“The truth is so rarely what we want it to be.”

—Former CID Lieutenant Commissioner Albarnim Lugre, in a public apology following charges of corruption

The cold grasp of fear gripped Zaina’s heart as her eyes scanned the bodies of their pirate foes. It wasn’t fear of them, but for herself—she didn’t want to become a person capable of doing something like this, good reasons or not. Still, the sooner she reckoned with the worst parts of the job, the sooner she could do something to change them—maybe. She nodded.

Xyrthe clapped her shoulder. “That’s the spirit. Next time, though, try to use your magick. You need a long-range attack of some sort if you want to stand any chance out here.”

“Right,” Zaina said. “Hey—how did you—I mean, why?”

A smirk came over Xyrthe’s face. “Why did I trust you, you mean?”

“Um—yeah.”

“Truth be told,” her mentor replied, “I didn’t. As soon as I saw they only had four biriflers, I knew I could take them myself at close enough range. Though I will say your distraction made it a hell of a lot easier.”

Any other time, the compliment might’ve meant something to Zaina; then and there, amid the carnage they’d caused not minutes ago, she felt nothing.

As if sensing her discomfort with the situation, Xyrthe turned away and said, “All right, then. We’ll have plenty of time to think about all this as we walk to wherever Reister Fell’s holed up. Come on, now.”

Zaina took one last look at the bodies strewn about. Was this truly what being a lancer was all about? That wasn’t the impression she’d gotten from Gir on Demelia, but apparently nothing on Kaadu—or in the Nova Rim Galaxy at large—was as it seemed.

With a sigh, Zaina trotted to catch up to her mentor, who had already gone on ahead. Their silent journey in the shifting sands continued anew. For hours they marched on wordlessly. Images of the carnage flashed through Zaina’s mind as they went.

Fighting the Eldritch wasn’t anything like that. It wasn’t better—but it wasn’t like—that.

To Zaina, Xyrthe’s casual attitude—she had seemingly already forgotten—only made things worse. Still, there was little choice but to carry on with their trek.

Once night fell, Xyrthe and Zaina assembled separate tents. Xyrthe started a fire and cooked a hearty meal for both of them. The hot meal lifted Zaina’s spirits ever so slightly, but not enough to keep the images from flashing in front of her eyes every time she closed them to sleep.

Even when she drifted away, night terrors held her in a tight grasp; in her dreams, she wandered about the crashed wreckage of the three transports, examining every corpse strewn about the dune—but every single one was her, killed more gruesomely than the last. Bone, flesh, and tendon all exposed to the desert wind while Xyrthe sat atop a nearby dune, eating next to a fire. Zaina barely slept, and fell back into the same dream whenever she did.

Morning offered little respite. Zaina woke to the smell of fresh-squeezed gamba and some seared dulga meat; she dragged her exhausted self out from her tent.

Xyrthe put a cup of gamba into her hands and said, “Drink up. You’ll need a lot of energy today.”

Grunting her agreement, Zaina sipped at the dark brown liquid. It was much bitterer than what she made at home, but it would do. A wave of energy struck her brain and propagated from the center outward.

“You feeling all right, kid?” Xyrthe asked.

Zaina’s shoulders deflated. “I can’t stop thinking about yesterday.”

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“Geez,” her mentor said, “you really are sensitive, aren’t you? I know it wasn’t your first time seeing dead bodies.”

“Well no, but—”

“And it wasn’t your first time killing, either. I read what happened to that heretic on Kaadu.”

Zaina’s eyes fell to the ground. “No, but it’s not—”

“Trust me,” Xyrthe said. “Another year and it won’t even register. Once you learn how to turn off the tap—”

“Turn off the tap? You’ve said that before—what does that mean?”

Xyrthe sighed and then said, “Something my mother told me. Sometimes you have to put how you feel away. There’s no time for panic, or fear, or regret—so you have to turn off the tap. You can’t be reacting when circumstances call for you to be proactive. Get it?”

Zaina took another sip of gamba. “That’s a weird thing for your mother to tell you.”

“Yeah, well,” Xyrthe said, flashing a grimace, “maybe I didn’t have the best upbringing. Look, I don’t want to talk about that. The point is, I can’t have us going into a life-or-death situation with you all mopey and indecisive.”

