“In a space as vast as the Nova Rim Galaxy, rich with life, anything is possible—from wonders appreciated only by the greater intelligences, to inexplicable horrors beyond even what the Simulcratum can imagine. So were our worlds seeded for beauty, and also for mortality and all its brutishness, by the Primortala.”

—Gorbal V’rdak, from the foreword to The Great Meditation: A Collection of the Histories of the Species of the Greater Nova Rim

The day the world ended started like any other—with one exception.

An odd gleam of light caught Zaina Quin’s eye. The gentle glow shone deep within the forest west of her family’s home. It was unlike anything she’d ever seen or read about; its soothing light called to her spirit. Her father didn’t seem to notice that it had been there all day—he didn’t seem aware of it at all.

With a shake of her head, she put it out of her mind. Rule number one of Demelia—her homeworld for all of her twenty-one years—was that nothing exciting ever happened here. Especially not all the way out at the lonely Quin homestead, sitting proudly atop the tallest of a low-lying network of hills. Below it was the farm, a modest bit of flatland nestled between three loping hills. The Quin family farm was little more than a wooden fence surrounding strips of overturned sod.

Zaina was hunched over, taking deep breaths and resting her hands on her knees. She whipped her head to the side to get her long, wavy black hair out of her face. It always fell right in front of the hyper-glass eye panels on her breathing mask.

The mask was essential for bog-farming, even when the Wheltern Winds weren’t stirring bog gasses from the south into the northern valley. Her father, concerned about underground gas pockets, insisted Zaina wear a mask while helping around the field. She also wore fiber-cloth white slacks; heavy black boots; a gray, sleeveless blouse; and a thin black cloak to protect her dark brown skin from any potential bog-swells.

The work was arduous—a layer of sweat and dust caked her skin after hours of measuring the soil. The spike she’d embedded into the dirt was almost done with a nutrient analysis. Last one of the day—she hoped to end it on a positive note.

The vis-screen atop the spike’s head flashed red, then yellow. Zaina frowned.

Red then yellow, let it mellow. Like father always says.

With a grunt, she straightened and stretched her arms and back, then stared at her surroundings—the view from this point was astonishing. Everything opened up, from the verdant serenity of the western forest to the strangely welcoming allure of the swampy bog-lands due south and east, and the hilly, grassy plains leading to Mount Dialemor to the north.

There, perfectly nestled amid the northern valley plains was Ildegor, a quaint town filled with tall, domed buildings of wood and stone. It was a simple place—no navport for incoming ships, no interplanetary crime, and few visitors. Further north on the other side of Mount Dialemor was Ryrda, Demelia’s capital city.

Zaina had not-so-fond memories of Ryrda and the Synatorium University she attended. She put the thought out of mind. No sense looking for ugliness in her past when she had all this in her future.

A smile came over her face. Nothing was so wonderful as home.

Her reverie was interrupted by her father’s shouts. “Zaina! What’s that last reading?”

She jumped, then said, “Red, then yellow. Needs to sit a cycle out.”

Zaina stooped down and pulled on the soil-spike’s handle, grunting with effort until she freed it from the ground. Her father, a tall, burly man with broad shoulders and a messy white beard, walked over. Even under the breathing mask, Zaina could tell that his mouth was curled into a wince. His eyes, visible through the hyper-glass coverings, fell to the ground.

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He muttered, “Hmm. Not good. Damn near half the field needs at least a cycle. Whole strips.”

Zaina hooked her fingers behind her back. “I could always get a job in Ildegor. I’m sure Mister Kiyala wouldn’t mind an extra pair of hands around the shop.”

Her father brushed the thought aside with a wave of his hand. “There’s no need for that, Zaina. If need be, I’ll talk to Beni. He always has a spot open for me on the guard team. But really, I could take a season off. It’s good to give things a break every now and again—bodies, land. Work it too hard and it won’t work the same.”

Zaina shifted. “I’d have to do something. I don’t think I could sit here for a whole year doing nothing. I could at least keep everything tilled and ready.”

Her father shrugged, then pulled off his mask. “Walk with me?”

