It was a day that would burn itself in Ashta Sol’s mind for as long as she would live. For her, it was one of many somewhere in the middle of her tale; but in many ways it was really the beginning. It was only with the benefit of hindsight that she realized that. 

Two months. 

It had been two full months since she’d received the diagnosis: Microsis Positive. The doctor estimated she must’ve carried the disease for at least six weeks - and the window for treatment was only four. Had she noticed sooner how loose her clothes had gotten or canceled one more business trip, perhaps she would’ve made it to the doctor in time. But she did not, and she had not. Once it fully spread throughout her circulatory system there was no way to treat the Microsis pathogen. Effectively, she had been given a death sentence. Although really, death might’ve been preferable. Death was a definitive, unambiguous ending. Instead, she was fated to join the ranks of microbes and bacteria in an uncertain future. Her life as she knew it was all but over. 

The irony was not lost on her. Microsis was, in short, a shrinking disease. A rather gross oversimplification of a complicated process involving a symbiotic alien parasite and the rearrangement of a victim’s biological structure, but that was the end result of its infection. By the time Ashta had realized she’d grown four inches shorter, it was already too late. Now, two months had passed since that day and she’d lost a grand total of 16 inches. Over a head shorter than her once impressive 6’3” height; and the saddest part of all? The cruelest twist of the knife? She was the woman in charge of Microsis victims. 

At least, she had been. 

Among many sweeping changes in her life, a search was well underway for a replacement for her job - a new President for the Department of Housing and Interplanetary Development. Leave it to the good ol’ U.A.P. government to not waste a moment in writing her off. As much as it stung, Ashta could at least understand the reasoning behind the decision. Were the roles reversed she would’ve made the same call. In fact, there were a number of people she could think of who, if they tested positive, she wouldn’t have hesitated to steal their position and influence for herself. She had simply never expected that it would be her on the chopping block instead.

The woman sighed as she set aside a folder on her desk and spun around in her chair, staring out a glass window overlooking the rest of the Department. Her eyes gazed out upon a lavish lobby area breaking off into an array of assorted halls; though truly, she saw none of it. She saw only the wispy reflection of a stranger staring back at her. Arguably, one of the worst aspects of Microsis wasn’t how it shrank a person down, but how it regressed and devolved someone first. Once, Ashta was a towering beauty of a blonde. Imposing. Confident. Strong. Now what stared back at her was none of those things. She was now a plain-faced, lithe woman. A weakling. It wasn’t enough for the damned disease to rob her of her size and her life, but it had to take her identity as well. It had diminished her curves and muscle tone to the brink of nonexistence. Fair skin and flawless good looks were stripped away and repurposed in some grand genetic realignment. Even her own thrice-damned chair now seemed two sizes too big. 

Ashta now resembled a lesser imitation of herself, and there was no way to undo it. She had no choice but to accept this new life. This new…self. 

Much time had passed and yet so many emotions still boiled beneath the surface. Emotions she couldn’t let show lest the vultures circling her smell blood in the water. Ashta sighed and forced the thoughts from her mind. On the subject of things she now had to accept, she still had an unenviable task to do. 

She had to choose her replacement.

Hiring committees had already narrowed the talent pool down to roughly a dozen candidates, and it was on Ashta to select a handful to proceed to the next round of interviews. It was still early in the day and she had been studying their profiles in preparation for her own wave of them. In fact, the first interviewee was set to arrive within the hour. Trying to read the files on the candidates, however, proved…trying. Not so much because of the contents, that much was still trivial, but because of the unspoken thought that haunted this decision. After all, she was not simply choosing a new person to take charge of the Department.

She was choosing a new person to take charge of her. 

She knew better than anyone where victims of Microsis ended up: the simulated planetary habitats of the M-Series. False planets made and overseen by the Departmental A.I. T.I.N.A., a blue-haired android who took great care and pleasure in her work. Each habitat was a perfect facsimile of an actual planet despite their metallic nature, and were built small enough to comfortably fit in a person’s hand. They were designed as a shelter for the afflicted. A place where they could live out their microscopic lives in peace and contribute to the wider U.A.P. society through the wonders of technology. At least, that was the official story on the matter.

