Star Map Draftsman II : Fate of Galaxy

The black spaceship streaked through the profound void of space, its faint blue tail flame blazing like a bullet.

No one knew just how vast the universe truly was. And who had created it? It couldn’t have sprung into existence out of nowhere. Like life itself, it must have had an initial state—one that, with the slightest shifts in the external environment, had suddenly evolved at some pivotal moment, transcending into a higher form of being, or something beyond. Presumably, in the cultural renaissance era of most civilizations, people had first believed the universe to be boundless. It had taken a generation to propagate this idea, and the subsequent generations had embraced it without question—until the philosophers came along. They postulated that even if the universe were infinite, it must still have a boundary. And if someone could reach that edge and hurl a stone outward, where would that stone go?

Once, the Ashton Federation had a team of scientists who, from their youth onward, had spent every day hidden behind their instruments—observing, calculating, disproving their own theories, only to start anew. Their research had spanned years, until their leader, the eccentric old genius nicknamed Sakya, had vanished one unremarkable afternoon along with a group of his aides. After that, no one cared anymore about how big the universe was.

The spaceship began to decelerate, and the lights along its twin wings flickered on one by one. Those orange-yellow glimmers were like sparks fallen into a pile of damp thatch in the dead of night—they never kindled into a proper flame. The energy shields covering the bow and upper hull gradually retracted, revealing Centaly Planet, the homeworld of King Theobald. As the vessel hovered steadily, Jonathan and King Theobald stepped into the cockpit. Through the transparent viewport, the outline of Centaly Planet loomed larger and larger by the second. Before the two men could fully gather their wits, the circular docking port on the planet’s side had slid open.

“Moreth Steader,” King Theobald spoke, approaching Jonathan, who was staring distractedly into the distance. Seeing his distant gaze, the king chose not to press further. Instead, he turned toward the ship’s stern, intending to head down to the lower deck and board a shuttle craft.

“Moreth Steader,” the king repeated.

“In Bourlo City, Madam Winifred said that I am not—” Jonathan began haltingly.

“You are!” King Theobald interrupted sharply, his upper body emerging from the stairwell as he paused mid-descent.

Jonathan fell silent, at a loss for words. He raised a hand toward the king, then clenched it into a fist, shaking it slightly before letting his arm drop back to his side.

“Farewell, then, Moreth Steader,” King Theobald said, and vanished into the lower deck. Jonathan listened as the storage compartment hatch hissed open, then clanged shut again a moment later. It was only when the coconut-bread-shaped landing craft glided toward the planet’s docking port that his own ship finally departed.

Planet Navia was still a long way off. The ordeal in Bourlo City had left him drained. He sank into the cockpit chair, tilting his head back so violently that his blood surged upward, scalding his skull like molten iron poured into a mold and sending a wave of dizziness crashing over him. After a few seconds of disoriented adjustment, Jonathan leaned forward, resting his hands on the console. His knuckles whitened as his fists tightened. He drew a deep breath, and a faint warmth spread through his chest—yet at the same time, he felt as if his entire body were a dilapidated diesel engine, on the verge of stalling at any moment. His eyes drifted to the viewport: the Star Bridge warped the surrounding starlight into a kaleidoscope of colors, and he, adrift in this dark metal vessel, felt like a solitary bee trapped in a rainbow. He had escaped Bourlo City by the skin of his teeth, yet not a shred of joy stirred within him.

The ship’s navigation system beeped to life, jolting Jonathan out of his reverie. The display indicated that the vessel was about to exit the Star Bridge at the Lagrange point between Planet Navia and its sun—the designated exit for this cosmic thoroughfare. It came as no surprise; every small star system had its own unique gravitational well that marked the Star Bridge’s terminus. Jonathan’s eyes swept across the console, not quite sure what he was looking for. Perhaps he was searching for a purpose, or something to hold onto, or even just someone to stand by his side. In the end, he unbuckled the utility belt around his waist, tossing his blaster casually onto the chair. He shook the first-aid kit, then hurled it onto the console before raising his hands to rub his face vigorously, slapping his cheeks hard a few times—much like a hungover parent forcing themselves to pull it together before a parent-master conference. He took a few steps toward the lower deck hatch, then paused, patting his pocket. After a moment’s hesitation, he turned back to the console, tucking the Star Bridge activation device into his pants pocket. Just then, the ship lurched free of the Star Bridge’s pull.

