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Space opera is one of the oldest and dearest subgenres of science fiction. From Flash Gordon, to Dune, to Star Wars, and lately, The Expanse, these epics, cast across interstellar settings, have thrilled us for generations. But writing one might seem daunting, given the scope and scale of space opera narratives. You’re not only telling the story of one world, but many, and thus all of the characters, cultures, technology, and history the audience has come to expect.

I’ve written several space opera novels, key among them my Redshift Runners trilogy. I also have two more trilogies slated for release that take place in the Runners universe, and at least two more I’d like to write (I’m struggling to come up with a good umbrella term for my series, but that’s another essay). I’ll share how I crafted a space opera setting that is easily expandable, while maintaining an overall theme.

This isn’t an effort to plug my work; if I’m going to offer advice, I want it to be informed advice.

Granted, every author is different, and so are the needs for their story. Some writers might put far less detail into their space operas, whereas others may opt for a more ‘hard’ SF approach where every parsec and planetoid is enumerated. Either of these methods are fine; neither are determiners of what makes a good story. Whatever your needs, however, you need a solid foundation on which to build your universe. It will save you many headaches later.

Wikipedia defines space opera as ‘a subgenre of science fiction that emphasizes space warfare, with use of melodramatic, risk-taking space adventures, relationships, and chivalric romance’. I’m not so sure about the ‘chivalric romance’ part (that sounds pretty dated), but the other items are more or less true. There have been many ‘FTL epics’ released over the years, and some think this subgenre has been mined to death, but I disagree. That’s like saying romance or mystery has been mined of all their ideas, and that’s not true. Your unique take and voice are what will initially set your space opera apart from all the others out there.

But you’ll still need to focus on three things, more so than for other genres, to anchor your space opera setting: scope, mode of travel, and technological level.

1. Scope

How large will your setting be? Is it confined to one solar system, like most of The Expanse series? Will it encompass a galaxy, like in Star Wars? Or is it the known universe, like Dune?

In Runners, I initially set it roughly a few centuries into the future. Earth was threatened by solar flares, so humanity left it and colonized the surrounding star systems. I placed several key borders that would help me decide how far my characters would travel. This was important for several reasons: it gave me a ballpark idea of where my characters would go; it informed what my characters knew of their universe, the Orion Spur; and it helped me plot travel times and distances, since I used star systems that exist in reality.

Some may think, ‘hey, it’s space, so my setting has no boundaries’, and that’s fine. But if you intend to write multiple stories in your setting, and you wish to maintain a sense of continuity, it helps to know your setting’s scope. Readers will appreciate your level of detail. It will show you put thought into how your setting works, and that will affect your characters, their experiences, and their narratives.

Space operas focus on spacefaring civilizations, so knowing where to go and how to get there is a key component. It also contributes to the worldbuilding; your characters might discuss how long certain voyages take, or where their homeworld is.

For Redshift Runners, I focused on a sphere of star systems extending 50 light-years from Earth. This sphere was then divided into regions that were familiar to my characters. It also helped me quickly understand, in a rough fashion, where certain events took place.

Ross Boundary: everything within 6 light-years of Earth (initially in my story, this area is unnavigable, and Earth is a mythical, abandoned world)

Golden Band: everything within 6-12 light-years from Earth (so named due to the number of well-terraformed worlds controlled by wealthy nobles, corporations, and governments; the hub of current human civilization)

Dust Systems: everything within 12-20 light-years of Earth (a smattering of colonies and settlements across dozens of systems that are barely surviving due to resource shortages, wars, rebellions, and piracy)

Arcturus Ring: everything 20-50 light-years from Earth (the edge of humanity’s known extent into the cosmos; the Ring is populated by cults, colonial offshoots, feudal clans, and the Prestige, a collection of hivemind, automated fleets; named after the Arcturus star system, 36.7 light-years from Earth)

The setting’s next trilogy, Delta Desperadoes, a space western, is set completely within the Delta Pavonis system, 19.89 light-years from Earth. This places those stories right on the ‘border’ of the Dust Systems and the Arcturus Ring, and the trilogy’s lawless, desperate colony reflects that. It helped that I’d established the existence of such places in the Runners trilogy, and I built upon that for Desperadoes. Though it’s a space western, Desperadoes fits the space opera mold since the trilogy spans several planets, asteroids, stations, and deep-space derelicts.

