The subtle storm raged on outside the glass pinnacle of the Floating Eye. Tor watched it cross over the land and head towards the middle of the bay where the pyramid stuck out like a shining beacon for everyone to see. The Floating Eye had been the planet's meeting place for almost a thousand years now and Andrew Torvalds wondered if they knew it would last this long. None of their scientists today would ever be able to replicate it. None of their scientists could replicate hardly any of the technology that supposedly got them here.

The green storm slammed against the windows at the top of the Eye. Tor turned his attention back to the pentagonal table in the middle of the small room and assessed the council calmly seated around it. As always it was made up of the four members who ruled over the four sectors of Henear and the High Journalist.

It was supposed to be a simple board to help unite the regions in the best interest of those who lived here, a leader for each sector and a watchdog ready to blow the whistle on any leader that didn't take care of their people. Andrew Torvalds, this decade's High Journalist felt a rising storm in himself as he listened to the clamor of selfish leaders who were only pretending to care.

Previous generations had made short-sighted treaties and alliances and thereby made the long-term interests of the people almost impossible to be achieved. The colonists had known oxygen would always be a precious commodity and had built rules into its governance to protect and provide for as many people as it possibly could, yet after 1000 years what little they had started with would now feel an abundance.

The coalition of 80 people who had landed here named the planet Henear due to the abundance of helium, neon, and argon found in the atmosphere. The various gases blocked out all view of the stars and created what the terraformers thought of as fantastical storms of blue, green, and occasionally gold.

The inhabitants currently living had no recollection as to what the stars actually looked like, and most might argue if they even really existed or if our ancestors had just made them up. Regardless, they had known the oxygen levels would only become more desperate as time went on and had calculated how big of a population the planet could sustain and for how long. In the charters they had drawn up they had only accounted for 1000 years assuming another solution would be found by then, only now the year was 998AFT (After Terra Forming) and the council was to vote on the path forward for the next year.

The one thing the coalition hadn't counted on was how little the current government cared about maintaining the population. Tor seethed as he thought about the current council and their ineffectiveness and lack of concern for the very people who gave them power. He sat down at his place and stared at the green storm. Tor listened to their blatant nonchalance of how many people would die if a solution wasn't voted on today.

“My miners require 2000kg of oxygen to complete your order Vice Regent Varnusha. Your metal orders are getting to be harder to fill and we must go deeper which requires more oxygen than normal." Superintendent Clarise, who ruled over the Zorjac Mining Corporation, or ZMC for short, looked over the top of her small square spectacles and smirked at the Vice Regent. She was a short harsh looking woman with graying dark hair and deep blue eyes. Tor always felt cold when he looked at her.

“Ah my dear, that sounds just fine to me. I will readjust the amount of giddy gas your section has requested and re-appropriate it elsewhere. Prime Minister Locksley, do you think the Wilean Sector could go with a bit less to make up for the Zorjac’s miners?” The greasy-haired Vice Regent Varnusha of the Derensay Sector had sole access to the gas fields that accounted for all the planet's oxygen. Derensay sector had taken over the fields after the fall of the Aeolian sector in the year 234ATF, Varnusha loved to use it as leverage.

A large mountain range had made it impractical for the Saltec Sector to stake any claim to it and now there was a large imbalance of power that had plagued Henear ever since. Derensay had the upper hand on manufacturing and the gas fields while all other sectors had only one main export of worth to the planet. The people had left and dissolved into the other sectors, but the land and its precious resources had to be given over to the only other sector with the ability to collect the gases and manufacture them for the rest of the planet.

The only thing the Derensay sector hadn't received was the Aeolian's seat on the governing board. It was determined that it should be given to a person of the people to be able to break tie votes and relay important news of the state. It eventually became the position of High Journalist and acted as a slight balance of power. The High Journalist was the only reporter allowed in the council meetings and had a duty to report to the people of Henear how their leaders were behaving and to take a neutral side of all things, to see the big picture for the small planet. The reporter was voted in by the people every 10 years and for those years belonged to all sectors.

Thus, Tor found himself amidst these power players, able to either tattle on them and lose their respect or promise favorable reports for better governance. It was a headache and Tor wished the people had voted for someone else. The first year was special and novel, he was proud to be following in his mentor's footsteps, by the tenth year Tor was over it.

The Wilean Sector’s Prime Minister rubbed his puffy eyes and replied to Varnusha’s question in his usual lazy form, “Our animals will need the same oxygen as before, but I can tell the people to ration a bit more I suppose.”

“Excuse me Prime Minister, are you really expecting your people to be able to farm and do their jobs with even less air? They’re already at the lowest level in ten years, what exactly is your plan for them? What about the newborns your sector has requested? You need people to tend those fields and flocks, and last I checked people need air.” Tor snorted, amazed that their own Prime Minister could be such a pacifist as to let his own people drown.

“Are you taking sides?” Varnusha sneered, “What do you care about one sector, doesn’t our world also need metals to build and produce? Don’t forget your place, Mr. Torvalds.”

“People can’t eat metal, Vice Regent,” Tor replied, standing up from his chair.

“Gentlemen, please. This is a peaceful body of governance, no need to stir the pot. Mr. Torvalds keeps the people in mind Varnusha, as he should. As far as needing more air production, my research team has had interesting results so far. Not helpful results, but interesting nonetheless. I’ve asked them to step up to the plate, but they are scientists, and they follow where the research leads them.” Governor Ivan Gelbert of the Saltec Sector was a kind old man whose motto was ‘live and let live. While it worked well in good times, these were times for those who took action. “I believe they will come to a solution for our air problem within the next five years.”