Planet Navia lay at the border of the three great federations. After centuries of ruthless exploitation and environmental devastation by humanity, the planet was now nothing but a desolate expanse of endless sand dunes—a lawless no-man’s-land where no faction claimed jurisdiction. A mysterious figure known only as the Architect had taken it upon himself to hire ruthless mercenaries to maintain a semblance of order and collect exorbitant tolls from anyone who dared to land. No one had ever laid eyes on the Architect, and few were eager to do so. Jonathan had visited Navia countless times before. To conserve fuel, it was an unspoken rule for most travelers to leave their main ships in low orbit and travel down to the surface via shuttle. But this time, before his vessel could even stabilize its orbit, Jonathan felt it being tugged sideways by an unseen force. He rushed to the viewport, and the sight outside made him doubt if he had arrived at the right planet at all. A colossal spacecraft dominated the sky, its hull resembling the flared bell of a trumpet. The rust-brown surface was crisscrossed with countless mechanical fixtures, and rows of enigmatic engines ran along its length, their glowing orange-red exhaust making the behemoth look like a freshly baked donut still steaming hot. Dozens of smaller ships were being drawn toward the giant vessel, drifting slowly toward its docking bays.

“Unidentified vessel, you are subject to mandatory security inspection. Unidentified vessel, you are subject to mandatory security inspection.” Before Jonathan could make sense of what was happening, a cold, automated voice crackled over the comms channel.

As soon as Jonathan’s ship docked, shouts erupted over the communications link, demanding that he open the hatch—accompanied by the sound of heavy impacts rattling the hull. After a moment’s hesitation, Jonathan strode back to the console and hit the hatch release. A dozen armed men burst into the cockpit. Two of them leveled their blasters at Jonathan, while the rest scurried about like mice that had stumbled into a kitchen, ransacking every nook and cranny, every crate and compartment. Finding nothing of value on the upper deck, they scrambled eagerly down to the lower hold. Jonathan watched the chaos unfold, his expression cold and impassive.

The ransacking did not last long. A cacophony of smashing and cursing echoed up from below, and soon all the men were gathered in front of Jonathan once more. The two gunmen lowered their weapons, clipping them to their belts. The tall, gaunt leader muttered something to a subordinate, who nodded and darted back out of the hatch.

“Who are you?” the lanky man demanded, narrowing his eyes at Jonathan.

Jonathan’s gaze flicked over their uniforms, lingering on the patch emblazoned on their right sleeves. He turned his back to the man and shot back, “And who are you?”

“What is your business on Planet Navia?”

“Who authorized you to conduct these so-called ‘security inspections’ here?”

“I said—did you not hear me?” The leader raised his voice, and Jonathan could hear the sound of his gloved hand tightening around the grip of his blaster.

“Who am I? Are you all blind?” Jonathan roared, spinning around to face the man. The sudden outburst sent a sharp throb of pain pulsing at his temples.

“I don’t care who you think you are,” the gaunt man retorted, refusing to back down. He raised his voice and took a menacing step closer. “I’m the one asking the questions—answer me!”

“Do you even have the right to know who I am?”

“Your yelling won’t save you. Cooperate, or I’ll make you disappear.” The leader shoved Jonathan hard.

“You worthless dogs!” Jonathan snarled. “Since when has the Moreth Federation military descended to the level of common bandits?” He scanned the cockpit frantically, his eyes searching for a weapon—anything he could use to shatter these men’s bodies, to quench the seething rage burning inside him. Rage that made him want to tear the very galaxy apart. Only then would he feel even a shred of relief.

“You dare lecture us about the Moreth Federation? What the hell do you think you are?” The gaunt man stepped back, leveling his blaster at Jonathan’s chest and roaring.

“Easy, easy—remember our mission,” the other gunman quickly interjected, grabbing the leader’s arm and forcing the blaster downward. This man was stocky, with dark skin and hair that fell over his eyes. He shot the leader a warning glance before turning his attention to Jonathan.