Of the names Ashta had on her desk, she would select a handful to proceed to the next phase of the process; and one of those names would take her place. They would be in charge of the M-Series. They would be in charge of the world she’d be forced to call home. In light of that dreadful idea, Ashta found it nigh impossible to concentrate. A dozen names, but who could be trusted to oversee her eventual fate?

For the better part of her remaining hour the dwindling blonde dawdled. Her fears crawled along her skin like a cloak of paranoia. She could almost feel each centimeter slipping through her grasp, even knowing she had well over a year left before…the end. Ashta wanted…Well, she wanted a lot of things. She wanted to scream. She wanted to lash out. She wanted her old body back. But more than anything else, she wanted someone to tell her there had been some kind of mistake. That she wouldn’t shrink away to dust and eke out some lowly living on a rock in a robot’s personal collection.

Alas, no amount of festering changed her reality, or the job she had to do. With a sigh, the woman turned back to her desk and opened a folder. Within, a detailed report and resume had been compiled on her first candidate. She skimmed the page and blinked as her eyes fixated on some of the preliminary information. 

“A Morphiss?”

That was a mild surprise. Then again, perhaps it shouldn’t have been. The Morphiss were considered by many to be among the most intelligent races within the United Alliance of Planets. They were a longtime member of the alliance with their own storied history and culture. A history that Ashta, admittedly, did not know particularly well. She could vaguely recall a school lesson on how they were once a warlike people who nearly blasted themselves back to the Stone Age and had since adopted something of a culture of academic pacifism; but that was about it. It was only by joining the U.A.P. that their dying race survived; and the U.A.P. had benefited immensely from their advanced technology since then. On a purely surface level, they were as good candidates for Ashta’s role as anyone else.

“Name is…Kir’shra?” God, she hated alien names. Ashta frowned as she scanned the rest of the page, itself an impressive list of positions, accomplishments, and accolades. Unsurprising. It was something of a widespread joke that one could track the age of a Morphiss by counting the number professions and doctorates they had. From what Ashta saw, she would’ve pegged this Kir’shra to be at least a few centuries old. She boasted doctorates in Biology, Physiology, Psychology, Astronomy, Sociology, Theoretical Chemistry, and so very much more. From the academia alone Ashta could track a long life dedicated to the pursuit of knowledge, and a woman who traded specialties the same way a lesser lived person might trade outfits. In other words, a typical Morphiss. 

The only thing arguably more impressive than the list of academic achievements was the list of professions itself. As a woman only in her forties, Ashta found it rather humbling to see positions listed with decades of experience as though it was no span of time at all. Kir’shra had seemingly done it all. Fifteen years as an engineer. Twenty-two as a medical researcher. Twelve as a chemist. Thirty-six as a damned botanist. The alien even had decades of military service and multiple tenures as a Surveyor aboard the U.A.S. Artemis. A vessel name that strangely edged upon what felt like familiarity, though Ashta couldn’t quite place why. Surveyors were those assigned to chart out the unexplored reaches of space. She had no relation to them whatsoever.

Setting the strange thought aside, she couldn’t deny that on paper this Kir’shra was beyond qualified. The demands of the Department were a bit different than her previous roles, but for a Morphiss it was just another hat to wear for a decade or two. Her job history also suggested she wouldn’t go anywhere for a long, long time. It just begged the vital question: could she be trusted with Ashta?

Well, she was about to have a chance to find out. 

No more than five minutes later, Ashta received a notification from her secretary informing her that the Morphiss had arrived. She allowed her to be buzzed in and braced herself as the sound of heels clacking against the floors outside grew louder. Soon, they reached just past the door and it slid open automatically, a rather tall woman stepping gracefully inside.

“Thank you for seeing me.”

The word that sprung to mind looking at her was Professional. Hers was a meticulous, almost methodical appearance. Long raven-black hair was draped over her back without a single hair out of place. Equal attention had been paid to her wardrobe - a pristine white sleeveless blouse and skirt juxtaposed with ebony stockings and matching white heels. Only two details clashed with the monochromatic colors: a deep blue neck tie that rested over an ample bosom and a matching - and equally striking - pair of cerulean eyes lurking behind a thin pair of glasses. One side of her hair had been carefully parted behind the hallmark of a Morphiss: their elongated, pointed ears. Ashta noted blue earrings to match her eyes. 

