn’t quite put her finger on—she wanted to stay in bed. There was no hurry, after all. This would all still be here when she woke up again, right? She was home where she belonged.

With a smile, she closed her eyes and leaned back. A breathy, relaxed sigh flowed from her lungs. Then, with a snap and a plunge, she fell out of her dream.

The back of her head slammed against something cold and hard as she woke with a start.

“Ow!”

Rubbing a fresh bruise, Zaina propped herself up. She was back on Gir’s ship. No Quin family—no Demelia. Only Gizmo chanting the word, “Here!” repeatedly.

She frowned, her shoulders slumping. That’s right. It’s gone.

A torrent of bad memories flooded her mind—images from the final days of her homeworld and her stay on Otmonzas. In the span of a month, she’d fought an ancient monstrosity to save her planet, and been tricked by a pirate into joining a heist. She was carrying a dead lancer on board—one she helped kill.

I have a feeling this isn’t going to go well.

The ship hummed softly on low-power mode. Zaina had fallen asleep on the floor—her neck felt like it had been cranked. At least it wasn’t as bad as trying to sleep on the uneven row of polysynth chairs lining the cabin.

Gizmo, Gir’s glyph, happily danced about and emitted happy beeps. “Yay! Hooray! We’re here! Here! Here! We’re here!”

Zaina snapped out of her fog. She scrambled to her feet, ignoring her throbbing head, and surged toward the pilot’s chair. The hyper-glass panels were weirdly angled in the cockpit, so she strained her already sore neck to get a good view.

Gizmo floated up behind her and said, “Z—zzz—Zaina! Welcome to Kaado. Home of the anc—zzz—ient Order of Riiva.”

Through the hyper-glass panes, Zaina got her first view of Kaado; it left her unable to believe her eyes. The entire world was in the process of breaking. The planet’s top half was cracked open to reveal a hollow center; numerous blue lights dotted the interior and exterior of the planet’s airspace. Chunks of semi-flat landmasses—once pieces of Kaado’s surface—hovered above the world’s shattered form.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Sections of Kaado’s outer crust appeared normal with different biomes—but pieces of the surface were missing, revealing the planet’s innards: massive, interwoven metal bars perfectly curving together to support the weight of vast continental plates. A sense of wonder filled Zaina as she stared at the planet’s impossible structure.

Someone had to have built this. It isn’t a natural world.

The ship neared Kaado’s broken surface, and the blue lights came into better view. They were the glow of engines—massive, mountain-sized behemoths which supported floating fragments of the planet. Zaina tried to count them, but they were too numerous—each light was part of an island in the sky. These hovering pieces of land had their own biomes and ships darting to and fro between them.

Kaado’s interior gave off a gentle blue glow; they passed the outer crust. Zaina peered over the edge—more floating islands, all suspended by engines, filled up the planet’s hollow interior. Inverted continental plates were attached to the world’s interior framework—these, too, had biomes. People lived on both sides of Kaado’s crust.

Gizmo chirped, and the ship lurched left toward an enormous chunk of completely flat land on the upper levels of Kaado’s internal system of islands. Based on the dozens of craft coming and going every second, the large, walled-off shipyards, and circular landing bays, this was a harbor. There was a modicum of controlled chaos, but only barely; from above, it was a frenzy of ships going in every direction.

It can’t be that bad. It doesn’t look like anything’s exploding. Zaina gulped, her eyes darting toward the glitching glyph. Yet. I really hope he doesn’t crash.

On cue, Gizmo turned and said, “You may want to s—zzz—trap yours—zzz—elf in, Z—zzz—Zaina! Landings—zzz aren’t my s—zzz—trong s—zzz—uit.”

She shot a glare toward the oblivious glyph. “Why did you have to tell me that?”

“I s—zzz—eek to be hones—zzz—t at all times—zzz, Z—zzz—”

Zaina pointed toward the landing platform, where someone was standing and waving a shining baton toward a circular platform. “Focus, Gizmo, focus!”

“Right! Can do!”

Zaina rushed over to the closest seat and secured the magnetic buckle. She jammed her eyes shut. If Gizmo killed her after she’d made it all this way—

Their descent was slow and shaky. The ship rocked back and forth and bucked every few seconds. Finally, there was a metallic thud and a crunching impact—but no explosion.

With a deep sigh, Zaina unbuckled and gave her neck a rub—that landing was the last thing she needed. She remained seated, collecting herself. Now came the hard part of her journey. From a glance, this looked bad—she was a heretic in a dead lancer’s ship with a different dead lancer in tow.

She fiddled with her fingers. I want to be optimistic, but…

There was no point in staving it off. With a heavy heart she stood and walked toward the front. “All right, Gizmo. Pop the hatch, please.”

The hatch swung open, and Zaina climbed the ladder out. Gizmo chirped and said, “Z—zzz—Zaina, will you require any more ass—zzz—is—zzz—tanc—zzz—zzz—zzz—help?”

“No, Gizmo, I think you should take a break.”

The glyph darted back into the ship. “Okay! Powering down. Going into res—zzz—zzz…”

Gizmo fell to the floor with a clank. Despite her grim outlook and the burgeoning sense of dread weighing on her shoulders, a half-grin crossed her face for a moment—the glyph had earned some rest.

I’ll see you again, buddy. I hope.

Zaina climbed down the outer ladder and touched a foot on Kaado. A handful of mechanics in blue jumpsuits swarmed the ship, and the person directing traffic ran off to another landing platform. Three strangers—one leaning back in a hovering bed-pod, and two wearing armor similar to Gir’s—were approaching.

Wishing she could hide the mark on her face, Zaina gulped and steeled her nerves. Time to meet the Order.

The man in the bed-pod was the first to speak. Based on his condition, he had to be a scholar.

“Citizen of the galaxy—ah. Perhaps not.” The man’s eyes narrowed as he looked her up and down. “Where is High Lancer Girxorgian Ra-Folgoth? What have you done with him?”

“What?” Zaina asked. “Nothing! I’m—”

“Heretic—heretic!” the man shouted, pointing a bony finger. “Apprehend her!”

The lancers at the man’s side surged forward.

Zaina raised her hands and said, “I didn’t do anything to Gir! I tried to help him. I’m from Demelia. I—”

The man glared. “You may have been a citizen of Demelia, but now you are a heretic.”

One of the mechanics walked over. “Uh—sir? Ship’s cargo bay is holding a coffin. It’s tagged with a lancer’s body—Drel Ofrans.”

Zaina gulped. “I can explain that.”

The scholar’s gaze burned with hatred as he refocused it on Zaina. His words were laced with venom. “Detain this murderer. Put her in a cell. Why this heretic was stupid enough to come here is beyond me—but she will see justice for these crimes.”

Zaina sighed and offered no resistance. The lead lancer, a tall human woman with strikingly red hair and friendly green eyes pulled a pair of restraints from her belt and put Zaina’s wrists in them. The small, segmented metal cuffs then condensed and shrank until they were tight. There was no way to break free, even with her improved strength.

Gir had warned her that the Mark of the Recalcitrant would complicate things, and she knew the events of Otmonzas would only make things worse. Whatever first impressions she had of Kaado’s magnificence were replaced with bitter resignation. First Drel, now this scholar—maybe Gir had oversold the Order’s willingness to accept heretics. Still, she’d put her trust in his words by coming here; it was too late to waver now.

A sigh rolled over her lip. Looks like it’s out of my hands.