“Look,” he said, his tone placating. He took a step forward, his hands raised in a gesture of peace. “We don’t want any trouble. It’s just… we’ve got a lot riding on this mission. The pressure’s been immense, so please—we apologize for the inconvenience.”

“What mission is so important that you’ve resorted to armed robbery?” Jonathan’s voice was low, but his shoulders trembled with suppressed fury.

“A lot has happened in the Orion Arm lately,” the dark-skinned man said, shaking his head. He looked up at Jonathan, his expression grim. “Our treasurer is dead. I didn’t see it happen personally, but his son came to our general— I was there when he did. And word of what’s going on in the Ashton Federation has been spreading like wildfire. We know what transpired in Bourlo City, too. The point is… the Orion Arm isn’t going to be a safe place for much longer. We’re just trying to secure some resources while we still can, to give our people an edge. You understand, don’t you?”

“So let me get this straight—you’re doing this for the Moreth Federation?” Jonathan cut him off, his voice icy.

The man shook his head, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. “Yes. Though I suspect you wouldn’t understand. We don’t have a leader worth following. We have a Moreth Steader who’s nothing but a useless figurehead. So someone has to take matters into our own hands—”

“What did you say?”

Jonathan’s vision blazed red. It was as if a smoldering furnace had erupted in the back of his skull, spilling molten fury through his veins. His own soldiers. Men of the Moreth Federation. They didn’t even recognize their own Moreth Steader. He, Jonathan—the most powerful man in the Orion Arm’s most advanced federation—was being robbed by his own troops, on a lawless backwater planet. Without a second thought, he reared back his fist and drove it straight into the man’s jaw.

The dark-skinned soldier stumbled backward, losing his balance. His men rushed to catch him, and in the same instant, several of them lunged at Jonathan, raining blows down on him. The faster their fists and feet struck, the filthier their curses became. Jonathan channeled every ounce of resentment and bitterness he had bottled up over the years into his own punches, fighting back with a feral rage—until his strength finally gave out. The soldiers ceased their assault, and one of them stepped forward, raising his blaster to Jonathan’s forehead, ready to end the farce once and for all.

To these men, none of it mattered. The White Crystal was gone; Madam Winifred had destroyed every last trace of it. But Planet Navia had once been the hub of White Crystal trade in the sector. Every merchant ship arriving or departing had carried a cache of the precious mineral. So these soldiers of the Moreth Federation had turned to piracy. Jonathan was just another unlucky target. Hand over your White Crystal, or any valuables you possessed—or die. It was as simple as that.

“Wait.” The voice came from the dark-skinned soldier, just as the gunman’s finger began to tighten around the trigger.

The man straightened his uniform, slinging his blaster over his shoulder. He stepped forward and hauled Jonathan to his feet, then reached out to brush the dust off Jonathan’s coat. Jonathan flinched, raising his fists defensively. The dark-skinned man took a step back, holding up the Star Bridge activation device he had retrieved from the floor. He stared at Jonathan intently. “Where did you get this?”

Jonathan hesitated, patting his pocket. He realized the device must have fallen out during the scuffle—and now it was in the soldier’s hand. “It’s mine,” he replied flatly.

The man shook his head, his smile fading. He held the device up between them. “Tell me the truth. Who gave this to you?”

“I said it’s mine—do you not understand basic speech?”

“Why are you wasting your time with him—” the gunman snarled, advancing on Jonathan once more, his blaster raised.

“You want to die?” The dark-skinned man spun around and kicked the gunman hard in the stomach, sending him sprawling back into the crowd of soldiers. He turned back to Jonathan, his voice cold and deadly. “You can have your death wish—after you answer my question.”

The soldiers behind him exchanged confused glances, but they too were now staring at Jonathan with a newfound curiosity. Just who was this man?

“I mean it,” the dark-skinned man said, his tone softening slightly. “Tell me—is this really yours?”

“It—is—mine!” Jonathan snarled, enunciating each word like he was throwing a stone.