The third trilogy, Cygni Corps, a military SF, is set all over the aforementioned regions, as well as an expansion of the setting:

Ursa Glow: everything between 50 to 100 light-years from Earth (often called ‘the Glow’; named after the Ursa Major Moving Group, roughly 80 light-years away)

Markab’s Belt: everything between 100 to 200 light-years from Earth (named after Alpha Pegasi’s former name, a system 133 light-years away)

Acrux Rim: everything between 200 and 320 light-years from Earth (named after Acrux, a star system 321 light-years from us; this region is mythical to the characters due to its distance)

Okay, I know this looks like a lot of extraneous detail, but I list these as an example of how I’ve built—and expanded—my setting with each successive novel and/or trilogy. I’m not saying this is the best way, much less the only way, to build a space opera setting. I consider it a good example, though, since it offers definite boundaries easily understood by characters (and readers), and has plenty of room to grow as needed.

2. Mode of Travel

This is a major detail. Most space opera is rife with easy FTL (faster-than-light) travel, where little consideration is given to the mechanics of how your characters get from point A to point B. There’s nothing wrong with that; use whatever suits you and your story. But you need to at least understand how interstellar voyages are achieved in your setting.

You can take the Star Wars approach: ‘lightspeed’ across the galaxy in seemingly a matter of hours (the films and shows never really reveal exactly how long hyperspace travel takes). This allows you to focus more on your characters and their adventures.

There’s Star Trek: warp drive. It’s FTL, but not so quick as Star Wars’ method. The consideration of time does play a factor in Star Trek more than Star Wars, however; will the ship reach the locale in time to save the day? That has added extra drama and tension to several plots across the franchise’s history.

Dune features an instantaneous ‘folding of space’ via Guild highliners piloted by mutated pilots that use the spice ‘melange’. You can travel from point A to point B immediately. This is an incredible concept, but it can lessen the drama of the sheer vastness of space, and the effort it might take to traverse it.

The Expanse’s Epstein Drive is based slightly more on physics, and travel in that setting is much slower and takes into consideration many factors: the gravitational forces pressing on the crew if they are under a hard burn; how much resources the crew needs for long journeys; and the trajectories of opposing vessels that might reach a location first. This adds a greater level of importance to logistics in this setting, especially when compared with the previous examples. Personally, I find this the most compelling method of space travel that I’ve come across in the science fiction genre. You can tell the authors put in the effort—and they’re consistent with it.

As you can see, the mode of travel helps set the tone of your space opera. Is it easy and fast, like an afterthought? Or does it require planning and forethought, not to mention skill?

For Runners, I went for a middle ground: wormhole travel. Ships in my setting use a Casimir Drive. They operate on the principle of Casimir gates to generate a wormhole (I was heavily influenced by the lecture series ‘How Science Shapes Science Fiction’ by Charles L. Adler).

There’s different versions of the Casimir Drive, such as Mark II, Mark III, etc., and those versions each have a different speed. I created a simple modifier. A Mark II drive, for example, has a 0.06 light-speed modifier. You multiply this number by the number of days in a year. Thus, 365 days, multiplied by 0.006, gives you 2.19 days. Faster vessels might have a 0.002 multiplier, giving you 0.73 days.

This means a vessel using that first particular drive takes 2.19 Earth days (I refer to these as ‘sols’ in my setting) to travel 1 light-year. To reach the closest star system to Earth, Alpha Centauri, would take 8.76 sols in a vessel using a Casimir Mark II drive. A Mark III drive would get you there in 2.92 sols.

This doesn’t sound like much, but I added a caveat to my setting: since humanity’s hivemind enemies hack a ship’s navigational computers, human pilots are used. Only, these pilots have their minds jacked directly into their ship’s nav system. This means they enter a trance-like state when the ship enters a wormhole. They are hooked up to IVs for nutrients and liquids for that duration, but it is often fatal for a pilot to jump long distances in one voyage. More than 17 consecutive (jumped) sols in the cockpit will kill a normal human. Thus, genetically-engineered pilots were created that can endure longer journeys. But even then, using the nav system makes pilots—even modded ones—gradually lose their memories.

Therefore, interstellar travel in my setting features a very real human cost. I did this to justify using human pilots at all, since much can be achieved with automation (especially in such a technologically advanced setting). I also wanted an extra layer of drama added to my stories. More than one of my Runners characters forget their pasts, and even their loved ones, in the course of the narrative. I did not want space travel to be an afterthought.

Again: use what works best for your story.

3. Technological Level

What’s the technological level of your space opera setting? Is it reminiscent of Edgar Rice Burrough’s John Carter of Mars, with swords and airships, or does it feature laser guns like Star Wars? (Yes, I know they’re called blasters.) Again, go with what works for your story, but remain consistent. If someone’s using melee weapons in a setting where laser guns exists, why would anyone use them unless it’s as a last resort?

