Xiao Solarum stood tall, with a firm grace, watching the Admin Zone from high above through his large bay window. The people here, he thought, the lives, they were what made the Kuiper Belt special. It wasn’t the structures, or the inventions that had led them here, but it was the people, both then and now, that he knew were sacred to this place.

He had to protect them.

And protecting people from themselves was harder than one might think. It wasn’t uncommon, Xiao had come to find in his time within the Administration, that people, through good intentions, stupidity, or sheer force of will, would put themselves in unnecessary danger in pursuit of the vanity of hope. The idea that one is the chosen one, destined to survive even at great expense and harm, through their own belief and will alone, was a folly that many fell into believing.

But not Xiao. For he knew the truth.

The truth of the matter was, everyone and everything was expendable in the universe’s eyes. If one looked at the grand scheme of things, one would find that hope itself was foolish. Not without warrant, Xiao had given up on hope long ago, and now settled on the other main driving force that all humans bore within them: tenacity. Tenacity that, he thought, didn’t rely on hope. Moreso, it was the willingness to keep going in the face of hopelessness.

Knowing himself, he could at least recognize and appreciate that.

The lights of the Dysnomia Admin Zone sparkled in the glossy reflections in his eyes. These people didn’t know it, but they had all placed themselves in great danger, unnecessarily, in the pursuit of hope. In a way, he could at least appreciate the bravery it took to make the trip to the edges of the Solar System, in one of the most dangerous and uncharted regions humanity knew. For that reason alone, he had to protect them.

That would require desperate measures.

And, he supposed, it was why his daughter was likely still arguing with his receptionist right now.

With a sigh, he turned from the window, from the ships slowly rolling by, and pressed a button on his desk, saying into a microphone inset in the wood, “Send her in.”

When the receptionist called back, he could hear Yu’s seething tone as his daughter rebuked her. She said, “She’s on the way, sir.”

He took a seat in the comfortable chair behind his desk, sat straight in it, and rested his elbows on his desk, hands clasped over his mouth. The door on the far wall opened, revealing his daughter, her eyes angry, her fists curled and clenched. She stomped through the threshold and into his office, marching up to his desk, and staring down at him expectantly.

“Father,” she said, frowning.

“Director. What can I do for you?” Xiao asked, his breathing calm, his tone measured.

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Yu grit her teeth. “Do you have any idea how hard it is to get an appointment with you? For me, your own daughter, it took over a month.”

“I have been busy,” Xiao said, looking up at her.

“I know you have,” she hissed. “Where is she?”

Xiao’s eyebrow raised, but he said nothing.

Yu slammed her hand down on his desk, rage pouring from her glare. “Tell me where she is.”

Now, Xiao stood, standing over her by at least a few inches, and, staring coldly down at her, said, “I should remind you, Director, to maintain your professionalism.”

There was a threat in those words, something dangerous, and it made Yu shrink a bit on the inside. She tried to stand tall, but under his harsh gaze, a look she’d not all too often seen, she began to wither.

She said, “What did you do?”

“I did what needed to be done. There is more at play than you could know,” Xiao replied, folding his hands behind his back and turning to face the window once more. Yu watched him with a scowl, but remained silent. “Director. When a person is faced with choices, they must choose. Failure to do so results in stagnation, and stagnant waters breed pests, algae, and grime that kill the life within it. Oftentimes there is a better choice, and a worse choice, but most of the time, neither is easy.”

“What?” she asked, incredulity written in her squint.

Xiao looked over his shoulder at her, and then looked back at Dysnomia beyond. “Would you rather the frying pan, or the fire, Yu?”

“Just tell me where she is,” Yu pleaded, giving an exasperated huff and letting her shoulders droop. “Please.”

“I will not,” Xiao said. “And if you wish to keep your position, you’ll also attempt to maintain your ignorance. Don’t go poking around where you shouldn’t. And trust that I know what I am doing.”

Realizing that her father would not give her what she sought, Yu felt a tear begin for form in her eye. She wiped it, and scowled at him, before turning and wordlessly storming out of his office. He watched her go in the reflection in the glass, and once his door had shut, he sighed and let himself slump.

Sometimes he questioned what was right, and what was wrong. It was becoming a more rare internal discussion as the implications became apparent, but still, there were times during which he couldn’t help but wonder. Now was one of those times.

What you do is righteous.

He jumped, turning around and examining the room. His pupils dilated, and then shrunk as he realized there was no one there. He had heard the voice again.

Do not be afraid.

His heartbeat began to quicken, though he maintained his composure, his fists clenching and opening by his side. “Who are you?” he said.

I am your friend. I am here to help you.

He clutched his head. “Get out of my head.”

It’s too late for that, my new friend.

“What?” he said, his mouth dry, sweat dripping down his forehead.

It’s far too late for that.