Lyra Andromeda
Nell Deryk’s boots clicked against the metallic grates of the Observation Dome, a barely functional relic bolted onto the side of Habitat 37. The station drifted in orbit around Glaren III, an inhospitable planet cloaked in acidic storms and littered with ruins that hinted at a long-extinct civilization. Nell adjusted her thin, fraying coat, more out of habit than warmth; the heating in the dome hadn’t worked properly in years.
On her wrist, her comm-band chimed with the all-too-familiar tone of an incoming directive from the Bureau of Alien and External Management—or BAEM, as its disillusioned workers called it. She sighed and tapped the band.
“Directive 4983: Field Operative Deryk,” the voice of Assistant Overseer Klen droned in its usual monotone. “You are to catalogue the anomalies detected at Grid 17 on Glaren III’s surface. Compliance mandatory. Report findings no later than 1800 hours standard time.”
“Understood,” Nell muttered, her voice tinged with resignation.
“Directive acknowledged. Disobedience will result in formal demerits,” Klen replied, as if reading from a script.
The comm disconnected, leaving Nell to stare at the rust-coloured planet through the dome’s smudged glass. A crack snaked through its centre, a perfect metaphor for the fractured lives of those stationed here.
The surface shuttle shuddered violently as it broke through Glaren III’s turbulent atmosphere. Acidic winds howled outside, buffeting the ship as Nell clung to the safety harness. She glanced at the small crew assigned to her for this mission: Jenko, a wiry pilot with nervous fingers, and Barik, a broad-shouldered technician whose stoicism bordered on apathy.
“No one knows what the anomalies are, huh?” Jenko said, trying to mask his fear with humour.
“Doesn’t matter,” Nell replied, her tone clipped. “BAEM needs data to file their reports, and we’re the data gatherers. Nothing more.”
Barik grunted. “Anomalies or not, this planet’s dead. Been dead for centuries. Why the Bureau’s still funding missions here is anyone’s guess.”
“It’s not ours to ask,” Nell said sharply, but she couldn’t suppress her own questions.
Why, indeed?
Grid 17 was a barren expanse littered with jagged rocks and the remains of an ancient settlement. Buildings jutted out of the ground at odd angles, their surfaces corroded by time and the relentless acid rains. The team disembarked, their environment suits hissing as they adjusted to the planet’s hostile conditions.
“Signal’s strongest this way,” Barik said, pointing toward a cluster of ruins.
They moved cautiously, their boots sinking slightly into the viscous sludge that passed for soil. As they approached the ruins, Nell felt a strange, rhythmic vibration through her boots, faint but unmistakable.
“Do you feel that?” she asked.
Jenko nodded. “Yeah. It’s like… a pulse.”
The source became apparent as they rounded a crumbling wall. In the centre of what might once have been a courtyard stood a machine—an intricate construct of spiralling metal and glass, glowing faintly with a pale blue light.
Barik approached it slowly, scanning it with his handheld analyzer. “This thing’s alive. Not biological, but… functional. Barely.”
The glow pulsed in time with the vibrations. Nell stepped closer, her eyes narrowing as she saw faint etchings on its surface.
“This is no ordinary machine,” she murmured. “It’s… trying to communicate.”
They activated their comms link to transmit their findings to BAEM, but the signal was blocked. Barik scowled. “The machine’s interfering. It doesn’t want us calling home.”
“That’s absurd,” Jenko said, but the machine’s pulse quickened as if in response to their words.
Nell placed a gloved hand on its surface. A jolt ran through her suit, and her vision swam. Images flooded her mind: cities collapsing under storms of fire, beings of light and shadow struggling against an unseen foe, and a desperate effort to preserve their legacy.
When she came to, she was on her knees. The machine’s glow had dimmed, and Jenko and Barik were staring at her in alarm.
“What happened?” Jenko asked, his voice shaking.
“It showed me…” She hesitated. “It showed me the end of this planet’s civilization. And its creators—they’re gone, but they left this machine to preserve… something. Their history. Their knowledge. But it’s failing.”
Back at the shuttle, Nell replayed the experience in her mind. The machine wasn’t just an artefact; it was a warning, a message encoded in pulses and light. And it was deteriorating.
“What are we supposed to do?” Barik asked.
“Report it to BAEM,” Jenko suggested half-heartedly, though he knew how little the Bureau cared for anything that couldn’t be monetized or weaponized.
Nell shook her head. “If we do, the Bureau will dismantle it, claim it’s an operational hazard, and bury the data in some vault no one will ever see.”
“So what’s the alternative?” Barik asked.
Nell hesitated. The weight of her choice pressed down on her, a moral conundrum with no clear solution. “The alternative is to find a way to save it ourselves. If this machine holds the memory of an entire species… we owe it to them to try.”
For days, they worked in secret, returning to the machine under the cover of acid storms to shield their activities from BAEM’s surveillance. Nell studied its etchings, deciphering fragments of its language, while Barik worked to stabilise its failing systems. Jenko served as their lookout, though his nerves frayed with each passing hour.
“You’re putting your careers on the line for this,” he said one evening as they huddled in the shuttle. “Maybe your lives. You really think it’s worth it?”
Nell met his gaze, her eyes weary but resolute. “I don’t know. But if we don’t, then what’s the point of any of this? Of us being here at all?”
Their efforts came to a head when the machine’s pulses slowed to a near stop. Barik worked frantically to patch its systems, his hands steady despite the rising tension.
“We’re losing it,” he muttered.
Nell placed her hand on the machine once more, hoping for another glimpse into its memories. This time, the images were clearer. The creators had sacrificed everything to ensure their story endured, trusting that one day, someone would find it and learn from their mistakes.
“They were like us,” she said softly. “They thought their civilization would last forever, that their technology would save them. But it didn’t. They fell because they couldn’t see past their own hubris.”
Barik looked up from his work. “So what are we supposed to do? Repeat their mistakes?”
“Or learn from them,” Nell said. “But only if we preserve their legacy.”
The machine surged to life one last time. Its light enveloped the team, projecting an intricate web of data into the air—a map of connections that spanned the Scatterverse, linking forgotten worlds and ancient histories.
Then, just as suddenly, the light faded. The machine went dark, its purpose fulfilled.
“It… passed on its message,” Nell said, her voice thick with emotion.
Barik sighed. “Now what? We still have to deal with BAEM.”
Nell stood, her resolve hardening. “We send them the bare minimum. Enough to close the file, but not enough for them to interfere. The rest stays with us.”
Jenko laughed nervously. “You think they’ll just let us walk away?”
“They’ll try to stop us,” Nell admitted. “But if we don’t fight for this… who will?”
As they returned to Habitat 37, Nell felt the weight of the machine’s message settle on her shoulders. It wasn’t just a relic of the past; it was a mirror, reflecting the fragility of their own fractured society.
The Bureau would never understand. But maybe, just maybe, the knowledge they’d preserved could plant the seeds of something better.
Nell closed her eyes and thought of the machine’s final pulse, the threads of light weaving a tapestry of connection. The Scatterverse was vast and fragmented, but perhaps it wasn’t beyond repair.
Perhaps, she thought, the threads could still hold.
The End
Endless Horizons 