“I… I see.” The man’s expression turned grave. He bowed his head slightly, then extended the activation device back to Jonathan. He stepped back a full pace, bowed again, and said, “I apologize, sir. We were only following orders. We’ll be leaving at once. Again—our sincerest apologies.” Without another word, he turned on his heel, herding his men out of the cockpit. The hatch slid shut behind them, and a moment later, the tractor beam holding Jonathan’s ship captive disengaged.

The navigation system automatically guided the vessel back into a stable low orbit. Jonathan stood there, his arms pressed tightly against his sides, his feet planted firmly on the floor. He gritted his teeth so hard he thought his jaw would shatter, fighting to control the violent trembling that wracked his body. He drew a deep, ragged breath, and his lungs burned with pain—as if his chest were compressing a ball of white-hot fire that was creeping up his spine, searing its way toward his throat. His body could no longer contain the agony, and it erupted from his lips in a primal roar—a scream so loud it felt like it would shatter the cockpit viewport. He punched the air, hurling curses at the ceiling, kicking over chairs and slamming his fist into the console until every last ounce of strength was drained from his body. Then he slid down the side of the console and sat on the floor, his head in his hands.

That nagging thought in the back of his mind—it was like an old man muttering incessantly to himself. If he couldn’t unify the power of the Moreth Federation, then he really was nobody. A ghost. A stranger to his own people. The thought jolted him back to his feet. He raced down to the lower deck, boarded the landing craft, and piloted it straight into the heart of Navia’s sand-choked capital city.

There was no breathable atmosphere on the surface, so everyone wore full environmental suits. As Jonathan trudged along the main thoroughfare leading to the city’s central structure, he saw a handful of figures staggering through the sandstorm, their forms swaying like reeds in the wind. The main building was the only surviving relic of the ancient civilization that had once inhabited Navia. Its roof had long since been sheared off, and a conical spire had been built in its place to serve as a lighthouse. But as the sandstorms worsened over the years, the lower levels of the building had been buried beneath the dunes, leaving only the pyramid-shaped upper structure exposed. Jonathan glanced up at the sky. The system’s sun was a pale, washed-out disk, its light dimmed by the perpetual haze of sand. The Architect had a penchant for grand gestures, it seemed—he had installed a transparent elevator shaft along one face of the pyramid, running from the buried base all the way to the top. The shaft’s perpetual glow was the only sign of life on the entire planet.

“Well, they must have recognized your Star Bridge activation device,” a voice said as Jonathan finally stumbled into the laboratory. An elderly woman emerged from behind a bank of monitors, speaking matter-of-factly as she raised a medical scanner and waved it over Jonathan’s body. She patted his arm reassuringly, then walked through a glass door into an adjacent room. “Only the Moreth Steader has access to that particular model. That man—he must have been an officer of some rank.”

“Hardly surprising,” a dry, sardonic voice sneered from behind a bank of glowing screens.

“Focus,” Jonathan said, straightening his uniform and striding toward the speaker. He came to a stop beside the old man. “Our goal will be achieved. You know that.”

“It is not our goal,” the old man shot back, turning to fix Jonathan with a sharp gaze. “It is yours, Moreth Steader. Yours and yours alone.”

“Still as principled as ever, my dear Professor Sakya,” Jonathan said, a faint smile tugging at his lips as he sat down beside the old man.

“You know what I seek, Moreth Steader,” Sakya said, his voice softening slightly.

“I do,” Jonathan replied. “Any new developments?”

“None. Other than the single Star Source in your friend’s possession, we have detected no others anywhere in the galaxy.”

“My friend?” Jonathan’s expression darkened.

“Ah—I heard you two were close. I assumed he was a friend.”

“Is that supposed to be a joke?”

“I do not possess a sense of humor.”

“Lucky for us, you don’t need one.”

“What about the other Star Sources? Have there been any signs?”

“None. They have vanished without a trace.”

“Can you try another method? A different approach?”

“There is no other method. The one we found in the Solar System—we located it purely by luck.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Star Source emits no energy signature. It is nothing more than a key—a unique key that unlocks the Star Map Draftsman. At the time, I was monitoring anomalous fluctuations in dark matter when an old colleague shared with me the methods they were using to track the Star Map Draftsman. That was how I deduced a ship was there—and that it would most likely be carrying a Star Source. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“And recently?”

