The starship’s sleek metal glints brightly as it breaks through the last black veil of the dust supercloud and pierces into the innermost chamber, the planetary system of the red star Kallios. The starship silently soars, nearing the swirling yellow orb of the gas giant Brovan, its twin storms two blind eyes gazing at eternity. Then the starship changes course, carefully navigating towards a small moon of Brovan, a tiny silhouette on the giant’s angry face. The starship nears the moon. Between swathes of cloud can be seen faint streaks of amber and violet on a rippled canvas of black. Passing through the thin layer of cloud, the starship immediately catches sight of a clearing, a flat, open plain of black stone. The starship, extending its landing gear, slowly descends, at last coming to rest upon the moon’s rocky surface. The sky is a brilliant gold, Kallios burning crimson on the jagged horizon.
From within the starship comes the Astronaut. His suit is gray and his helmet is dark, its visor glittering with bright reflections beneath which his piercing yet tired eyes squint. Along his arm are emblazoned, worn and fading, the once-proud words: The Intergalactic Search for Extraterrestrial Life Program. He holds in one hand a long metallic rod with a curved, toothed, claw-like mechanism at its extremity. Stepping out from the starship, he surveys the ground, seeing only black, smooth rock and sporadic clumps of warped amethyst sprouting from the rock like crystalline mushrooms. He lifts his gaze and sees, at the clearing’s edge, a line of low cliffs, and on second glance, notices that they are overgrown with orange plant-like creatures that reach their thin stalks toward the golden sky, rejoicing in the dawn. The stalks waver and bow gently in the faint lunar breeze. At this sight, the Astronaut gasps, eyes wide.
He rushes toward the nearest cliff, stumbling over the amethyst and scattered black boulders, his face shining with a reborn hope behind the dark visor. The Astronaut nears the base of the cliff and reaches out with his claw. It touches a stalk, which shivers and curls into a tight spiral against the cliffside. He presses on the rod and engages the claw, attaching to the curled stalk, and pulls. The curled stalk comes clean from the cliff face, its fibrous roots easily disconnecting from the rock. As the Astronaut retracts the claw, the stalk suddenly quivers, then shrivels into orange dust, scattering in the wind. He cries in anguish and pulls at another stalk in desperation. More dust swirls in the air. Throwing down his claw, he tries to trap the dust in his hands, but the dust falls between his fingers like sand through a sieve and is claimed by the ceaseless gale. He bows his head, defeated.
By the side of the cliff, the stalks rustle. The Astronaut turns towards the sound and sees a small creature foraging busily. Stepping closer, he sees that the creature has four horns that flex and bend as it moves through the stalks, appearing almost goat-like. He catches a glimpse of large, violet eyes and a furry orange body. He quickly picks up the claw and approaches warily, face fixed in an expression of resolute determination, extending the claw toward the creature. The goat-creature suddenly peers up at the claw and makes a panicked yelp, jumping out of the stalks and scrabbling up the vertical cliff face. Several other goat-creatures raise their heads from the stalks further off and rush away from the Astronaut, jumping high in the low gravity up the cliffs. Hurriedly extending the claw, the Astronaut attempts to seize the nearest creature, but the claw hits the cliff and is immediately caught within a dense tangle of curling orange stalks. He pulls, and the claw drags the stalks from the cliff face, the stalks withering and falling into the sigh of the wind.
In desperation, the Astronaut scouts around the base of the cliff before suddenly seeing a goat-creature climbing and bounding upwards, intermittently casting fearful looks below at him. The Astronaut’s eyes dart quickly across the cliff. Finding no clear path up the cliff face, he straps the claw to his back, nears the cliff, and begins tearing away the stalks with his bare hands. The dust of the withered skeletons fills the air as he begins climbing the exposed rock ledges, uprooting the stalks to clear his path. Swiftly, he ascends, and before long, he reaches the uppermost edge of the cliff. He clambers over the edge onto the overgrown cliff top, inhaling and exhaling deeply from the sheer physical strain of the steep ascent worsened by the added weight of the claw hanging from him. Still breathing heavily, eyes closed, he stands up and straightens his back. The Astronaut opens his eyes.
And beholds the Shepherd.
The rising sun, a circle of flame, and before it stands the Shepherd, holding his gnarled staff by his side, looking down upon the Astronaut with gleaming violet eyes while his silvery white robes whisper in the wind. Beside his feet are gathered the cowering, whimpering shapes of the flock of goat-creatures, pressing against their caretaker and guardian for safety and warmth. He kneels down and gently strokes their furry bodies, comforting them, then stands up once more and regards the Astronaut calmly. Behind him, the faint smoke of a distant village crosses the sun’s light.
The Astronaut meets the deep gaze. And in those depths he sees his reflection, a cruel stranger in a dark emotionless helmet, holding a grasping, reaching, destroying claw. He sees himself grabbing a weak screaming goat-creature, trapping it within his starship’s containment vault. He sees himself returning to Earth with the creature, handing it over to the mad-eyed scientists to prod and examine and experiment on and inject and dissect and destroy while the creature dies and finally shrivels and withers into dust. He sees massive starships travel to the small moon and surround it, sending tens upon thousands of more mad-eyed humans to dig and to destroy, to capture and to corrupt. He sees the Shepherd ‘s village overrun by them, and he sees, he knows, that there will no longer be any peace, any freedom, any happiness, for the Shepherd and his people. In the crushing hand of humanity, they will be smothered, suffocate, and die, shriveling and falling to dust in the wind. And there he stands, the Astronaut, the savior, the proud bringer of death.
There is silence.
The great sun Kallios rises higher, turning the golden sky to scarlet.
The Astronaut’s vision is suddenly broken as tears gather on his eyes. He blinks rapidly and looks again upon the Shepherd. Slowly, shaking slightly, the Astronaut turns around and climbs down the cliff, retracing along his path of devastation, a scar on the cliff side. He returns to his faithful starship, walking amongst the clumps of amethyst and rock. He enters the starship and engages the engines, their low hum like the steady beating of his heart. The starship rises, above the cliffs, above the solitary Shepherd and the grazing goat-creatures, above the atmosphere, and soars away from the moon, from Brovan, from Kallios, away from the deep, dark dust cloud, to never return again.