The shuttle descended through a storm of violet static while the onboard computer calmly announced:
Navigation Computer AlertWARNING: LOCAL SPACE-TIME CONDITIONS MAY CAUSE CLOCK DRIFT, HAIR LOSS, AND SPONTANEOUS PHILOSOPHY.
The pilot muted it.
The planet below was barren, black, and glowing faintly purple where the pulsar beam skimmed the horizon. Every few seconds, invisible radiation crackled through the thin dust fields and made the landing gear whine like nervous dogs.
The shuttle touched down with a metallic thunk.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the hatch opened.
Two men stepped onto the surface.
Gideon Vale spread his arms dramatically.
“Beautiful.”
Martin Krake immediately checked his dosimeter.
“It’s trying to kill us.”
The landscape stretched endlessly in every direction — jagged obsidian rocks, violet sand, silver electrical storms dancing silently across the sky. Above them, the pulsar beam flashed once across the heavens like God taking a photograph.
Their suits vibrated.
Gideon stared out across the horizon with misty-eyed wonder.
“Can’t you see it, Martin?”
“I can see three forms of radiation.”
“Someday there’ll be cities here.”
“There’ll be extraction pits.”
“Families.”
“Debt laborers.”
“Children running through the purple dunes.”
“Children with thyroid tumors.”
Gideon ignored him and walked forward, boots crunching in the dust.
“They’ll build parks.”
“They’ll build barracks.”
“Restaurants!”
“Protein dispensaries.”
“Schools.”
“Mandatory corporate training centers.”
Gideon turned around.
“You have absolutely no vision.”
Martin pointed at the sky.
“The sky screams every eleven seconds.”
As if on cue:
Their suit alarms chirped in despair.
Gideon continued smiling anyway.
“Auroras.”
“There’s no atmosphere.”
“We can add one.”
“With what money?”
“The corporation’s.”
Martin stared at him.
“You think Helix Extractive Solutions is gonna spend trillions terraforming a death marble next to a pulsar?”
“They could diversify.”
“They sell synthetic shovel lubricant.”
Gideon crouched and picked up a glowing rock.
“This place feels important.”
Martin scanned the rock.
“It’s radioactive.”
“History starts in places like this.”
“History starts because some executive saw a graph go upward.”
The shuttle’s cargo drone rolled down the ramp carrying a folding sign. It unfolded automatically.
HELIX EXTRACTIVE SOLUTIONS“We Reach Beyond Tomorrow.”
All employees waive the right to tomorrow.
Martin nodded toward it.
“There’s your future civilization.”
Gideon looked around dreamily.
“You know what I think?”
“I’m about to.”
“I think one day people will come here willingly.”
Martin barked a laugh so sudden it fogged his visor.
“Willingly?”
“Sure. Adventurers. Homesteaders. Families looking for a fresh start.”
“Buddy, the only people coming here are gonna be people with seventeen percent interest loans and criminal records.”
“You’re cynical.”
“I’m observant.”
The pulsar beam swept overhead again.
Somewhere nearby, a rock exploded for no obvious reason.
Gideon pointed excitedly.
“See? Geological activity!”
“That was radiation.”
“Still exciting.”
Martin walked a few paces away and planted a survey beacon into the ground. The beacon activated with a cheerful chime:
“WELCOME, PIONEERS!”
Then a second message appeared underneath:
“MINIMUM LIFE EXPECTANCY ESTIMATE UPDATED.”
Martin sighed.
Gideon meanwhile had climbed onto a boulder and was staring into the distance like a prophet who had hit his head recently.
“One day,” he said softly, “there’ll be streets here.”
Martin pulled out a scanner.
“One day there’ll be twelve-hour mining shifts and a vending machine that charges subscription fees.”
“There’ll be music.”
“There’ll be union suppression.”
“There’ll be hope.”
“There’ll be mandatory optimism seminars.”
Gideon looked offended.
“You reduce everything to capitalism.”
Martin gestured broadly at the shuttle, the survey equipment, the corporate logos, the orbital refinery visible overhead.
“We literally work for Helix.”
A pause.
“...Fair.”
The shuttle AI crackled over their comms.
“Preliminary mineral scan complete.”
Martin checked his tablet. Then checked it again. His eyebrows rose slightly.
“Well.”
Gideon grinned. “What?”
“We just became extremely popular with upper management.”
“How rich are we talking?”
Martin stared at the numbers.
“Enough that they’ll ruin this planet forever.”
Gideon looked back over the endless violet wasteland. The silent storms. The pulsar glow. The beautiful deadly emptiness. And smiled.
“You know,” he said, “I still think kids would love it here.”
Martin looked at him for a very long moment. Then quietly said:
“You’re the reason warning labels exist.”