Standing at well over two meters tall and with such a painstaking appearance, she made for quite the first impression. Ashta had before never met a person she could so aptly call ‘towering’; and yet, there was also a strangely approachable, relaxed air about her. Her expression was schooled and formal, but there was nothing in her gaze that suggested anything but respect for Ashta and her position. Even if she was utterly dwarfed by the alien woman. Ashta quickly remembered herself and smiled, rising to her feet to offer Kir’shra a handshake.

“It is a pleasure. Thank you for coming Kir’shra. Am I pronouncing that correctly?

The buxom, elfin woman accepted the offered hand and smiled, her cool exterior giving way to an amicable one. “Please, call me Kira.”

Oh thank god, a name Ashta could easily manage. Alien names were always a nightmare with how absurd they could get. Later on this very day, in fact, she dreaded a later interview with a Selkith man. His name had no less than four apostrophes and a hyphen when translated to Galactic Common. How absolutely awful. “Kira it is then. You can call me Ashta. Please, have a seat.” Ashta was the first to do so herself, crossing her legs as she readied a pen over Kira’s file. “I see you have quite the job history. What brings you to our neck of the government?”

Kira offered a slight shrug and an affable smile. “I just figured it was time for a change of pace. It's been a while since I’ve worked with logistics and while I’ve had roles adjacent to leading governmental positions before, I’ve never actually been in one. This seems like a good place to both apply my talents and to gain that experience.”

The answer was more personable than her appearance would’ve led one to believe, but it was Morphiss through and through. They were a people driven by an insatiable thirst for knowledge and experiences. Not a knock against her in Ashta’s eyes, but a point worth considering. She made a note of it atop the woman’s resume and nodded. “That, I cannot deny. Your qualifications speak for themselves, though can you give me a more specific example of your experience? We deal with a lot of different spinning plates here and gathering and balancing that data can be tricky. We handle a lot of very delicate planetary logistics. Do you have any examples for how you might handle something like that?”

“Several.” Kira answered without missing a beat. She’d been expecting that line of questioning. “While I’ll freely admit it’s been a century, I did spend some time at the Development Department on Ithaca II and helped with the design of a new orbital colony. I also got a lot of logistical experience when I was a CFO for the Malazan Trading Company. Under my tenure there our trade routes grew 78 percent more efficient. And of course there was my recent time aboard the Artemis-”

Ashta blinked. “That’s the Surveyor ship you served on, right?” Her previous role, in fact. “How does working aboard a ship designed to explore unknown space relate to planetary logistics?” It seemed rather like…the exact opposite of that. 

“You’d be surprised.” Kira answered with a thin, cryptic smirk. “It’s true the scale and stakes are much smaller with a single ship, but I find the concepts are quite related. I was the Chief Science Officer and my role was to take the data from anything we uncovered and make sense of it. You’d be surprised what sort of things can be found outside of the U.A.P.’s borders. In a lot of ways, it was on me to always be ready just in case we found something dangerous or unexpected. Even if something we found wasn’t, I had to study it to try and find ways it could be beneficial to the wider U.A.P.. CSO was honestly a glorified title for Problem Solver, and what are planetary development logistics if not endless problems to be solved?”

Ashta detected a rather gross simplification of complicated procedures on both sides, but she had to admit there was a sort of enlightened wisdom to it. More importantly, the anecdote sparked a memory within Ashta. The blonde leaned forward unconsciously, briefly forgetting her next prepared question. The Artemis. Now she remembered why she knew that name. 

“And I suppose discovering Microsis was one such unexpected situation?”

A flicker of surprise crossed Kira’s eyes before she offered a resigned smile. “I see you’ve done your research.” She said. There was no deeper meaning behind the statement, and yet, Ashta could almost see an unspoken thought lingering above the alien’s head. Of course the shrinking woman would know about the vessel that discovered her ailment. It brought an irrational annoyance to her through no fault of Kira’s own. “It’s true.” The woman continued. “I was one of the ones on the front lines when our crewmate got the first documented case of Microsis. It was on me and the ship physicians to study the disease and create a treatment for it. Not to mention to make sure the rest of the crew weren’t infected.”

