The Stellar Drift, flagship of the Galactic Cartographic Consortium, drifted like a polished jewel through the ink-black void. Every blink of a star, every hint of cosmic dust, was catalogued, colour-coded and reviewed by someone who thought they had invented the night sky.
Alari, a junior mapgrapher barely out of her training pod, had spent the past three cycles obsessing over Subsector XZ-74. Something was wrong. A cluster of stars — previously catalogued as stable — was dimming. She triple-checked her readings, scrubbed the data, ran cross-references and consulted the AI assistants. The pattern was clear. The stars were disappearing.
Naturally, she had to report it to the prestigious Master Orinth Kryss, Chief Stellar Geographer, Head of Everything That Matters, and living proof that genius and cruelty often travel together. Orinth had a reputation for two things: micromanaging everything to absurdity, and making young mapgrapher hearts quiver with fear and disbelief.
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Alari’s claws clicked nervously on the polished floor as she entered the observation deck. Orinth floated in his zero-gravity chair, legs crossed, arms behind his head, eyes half-lidded with what she suspected was condescension masquerading as contemplation.
“You’re late,” he drawled, voice like gravel mixed with honey. “I waited precisely 13 minutes and 42 seconds. Time, youngling, is more precious than the stars. And yet, here you are, late. Again.”
“Apologies, Master Kryss,” she said, sliding her cartographic tablet onto the platform. A holographic map shimmered to life, the cluster of XZ-74 pulsating faintly. “I’ve identified a dimming pattern. The light signatures —”
“Spare me the melodrama,” Orinth cut in, waving a clawed hand. “Do you know how many dim stars I’ve seen? Thousands. How many actually mattered? Two. Perhaps three, if the Council is feeling charitable. Show me the data before I fall asleep and crush your tablet.”
Alari’s tail twitched involuntarily. “Here,” she said, flicking her wrist. “The pattern is accelerating. It’s consistent across multiple wavelengths. I’ve accounted for nebular interference and gravitational lensing.”
Orinth leaned closer, hovering like a predatory bird. “Hmm … pink to green gradient? Really, Alari? Did you choose this yourself, or was it approved by some toddler committee on colour aesthetics?”
“It’s the Consortium’s standard palette,” she said tightly.
“Standard palettes are for unimaginative beings,” he said, rolling his eyes. “And these labels — ‘Dimmed Star Cluster’ — uninspired. Try: Localized Stellar Extinction Field with Probable Singularity Influence. Makes the reader feel important, don’t you think?”
Alari’s claws twitched. “It’s not extinct, just obscured. The data suggest a high-mass compact object moving towards the cluster —”
“Stop.” Orinth held up a claw. “You younglings always leap to catastrophe. The Universe has rules. Mostly. Sometimes. Check your sensors again. Twice. Thrice. Then throw the tablet out the nearest airlock just to see if you’re overreacting.”
“It’s not interference,” Alari said, voice rising. “The light is vanishing. We might be looking at —”
“Do you even hear yourself?” Orinth’s tone oozed mockery. “You speak of black holes as though they’re casual weekend projects. Many brilliant careers ended over a misread light curve. All spectacularly stupid. That’s who.”
“I’m not stupid,” Alari said, teeth gritted. “And the anomaly is real. It’s accelerating. We have a limited window —”
“Limited window?” Orinth chuckled. “Ah, youth and obsession with urgency. My first map took two years, yet the Council rejected it because the legend wasn’t bold enough. Boldness, Alari! It is everything.”
Alari exhaled slowly. “So you’re saying presentation matters more than content?”
“I’m saying presentation is life,” Orinth said, voice dripping superiority. “Content is like seasoning. Overcooked content without proper formatting? Digestive disaster. Helvetica, bold, 24 point. Legends embossed. Axis labels centred. Figures aligned to galactic coordinates. Then maybe the Council will peek at your theories.”
Orinth’s eyes glimmered with condescending amusement. “Youngling, you’ll learn: the stars may die, the Universe may collapse, but if your axes are straight and your legends embossed, you die with dignity.”
She deactivated the hologram, fury and fear colliding. “Understood, Master Kryss,” she said, leaving the observation deck, claws tapping in rhythm with her mounting frustration.