“Five years?” Tor’s eyes popped open wide as a long silence ensued. “You honestly think we have five years to wait? We celebrate our millennium of being terra-formed in thirteen months, we’ll be lucky to see the month after. We have five million people, one million more than the charter counted on by the way. Our people are counting on us and the best you can do is reassure us your scientists have ‘interesting research’?" Tor threw his hands in the air, "Well as long as your scientists are interested.

"As long as we have metal being produced. In eleven months your people will be knocking down your doors to see why you waited so long, and if you don’t have a better solution by next month’s meeting, I’m going to tell the whole world.” The threat echoed in the throats of those around the table. Tor slammed his fist into the table and watched as all the council shrank from him except for Varnusha. The snake thought Tor, He has the largest population and land and cares the least about the end of the world.

"I can assure you, Mr. Torvalds," Varnusha said, "we are all worried about the future and are doing our part to ensure we make it to next year. Those scientists in Saltec have requested some sophisticated machinery to try and address the problem, so Derensay has ordered more from the Zorjac's miners, and they apparently need more oxygen to do so. The Wileans have graciously offered to help offset it, and so we're all working studiously to ensure our survival." The old wiry man stood and started to circle the room as a spider spinning a web, "You are of course required to report to the people as you see fit, but if you are caught filling their heads with lies your term may find it's ending this year."

Tor found himself laughing as he got up and gathered his papers. "Varnusha, if we don't find a solution soon this will be my last term regardless. Yours too actually." At this Varnusha smiled and sat back down.

"Indeed Mr. Torvalds. Indeed."

Tor shook his head, "If I don't hear some real solutions, besides mass murder, by next month my report will be calling for a coup in all sectors." He slung his bag over his shoulder and left the pinnacle without being dismissed. The others were not allowed to continue the meeting without him and he heard them packing up behind him. Tor took the elevator down to the ground level for the dreaded after-party that had become where all the real alliances and decisions were made.

Shreya Perez, his editor, met him at the elevator doors. She was medium height with long brown hair, olive skin, and deep brown eyes. Always a fashion trendsetter, tonight she had a green dress that shimmered as though she were the green storm that was smashing against the glass. "I see you're out of the meeting, alone, and first." She said. "I thought we talked about interpersonal skills, Tor."

"They were the ones being ridiculous." He shoved his way out of the elevator, while people moved out of the way for Shreya without a word. "We're all screwed, I'm getting a drink."

"You know, you could at least try to play nice with them. You've tried yelling, maybe I should talk to them for you. I can be very persuasive." She said with a smirk over her shoulder. Everyone did what Shreya asked. It was part of why Tor had her as an editor, legally he was allowed access to all documents he needed for his stories, but in real life, Shreya got them by the time he needed them, not in two weeks.

This was a problem that couldn't be solved with a flirtatious smile though. This was the end of the world as they knew it, she was talented to be sure but this was bigger than her. It was bigger than him. She gave him a knowing look and said, "Just a suggestion. I'll leave you to it then." She handed him a drink Tor hadn't even noticed her ordering and she sauntered off to where the other various assistants were.

I should have asked her to sit with me for a while. Tor sighed as she walked away. He drank as all his regrets with Shreya played through his mind.

The Pytheas finished collecting a particularly tricky experiment that had drifted off course. They almost hadn't been able to gather the nanobots before they had to turn around and check in on Henear. It had been 25 years since they had first exiled the previous Captain Anna Katapodis and her cronies, but the planet would be celebrating its first millennium soon. Due to the speed, the planet raced back and forth between the two giant stars their relative time was much faster than the Standard Chronos Time the Pytheas followed.

This would be the last time Keisha would check in on the planet. Twenty years had passed for Henear since their last check-in and she hoped they had made some type of progress with the information they had sent down to them. Their air supply was getting out of hand, but she couldn't babysit the planet forever.

Chronos had commissioned them to bring back these experiments and the Pytheas needed repairs before too long. It had been outfitted for a long journey but they had been expecting them back 25 years after sending it out. They were now coming up on 75 years away from Chronos. They probably thought the Pytheas had succumbed to the plague of Dark Space.

"Captain, the Katsonis has docked with the nanobots in tow," one of the young cadets called out to her excitedly. After only a few years the people aboard the Pytheas had begun requesting children. Knowing what happened with Andromeda being born in faster-than-light Keisha had been extremely hesitant. The crew had worn her down eventually and Fiolas ran a simulation of what would happen to the Pytheas if they didn't start having kids. Andromeda and Mina worked on a special birthing room to help ensure the children born aboard the Pytheas would be able to live on Chronos, if they ever got there, and fit in with the population's time phase. So far it appeared to be working.

"Thank you, Grayson." Keisha turned in her captain's chair that was in the middle of the large bridge. "Commander Runslo, take us to the Henear for our last check-in." Zayd Runslo still had the same muscular build but had let his beard grow past his shoulders now. He was looking forward to retirement in the next few years and Keisha was trying to get back to Chronos in time for him to retire there. The last thing she wanted was to have to train a new second-in-command.

"Aye aye, captain. Setting a course for Henear."