“I’ve never known a soldier to take up gardening.” Glen Tannis surveyed the small plot of land. “You should take a job at one of the eden worlds. They would take you as a designer in a heartbeat. The latest generation of terraformers could clean up that horizon with some mountain ranges and add a few lakes. Change the soil to be less acidic. Have everything tailored how you want it.”

“And ruin all the fun?” Samir Singh shook the dirt off his gloved hands. “I suppose you’ll have me watch from orbit, letting the robots do all the work?”

“Certainly more efficient.” Glen glanced around.

Rustic would be a generous term for Samir’s garden. It was an irregular patch of shrubbery and poorly chosen flowers arrayed in a mismatched pattern. Weeds had inevitably crept into the planter boxes from the surrounding landscape.

Glen looked at the house behind them. It was a motley, small thing. His own landing craft was much larger and lavish in comparison. The walls were made of an ugly yellowing plaster that stood out among the dried, dead grass. There was enough space for a living room, a bedroom, and a bathroom. Not much else besides.

So this is where decorated war heroes go to die. Glen somberly thought. The moon was barely habitable, a sparse landscape of dirt and grass supported by an artificial atmosphere. The tiny house was settled in the middle of a barren wasteland, with nothing in any direction.

And then there was the man himself. Samir Singh appeared in his early forties. He had dark skin that was wrinkling and aging under the burden of the sun. A long, dark and grey beard fell from his face. Brown eyes looked serene from a kind expression. He looked like a farmer plucked off a pioneer world.

“What do you want?” Samir stood up from planting another one of his shrubs. “Thirty years back, the reporters gave up coming here. Twenty years it was the universities trying to put me in a teaching position. And then the lawyers stopped checking in to see if I was dead. No one comes here anymore.”

“Would it surprise you if I said I was with the Exchange?”

“One last-ditch attempt to get me to sign back on?” Samir smirked.

“You might call it as such.” Glen kneeled in front of Samir, looking him in the eye. “You have three hundred and forty-two years left in your credited lifespan. You’ve already spent seventy on this rock. Are you really going to spend the rest of your days living here?”

“Yes,” Samir said without hesitation, turning back to the plants.

Glen sighed and stood back up, walking over to a crude wooden bench. “You know most people don’t choose to live past one hundred fifty? Something inside them just… stops. For one reason or another, they know it’s time to die. And here you are on this desolate moon in your late two hundreds.”

“I guess I just haven’t found the right reason yet,” Samir responded.

“Will you at least hear me out?” Glen asked.

Samir waved his hands around, gesturing to the silent plain surrounding them. “Got nothing else to do.”

“We’ve had a bit of a commotion back on Earth. One of the quantum computers stored in the archive registered a confirmed signal. It was ancient. Automated systems didn’t even recognize it. Someone had to spend three hours going through the archive just to find records of the ship it was attached to.”

“So?” Samir shrugged his shoulders. “These things happen from time to time. Some lost colony manages to reactivate their broken transmitter.”

“Not this one. The computer was registered to the Herodotus. The Herodotus.”

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Samir perked up at the name. “That was textbook history class. So, those crazy bastards actually made it to Andromeda.” He laughed. “Bless them.”

“Except here’s the thing.” Glen leaned forward. “The signal wasn’t from Andromeda. It was from here. Our galaxy. Just barely on the rim.”

Samir looked at him in shock. “You’re kidding? They left. They made it as far as one million light years to Andromeda before things went dark.”

“And now they’re suddenly back here,” Glen spoke, “They have done the impossible twice over. We’re presuming it’s not the same ship, obviously. But the beacon is real, the signal is verified. That computer has now crossed the void between galaxies twice. And for whatever reason, they chose to contact us through that transmitter.”

“But why? What’s the point of sending something back? What’s the point of even coming back? There are half a dozen better ways of making contact if that’s what they want to do.”

“As I said, it has caused quite the commotion among the upper staff. We’re somewhat at a loss. This situation has never come up before.”

“Well, I wish you well on that endeavor.” Samir stood up and dusted off his trousers. He began walking towards the house.

“You’re not even interested!?” Glen shouted as he ran to catch up. “Not even a little?”

“Why would I be?” Samir turned to him. “I’m just an old man. I’ve seen enough mysteries in my lifetime. Let the younger generation handle it. I look forward to hearing about it on the UTN.”

“We’re planning a mission, and we need a captain.”

“The answer is no.” Samir walked through the wooden door.

Glen followed him through into the dingy kitchen and watched as Samir began washing his hands.

“We’re looking at something near unprecedented in human history and you’re just going to casually toss this offer aside?” he asked.

Samir shook his head. “You’re asking me to captain a ship filled with people, some of whom are not even above thirty. I’ll be an old man taking up some younger person’s spot. You know why I stay here? The universe moves on. It forgets the old and replaces the new. I’ve simply lived long enough to see it turn over.”

“And that is why you have stayed here?” Glen questioned in disbelief. “Because you won’t fit in?”

“There’s no place for me out there. I would only take up space someone else deserves. The only spot left for me is here, that or the grave.”

Samir turned the faucet off and moved towards a cupboard. Opening it, he pulled out a ration cube inside a plastic container. Setting the table for himself, he took a seat and pried open the lid. He ate the ration cube silently with a thoughtful expression.

“I’ve accepted my place,” Samir spoke softly. “My time has come and gone. No use acting like a child and clamoring for attention.”

Glen sat at the table with a determined expression. “And what about your legacy? What people will remember you for?”

Samir flinched. “What about it?”

“I’ve watched you. Don’t tell me some nonsense about the universe moving on. Men like you act, and you don’t care about what stands in your way. You’re hiding here. You want them to forget, don’t you?”

Samir coldly looked at him. “I think it’s time for you to leave.”

Glen shook his head. “I’m trying to offer you a second chance, Singh. This may be humanity’s first contact with a people who have been separated for three thousand years. An achievement of peace beyond anything we’ve seen as a species. That opportunity has been reserved solely for you.”

“I know how the Free Exchange works. I’ve been around your types since before you were born.” Samir glared at Glen. “Whatever it takes to get your way. I won’t have it. Not this time.”

“Does it matter?” Glen asked, “This is what you want, more than anything. You will be remembered as a peacemaker. A diplomat from one galaxy to another.”

“That is, if there aren’t just bodies over there,” Samir retorted, “then it’ll just be another bloody chapter in my story. Samir Singh, the man who found out how the Andromedans died trying to come back, clawing their throats as the air gave out.”

“A risk then,” Glen admitted, “but you don’t get to change the galaxy without risks.”

“Leave.” Samir pointed towards the door. “And don’t return.”

Glen raised his hands in surrender and silently walked to the door. Without a word, he left the ugly little house on the plain. Walking just a short distance away, he approached his black landing craft. The cylindrical vessel shone with a polished glare as the sun was setting in the distance. As he opened the door and clambered inside, Mia glanced back at him from the cockpit.

“Didn’t go too well? I’m not surprised. The Butcher of Three Systems doesn’t move for anyone.”

“Singh will call me before we leave orbit.” Glen relaxed back into his leather chair.

“Really?” Mia’s voice didn’t conceal her surprise as she flicked the ignition switches.

“Samir wants redemption more than anything. You don’t walk the path he has without regrets. The seed is planted; he won’t be able to resist now.”

“It’s a damn thing what you do to people.” She said as the landing craft lurched upward.

“Right now, the Exchange needs Captain Singh back. That is all that matters.” Glen waved his hand and a holographic map of the galaxy appeared before him. “I don’t care what I have to do to make it happen.”