Callum Ralph

1.

The shuttle’s engines roared as it dropped through thick, acidic clouds, its hull groaning against the pull of the gravity well. Liana Orso tightened her grip on the worn leather armrest, watching as the planet’s surface materialized through the storm. She was headed to Outpost Amara, an isolated settlement on the world known simply as “Sector Black,” the most dangerous mining colony in the Scatterverse. The Conglomerate deemed it rich in Inertium, but everyone else called it a death sentence.

Liana had been sent here under the Conglomerate’s “Second Law” mandate, a policy enforced to “re-evaluate” efficiency at the most challenging outposts. Officially, the mandate allowed her to make necessary “adjustments” to colony operations, which was Conglomerate code for assessing if a colony was worth its operating cost. She was a fixer—or perhaps, more accurately, an executioner. If a site was running below quotas, her job was to recommend downsizing. And on Sector Black, downsizing often meant abandoning the outpost, along with the unfortunate souls left behind.

The idea made her stomach turn, though she hid it well behind her carefully maintained bureaucratic neutrality. She was just a cog in a machine too large to comprehend, or so she told herself.

2.

The shuttle landed with a jolt, and Liana stepped out into the biting wind of Sector Black. The settlement was bleak, a cluster of battered structures under a permanently stormy sky. The air was heavy with sulphur, and the ground was a cracked, lifeless wasteland, but the miners continued, faces hidden behind masks, working their shifts in silence.

Liana was met by Ezra Marcell, the colony’s overseer, a haggard man with sunken eyes and a face marked by chemical burns from the planet’s harsh environment. His hands twitched as he offered her a salute, his eyes flicking up and down, sizing her up.

“Welcome to Amara Outpost, Inspector Orso,” he said, his voice as worn as his face.

“Let’s get this done quickly, Marcell,” she replied. “The sooner I finish, the sooner I can recommend either your continued funding or… alternative options.”

Marcell’s expression didn’t change, but she saw something tighten in his jaw. “Of course. I’ll take you to the primary extraction site. It’s the core of our operation here.”

She followed him through narrow corridors and open pits where Inertium gleamed faintly in the mineral-rich soil. The ore was rare and volatile, and extracting it safely was gruelling work that required precision. Every mistake carried a high risk of explosion or contamination, but the Conglomerate’s policies were clear—any reduction in output could lead to immediate termination of funding.

As they walked, she noticed that Marcell’s eyes didn’t match the deference in his words. They had a cold, hard edge, and in that edge, she sensed a quiet defiance. It made her feel uneasy, though she pushed it aside. The Conglomerate had given her a job, and she was here to do it, personal feelings irrelevant.

3.

The inspection stretched late into the night. Liana pored over data sheets and efficiency reports, all filled with numbers she’d seen a thousand times before. The colony was barely meeting its quotas, and the workers showed signs of exhaustion and illness, their records marked with minor but steady injuries and illnesses. The planet’s toxic atmosphere was wearing them down faster than they could keep up.

After hours of scrutiny, she sat back, rubbing her temples, staring at the worn screen in front of her. By all measures, Amara Outpost was operating at “acceptable risk,” but barely. She could recommend minor adjustments, improvements to safety equipment, but she knew the Conglomerate would likely view this outpost as too costly, too much trouble. They might order a shutdown.

As if reading her thoughts, Marcell entered the office, watching her with an unreadable expression. “I see you’re buried in the reports,” he said quietly.

She nodded, avoiding his gaze. “This is standard protocol. Amara’s output is… borderline. Enough to meet Conglomerate expectations, but only just. I need to decide if continuing operations here is… viable.”

Marcell’s jaw tightened. “And how does a bureaucrat like you decide that, exactly? You sit there with numbers, deciding who lives and dies based on a margin of error?”

Liana shifted, feeling a prick of irritation. “It’s not personal, Overseer Marcell. It’s a system. My job is to evaluate and recommend. I don’t make the final decisions. That’s the Conglomerate’s role.”

