Ba’urgeons love their celestial cities. One Mind constructed for them many beautiful ships, massive behemoths that fused elegance and war, and The Ru-Denza—the Ru, as her crew called her—was in a league of its own, a world unto herself. Within her depths, she carried tens of thousands in her flanks: families, officers, engineers, technicians, teachers, medics, all bound by a rhythm that was older than steel and spark. To walk her wide corridors was to be swept up in that rhythm. One could hear it everywhere, not as sound exactly, but as presence. Ba’urgeons claim it’s the feeling, hum, pulse, and breath of One Mind existing among its creation.

  Lil’lah knew no other life. As a spawnling, all Ba’urgeons are consumed by the faith, Sentries undertaking the rite shortly after they’re spawned. From there, a Sentry spends their adolescence and early adulthood at an academy; whichever service One Mind demands of the vessel. Now, at just past quarter-life, she was still young by Ba’urg measure, though her first few silver strands had already begun to show when the light caught her hair just right. Among her clan this was not a flaw, but a promise—an early whisper of wisdom coming, usually. The elders with their ash-grey crowns were revered, vessels of experience. The gleam of silver in a younger one’s hair marked them as beginning the long walk toward that honor.

  Her body was lithe, like all Ba’urg: tall, slender, blue-skinned, ears tapering upward with a subtle grace. It made the crowded halls seem taller, ceilings arching to hold the height of so many. Even in rest their movements carried a quiet poise, as though meditation never quite left them.

  At the rising feast, the sustenance hall was alive, thriving with an energy tapped from the universe’s source. They all cycled through, seated in long rows under arching beams strung with pale, shimmering lights. Food steamed from communal trays: sear’jur-bone broth, grain-lekie cakes pressed with fine oil, and sweets crystallized from salt-water brine. Lil’lah carried her bowl carefully to a bench crowded with fellow Droi-dex techs.

  As was the custom, they did not speak at first. Eating, like work and rest, was threaded with meditation. Bowls lifted, heads bowed, each inhaled as one, breathing deep of the broth’s steam. A low hum began, hundreds of voices finding the same note until the very walls seemed to vibrate. The hum was not forced but natural, the sound the body made when breath and Spark aligned.

  Lil’lah vibrated with them, her eyes opening only after she felt the Spark humming in the bulkhead behind her, the same note caught in its crystalline heart. She beamed, in her heart she knew One Mind was listening, guiding, receiving the offering of their breath.

  Only when the meal was half done did the hall stir with chatter. Friends leaned together, voices low but bright with laughter. Across from Lil’lah, a tall tech named Car’rel teased another, chuckles punctuating defensive posturing, “Hey, who told you about that? They don’t even stick to skin! Do they?” His hands traced the scene of the crime.

  “I saw it, for one!” Another Ba’urgeon chimed in. More snickers chittered. “It was the glow! You know, when spawnlings undertake ‘the Sight?’ You were being blessed, Mel’chur!” The table bellowed in a deep, hearty laughter.

  “You should claim it!” Car’rel forced the words through his laughter. “One Mind promoted you! He blessed you with infinite Droi-dex knowledge! Marked you as a Droi-dex Lord!” Several tables now involved themselves in the festivities, jokes rippling through the hall.

  Mel’chur laughed too, rolling his eyes over his bowl of broth.

  Lil’lah laughed, possibly loudest, washed with joy, outbursts that made locals distance themselves, giving space for Car’rel to make a move, sliding into the spot next to her.

  Tray in hand, Lil’lah was on her feet only moments after the ceremonial chimes beckoned her to, and she was on the move. The corridors surged with movement, streams of Sentries and Stai’tic flowing to their duty stations.

  Car’rel was on the move too.

  “Hey, Lieutenant!” He called, discreetly, to no response.

  Lil’lah still bore her smile, but her mind was already on the bay.

  “Vir'tec Droi-dexs are awaiting inspection and prep, you know this.We have another wave of them to prepare before the next deployment.” Her eyes remained straight, her pace steady, though she knew he’d be following.

  “Hey, Lil’lah, slow down.” A pace behind her, “Hey, I was gonna ask you—” his hand reached for hers but found a passing Ba’urgeon “—apologies—Hey!”

  Feet planted in the busy corridor, she rattled off her script. “Each of the great carriers bares tens of thousands of Vir’tic Droi-dex, and my squadron—“

  “—Is responsible for a cluster. Five thousand delicate machines, each carrying plan’kent terminals and nanoSparks, meant to descend to ‘primitive’ worlds in ‘Rogue Zones’ to give them blah blah blah—I know, you go through this every time!” He adjusted his flight suit, lowering his tone.