Averting her gaze to stare off into the distance, Zaina sighed. “Yeah, I know.”

“You don’t have to cheer up and be bubbly or anything, but I need to know you aren’t going to freeze or freak out if the shit goes down. There’s at least seventy people holed up with Fell—I’d imagine some of them are fighters. We both need to be focused.”

“Right.”

Jamming a finger in her face, Xyrthe went on, “And don’t forget, you’re going to want to start practicing your magick in live situations. I know it’s frightening at first, but the more you do it, the more you’ll incorporate it and turn your strengths and weaknesses into your own style.”

Zaina gave no reply, so Xyrthe pulled her messy hair into a ponytail and stood. “All right, then. Let’s pack up and get ready.”

They wordlessly set about re-folding their tents and bagging up their supplies. After making sure they both had all their armor affixed properly, their journey continued. Xyrthe strode through the desert, seemingly unaffected by anything around her. Zaina trudged along behind, struggling to keep up. It wasn’t physical exhaustion plaguing her, but her legs were wobbly and uncooperative all the same.

After another few hours of mindlessly walking through the desert, Chimara beeped in Xyrthe’s ear. Zaina’s mentor froze in her tracks and whispered her gratitude into the glyph’s audio ports.

“Hey, kid,” she said, turning back. “We’re stopping here for a second. Whatever business you’ve gotta do, do it now.”

Zaina’s head tilted. “I think I’ll be all right.”

Xyrthe nodded. “We’re closing in. There are warm bodies on the perimeter, so we’ll have to approach carefully.”

“Warm bodies?”

“Yeah, three. Probably a group of screening patrols. If the terrain stays this hilly, we might see them before they see us. Otherwise, we might get a nasty introduction.”

Zaina gulped. Suddenly, in a galaxy full of people capable of killing her from miles away, a cipher and a hex-guard didn’t seem like much protection.

Without a word, Xyrthe set out again, and Zaina followed. For another hour they trekked through the shifting sands; Zaina occupied her hands with getting the desert’s gifts out of her hair. She’d read about deserts on Demelia, but had never been in one—and never wanted to be again.

Finally, they came to the sloping hill leading up to the edge of a plateau. They made their way to the top and dropped prone, careful to stay low. In the distance was a thick tower surrounded by what appeared to be a garbage heap. Following Xyrthe’s lead, Zaina grabbed the scan-visor from her utility belt.

The tower was made of rusted metal marred with blackened pock-marks. What appeared to be a landfill at a distance was actually a makeshift village—huts and shacks were assembled from whatever scrap metal or wood that could be fastened together, whether with adhesive or haphazard rigs of ropes and tape—but most of it was made from glass. Many homes had at least one glass wall, and most had more than one. There was nary a roof in sight, and many walls were replaced outright with fabrics of different textures, patterns, and hue, lending to a colorful outer appearance. String for drying clothes or displaying handmade tapestries hung from every window, connecting the entire settlement.

Xyrthe whispered, “No doubt about it. That’s where Fell’s holed up.”

“It doesn’t look like a place full of hostages,” Zaina said.

“You never get what you expect with these pirates. Hold on—what’s that?”

Xyrthe pointed, and Zaina tracked some movement—two young girls and a boy were running around in the desert, laughing happily and chasing each other. They weren’t far from the edge of the plateau where the lancers were hiding.

“Are those the patrols we’re supposed to look out for?” Zaina asked, her tone dripping with sarcasm.

Xyrthe scowled. “That’s the right heat signature. They’re not armed, though—”

Zaina stared in disbelief. “And what if they were?”

“You think no pirate’s ever had the idea to strap a gun to a kid? Come on, now.”

Zaina held her tongue. Another minute of silence passed as Xyrthe scoped out their target further. With her own vis-scanner, Zaina zoomed in further and found parents teaching their children, people washing clothes, cooking with each other—living.

Zaina said. “You see anyone at all with a weapon?”

“Not a-one,” Xyrthe replied. “You’d think with seventy people there’d be some sort of patrol, right? And if they had to keep all these people here and in line, they’d need guards.”

“Something’s not right.” Zaina turned to Xyrthe, who was standing up. “W—wait, what are you doing?”

“You’re right—something’s off.” Xyrthe shrugged. “Let’s go see what this is all about.”