The Starlight Lancer

Chapter Seventy-One: Arrival on Archavo

"The game is rigged, my friend. Vast public works projects across the galaxy—who gets the contracts? Whoever greased the right palms, that's who. So some border installation, or housing planet, or world-bridge gets built with public rebu from Synatorium charter taxes, and a few hundred years later, the damn things are always obsolete—and who gets the contracts to tear them down? See, that's the problem with the Nova Rim—that's the mentality that's applied to everything."

—Keidra Chuialmar, former leader of the anti-Synatorium rebel group, The Red Hand, in a correspondence to one of her closest friends

Zaina sat by one of the many hyper-glass windows on Ondor Almada's personal cruiser. The void their ship was travelling through mesmerized her; it was infinite, white nothingness stretching to the horizon. It was all too easy to lose track of time staring as the emptiness went by.

There was a lull in the ship's movement, and Zaina's torso tilted. A voice came over the ship's intercom.

"Attention, passengers. We will be re-entering Nova Rim space in thirty seconds. After that, we will make our final approach to Archavo Outpost."

Zaina sighed. Whether she was ready or not, it was time for action. She closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths, and when she opened them, they were out of the void. A beige world awaited outside the window.

Another message came over the intercom. "Attention, passengers. We have departed from voidspace and are making our final approach to Archavo Outpost. If the lancers would please begin making their way to the ship's exit—"

A familiar voice interrupted. "Looks like they're already trying to put us to work."

Zaina turned toward Xyrthe. In a low voice, she said, "I still don't understand why you hate him so much. He's been nothing but kind to us."

With a sigh, Xyrthe shook her head. "Yeah, because he needs our help. If we were in his way—"

"But we're not, are we?" Zaina asked.

"You have a lot to learn, kid. There's always a tension on missions like these. See, rich assholes like this guy think because they make big donations to the Order, we're basically their personal servants. That we can be bought like the rest of the galaxy. Everyone has a price, but not lancers. We work for the Order. On missions like this, we act at our own discretion."

Zaina frowned. "So you're not going to follow orders?"

"Not if I don't like them," Xyrthe said. "Look—it doesn't matter. We're here, and they clearly want us to get to it."

Zaina followed Xyrthe through the sleek metal hallways of the luxury transport. Everything was tinted blue by long, thin panels of lighting housed in hand-carved wooden casings; hyper-glass bay windows were stationed every twenty feet. They passed the high-dollar suites, and then the worker cabins, and then the on-board greenhouse.

Finally they arrived at the ship's departure terminal, a large tube with twin mechanical staircases that extended to contact the surface. Ondor was waiting for them at the exit with his arms spread wide.

"Hello, friends! I do hope you found the ride enjoyable. This cruiser cost me more than a small fortune, I tell you, but there's nothing quite like travelling the cosmos in style."

Xyrthe grumbled, so Zaina decided to be the ambassador. "It was lovely, thank you."

"And this was a short trip," he said. "You should come with us on a cruise out near Garis Helm's Lights—the view is breathtaking, and it'll be the most luxurious week you'll ever spend in a ship, I can promise you that."