  “It’s sacred work! Even if it seems small!” She shouted softly, fists clenched. With a stomp, she continued on her way.

  “I didn’t say it wasn’t. I just— I overheard from the Training Masters, before last hibernation, you’re due for your Revaluations. Mines coming up too, we could practice together, like the old times. I could use some guidance on maintaining my shadow walk, and give you some pointers on your flying. Our promotions could hinge on this—”

  “If I get the time. You know we’ve been on rapid deployments recently. This quadrant doesn’t have much time left, and we’ve yet to find the world producing the radio waves.” Lil’lah’s stroll picked up, full speed, but Car’rel was still in tow. “They’ve got us on double shifts, it might just have to wait until we get back to Ba’maub.”

  “You know you might have to go down and make contact with entities on one of the missions, right?”

  The pair weaved their way through increasingly narrowing corridors, but Lil’lah didn’t miss a step; maneuvering through the crowds with predictable movements. Car’rel was not as nimble.

  “Something might happen, you’ll need to get off world. All of the full-sized pod-craft systems have manual controls; wouldn’t hurt to prepare for—”

  The words halted the conversation. “What are you trying to say?” Lil’lah’s feet planted, and she pivoted about.

  “I’m saying I can help you, is all.”

  His palms flat, grin wide, offended Lil’lah more. She stepped closer, her shadow eclipsing.

  “This can be like when we were spawnlings, learning to shadow walk. Remember how you helped me? I couldn’t project farther than a few paces, but you helped me learn to focus—remember playing shadow tag through the city?”

  She wasn’t buying his attempt to leverage nostalgia against her. “What else did the Training Masters say that might make you so concerned about my Revaluation?”

  “Nothing—“

  “They just so happened to mention that one fact in passing, and you heard my name?”

  “I may have heard a little more than that.” Car’rel tried to maintain eye contact and silence, but both were not possible. “I may have heard that operations is considering observed drops if they can’t pinpoint the source with the Droi’dex.”

  “Observed drops meaning?”

  “Quadrants are vast, the void stretches endlessly. They want to leave squadrons in place to comb more thoroughly while they continue on… they’d be sending the lowest ranked Sentries and Stai’tic on the Revaluations… in case the world is never discovered.”

  “They want to leave me behind?”

  “It’s not just you. It’s nothing personal. Just Ba’urgeons deemed, well, unnecessary.”

  Lil’lah’s face began to burn as she connected the dots. It was true, among the Ba’urg, she’d developed a bit of a reputation. Ba’urgeons were said to be selected by One Mind, but nobody took Lil’lah’s ascension seriously, and why should they? She was far from the highest-marked Sentry, not particularly great at anything they valued. At times, she questioned her own purpose, wondering if the all-knowing could make a mistake.

  “There’s still time. We can get your marks up, we just have to spend a little time in the simulator—”

  “You’re saying ‘I can’t fly’, that’s all I hear.” She stared him down even harder.

  “That’s not at all—”

  “I don’t care if you sit on the bridge, ‘Comms Tech’, let me tell you, you keep your mouth shut—” a sharp finger to his face crossed his eyes. “—I’m good enough!” Lil’lah pivoted about once more and was off.

  “That’s not what—Lil’lah?!” His legs carried after her, still.

  “We need to get to briefings, you know that.”

  Crowds thinned. Voices in the distance belonged to Lil’lah’s squadron, but she halted and spun to Car’rel.

  “I’m sure the bridge has a briefing for you to attend, Car’rel?” Her hand was back in his face, and then in his grasp.

  “Just think about it, okay?” He released her hand, taking a step back. “Just tell the Mid-seer you want to be dismissed for extra training,” turning to leave after stealing one last glance, before her acknowledgment.

  #

  Lil’lah marched with her squadron, silver sashes and tool-packs slung across their shoulders. They moved in silence until they reached the wide platform overlooking Bay Seventeen, where briefings for this Vir'tic Droi-dex squadron were always held. Lil’lah took her place near the front of the flight, behind the flight leader. There was no talking, laughter, or expression of emotion of any kind.

  Thousands of technicians, operators, engineers—Sentry and Stai’tic—stood in neat columns, their bodies aligned in perfect rows, until kor’ifa chimes ordered the unit’s meditation.

