“Don’t take it personal. You can’t expect people who don’t even know you to care about your bralshit.”

—Ariso Adla, famous traveling songster

The commander’s eyebrow rose. “Do you have documentation proving your identity?”

Zaina gulped. In all the confusion of leaving her home forever, she’d forgotten her Synatorium Citizen Identification Card. “I—uh—”

The commander sighed. “Are you the owner of this vehicle?”

“Um, no. That would be—”

“I do hope it’s not stolen,” he said.

“No, it’s not stolen. I can explain—”

“I’d like that,” he replied. His hand shifted over to a pair of handcuffs hooked to his belt, and he pulled them off. “But first, I’d like to ask you to wear these.”

Her voice cracked from shock as she said, “Am I under arrest?”

“Well,” Commander Royce said, “you’re flying in a registered vehicle. You have no ID. You have no way to prove who you are or why you’re in possession of that ship. So, for the time being, I’m going to make sure this thing isn’t stolen. I don’t want anything funny happening while I’m waiting.”

Zaina stepped back. “Do I have a choice?”

“Sure,” the commander said, patting the scrapshot at his side.

She gulped, then put her hands out. The segmented handcuffs were cold and shrank to fit her wrists; it wasn’t comfortable, but it wasn’t unbearable, either.

But it is bralshit.

The commander spoke into the vis-screen around his wrist. “Captain Lasko, run a check on VID 7XD-4854-5J7. Also run a check on the name ‘Zaina Quin’ in every database we can access. Homeworld: Demelia.” Then he turned to Zaina and said, “So, Zaina Quin. What are the circumstances of you acquiring this ship?”

“It’s a long story,” she said.

“I assure you, I’m very interested in hearing it.”

Zaina sighed. “Well, I’m from Demelia, so you probably know about all that.”

The commander’s expression didn’t change. “No, I don’t. What, is your world known for racing or something?”

“What? No!” she said. “It’s gone! The Eldritch destroyed it!”

His eyes narrowed. “You must really think I’m a fool.”

“Huh?”

“The Eldritch? Really? Come on.”

“No, it’s not—I’m not making anything up! I’m telling you the truth!”

“Right,” he said, his eyes rolling. “The Eldritch destroyed your planet. You know, there are lies that are much harder to sniff out than—” his vis-screen beeped, and he checked it. “WHAT? No!”

Zaina recoiled. “Wha—what is it?”

Commander Royce winced. “Artan got Gredalba. There’s no way we make the playoffs now.”

“What—what the fuck are you talking about?”

“Sorry, big trade for my goreball team’s rival. Right. Anyway, what were you saying—oh right, something about the Eldritch. Any other mythical happenings I should be aware of? A Mostiter Soon sighting? The Vash Dragon? Tarbolus IX?”

For five seconds, she seethed with rage. How she held it in was beyond her. Then, in a low voice, she said, “You’re going to feel awfully stupid when captain whatever-his-name comes back with his report.”

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“Oh, I’m sure. Look—I almost feel bad for you. I’ll give you another chance to make something up. You’ve got something more believable in you.”

She gave no reply except a glare.

Royce’s vis-screen beeped again. He checked it, and this time opened up a holo-screen. He read the contents carefully, rubbing his chin. “This ship belongs to the Order of Riiva,” he said. “Last assigned to a High Lancer by the name of—Gir…uh…”

“He went by Gir,” she said. “He was from Diraxus.”

He glanced at her with an eyebrow raised. “Okay, Gir. On a mission to—Demelia. Huh.”

“Starting to feel hungry? You’ll be eating your words soon,” she said.

Before he offered a retort, his vis-screen beeped again. Upon reading it, he swiped off the holo-screen and stared at Zaina with a perplexed expression.

“Zaina Tumera Quin,” he said, “Demelia native, never traveled—presumed dead in a planetary-level cataclysmic event involving—no way.”

She kept glaring while a smile formed on her face. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

He cleared his throat. “I apologize, Zaina Quin. I didn’t realize—well, either way, your name showed up on an evacuation registry that was generated in the past week. You came up as unaccounted for, but the name was there. Looks like you’re supposed to be dead.”

“I stayed behind,” she said.

“And stole a lancer’s ship to get offworld? Where is High Lancer Gir?”