Ashta nodded, trying in vain not to look too interested. “I can only imagine how difficult that was.”

“It was certainly scary.” Kira admitted. She ran her lithe fingers through her hair and tucked a few rebellious strands back into place. “It took a couple weeks before we realized what was happening to her, and then it became a question of what was causing it. Were we all infected? What could we do to treat it? We were very lucky, looking back. The decompression chamber managed to sterilize anyone who visited the planet before they came back aboard.”

“It just couldn’t get rid of what was already inside someone’s body.”

“Exactly.” Kira nodded. “Of course, it was only much later I learned Morphiss were naturally immune. A lucky break for me.”

Sounds nice.

Ignorant of Ashta’s snide thoughts, Kira proceeded. “That’s actually a good example of what I was talking about though. All of a sudden we were faced with a problem we weren’t ready for and couldn’t hope to understand, and it fell on my and the physicians’ shoulders to get us through it. And you know what? We did it. We found a treatment and got it back to the U.A.P.. A bit too late for Veira, sadly, but enough to save others who could get infected.” 

Something in that spin irked Ashta. It just seemed rather annoying for someone to brag about a cure they invented to someone currently unable to use it. Although she had to admit, Kira’s ability to spin her infinite experience into something relevant was impressive. It lent her an air of credibility that could not be denied. Personal gripes aside, the blonde found herself gripped by the scene being painted. An isolated crew exploring the unknown reaches of space. One of their own dwindling away and a team of a mere few scientists desperately searching for a way to save her. She couldn’t begin to imagine what that was like. Both for the crew and this poor Veira woman. 

“That’s rather noble of you. Most would’ve given up.”

“I never give up when it comes to my job.”

It proved to be a surprisingly sharp rebuke. In an instant Kira’s features tensed and her relaxed gaze grew narrow and stern. As though the very implication was akin to an insult for her. Ashta found her heart skip a beat; and was suddenly all too aware that this pleasant woman currently loomed over her. She was only getting bigger by the moment too. 

Catching herself, Kira’s smile quickly returned. It did little to put Ashta at ease. “Like I said Ashta, I’m a problem solver. One thing I pride myself on is my work and doing a good job. After all, if you don’t give something your best then you won’t learn anything from it.” The woman exhaled and crossed her legs, hands coming to rest over her knee. “I don’t believe in giving up on anything or anyone. Just in doing my role to the best of my abilities.”

Had anyone else said that, they would’ve sounded as though they were reading from a script and trying to impress their interviewer. With Kira, however, the words were spoken from the heart. There was a quiet, controlled passion behind her cadence. A zeal in line with her alien upbringing and her own personal quirks. Amidst those words was something else, something now lit within Ashta. Hope. 

For a fleeting instant, Kira seemed like a woman she could count on.

“Of course…” Kira proceeded, seeming to take the silence as a misstep on her part. “It’s not like it was perfect. We couldn’t save Veira in the end, and Microsis did eventually find its way to the U.A.P.. I also can’t take full credit for anything. The ship physicians were better suited to the treatment process than I was; and I couldn’t have done anything without the Captain and Tina’s help.”

Ashta blinked, her passing thought gone. “Tina? As in the A.I. Personality? Small galaxy. We have one here in the Department too.”

Kira now shared her surprise. “Oh? That’s reassuring. I always liked her. Our Tina, that is.”

That served as the catalyst to finally move on from the topic of the Artemis. Ashta had a whole list of other questions to run through and Kira, in characteristic fashion, had impeccable counters for all of them. She truly was a pleasant woman. Ashta detected perhaps a smidge of pride-turned-ego, but that was a minor grievance amidst a long list of positives. The whole affair went splendidly, with many questions turning into minor conversations. Before Ashta had realized it, their hour was up and both women were back on their feet and shaking hands.

“Thank you for your time.”

“Thank you for having me”

Thus, Kira had left her and she had to prepare for the next interview. As well as the several after that. The Morphiss had set the bar rather high, however, and despite the best efforts of those who followed all seemingly failed to measure up. At day’s end, at least one of the names Ashta would put forward was obvious. It was only much later, with the benefit of hindsight, that she realized how meaningful that interview truly was.

For it was on that day that she had met her replacement. The woman who would control her fate.