  Each Ba’urg sank to one knee. Hands pressed flat to the floor, heads bowed, ears tilted forward. Voices, a multitude of tones and pitches, thousands thrumming in resonance in unison; a reverberation deeper than what was the sustenance hall. The bulkheads, radiating, pulsing in time with the chanting. The air thickening with a living light-force that bonded them.

  This pulsing sensation, shared by the masses, this was the strength of the Ba’urg: not warships, not technology, but the unbroken connection of One Mind binding thousands into one. Lil’lah was part of the one. Part of the collective; one heart, a current of rhythm, the beat pulsing between them now; one vision, the future of all existence laid out by their deity; and the One Mind.

  Mid-seer emerged from the company, her steps fading the crowd’s hum to a whisper. Slender radiance, a mane of long frozen-silver draped her back, eyes steady, casting a deep gaze across the room.

  “One Mind Guides us!” Her hands silenced the whispered hums, rising then falling as they spoke with their hands. “The Droi-dex of Seventeen shall undergo final inspection, calibration validation, sanctification, and preparation for rapid deployment,” her face searched the crowd before she continued. “Operations insists we prepare squadrons Eighteen, and possibly Nineteen, too. Time is a valuable commodity and this quadrant has little remaining.”

  Her voice carried calm authority, softened by the vastness of the bay. “Dwendenous IX is more vast than we expected. Much of the system lies in the certain path of devastation.”

  Mid-seer now walked through the ranks, guided by forces unseen. “All preliminary scans determine it to be teeming with organic creation. The Uniterial worlds of this expanse escape our gaze, rendering the possibility of repair limited should something happen to us. Those worlds may no longer exist, possibly consumed by other celestial bodies.”

  She stopped now before Lil’lah, looking down her nose. “This makes success in this region dire. We will not get a second chance. Our life is devotion. Every eye opened, every mind aligned. This is our duty to all existence. Do not separate One Mind from your heart.”

  The ranks murmured assent.

  Lil’lah bowed her head, repeating the words with her flight: “Mind and heart, One.” The flight broke their briefing, dispersing through the bay.

  “Not you, Lieutenant. You may stay here for a moment.” The Ba’urgeon removed from her utility strap her plan’kent, scrolling and flickering through it. Through its translucence, Lil’lah made out the crisp lines of indifference on Mid-seer’s face, but failed to see what was so important.

  “You know, I was guided to you? Just now.” The plan’kent slid back into the utility belt, Mid-seer leaned in close. “Why?”

  “Why ‘what’, Mid-seer?” Lil’lah held her baring, swaying back, ever so slightly.

  “Why would the One Mind lead me to you? What did you do?!” There was a faint gasp, “What did you not do?” Mid-seer’s eyes were wide. “You’ve served under my command long enough to know One Mind guides me to troublemakers. Mostly.” Lil’lah’s hair and uniform were up for scrutiny now.

  The Revaluation was all that came to mind, but Mid-seer would have seen that on the plan’kent. Lil’lah stayed her tongue, holding baring.

  “I want you to be… close, you got me?” Mid-seer circled once, searching. A flaw, any frayed edge. A stain. A smell. Anything. But nothing, evidently. Mid-seer turned their back now, waving. “Dismissed, Sentry”.

  Strange. Lil’lah wondered if One Mind administered tests. What really led Car’rel to bring up the Revaluation when clearly it wasn’t registered on the plan’kent, or if it was, it wasn’t a big deal?

  “It’s not always malicious intent, or nefariousness, you know?” Mid-seer called out behind Lil’lah, who now froze. “Maybe One Mind’s been calling you, remember to allow yourself to be guided, Sentry.”

  Even in the droning of the bay, heavy footsteps echoed off nondescript walls of grey and white. Lil’lah unclipped a pocket on her utility belt, removing a plan’kent of her own. Bay Seventeen was expansive, an open hangar stacked with tiers upon tiers of vir’tic Droi-dex. Five thousand machines slept in their racks: insectile bodies folded tight, wings sealed, sensors dark. Each was no taller than Lil’lah at rest, but together they filled the bay like a hive. Locating the ones for service would take time, but that’s what the plan’kent was for; pinpointing each device’s exact location and running full diagnostics reports. The squadron moved among them with practiced grace.

  As she grew closer to the designated machine, her terminal would chime and beep rhythmically. When her boots stepped to meet the vir’tic Droi-dex, the machine in her hand buzzed, powering on the device; the two machines then held a brief conversation through frequency and bandwidth.

  Finally, her first Droi-dex blinked alive as she touched its Spark housing unit. She pressed her palm flat against it, breathing deeply. A hum rose in her throat, low and steady. The Spark flickered, then glowed, pulsing in time with her breath. She felt warmth travel up her arm, into her chest. One Mind was present, at least this is what the Ba’urgeons believed.