“Recently what?” Sakya asked, leaning forward, his eyes narrowing with curiosity.

“Any Star Source activity? Or…” Jonathan raised his left hand, clenching it into a fist before letting it fall back to his side. “Any dark matter anomalies?”

“Nothing. It is as if the entire network of Star Map Draftsmen has simply… vanished.”

“Professor Sakya. There are at least eighty-seven known Star Map Draftsmen in the Galaxy. How could they all disappear without a trace?”

“Consider this,” Sakya said, turning off the screen in front of him and swiveling his chair to face Jonathan directly. “The Galaxy may be far more complex than we can possibly imagine. The Orion Arm is one of the more backward regions of the galaxy, is it not? We cannot cross the dark void that separates the arms. Even if we tried to detour via the galactic core—”

“Impossible,” Jonathan cut him off sharply. “The galactic core is where the five arms converge. No civilization other than the Datheon can venture that close to the core. The gravitational forces and unknown black holes would tear any ship to shreds.”

“And yet I cannot help but think that someone, somewhere, has found a way—to cross into the other arms, to make contact with other civilizations.”

“You have no concrete evidence to support that theory,” Jonathan retorted. “I cannot speak for the other federations, but the Moreth Federation’s Star Bridge is used throughout the entire Orion Arm. If a new civilization had been discovered, or if some unprecedented anomaly had occurred, word would have spread like wildfire among the merchants. And yet—we have heard nothing.”

“Moreth Steader, let us agree to disagree on this matter. There is no point in trying to convince one another.” Sakya waved a dismissive hand.

“Very well,” Jonathan conceded, but there was a flicker of disappointment in his eyes.

“I heard about what happened in Bourlo City. It did not go well for you, I gather.”

“I did not realize that Professor Sakya, the great scientist, took an interest in politics,” Jonathan said, his tone laced with sarcasm.

The old man waved his hand again. “I have no interest in politics. I merely… care about your—” Sakya trailed off, as if unsure how to finish the sentence.

“If you truly cared about me,” Jonathan said, leaning closer and switching the screen back on, “you would find me another Star Source.”

“I have told you—there are no Star Sources to be found.”

“Then what is there?”

“Nothing!”

“Have you made any other discoveries in all these years? Any breakthroughs in your research?”

“Nothing!”

“Is it worth it?” Jonathan asked, his voice dripping with cynicism. “Devoting your entire life to a wild hypothesis, only to reach the end of your days with nothing to show for it?”

“I do not know,” Sakya replied calmly. “But tell me, Moreth Steader—is your pursuit any different?”

“What are you implying?”

“You chase the Star Source as if it were the key to ruling the galaxy in an instant. Yet you know full well that even if you obtained it, it would not grant you that power. Are you not also wasting your life in pursuit of something worthless?”

“What do you know about it?” Jonathan roared, slamming his fist on the console.

The elderly woman, who had just returned with a tray of medical supplies, paused at the sight of their argument. She glanced between the two men, then retreated silently back into the glass-walled room.

“Enough of this pointless bickering,” Sakya muttered, pursing his lips.

Jonathan said nothing, leaning back in his chair and staring up at the ceiling.

“What is your next move?” Sakya asked, turning off the screen once more.

“I am going to see an old acquaintance.”

“I advise you to return to Kunek Planet first. You need to set the record straight. With the treasurer dead, the planet is likely in chaos.”

“You have nothing to worry about,” Jonathan said dismissively. “The strength of the Moreth Federation lies in its system. It will continue to function regardless of who is at the helm. I am certain they have already chosen a successor.”

“You are afraid to go back,” Sakya said, his voice sharp. “Afraid of being held publicly accountable for your failures.”

“I have nothing to fear,” Jonathan snapped. “I am the Moreth Steader—the leader of the Moreth Federation. What could possibly frighten me?”

“Very well. Have it your way.” Sakya shook his head in resignation.

“You have been away from civilization for too long. Trapped here in this desert wasteland, you have forgotten how the Moreth Federation truly operates.”

“That is your concern, not mine.”

“Yes, it is. And do not forget our agreement.”

