The Starlight Lancer

Chapter One: The Beginning of the End of the World

"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.