  She whispered the check-prayer under her breath, fingers running along seams and joints. Panels slid open, exposing delicate circuits and crystalline veins. She tightened fasteners, adjusted sensors, polished a lens until it shone. All the while, she kept the hum, her voice one thread in the chorus of hundreds around her. The machine clicked softly, acknowledging her touch. Its systems green-lit across the terminal. Lil’lah smiled and moved on to the next.

  Most of the shift passed this way, each Droi-dex another prayer. She lost herself in the rhythm: hum, touch, check, repair. At times, she caught her reflection in one machine’s polished panel—her silver-streaked hair catching the bay lights, only a few faint strands greying at the temple. Young yet, but on her way. She wondered if greatness would come with her first true greying, or if she would always be here, one among thousands, humming Sparks awake.

  The plan’kent buzzed in her palm, drawing her attention. Her head looked about the bay, her eyes scanning. This was not where she expected the Vir'tic Droi-dex to be. “This isn’t right, search again. Lil’lah stood in the middle of an intersection of racks. The device buzzed once more, the screen flickering off. “Oh, come on! Of all the days!” She gripped the machine firmly in her left hand, searching her sash for another tool. With three brief chirps, the screen flickered back to life, its indicator pointing right. “Right, good.” The pocket clasped on the sash, Lil’lah’s feet following directions.

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  With a loud pulsing buzz, the terminal shook again, then went dark. She tapped it. Nothing. Back into her sash again, fumbling, and the machine came back up. “Are you going to fail or not? Make up your mind, please.” Lil’lah looked about the corridor, studying for her next target, but she couldn’t shake the terminal in her hands, glancing down at it. “If it’s faulting, it does me no good to move to the next Droi-dex. Let’s just take it in…” She slid the tool back in her sash and proceeded to the maintenance shop.

  Maintenance was far. Lil’lah was undertaking a voyage further than she typically journeyed. Onboard the Ru, every department occupied a particular area, and within that zone anything that a Ba’urg might need was easily found. This is, until something breaks, which was rare, but it happened. Engineers are all highly revered, even Lil’lah as a junior technical officer was considered ‘Next to Holy’ for being blessed with insight into the ‘One’s creations’. It took years to ascend those ranks, and Lil’lah was pleased to do so.

  From her sash the plan’kent chirped to life, buzzing against her chest. Functional. At the intersection between the escape pods and the maintenance sheds, she removed the machine from her sash once more, staring down now at it in disgust. “Please, make up your mind. Where are we going?”

  She felt it before she heard it. A tremor passed through the deck, subtle at first, like a shift in pressure. The overhead conduits rattled, and there was a tension in the air, like the ship inhaled too sharply. Low groans rolled through the hull, vibrating beneath Lil’lah’s boots, now stuck in place. Lights danced to new wails of alarms and deeper strains of the hull as more reverberations quaked through the vessel. The meditative hum of the ship was shattered. Crews broke from their postures, voices rising in startled confusion, footsteps clattering the corridors.

  Lil’lah staggered, clutching her sash as another tremor threw her against the wall. There was shouting now. Senior officers lined the hall, barking commands, words swallowed by klaxons. “Secure yourselves: Stai’tic Raiders, drop zones! Now! Move! Sentries, battle stations! All units, get to your wings! Brace for further impact!”

  Impact? Lil’lah stood fast; she was a long way from her designated battle station. The obvious thing to do now was rally with her command, assembling with the others back in Bay Seventeen. She knew the path by heart, but the familiar corridors were warped now by chaos. Sentry and Stai’tic scrambled past her. A panel overhead split with a shower of sparks, sprinkling the hall with hot light. She ducked and pressed forward, her legs moved by instinct, heart pounding, but her feet did not take her home, nor did she end up in the maintenance shed. She was being pulled, pushed through the corridors, tethered to intuition. Propelled on ephemeral impulses that charged her steps, nimbly maneuvering her through the crowds of Ba’urg.

  Their shouts and confusion washed into the background; wails of klaxons dissolved into just flashing lights of urgent red.

  There, go there.

  A pulse resonated within her, feet now bound down a flight of stairs, against the crowds that were heading up. Lights flickered with every shudder of the living city. This was an attack, that much was obvious now. What still remained to be understood was why One Mind guided Lil’lah away from her responsibilities.

  Down there, move. You don’t have a lot of time left.

