Robyn Michaels

I’ve set myself a challenge to prepare a Sci-Fi story based around the daily writing prompt, each day for a month.

My Sanctuary

The Sol-7 Observation Deck has always been my sanctuary, especially during third shift when the tourist pods are docked and the viewing chamber is almost empty. I’ve been coming here every cycle for the past stellar year, ever since Claire disappeared. The psych-techs say familiar routines can help process grief, though they usually recommend immersion therapy or neural resets. But this place—this is where I feel closest to her.

I know every polymer seam in the quantum glass, every subtle distortion in the containment field. The AI sentries recognize my bioprint now, no longer scanning my neural patterns. “The usual coordinates, Observer Harrison?” they chime, and I nod, making my way to Viewing Port 307, in the restricted section.

Today, like every third shift, I sit in the grav-chair facing the dark zone where Star HD-179821 once burned. The holo-display still reads “Temporal Anomaly,” though everyone knows about the Collapse last year. The greatest astronomical catastrophe in human history, they called it. An entire star system, gone dark. Security networks blind. No witnesses. Just another unsolved mystery in a galaxy full of them.

The thing about a dark zone is how it makes you focus on everything around it. The waves of radiation, the texture of space-time, the shadows of passing comets. Sometimes I sit here for hours, watching other observers’ reactions when they realize there’s no star. Confusion, disappointment, tourist holos in front of nothing. I find it oddly comforting.

“Beautiful quantum void,” a voice says beside me. “The absence makes quite a statement.”

I turn to see an elderly woman in pearlescent enviro-armor, her silver hair suspended in a zero-G nimbus. She must be at least a century old, but her augmented eyes gleam with unnatural brightness.

“I suppose it does,” I reply. After a year of solitary observation, it feels strange to share this space.

“The Collapse did us a favor, really,” she continues, engaging her grav-lock. “Now we can appreciate the fabric of space itself. The quantum fluctuations, the dark energy patterns. Sometimes what’s missing tells a better story than what’s present.”

Something in her neural signature makes my implants tingle. There’s a familiar pattern there, though I’m certain we’ve never synced.

“Did you know,” she says, “that dark zones have a curious effect on quantum surveillance? The void creates calculation errors in AI observers—all that negative space generates a kind of cosmic blind spot. Fascinating, isn’t it?”

My blood runs cold, setting off my bio-alarms. “Who are you?”

She smiles, reaching into her quantum storage field. “Someone who appreciates your dedication, Observer Harrison. Coming here every third shift, positioning yourself exactly where the AI grid can’t quite focus. Very methodical. Claire would be proud.”

The name triggers my neural suppressors. “How do you—”

“Know about Claire? My dear, we recruited her. Such talent with quantum mechanics, with probability manipulation. She designed the Collapse perfectly.” The woman materializes a data crystal. “Unfortunately, she developed… ethics. Started talking about reversing the process, saving the eight billion lives in that system. We couldn’t have that.”

My hands destabilize the grav-field around me. For a year, I’ve been searching for answers about my wife’s disappearance into the dark zone. Now they’re here, delivered by a centenarian in bio-armor.

“The Investigation AI ruled it a spacetime accident, of course,” she continues. “Just like it will rule yours one. But first—” She lets the crystal float between us. “We need the quantum signatures Claire used for the Collapse. Upload them, and your death will be instantaneous. Resist, and well…” She glances at her chronometer. “The maintenance AI won’t reach this sector until next shift.”

I stare at the crystal, then at the dark zone. For a year, I thought I was mourning here. Instead, I’d been sitting in the perfect blind spot, drawing their attention. Making myself an easy target.

“Time to decide, Observer Harrison,” the woman says softly. “The void isn’t the only empty space that needs filling in this sector.”

A security AI shimmers past, acknowledging my presence. It doesn’t register my elevated stress patterns, doesn’t notice anything amiss. Just another third shift, another quiet conversation in front of a dark zone that holds more secrets than any star system ever could.

I reach for the crystal, then pause. “Claire tried to save them,” I say quietly. “Maybe that’s why I’ve been drawn here. Not just grief. Unfinished probability calculations.”

The woman’s smile doesn’t waver, but her augmented eyes flare. “Poor dear. Still thinking like a widower instead of a dead man.”

My fingers pass through the crystal’s quantum field, but instead of accepting the upload, I initiate a cascade failure. The sound of shattering quantum states echoes through space-time like a supernova.

“Wrong choice,” she says, her bio-armor shifting to combat mode.

I stand up, turning to face the void. “Actually, it’s the choice Claire would have made. And there’s one thing you should know about quantum blind spots.” I activate my neural transmitter, which has been recording every quantum signature. “They can be filled.”

The woman’s expression freezes. Through the dark zone’s gravity lens, I see Special Operations units materializing behind her, their probability weapons armed.

“Claire left a quantum trigger,” I say, my voice steady for the first time. “Everything she knew about the Collapse, encrypted in parallel universes, set to cascade unless I entered a stabilization code each cycle. That’s why I really came here. Not to grieve. To maintain the quantum state.”

The woman’s facade finally fractures as the agents reach her. “You’ve been calculating against us?”

“For a year.” I turn back to face her. “Every third shift, same coordinates, same quantum state. Letting you think you were watching me, while I was really just keeping Claire’s final algorithm running.” I glance at the dark zone. “Sometimes what’s missing tells a better story than what’s present, right?”

As they quantum-lock her signature, I sink back into the grav-chair, my hands finally disrupting the local space-time. Behind me, forensic AIs slip into reality, scanning, measuring, documenting quantum states. Soon this sector will be quarantined, the dark zone marked as evidence.

Next cycle, I’ll find somewhere else to observe. Somewhere with no blind spots, no dark zones, no quantum ghosts. But first, I reach into my quantum storage and retrieve a probability crystal—the last message Claire scattered across multiple dimensions, the one that started all this. Time to finally let the past collapse into a single state.

I align the crystal, hands steady now, ready at last to read her final words.