“Our agreement?” Sakya repeated, a bitter laugh escaping his lips.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. There is no agreement, Moreth Steader. When I left the Moreth Federation all those years ago, I repaid my debt to you. Is that not correct?”

“Repaid your debt?” Jonathan shot upright in his chair, his eyes blazing with anger. He leaned forward, staring Sakya down. “You ran away. You used my activation device to flee this far. I was the one who convinced the Moreth Federation not to hunt you down. And for all these years, I have provided you with the funds to live out your days in this godforsaken desert, chasing your impossible dream. How exactly have you repaid me?”

“Do not forget—I did not ask you to do any of this,” Sakya retorted, sitting up straight and meeting Jonathan’s gaze head-on. “You came to me, begging me to help you find the Star Source. You chose to do these things. Who else would have aided you in your quest? Who else even could?”

“And how many Star Sources have you found for me?” Jonathan demanded, his voice rising.

“How many do you need, my dear Moreth Steader?” Sakya shot back. “Do you think they are stars in the sky—endless, waiting to be plucked?”

It seemed inevitable that the two men would soon be strangling each other. But the sound of the elderly woman slamming a tray down on the table in the adjacent room shattered the tension. Both men leaned back in their chairs, their faces flushed with anger, and fell silent.

The room was so quiet that Sakya could hear the faint thudding of his own blood, pounding against the walls of his arteries. He felt the pressure building in his prefrontal cortex, spreading through his hippocampus—yet he could find no release. Jonathan, meanwhile, felt every hair on his body stand on end, as if he were trying to absorb the entire energy of the galaxy in one go, hoping to detect the faint signature of a Star Source somewhere in the void. Or even just to feel the rapid heartbeat of a gambler sitting in the front row of a bullfight on some distant, unknown planet. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, tilting his body to the side.

“I think—” Jonathan began, but Sakya cut him off.

The old man turned the screen back on, pointing to a glowing section of the display. “There is something you might find interesting. I have discovered that dark matter is disappearing.”

“This is a remarkable discovery!” Jonathan said, suddenly bursting with enthusiasm—as if to atone for his earlier outburst. He pushed his chair closer to the screen, his eyes alight with curiosity. “Please continue, Professor Sakya. Tell me everything.”

“You know I have spent my life searching for the edge of the universe,” Sakya said, gesturing to a large blue region on the screen. “My latest approach involves mapping variations in dark matter density. This is the baseline measurement of dark matter we recorded initially. Now look here.” He pointed to a smaller orange region in the center of the blue. “This is the current dark matter density. Over time… it appears to be decreasing. Significantly.”

“Are you certain of this?” Jonathan asked, his expression growing serious.

“I am absolutely certain.”

“I see.” Jonathan paused, his gaze locking onto Sakya’s. “Professor Sakya—this is indeed a discovery worth pursuing. I think I need to speak to someone else about this first. This is… truly extraordinary. Thank you.” With that, he stood up and headed for the door.

“Moreth Steader,” Sakya called out, his voice laced with confusion.

Jonathan turned around. “Yes?”

“The disappearance of dark matter—what do you make of it?”

“Nothing… yet,” Jonathan replied. “But the only forces I know of that could possibly affect dark matter on this scale are the Star Map Draftsmen… or the Datheon. At the very least, this confirms that the Star Map Draftsmen are still out there. Which means there is still hope. For me.”

“In that regard, I must admit—I truly admire you,” Sakya said quietly.

“Admire me for what?” Jonathan asked, frowning.

“For your unwavering determination. Your single-minded pursuit of your goal. It reminds me of—” Sakya stood up and rummaged through a jar on the console, pulling out a small data card. He handed it to Jonathan. “An old proverb from the ancient civilizations: Whether a ship can sail far does not depend on its appearance, nor on whether its tanks are full of fuel. It depends on the one who steers it. Success is not measured by the number of victories one achieves, but by the courage to rise again after each defeat. Ah… you have truly inspired me.”

Jonathan said nothing, but he smiled and patted the old man’s arm.

“By the way—what is this?” he asked, holding up the data card as he reached the door.

“Go to Planet Gorov,” Sakya said, a faint smile playing on his lips. “There, you will find the answers you seek.”