  “A lot of time for what? What’s happening?” She hesitated now. Where was she going and why? Her knees turned toward the far corridor and carried her; a pull. Not physical, but within. Strings tugged in her chest, like a hand squeezed gently but firmly around her heart.

  “Lil’lah!” Car’rel’s voice rang out behind her, panicked. “Where are you going?”

  She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. The tug filled her chest, her ears, drowning everything else. This corridor was smoke-choked, alarms blaring. She stumbled past medics dragging the wounded, officers yelling into dead comms. She saw flashes through portholes: streaks of light tearing across the black void, explosions blooming like false suns. But she had no context, no strategy. Only fragments.

  This way.

  Another boom threw her to the deck. Her pack spilled open, tools clattering across the floor. She scrambled to gather them, hands shaking. Five Sparks rolled free, their crystalline surfaces pulsing faintly with life. She scooped them back into the pouch with trembling fingers and forced herself up. But the Ru shook again, harder this time. Metal screamed as if torn.

  She staggered upright, clutching her pack, and ran. Around the corner, she found herself staring at a sealed hatch. Painted above it in clean white script: Emergency Drop Pods. “I can’t flee! Where are you taking me?!”

  Twilight. Her hand reached for a panel and queued in codes only her spirit knew, forcing the hatch to slide open with a hiss. The room was dark and empty. This bay was smaller, panels of colored lights flittered across the walls. The wails were only swirling lights, and this was a dead end.

  Rows of pods lined the chamber, each sleek and ready. The Ru quaked once more, and the pods chimed, chirped, and powered down. One by one, each went offline. All but one. The tug in her chest pulled her toward one pod in particular. She didn’t question it. She climbed inside, dropping her pack at her feet. The pod sealed. Systems whirred to life.

  “Wait—” Lil’lah gasped, fingers flying over controls she barely understood. “I’m not cleared—”

  A sensation from within silenced her. The pod’s screens lit, and suddenly it was moving. The chamber fell away. The Ru’s hull flashed past the viewport. For a moment, she glimpsed the scale of it—her great ship under siege, plasma fire cutting across her flanks, Ba’urgeon fighters scrambled in every direction. Then her pod fired. Her body pressed into the seat as acceleration roared. The Ru vanished behind her, swallowed by distance. Ahead, only darkness and fire.

  Lil’lah clutched the straps, teeth gritted, chest heaving. She wanted to scream, but the tug inside her had gone still, quiet now. As if its task was done. The last thing she saw before the pod spun her into blackness was a flare of light—something vast, rupturing in the dark. Then everything went silent. The void swallowed her.

  Lil’lah drifted in and out of consciousness, weightless, the pod groaning around her as if wounded. Every now and then she thought she heard voices—meditative hums, distant prayers—but they blurred into the roar of re-entry. She shook and rocked violently, the cabin growing warmer and warmer. Alarms sounded, warning of an imminent impact. Lil’lah was supposed to slow the descent. She reached for controls to activate the retro rockets, but the pod spiraled now, colliding with an object midair.

  She was tumbling too fast to land the pod safely, indicators above her head suggested. The system began its countdown. Impact in 5, 4, 3, — Lil’lah braced.

  The pod struck the ground hard, skidding across sand and stone until it buried itself half a length deep. Lil’lah’s body slammed against the restraints. The air left her lungs in a sharp cry. For a moment, there was nothing but ringing in her ears. When she managed to breathe again, the silence hit her.

  No hum. No chorus of thousands. No mechanics pulsing gently in time with her breath. Only the silence of the pod and the faint crackle of cooling metal. She unlatched her harness with stiff fingers and flopped to the floor, crawling to the hatch.

  Warnings sounded as the machine hissed, sealing shut. Her plan’kent whirled to life, briefly, reevaluating the pod’s security, then fell silent.

  Lieutenant.

  A voice, soft and gentle, spoke up from the corner of her mind. The Inteli-Link. She’d forgotten all about it. She reached back. Slightly grazing the cloud, metallic band around her neck. Ba’urgeons considered them personal assistants. Lil’lah typically kept hers off.

  She let out a low groan.

  “I thought I’d deactivated you.”

  You suspended my service. Upon emergency situations, Galactic Armada regulation states that my suspension be overridden until the situation is normal. Shall I cite the regulation?

  Lil’lah ignored it.

  Lieutenant, I suggest you operate with extreme caution. This terrestrial atmosphere has not yet been fully analyzed; multiple contaminants detected. It’s unwise to exit the capsule.

  She let out another groan, this time much louder. Striking the hatch with her fist.

