Robyn Michaels
Jarin hated paperwork. Not the mundane kind—his hands had long since learned to dance through reams of starship maintenance logs. No, it was this sort of paperwork: the kind that threatened to strangle hope with red tape. As a junior Adaptive Engineer, Jarin had spent years piecing together life-support systems for multispecies crews on the outer edges of the Scatterverse. But now, on a desolate trade hub orbiting a dying star, he was stuck in limbo, one more cog in the Conglomerate’s wheezing bureaucratic machine.
His current assignment, officially titled “Habitat Stabilisation Directive #4471-B,” had come from the Conglomerate’s Central Authority. The problem? A wave of industrial contamination was threatening Tahl Prime’s fragile biosphere, home to the peaceful but reclusive Vernali. The solution, Jarin proposed, was straightforward: install inertium-infused filters, which could clean the planetary air and water within weeks. The complication? Inertium wasn’t cheap, and the Conglomerate would rather wring blood from a neutron star than pay for it.
“They’ll ask for a cheaper alternative,” Jarin muttered as he stared at the holoscreen. He glanced at his assistant, Ennis, a young Vernali who had joined his team after the disaster began. The Vernali had translucent, petal-like skin that shimmered faintly in low light, making them look more ethereal than any being had the right to. Now, Ennis stood silent by the viewport, their face heavy with resignation.
“We’re out of time,” Ennis said, their voice trembling. “Our forests are dying. The rivers… they’re black.”
Jarin swallowed the lump in his throat. “I know. But unless the Conglomerate approves this requisition, there’s nothing I can do.”
Ennis turned to him, their opalescent eyes reflecting a quiet fury. “You could try. Isn’t that what humans do? Defy the odds? You brag about it often enough.”
The words stung, but they weren’t wrong. Humans had carved out a reputation in the Scatterverse for thriving in the face of impossible odds. Yet here he was, paralysed by bureaucracy. He slammed his fist against the console, sending a ripple of static across the screen. “I’ve already sent the request twice. It was rejected both times.”
“Then send it a third.”
Jarin stared at Ennis. They were young—too young to know how the wheels of authority crushed anything that dared oppose their momentum. But there was something in their gaze, an unyielding faith that Jarin hadn’t seen in years. Reluctantly, he nodded.
Three days later, the rejection came back.
The Conglomerate’s response was as clinical as ever: Cost of inertium unjustifiable for low-priority sector. Recommend alternative remediation strategies. Status: Denied.
Jarin read the words over and over, his anger boiling into a silent rage. He thought of the Vernali children he’d seen last week, coughing on poisoned air. He thought of Ennis, who had watched the forests of their homeland turn to ash. The Conglomerate had deemed them expendable.
That night, as the station lights dimmed for simulated sleep, Jarin sat alone in his quarters, the weight of his failure pressing down on him. The room felt suffocatingly small, its walls adorned with relics of humanity’s long-lost Earth—a place Jarin had never seen. Among them was an antique clock, its hands frozen at some unknowable hour.
“You’ve made worse mistakes than breaking the rules,” he muttered to himself.
His fingers hovered over the console. The requisition forms for inertium still sat on his system, ready to be sent directly to one of the black-market traders who operated in the station’s shadowed docks. All it would take was a few keystrokes. Of course, getting caught would mean exile, or worse. The Conglomerate didn’t tolerate insubordination.
“Think of the Vernali,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “Think of Ennis.”
The decision made itself.
The inertium arrived in secret, smuggled aboard a freighter with false registry codes. Jarin and Ennis worked through the night, installing the filters onto a cargo vessel retrofitted with atmospheric processors. Each piece of equipment had to be carefully calibrated to accommodate Tahl Prime’s unique biosphere, a task that tested even Jarin’s expertise.
“You know,” Ennis said as they tightened a plasma bolt, “I once believed the Conglomerate cared about the stars. About all of us who live beneath them.”
Jarin let out a bitter laugh. “They care about credits. The rest is just propaganda.”
“Then why serve them?”
“I used to think I could make a difference,” Jarin admitted. “That maybe if I played by the rules, I could fix things from within.”
“And now?”
He looked at Ennis, their translucent skin glowing faintly under the ship’s emergency lights. “Now I’m not so sure.”
The launch was set for dawn. As the vessel rose from the station’s docks, Jarin and Ennis watched in tense silence. The ship’s onboard AI had been programmed to deploy the filters across Tahl Prime’s atmosphere, targeting the most contaminated regions first. The plan was audacious, bordering on reckless, but it was their only chance.
Hours passed. The first reports began to trickle in: the filters were working. Air quality improved. Rivers began to clear. For the first time in months, there was hope.
And then the Conglomerate arrived.
The patrol ship dwarfed the station, its sleek design a stark contrast to the patchwork vessels of independent traders. Conglomerate inspectors swarmed the docks, demanding access to Jarin’s logs.
“Just stay quiet,” he whispered to Ennis as two officers approached their quarters. “Let me handle this.”
The inspectors—one human, one reptilian—entered without preamble. Their uniforms bore the insignia of the Central Authority, a mark that demanded obedience.
“Engineer Jarin,” the human began, her tone ice-cold. “We have reason to believe you’ve engaged in unauthorised procurement of Conglomerate resources.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jarin said, feigning ignorance.
The reptilian officer hissed softly. “Do not insult our intelligence. The shipment was traced to this station.”
Panic clawed at Jarin’s chest. “Even if that were true,” he said carefully, “the filters are saving lives. Surely that counts for something?”
The human inspector’s expression didn’t change. “The Conglomerate’s policies are clear. Unauthorized use of inertium is a Class-A violation. You will accompany us for questioning.”
“And the Vernali?” Ennis demanded, stepping forward. “Will you let them die?”
The inspectors ignored them, their focus solely on Jarin. “You have five minutes to comply.”
Jarin’s mind raced. He could go quietly, accept his punishment, and hope the Conglomerate showed leniency. Or he could fight back, knowing full well the cost.
“I’ll come with you,” he said at last. But as the inspectors turned to leave, he added, “On one condition.”
The human arched an eyebrow. “You’re in no position to negotiate.”
“Maybe not. But if you stop the filters now, the entire operation will fail. You’ll have the blood of an entire species on your hands.”
The reptilian officer hissed again, this time in what might have been frustration. The two inspectors exchanged a glance, their silent debate stretching into an agonising eternity.
Finally, the human spoke. “The filters will remain active. For now.”
The trial was swift. Jarin’s actions were deemed “recklessly altruistic,” a phrase that would have been laughable if not for its consequences. He was stripped of his credentials, fined an amount he could never hope to repay, and exiled to a barren asteroid in the far reaches of the Scatterverse.
Ennis visited him once before he was sent away. “You saved us,” they said simply. “No matter what they say, you’re a hero.”
Jarin shook his head. “A hero wouldn’t have gotten caught.”
Ennis smiled faintly, their shimmering skin catching the dim light. “Maybe. But a coward wouldn’t have tried.”
Years later, rumours began to circulate through the Scatterverse of a nameless asteroid where an exiled human engineer built ships for those the Conglomerate had forgotten. They said his designs were unparalleled, his ships capable of reaching the furthest edges of the known universe.
And on Tahl Prime, the Vernali sang songs beneath a sky restored to its former beauty, their voices carrying across the forests and rivers as a tribute to the human who had defied the stars.
End.
Endless Horizons 