“Your command is my to-do list,” Quinn said.

He plotted a course through the ring of dead satellites and readied the ship for atmospheric entry. The massive orb of the planet filled his cockpit canopy. Seconds later, a pale orange wall of superheated gas formed ahead of the Rocinanteas it made its swift descent. Turbulence shook the small cargo vessel, and the ship’s spaceframe groaned in protest. The planet’s curved horizon quickly flattened as Quinn dived toward its surface. His ship shot like an arrow through a gray mountain of clouds, and he leveled the ship’s flight.

Glancing at his instruments, he said, “Comin’ up on your first point of interest.” He pointed to starboard. “That side.”

“Can you take us down to two kilometers?”

“Sure.” Quinn eased the ship’s nose downward, dropping them to a lower altitude within seconds. “How’s that?”

“Perfect,” Bridy said. “Give me a slow circle of the area.”

Quinn guided the Rocinantethrough a shallow banking turn that took them around a massive urban ruin. The crumbling remains of once-majestic skyscrapers were overgrown with plant life; some structures appeared to have collapsed only recently, cutting wide swaths across the lush vegetation that was reclaiming the former city.

In a hushed voice he said, “Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair.”

Bridy nodded, apparently recognizing the quote from Percy Bysshe Shelley’s poem “Ozymandias.” With her gaze still fixed on the decaying metropolis, she replied, “Yup.” She looked at Quinn with a somber expression. “Let’s move on and see what the next site looks like.”

“You got it,” Quinn said.

Over the next few hours, they saw dozens of former cities, all in various stages of decay: conquered by wilderness they had once displaced, swallowed by seas they had once kept at bay, buried by a desert’s inexorable march, or ground into dust by continent-wide sheets of ice nearly two kilometers thick.

“I’ve seen enough,” Bridy Mac said as they cruised over a moonlit coastline dotted with the disintegrating tops of sunken towers. “Set course for the largest humanoid settlement. Rig for silent running and make our altitude ten kilometers.”

“On it,” Quinn said. He entered the changes into the helm and relied on his instruments to guide him as night fell and made it impossible for him to tell where the sky ended and the sea began. “I take it I’ll be doin’ the talkin’ if we decide to go down and meet the locals?”

“As usual,” Bridy said.

One of the reasons she needed him as a partner was to skirt Starfleet’s all but sacrosanct Prime Directive, which forbade its officers from making contact with or interfering in the affairs of pre-warp cultures. As a civilian, Quinn wasn’t bound by the Prime Directive. To preserve their cover as traveling merchants and prospectors, he was responsible for initiating contact with species that would be off-limits for Bridy, who was still a Star-fleet officer, albeit on detached duty.

“Okay, we’re in position,” Quinn said.

Bridy ran another sensor sweep and studied the accumulated data. “Looks like they’ve built on the remains of an old city. Livestock, natural fertilizers in the soil, diverse agriculture … it’s a pretty large farming community. I’m also reading a lot of small sail-powered ships along the coast.” She smiled at Quinn. “There’s your fishing spot.”

“I’ll dust off my rod and reel.” He folded his hands behind his head, leaned back in his chair until it was almost horizontal, and stared through the canopy at the flickering stars. “We gonna hover up here all night? Or go down and say hello?”

The lithe brunette shut off the sensor apparatus. “Fine, let’s go meet the locals. But this time keep the ship ready for a quick liftoff. I don’t want a repeat of that mess on Cygnar.”

The mere mention of that planet made Quinn wince. He would never forget the ambush with which that world’s primitive reptilian natives had greeted him and Bridy several months earlier. “Don’t worry,” he said, massaging a phantom pain where a dart had pierced his ribs. “Running away’s my specialty.”

McLellan watched the shadowy details of a gutted city rise to meet the Rocinanteas Quinn piloted the ship to a landing on a mostly level patch of rubble-strewn ground surrounded by four ancient brick walls with no roof.

The ship hovered over the landing site for a few seconds, extended its landing gear, and made a smooth vertical descent. With a mechanical whine the wingtips folded into their landing configuration, up and inward over the bulky warp nacelles, which together were as massive as the ship they served. Quick spurts from the directional thrusters kicked up dust and vapor beneath the ship, which submerged into the cloud and settled to the ground with a soft tremor of contact. “Nicely done,” McLellan said.

“Years of practice,” Quinn replied, switching the ship’s systems to ready-standby and activating its exterior floodlights. Beyond the walls that surrounded the ship, several humanoid shapes were approaching. “Looks like we drew a crowd.”

“Do they have torches and pitchforks?”

“Not that I can see.”

She got out of her chair. “Then let’s go say hi.”

Quinn followed McLellan aft to the gangplank. She pushed a button, and the ramp descended with a whirring of motors and a hiss of hydraulics. Curtains of white vapor billowed downward and spilled to either side of the ramp, blanketing the ground with fog. Quinn walked outside, taking the lead.

Stepping off the ship behind Quinn, McLellan saw him undo the leather safety strap on the holster of his stun pistol. She kept her own compact phaser tucked out of sight under her shirt, in a sheath attached to her belt.

They waited underneath the thick aft section of the Rocinante’s main hull, which was shaped like a narrow wedge. The exterior of the ship was a mottled dark gray with pale splotches from years of crude repairs at various alien shipyards. The cockpit was covered by a dark-tinted canopy.

A group of six humanoids clambered through gaps in the walls around the Rocinante. The first ones through reached back to assist the others. Once they were all inside the gutted structure, they stepped into the glow of the Rocinante’s floodlamps.

The entourage consisted of what looked like four males and two females. Tall and thin, they had slender limbs and six long delicate digits on each hand. Their chins and foreheads were prominent and squarish, their noses were broad, and their large ears protruded horizontally from their heads. All of them wore simple clothing that looked as if it had been made by hand.

At first McLellan thought they were albinos, but as they moved closer she saw they had pale gray complexions. All six of them had long straight hair the color of white gold.

Their most striking feature, however, was the single lidless multifaceted eye that ran the length of each individual’s brow, between the nose and forehead.

The female leading the group stepped forward, paying no heed to Quinn, and addressed McLellan. With a subtle forward bow, the female said, “My name is Naya Parzych. I am the cynosure of Leuck Shire. Welcome to the planet Golmira.”

Not wanting to give offense by trying to deflect the woman’s attention to Quinn, McLellan mimicked the slight bow and replied, “Thank you. My name is Bridget McLellan, and this is my friend and business partner, Cervantes Quinn.”

Dipping his chin, Quinn said to Naya, “Ma’am.”

McLellan said, “Our species calls itself human.”

Clearly picking up on the cue, Naya replied, “We refer to ourselves as Denn.” She cast a disapproving look at Quinn’s sidearm. “If you’ve come in search of plunder, I doubt we have anything worth your trouble.”

Quinn raised his palms. “No slight intended, ma’am. It’s just for self-defense. Doesn’t even have a kill setting.” His words seemed to calm Naya, so he continued. “You and yours seem pretty calm for folks meeting alien visitors.”