  “Suggestions?”

  Activating holo visor

  The collar projected a protective bubble across Lil’lah’s face.

  This will filter the environment, allowing vital respiratory functions to go uninterrupted. Smell will be deteriorated approximately 45%.

  The plan’kent beeped again. The pod door unsealed. Her arms were still sore as she reached for the handle. It groaned when she forced it open, spilling desert air inside.

  The scent was dry, alien, sharp with dust. She pulled herself out and collapsed onto the ground. Above her, the night sky stretched endlessly. Stars everywhere, bright as any she’d seen from the Ru.

  Constellations unrecognizable. She struggled hard to find them, her friends and family. The Ru. Her eyes scanned the heavens, sprawled on her back now to survey entirely.Lil’lah lay there a long time, just breathing, until she remembered her training: assess, report, repair.

  She sat up and checked herself first. A bruise across her ribs, a shallow cut on her cheek, but nothing broken. She could stand, facing the pod now. Its frame was bent along one side, plating twisted inward. Smoke curled from the rear thrusters. A diagnostic screen inside flickered red.

  “Repairable, but not by my hands alone. Let’s see what we got to work with here.” She checked her pack. “Tools: intact; Sparks: 1, 2, — 5, good, and they don’t seem to be damaged; Terminal…” She pulled the plan’kent from her pack. “You were giving me problems before we left, although I suppose you probably saved my life out there. For now.” The device seemed to function, though cracked at one corner. Relief washed over her. “OK. You got this.”

  Lieutenant, if I may remind you—

  “Not now, Inteli-Link!” Let me get my baring.”

  She took a long look around her. The desert stretched flat in every direction, dark under the night sky. No moisture, very little vegetation or growth, nor towers of steel. Just barren terrain. Alone. Utterly alone.

  Lil’lah climbed back into the pod and activated the comms array. Static hissed, sharp and loud. She adjusted dials, fingers trembling, searching, but there was silence. No chatter from the pilots, no orders from the bridge. No signs of warfare of any kind. Maybe the battle was over.

  “Ba’urgeon Fleet, Ru-Denza, Pod, er.” She looked for her pod’s call sign on the cabin walls, “Wor’bel-12, requesting contact.” The message slipped into space, deep into the reaches of Dwendenous IX, but was anyone there to hear it? She hailed them again. “Ba’urgeon Fleet, Ru-Denza, come in…”

  The voice came after nearly an eternity to Lil’lah, “Ru-Denza, bridge responding. Identify.”

  Her breath caught. “Lieutenant Lil’lah Mu-yah, Bay Seventeen—”

  “That was you that jettisoned the podcraft, Lil’lah?”

  The voice reacted with such concern and familiarity. Car’rel. They were the only one on the bridge that would be the slightest concerned.

  “What are you DOING?! Lieutenant, nobody cleared that podcraft, the bridge’s lost its mind momentarily. You’re lucky they’re too preoccupied at the moment to follow up on it. Where did you end up?” There was a pause, then, “Activate your tracker. I will assign a vir’tic droi-dex to locate you.”

  She promptly obeyed, fingers flicking across switches, emitting a soft ping, pulsing into the void.

  “Is the craft functional? Did you remember the proper landing protocols? You should be able to get back to us if you landed it properly.”

  What could she say? Her hands shielded her face as if he was staring her down.

  “It was… … a rather rough landing, Car’rel. I remembered the procedure, but before I could initiate it, I collided with something which sent me careening down to the surface. Damage is…. Well, I mean with enough time, I might be able to fix it. But I may need more material too. The right stuff.”

  There was a long pause before he responded.

  “Hold your position,” the voice said. “No matter what happens, just remain calm. Help will come. Let me figure out what that time like looks like.” Then static swallowed them again.

  Lil’lah sank back against the seat, relief mingled with dread. She wasn’t forgotten, but nor was she saved.

  Time passed slowly in isolation for Lil’lah. The desert wind rasped, forcing the pod to creak. No rescue arrived. Not yet. She couldn’t sit idle, grabbing her tools, prying open a thruster panel. Inside, a tangle of wires and warped plating smoldered and sizzled. She braced her feet and tried to wrench a housing-plating-unit free, muscles straining. It didn’t budge. She groaned and pulled harder, nothing. She slumped back, panting. “Alone, too weak, not enough.”

  Lieutenant.

  “What, Inteli-Link?”