Zaina grabbed her arm. “He—he didn’t make it. And I didn’t steal his ship. He was going to take me with him. I did everything I could to help him, but—”

For an instant, she was back in the cold of the Eldritch’s Hollow. The buzzing whispers gnawed at her brain. Darkness seeped in from the corners of her vision—

Royce’s words snapped her out of it. “Hey! Are you all right?”

Her head jerked. “Yeah—sorry, I, uh—it’s been a long week.”

Royce turned his head. “No offense, but it definitely smells like it.”

She scoffed, her cheeks flushing with warmth. “No offense—what the hell? Is that how you welcome visitors here?”

Royce threw his hands up. “Okay, okay. Look. I’m not gonna take you in.”

“You—you’re not?”

“No. Even if I wanted the extra paperwork, it’s not like there’s anything I could charge you with. If you killed that lancer, it’s between you and the Order of Riiva. They’re probably expecting their ship back, though.”

“I’m planning on bringing it to them,” she said.

His eyebrow raised. “Your kind isn’t known to get along well on Kaado.”

Her glare intensified. “I’ll have you know I’m going to be a lancer, thank you very much.”

“Right,” he said, “and I’m going on a date with Alti Moresse. Right after this, actually.”

“I mean it,” she said.

“Well,” he said, “whatever. It’s not my problem anyway.”

Royce reached out and pulled the handcuffs off her wrists. She massaged them—they were a little sore.

He continued, “Look, if you want to get to Kaado—or wherever you’re going—you’ll need to find someone to fix this thing up.” He turned to walk away.

“Wait,” she said. “That’s it? You’re not going to help me at all? I don’t even know where we are!”

“Do I look like a tour guide to you?” He scoffed. “Welcome to Otmonzas.”

With that, he hopped into a personal hover-transport and rode off. She fiddled with her hands while taking in her surroundings. Everything was bright and colorful and flashy, and it all came across like a jumbled mess.

First thing’s first, I need to find a ride out of here. And a place to stay.

Between the rows of landing zones for ships were heightened platforms and tracks of grav-rails. She pinpointed the nearest one—a hover-shuttle was departing from it. She walked to it, climbing the stairs to reach the station—a handful of benches and concrete pillars to hold up a roof. Pictures of people drinking fancy drinks and smoking big, red rolls of tomush littered the walls, each with their own blaring, color-changing text to describe whatever the hell was being advertised.

She took a seat and waited for the next transport. One of the ads projected a hologram of a young woman about Zaina’s age in the seat next to her.

Zaina jumped. “Ah!”

“Hello, friend! Have you heard about the All-Nighter Night at Tubara’s Club? If you hurry, you can still make it!”

“No, what? What the hell are—”

“Hello, friend! Have you heard about the All-Nighter Night at Tubara’s Club? If you hurry—”

Zaina sighed as the hologram repeated the same pitch three times. Then, in a flash, it faded, leaving her alone. Once it was gone, she almost wanted it back; the station was otherwise a silent, empty museum of flashing advertisements.

A woman walked up the steps, a Foreldian with green fur and rings in her sharpened ears. She glanced over at Zaina, then turned away and walked to the opposite end of the station.

A sigh escaped Zaina’s lips. Back home, people were friendly. We all knew each other. No one got treated like this. Except in Ryrda.

The minutes ticked away, bringing more people shuffling onto the platform. Each and every one of them avoided Zaina. Whether because of the Mark of the Recalcitrant, her odor, or her haggard, bloodied appearance, she didn’t know.

More advertisements popped up as the station became crowded. Holograms told people to go to concerts, shows, or casinos—their virtual words fell on deaf ears, with the comers-and-goers of Otmonzas keeping their noses stuck in the vis-screens on their wrists.

Before long another hover-shuttle pulled up, and everyone else filed in. Zaina looked back toward Gir’s ship—considering she didn’t have a place to stay, maybe she was better off sleeping there, as uncomfortable as it was.

She shook her head. No, if she stayed here that meant no shower and no real food. Plus, she needed help getting the ship flyable. Someone on this crazy planet had to sympathize with her, right?

She stepped on the hover-shuttle, and immediately was met with a round of glares from anyone who cared to look up. Wishing she was invisible, Zaina slunk into the first-most seat and curled up into a ball. The door closed, and the shuttle departed—where to, she knew not.

Her thoughts turned to Kaado. If she didn’t make it there, everything she’d been through—everything she’d lost—would have been for nothing.

I’m not going to let that happen. No matter what.