The Starlight Lancer

Chapter Twenty-Five: Welcome to Otmonzas

"Worlds like this, anyone can make anything of themselves if they put their minds to it. Only idiots get sidetracked, and those are the stories everyone hears about. That's not going to happen to me. I'm going to make it."

—Author Unknown; excerpt recovered from journals that were personal effects on an unidentifiable homicide victim on Otmonzas

The hover-shuttle pulled to a stop with a sharp hiss. Zaina rushed off once the door retracted. The platform was enormous compared to the previous station—and much more crowded. People of all shapes and sizes clustered together around bright neon signs while holograms hovered overhead, their pitches coalescing into word soup.

Something slammed into her back and she stumbled forward. Upon turning, a Jovelian, standing twelve feet tall and wearing what looked to be battle armor, loosed a snort from its extended nostrils. "Watch it, tiny."

The tusked Jovelian then turned and tucked into one of the train cars. Another person bumped into her—this time it was a Vadekarian, barely reaching up to Zaina's waist. Its scaled face soured into a grimace.

"Move it, moron! What the fuck's wrong with people these days?" With that, the Valdekarian walked off.

"I'm sorry," she said. People were staring at her as they walked by—some were bewildered, others were disgusted, and a few were curious or pitying. She took a deep breath and started toward the station's exit—wherever that was. With little experience navigating crowds, she accidentally shoulder-checked her fair share of passersby, each time eliciting a new insult.

The station was divided by dozens of segmented railways separated by platforms. Raised walkways were interspersed as needed to navigate over the active segments of track. Trains came and went every second, with people piling on and off every time one stopped.

The walkways gave her a better vantage point—the exit was only a few platforms away. Relieved, she continued on, trudging to match the pace of the people around her.

Outside was even more crowded. An impossibly bad stench—like wet hair and burnt metal—wafted into her nostrils. She wrinkled her nose and covered her mouth.

Loud, bass-heavy music blasted from a nearby rooftop; multicolored lasers moved in rhythm with the song. The only other noise was chatter—whether of the denizens of Otmonzas or the countless holograms dotting the sky. The massive buildings, appearing as titans from above, were impossibly tall from below, their peaks far out of sight. Engine glows from atmospheric ships faded in and out of the foggy night air.

She gulped. What is this place?

"Hey, move it!" a human shouted, startling her. Zaina moved with the crowd's flow, not knowing where she wanted to go. The people around her were from all walks of life—most wore simple clothing—work uniforms, slacks, button-up shirts; others wore little more than rags. A few wore extravagant robes or silk-woven business suits, always accompanied by an armored companion—sometimes an android, sometimes a team of decked-out security forces.

Her stomach rumbled—its growl wasn't audible over the idle chatter and blaring music. Apparently multiple concerts were on tonight. First thing's first, I need to find some food.

Zaina went along with the crowd until it thinned out a little. A few feet of breathing room was better than none. She scanned the nearby buildings. One of them had a sign that said Daz Markis's The Pratehouse.

Maybe they have some leftovers or something.

She stepped in front of the door, but there was no handle. It opened by itself, retracting into the wall. A male Jovelian awaited on the other side, his elongated tusks carved with intricate symbols; a scar ran down his left eye, and he wore tight-fitting black clothing.