  Lieutenant. I understand that you’re predisposed to going it alone, but I am here to—

  “To what? Monitor me? Relay my vitals to the fleet? Keep tabs on my inner thoughts and impulses—

  Keep you alive. If’d you’d rather be alone, I can comply. I only urge that you remember to search the rest of the podcraft.

  Inteli-Link couldn’t feel, but its sentiments were spot on. Lil’lah hated the implant; issued to every Sentry on the Ru. Commodore Nim’izel’s orders; part of an initiative to ensure the Ba’urgeons under his charge were ready for anything. He’s instituted various decrees such as mandating all the Ba’urg carry their plan’kents at all times, or like how—

  Her gaze fell on a sealed compartment under the seat. This was what Inteli-Link wanted to say: every podcraft carried a standard survival suit. She pried it open and lifted the contents free. A sleek, form-fitting uniform, dark with faint luminous threads. Gloves and boots reinforced with crystalline nodes. A helm with an integrated visor. “It’s a Drop-Suit!” She rummaged through the compartment once more, but it was empty.

  You’re welcome, Lieutenant.

  Lil’lah pulled it on, piece by piece. It sealed itself with a hiss, threads tightening to her frame. Her visor flickered in response, symbols scrolling across the display.

  Inteli-Link chirped, almost as if with delight. It was reconfiguring its protocols for its new attachment and functions.

  Drop-suit | Inteli-Link integration in progress, Standby.

  Various symbols flashed across the visor.

  LexiCore, active: linguistic protocols prepared. Awaiting input from Native host. Native-Camo: dormant. Awaiting ‘Native’ host for profile scan and analysis, and replication.

  “Native host?” Of course. The podcraft was designated to come here because of the mission. The planet was occupied by somebody, but how could they live out here in this wasteland?

  The suit continued its adjustments, gears whirling as the suit continued optimizing. Activating Field-Assists: Audio/Visual Spectral Analyzer, active; Anti-Grav Manipulator, active; Magna-Wave Modulator, active; Electron Current Condenser, active; Photosynthesis Replicator, online.

  A gauge appeared at the bottom of her heads-up display. The remaining energy, and it was fully charged, but slowly dropping.

  Warning: Insufficient light detected for emitter lens; recommending direct thermal connection for prolonged use. But Lil’lah wasn’t concerned with the power levels, noticing a pop-up notification that read ‘Anti-Grav Active’.

  “Wait, what? An Anti-Grav system!? Oh, I always wanted to play with one of those!”

  Lil’lah flexed her fingers. The gloves glowed faintly, responding to her touch. Her boots hummed underfoot, vibrating through her body. For the first time since the crash, hope stirred. As she adjusted the suit, the transmitter crackled from the pod.

  Audio relayed through the suit’s headset.

  “Lil’lah? Confirm status.”

  “I’m still alive,” she said quickly. “That tracker, can you confirm you have a pin on my location? I’m not sure if it’s active. There’s been no contact from the Armada.”

  There was static, then a response. “Listen, rescue may be… delayed. The situation up here is quite complicated.”

  She swallowed. “How bad?”

  A laugh, sharp with bravado: “We’ve held worse. Don’t worry. The Ru is strong and so are the Ba’urg. So strong, in fact, that I have been asked to task you while you’re there.”

  “Task me?”

  “Reading indicates you’re on a ‘rogue zone’ world. Arguably, from what our scanners detect, it could be the one we are here to find. I’m not sure how you were fortunate enough to stow away on a podcraft bound for that rock, but, well, here we are. What do you have with you now, in your gear?”

  Lil’lah looked back at the pod. She was testing out the features of the suit in the darkness of the desert. “I have my plan’kent, five sparks, and my fusion-sculptor. Oh, and my Inteli-Link pointed out the Drop-Suit.”

  “That will have to do. I wish you had taken a second plan’kent; you’ve been advised to leave that one there. In capable hands, of course. They’ll need it to get maximum output from those Sparks.”

  “What? But won’t I need it to diagnose and repair the podcraft? What if something happens while I’m out in the void?”

  “Any entity with the plan’kent and sparks is destined to propel that civilization into the future instantly. Unfortunately, the survival of that world outweighs the command’s value of your life, Sentry. You know this mission is ordained. We will send you supplies on the Vir’tic droi-dex to increase your chances of survival, but—” there was static and popping from the receiver.

  She hadn’t noticed his voice trail off, lost in her own thoughts: Oh, what have I gotten myself into? A suicide mission? Direct validation of how expendable I am?

  “—We wager that society’s advanced enough to use those resources. Once you explain the severity of their situation, they’ll be forced to make hard choices, too. Their first order should be to establish open communications with us. If they can get a contact relay up, we can help them further. If you’re trapped down there, provided they’re ‘friendly’, we should be able to help you too.