His lips twisted into a humourless smile. “And if they order you to abandon us, to leave these people here with no escape, you’ll just nod and follow protocol?”

She didn’t answer, and his gaze grew harder.

“These people have nowhere else to go, Inspector. You abandon them here, you might as well be signing their death warrants. But I suppose that’s easy when you’re miles away, isn’t it?”

4.

Later that night, Liana couldn’t sleep. Marcell’s words gnawed at her, pricking through her shell of professional detachment. She’d always thought of herself as a neutral agent, a necessary part of the machine. But she couldn’t ignore the faces she’d seen that day—faces lined with exhaustion, desperation, yet a strange, grim determination. These people weren’t just data points; they were human, each with their own story, each driven to survive in this unlivable place.

Unable to sit still, she slipped out of her quarters and headed toward the extraction pits. Under the cover of darkness, she watched the night shift at work, the miners moving in the dim glow of the Inertium seams. She found herself mesmerised by the sight, their figures casting shadows on the jagged ground, each movement precise and careful. They were risking everything for a handful of Inertium, a resource so valuable yet so destructive that it seemed almost absurd.

“What are you doing here?” Marcell’s voice came from the shadows, startling her.

Liana turned, guilt prickling through her. “Couldn’t sleep.”

He nodded, as if he understood, and they stood in silence, watching the miners work in the eerie glow. The air between them was thick, heavy with something unsaid.

Finally, she broke the silence. “Why do they stay?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper. “Why work yourself to death for a resource that could kill you?”

Marcell exhaled slowly, his gaze fixed on the workers. “Hope,” he replied. “They believe if they stay, if they work hard enough, they’ll get out. That someday, they’ll be able to buy their freedom.”

She stared at him, a knot forming in her stomach. “Freedom?”

He turned to her, his expression grim. “Most of them are under long-term contracts. Technically voluntary, but you know how the Conglomerate operates. They’re bound here until they fulfil their quotas. A lifetime, for most. And even if they were free, where would they go? Sector Black’s as far from opportunity as you can get.”

Liana’s mind reeled. She’d always understood the Conglomerate’s harsh methods, but she’d never considered the reality of it, the way it crushed people with promises it never intended to keep. They were prisoners of the system, bound to work until the planet itself consumed them. And she was here to decide if they were worth keeping alive or discarding.

5.

The next morning, as she reviewed her report, Marcell’s words haunted her. She could easily write a recommendation to continue operations, but she knew it would be a death sentence. And if she recommended a shutdown, she knew the Conglomerate would abandon the outpost, leaving these people stranded to fend for themselves.

A third option took shape in her mind, a dangerous, unauthorised option. She could sabotage the colony’s equipment, exaggerate the instability in her report, mark the entire outpost as “too dangerous to continue.” The Conglomerate might order an evacuation, and the workers would be transported off-world—perhaps to face new challenges, but they would survive. It was a risk, one that could cost her everything if discovered. But it might be their only chance.

She sat at her terminal, her fingers hovering over the keyboard, her mind racing. Every protocol she’d been trained to follow told her to stick to the data, to recommend according to quotas and risk assessments. But there was a human cost to her actions that no number could quantify.

Taking a deep breath, she typed out her recommendation, flagging the outpost as “immediately unsafe.” As she submitted the report, she felt a wave of fear, but also a strange sense of peace. She had broken the system’s rules, but perhaps she had salvaged a part of herself in the process.

Two days later, as she boarded the shuttle that would take her away from Sector Black, Liana saw Marcell watching her from the edge of the colony. He nodded once, a silent acknowledgment, and she nodded back. She didn’t know what would happen to her once her report was reviewed, but for now, she could live with her choice.

As the shuttle lifted off, the grey expanse of Sector Black shrank below her. She was leaving, but the people she’d helped would escape, too. Whatever the Conglomerate decided, she knew that, at least for them, there was a glimmer of hope beyond the stars.