"Humanity did not fall to tyranny with weapons in hand. It signed its own name and called it progress." – Rhea Darrow
The cell was cold and damp. At least, that's how Sarah Fletcher thought of it. Officially, it was her sleeping quarters, though she couldn't see much of a difference. Every day of her monotonous life was spent on this lifeless rock—a mining colony on a barren moon orbiting some forgotten planet. She'd been bound here by the contract she signed when she was only twelve, just like every other soul on the station.
Her job was simple: watch the scanners. Watch for what, exactly, had always eluded her. Finisterra controlled everything—the food, the water, even the people's lives. Nothing happened without their approval, and no one dared step outside their iron grip. Yet, here she was, staring at endless readouts and empty screens, day after day.
The others on the station had more dangerous tasks: operating heavy machinery, drilling into the uncharted depths of the moon, extracting resources for Finisterra's insatiable needs. Dangerous as those jobs were, Sarah sometimes envied them. At least they had something to occupy their minds. Something that kept them from sinking into the void of boredom that consumed her.
Her mind was her worst companion. It reminded her, constantly, of the bleakness of her existence. But there was no other option. Failure to perform her duty meant a terminated contract, and while her life here was bleak, that outcome was far worse. A terminated contract meant being sent to Penance, the prison moon—or worse, being erased entirely. So, Sarah forced herself out of bed, dressed, and prepared for another day of nothingness.
The walk to her workstation was as dull as everything else in her life. The corridors of the station were ugly and utilitarian, with exposed metal pipes clanging against walls and occasionally hissing as they released bursts of steam. The recycled air was stale, endlessly reused to the point that Sarah was convinced she'd inhaled every particle in the station at least a hundred times. The thought made her shudder.
She turned down twisting corridors, descended narrow staircases, and finally arrived at her tiny, dimly lit office. Her terminal awaited her, the same as always, a dusty monitor bolted to a dented metal desk. But there was one bright spot in her day, the only thing that made her job tolerable.
"Hey, Sarah. You're late again," Amanda greeted her with a soft smile, though her tone carried a note of reproach.
Sarah sighed. "I know, I know. I'm sorry, Amanda. It won't happen again."
Amanda raised an eyebrow. "You say that every day. Look, I know this job is… well, less than thrilling. If I could transfer you to another sector, I would. But I can't. You've got a sharp eye, and that's what we need here."
Sarah gave her the same half-smile she'd perfected over the years. Amanda meant well, but her encouragement didn't help much. She took her seat at the desk, brushing off the thin layer of dust from the terminal.
"Don't you have more important things to do than worry about me?" Sarah asked, trying to deflect the conversation.
Amanda shrugged. "Possibly. But you're our lookout. If there's ever… anything, we need you here. You know, to stop marauders or… whatever."
Sarah chuckled bitterly. "Marauders. Right. I'm not sure those even exist. In thirteen years, I haven't seen a thing. Finisterra controls everything. What's left to maraud?"
Amanda's smile faltered slightly, but she didn't respond. Instead, she patted Sarah's shoulder and said her goodbyes, leaving Sarah alone with the blank monitors and the ever-present hum of the station's machinery.
Hours passed. Sarah stared at the screen, her mind drifting. It was the same as every other day. Her job was an illusion of purpose, a cog in the great, grinding machine of Finisterra. She was about to let her mind wander completely when…
A green flash.
The monitor lit up with an alert. Something was moving at the edge of the scanner's range, slowly but steadily approaching the station. Sarah froze, her heart racing. For a moment, she forgot what she was supposed to do. Then, instinct kicked in, and she slammed her hand down on the alarm button.
The sirens wailed, echoing through the station. Adrenaline surged through her veins. Something was happening—something real. Sarah bolted from her desk and sprinted toward the ship bay. The automated defense drones had already launched, their sleek forms disappearing through the air shield. Two piloted ships remained docked.
She reached one of them, slapping her hand on the biometric scanner. The door hissed open, and she climbed inside, taking her seat at the controls. She activated the launch sequence, and the ship shot upward, breaking through the moon's thin atmosphere. For the first time in years, she felt alive.
The enemy vessel came into view on the display. It was small, unmarked, and barely armed. The automated drones had already damaged its engines. It wasn't much of a fight, but Sarah didn't care. She locked onto the target and fired. The ship crumbled under the assault, its structure buckling before imploding in a fiery burst.
As the explosion dissipated, Sarah felt the weight of reality settle back onto her shoulders. The adrenaline ebbed away, leaving her hollow. For a fleeting moment, she had been alive, engaged in something real, something meaningful. But now, it was over. The fight was gone, and all that remained was the monotony waiting for her back on the station. She would return to her desk, to the same empty screens and suffocating boredom that had consumed her for thirteen long years. She leaned back in her seat, staring at the debris, her chest tightening with a familiar emptiness.
Then, as the debris scattered into the void, Sarah saw it: a small pod, tumbling away from the wreckage. She adjusted her trajectory to intercept it, her fingers trembling over the controls. As she drew closer, she could see the pod's size—child-sized.
Her orders were clear. Destroy everything. Leave nothing behind. But she couldn't. She hesitated, her heart pounding in her chest.
Taking a deep breath, she activated the magnetic hoist and latched onto the pod. It took several tries, but finally, it locked in place. She turned back toward the station, the pod trailing behind her. Landing protocols engaged, and her ship descended smoothly into the bay.
The pod was small and battered, barely intact. Sarah approached it cautiously, searching for a release latch. After a moment, the pod's mechanisms whirred, and the hatch opened automatically. Inside was a baby, no older than a year, sleeping peacefully. The pod's systems had kept it alive, using sedation to ease the trauma of its journey.
"Sarah! What is that?!" Amanda's voice snapped her out of her thoughts. Sarah turned to see her supervisor storming across the bay, her face a mix of shock and fury.
"It's just a baby," Sarah said, stepping in front of the pod protectively. "I couldn't destroy it. Look, the ship's gone. There's no one coming for him."
Amanda glared at her. "You've broken protocol, Sarah. Do you know what Finisterra will do if they find out?"
"They won't find out," Sarah pleaded. "We can keep this quiet. As long as the station meets its quota, they won't investigate. Please, Amanda. Let me take care of him. He has no one else."
The plea made it out of Sarah's mouth before she even thought about it. But the more she thought, the more it made sense. The child wasn't just a life she could save; he was something for her to hold onto—a spark of hope in the endless void of her existence. Her life had been defined by routine, a meaningless cycle of boredom and obligation. But this baby… he could change that. He needed her and she realised she needed him too. Caring for him would mean breaking free from the crushing weight of monotony. It would give her purpose. It would give her life meaning again.
Amanda hesitated, her expression softening slightly. "If they discover this, it'll be your contract and his life on the line. You understand that?"
"I do. Thank you," Sarah said, relief washing over her.
Amanda sighed. "Fine. But you're on your own with this, Sarah. If it goes wrong, I can't protect you."
Sarah nodded, turning back to the baby. She reached into the pod and gently lifted him into her arms. "Arlo," she whispered. "Your name is Arlo Fletcher."