  “Provided they’re friendly?”

  “Oh. You’ve never been trained for terrestrial drops, have you? We’ve found life forms on primitive worlds to be, well, rather hostile to new things. It’s best to avoid them unless you are certain they are friendly.”

  “But, how do I—“

  “—Listen, your Inteli-Link is able to talk you through the protocols. I’m out of time. Find a being there that can set this up, and if you can get back here. The Roth’arians, they’re here. The system is swarming with them, evidently. None of the recon-dex picked this up.”

  “What are the Roth’arians doing all the way out here?”

  “That’s what makes all this complicated. Be careful. That’s a resource-rich planet you’re on. I don’t see why they wouldn’t already be there. You have your mission. One Mind Guides you, Lil’lah.” Then there was only static again.

  Lil’lah stood frozen, visor glowing around her face. The confidence in Car’rel’s voice had been forced; she could hear as much, even through the distortion. She stood atop the desert sand, boots crunching on gravel, surveying in all directions. “Well, it seems I have a little time to kill. Let’s try these things out.” Tentatively, she bent her knees and leapt. The antigrav nodes flared, launching her higher than she’d imagined. She landed gently, the boots absorbing impact.

  A laugh escaped her mouth, sudden and bright. She tried again, bounding across the sand. Then she lifted a heavy piece of hull plating with her gloves—something that had been impossible moments before. She felt like greatness was within her grasp.

  Warning: motion detected. Several large objects incoming.

  Bright beams of light caught Lil’lah’s attention, her neck swiveling to the sounds of guttural rumblings. Headlights carved across the desert. Dozens of them, bouncing over the horizon, engines rumbling like beasts, all heading for her and the pod. She dipped behind a large rock, assessing the scene. The vehicles were surrounding the pod.

  Again, Lil’lah froze. Her bag. The Sparks. Her tools. They were still inside the pod. She sprinted toward it, but already the convoy was too close. Spotlights swept across the wreckage. Life forms poured out, dark shapes holding strange objects, voices sharp and foreign.

  Her suit sprang to life. Lexicore analyzing. Transcoding. Constructing… approximate completion: 1%.This was not going to be a quick process.

  She needed to know what they were saying and who they were. Ducking into the shadows of one of their transports, another alert chirped.

  Security camouflage enabled. Rendering optic-camouflage.

  The suit’s camo activated, warping light around her, causing it to shimmer before bending into the desert night. She was nearly invisible.

  She watched from a far-too-near shadow, pulse charged, as they surrounded the pod. Chains clinked. Machinery roared. Slowly, methodically, they hauled it onto a truck bed. Her lifeline was being carried away. Creeping closer, slipping between shadows, her suit alerted her once more.

  Native-Camo scan completed; analyzing, composing: complete. Rendering camouflage. Slowly a form began to materialize in the darkness, taking the common attribute of the things walking through the night.

  They were shouting to one another, oblivious of her. She found another one of their vehicles in the convoy—loaded with crates, less guarded.

  She leapt silently onto it, antigrav softening her landing. Curled between cargo, she held her breath as engines roared to life. The vehicle lurched, then the convoy moved, a line of lights winding across the desert.

  Lexicore status: 45%.

  Outside the canvassed truck, the night sky passed in spotted majesty. Lil’lah thought of the Ru. What if they were trying to contact her now? How would these beings feel if the Vir’tic Droi-dex appeared now? Would they respond in a hostile manner?

  The darkness of the desert soon gave way to the lights of civilization, at last reaching a sprawling facility of concrete and steel. Floodlights glared against the night. Lil’lah stayed low as the trucks rolled through towering gates. She waited, tense, as vehicles began to separate. Her truck made a left. She craned her neck, visor zooming just enough to see the other trucks—the one with her pod—veering right. Dust rose behind it, glowing pale under the moon.

  “No…” she whispered. She watched helplessly as it vanished into the distance, swallowed by the facility’s shadows. She was completely alone now, hidden on the wrong truck, her Sparks and tools carried away beyond reach. And she couldn’t reach the fleet.

  Lil’lah clenched her fists.

  One Mind had guided her this far. The Ru had told her she must find someone on this world capable of handling advanced technology. But first, she had to find her pod. The hum of her ba’urg was gone. In its place, only the roar of alien engines. She bowed her head, whispering the prayer of endurance, her voice trembling: hand and heart, One. One Mind, Guide me. And so her mission began.