Dune handles that well with the various arms restrictions, feudal rules, and avoidance of sophisticated technology due to the Butlerian Jihad. Star Wars gets by with it in the form of its famed lightsaber, which can deflect blaster bolts. But melee weapons are only one aspect.

How about survival gear, like spacesuits? Will your characters need them while visiting a planet? Can they breathe everywhere, like in Star Wars (and most Star Trek), or will they require protective equipment, such as in Cowboy Bebop or The Expanse?

What about medical tech? Can your characters replace limbs and organs with cloned or printed versions? Or do they have to resort to cybernetics?

Do your starships have artificial gravity, and if so, what powers it?

I could go on, but there’s several reasons this is important. If your technology is overly amazing, there might be fewer challenges for your characters. If it’s not well-thought out, at least in passable details, readers might grow frustrated with your lack of specifics. Science fiction fans, by and large, have an appreciation for gadgetry and technology. As long as you have a methodology for how things work, and don’t stray from it, you should be fine.

In Runners, I went with kinetic weaponry instead of energy armaments. Rather than laser weapons, I used railguns, missiles, bullets, and large-caliber artillery. This was to increase the tension of starship combat: the characters might run low on ammunition; a railgun might jam; or they’d have to wait on a heatsink to cool a weapon before they could fire again. And, unless they timed their shots correctly—as well as flew in close, usually within a few kilometers of a target—then their railgun shots might miss. Their missiles had fuel for thirty seconds before the projectiles’ trajectories could be changed. After that, the missile would fly through the void, no longer able to maneuver. This created an up-close and personal (for space, at least) style of engagement with mobile enemies. I was heavily influenced by The Expanse and EVE Online in this regard.

In Desperadoes, to fit with that trilogy’s gunfighter aesthetic, I placed more emphasis on the make and model of smallarms, their calibers, and even the sound they emit when fired in atmosphere. There’s dust covers for revolvers used on desert worlds, and recoilless assault rifles for space marines. In the Cygni Corps trilogy, the marines wear heavily-armored exoframes that turn a soldier into a walking tank (like the Mobile Infantry in Robert A. Heinlein’s military SF classic, ‘Starship Troopers’).

Then there was the artificial gravity on my starships and stations. This was achieved via centrifuges. This added a veneer of realism to the setting, as well as another variable that could challenge the characters: if the centrifuge was damaged or destroyed, then that could cause havoc inside their ship. There was also scenes where enemies would increase the gravity on their vessel, if boarded, in order to hamper the protagonists. Thus, I used a believable technology that affected not only how characters lived in space, but also the tactical situation in action scenes.

As far as medical technology, cloning and printing are available—but only for the wealthier people living in the Golden Band. Everyone else has to make do with cybernetic limbs, low-grade med packs, and even tubes of hull sealant to treat injuries. This was meant to stratify my setting in socio-economic terms. Like the real world, the rich receive the best care. The poorest among us receive the worst care—or, have far less access to it. This also reflects life living on the frontiers of human civilization, where a starship crew might be light-years away from a proper medical facility. Sure, there are physicians, medics, and med bots in most crews, but they might not possess the best medical tech. It’s dangerous out there.

The technology in a science fiction setting isn’t about wowing the audience with ‘cool gadgets’. These devices provide jumping points for one of the genre’s key features: problem-solving. How do you treat a gunshot wound in a low gravity environment, when the injury won’t drain properly? How do you fight bone and muscle loss over long voyages if your centrifuge isn’t functioning? Are you aware that firing normal firearms in vacuum will propel you backward, and the recoil will affect the projectile’s trajectory? How much oxygen does the character’s suit have, and how resistant is it to radiation? Do your characters have access to drugs, augmentations, or equipment that will allow them to operate on the surface of a high gravity planet?

These are vital questions that need an answer. That’s why your technological level matters.

Summation

Space opera is one of the grandest fictional genres there is. Writing it is great fun; there is no other literary canvas that is as large and epic. While there are the usual considerations for the author—characters, plot, worldbuilding, theme—the three I have detailed here are integral to crafting a space opera that is not only exciting, challenging, and compelling, but as unique as your writing voice.

If you’d like to see how I use this advice in my own work, please check out my Redshift Runners trilogy from Aethon Books (as well as Delta Desperadoes, coming this June, and Cygni Corps, TBA; both from Aethon). Now get out there and blaze a trail across the void.