Zaina’s eyebrow rose, unsure of where this was going. She pulled off her bog-mask and walked alongside him as they exited the field. After latching the gate, he turned and sighed. She studied him, her eyes narrowed in suspicion. Her dad wasn’t the talkative type.

“So,” she said, “what’s this about, Pops?”

“Well, Zaina,” he said, staring out over the valley, “we may have a season off here shortly. Maybe more. I think it’s time to think about what it is you want to do.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“You know exactly what I mean.”

Zaina looked away. She’d been dreading this conversation for a long time. Part of her hoped if she stopped talking, so would he.

Instead, he pressed. “When you were little, you always said you wanted to travel. You used to say you wanted to find the highest spot in the Nova Rim so you could look down and see it all. I’m pretty sure that was before your first science class.”

She forced a reluctant sigh through her nostrils and fidgeted with her hands. “That’s not what I want anymore.”

“Are you sure?”

“Why, do you want me to leave?” she asked.

He ran a hand through his gray hair. “No—that’s not it. My point is,” he said, “there’s a whole galaxy out there. No one can see all of it, but we all ought to see some of it. Live a little. Have experiences no one else could have. Find the place that calls to your heart. You’re more than capable of taking care of yourself—I’ve seen to that. And if you want to take it slower, there’s all kinds of extension programs at Ryrda University. You could be a pilot, learn a trade. The Nova Rim is filled with opportunities.”

Her gaze drifted toward the ground. The grass swayed gently around them. “I guess—I guess I always thought I’d stay here. Help you out around the farm. Take it over when you decide to hang up the boots.”

In a low, soft voice, he said, “Is this really what you want? To stay here on the farm your whole life?”

Zaina took in a deep breath. The sweet scent of wildflowers and grass wafted into her nostrils, carried by the breeze as if the aroma was meant for her. “Why would I ever want to go anywhere else?”

There was warmth in her father’s gaze. He wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close. “As long as you’re happy, that’s what matters.”

Zaina smiled and returned the embrace. Whenever he held her in his massive arms, she felt like a kid again. She didn’t get many hugs as an adult, so she cherished each one.

After a grunt, he said, “Oh, by the way, Old Man Gorda got in touch. Hand-tiller’s ready. Mind going to pick it up after dinner?”

Zaina groaned, but it was all for show. “Fine.”

Their gazes met, and she couldn’t hold back a smile. Their moment was broken by excited yelps coming from the homestead.

Her brother and sister streaked from their house and down the hill—Deril, ten years old and almost as tall as Zaina, and Elanta, six, who was struggling to keep up. Trotting along beside them was Kitali, the family limphor—a knee-high, four-legged, furry beast with large ears, an elongated snout, and huge eyes glazed over in joy. The furry friend’s mask hung loosely around her neck, swinging to and fro as she came down the slope. Zaina had painted the limphor’s mask with pink polka dots when she was a kid. Even the children—having been lectured many times about the necessity of masks near the bog fields—had theirs affixed to their faces.

Both kids were calling out, “Mom says dinner’s ready! Mom says dinner’s ready!”

Her father shot Zaina a glance. Kitali outpaced the kids, running up to Zaina and pawing at her feet. She stooped down and rubbed the limphor’s hindquarters. Kitali raised her chin and curled her body around, pushing further into Zaina and licking her hands and face.

Elanta tried to tackle her father, but he picked her up and swung her onto his shoulders. Deril ran in circles around them with his arms out.

Zaina’s father said, “All right, then, come on. Masks off—can’t squeeze your food through the filter, can you? Let’s not keep your mother waiting. Did you already wash your hands?”

Zaina shook her head, lingering behind. As she stroked Kitali’s neck and chin fur, her gaze once more fell over her home—a sea of gently waving grass with specks of vibrant blue and purple hues from patches of wildflowers. Warmth swelled in her chest and rose upward, lifting her lips into a smile.

Twenty-one years, and it’s never gotten old. I don’t think it ever will.

Before she turned to join her family the light from the forest caught her eye again. Strange, she thought. If it’s still there tomorrow, I’ll check it out.