text: It had been a long day at work. Not literally, of course, every day on DS 42-c was exactly the same length, perfectly optimized to the circadian rhythm of an Earth born human, much to the chagrin of nonhumans and those hailing from the colonies. Even the days on board dripped with artificiality, a product of bureaucratic choices made by rich investors who cared only about their returns, and had never even been this far out in the galaxy. The day may not have been literally longer than any other, but it certainly felt that way, as days often do when you spend all of it on one tedious task. Ever since the budget cuts became official 6 months ago and the maintenance crew got downsized again, more days felt this way. More frequently, the entire staff would spend a whole day trying to fix one system on the brink of going critical, only to let other systems fall into the same state of disrepair. And even when we did manage to keep a system from failing completely, it was only a temporary fix. Nothing ever stayed working for long. This had been the general trend over the past few years. This was life aboard a private station, though, and in this economy, I was lucky to still have a job. This specific day had opened with a rather terrifying crisis. A leak in the oxygen recycler had grown, and was now threatening to cause a critical decompression in the entire station. The entire maintenance staff convened, even the already exhausted night shift, and our regular 8 hour shift became a nightmarish 15 hours. With the oxygen system stabilized, and our bodies exhausted and mangled by the day’s work, the crew dispersed, turning in for what was left of the night. I, however, had a tradition of going to the cantina on deck 22 after every shift, a tradition I planned on continuing after such a long shift. Deck 22 was rarely visited by the permanent residents of DS 42-c. It was for travelers, mostly, passing through. In accordance with Galactic law, all deep space stations had to have facilities for ships to refuel and crews to disembark and rest. Deck 22 was our station’s vagrant deck, and besides dormitories for crew of ships passing through and docks for ships to refuel, the cantina was the only thing of note. DS 42-c was the farthest space station in the Galaxy from the Core Worlds. No settlement in the charted Milky Way existed farther from the center of the galaxy, and as such, no station had fewer visitors. The cantina was nothing special, as far as the facilities the station had to offer. It was a dimly lit room with quiet jazz playing from a set of speakers. There was a bar against one wall, booths against the other, and on the wall farthest from the door was a window that filled all the available space. Depending on the position of the station, you could either see the entire galaxy or an inky abyss out of the window. Either way was profitable; if your clientele is having an existential crisis, they’re more likely to drink. Around the floor of the cantina was a smattering of tables for the patrons foolish enough to order food. There weren’t many guests normally, and tonight was no exception. A group of 3 Transadorians sat in one of the booths, muttering quietly amongst themselves. One of them had their horns removed, the mark of a murderer, another was missing one of their 6 eyes, and the third wore a flight suit. All 3 went silent and stared as I entered, only to silently resume their conversation when they saw I wasn’t there for them. A Hooloovoo was at the edge of the bar, still partially refracted from what looked like a special event. They moved their prism in and out of a Faraday Cage, causing their physical form to become distorted and weakened. Sitting at a table in the middle of the room were 2 members of the Cartography Guild. This far out in the galaxy, most of the strangers came from the Guild, though they never stayed long. I made my way to the bar and was greeted by Amanda, a human from the colonies above Venus. Before I could even ask for a drink, she procured exactly what I wanted, a Venusian Margarita, her specialty, and anxiously gestured to a table by the window. Either by my own choice or theirs, I hadn’t noticed before, but sitting alone at the table was a cloaked figure who stared out the window, which was perfectly positioned to see both the heart of the galaxy and the void that lay beyond its farthest edges. They looked tall, but the way they sat was hunched over, like they were trying to squeeze themselves into their chair, which made it hard to tell for certain. I made my way over to meet them, and their leg pushed out a chair on the opposite side of the table from them. Their gaze didn’t break from the window. I sat down and took a long sip from my glass. “Thanks for the drink,” I said. “Exactly what I wanted to get, you must have great taste.” The cloaked figure didn’t give any indication I had been heard. I cleared my throat and spoke up this time. “*Thanks for the-*” “No need to yell, I heard you the first time,” interrupted the figure, with the sweetest voice I had ever heard. Each word sounded like a song, harmonic beauty that resonated with the deepest part of my soul. “The Trasadorians in the booth likely won’t take so kindly to distractions at the moment. One of them is a convicted killer, after all. On the run and is understandably a bit jumpy.” I took a long sip from my drink before speaking again, softer this time. “You seem to know a lot about the people here. The Transadorians motives and my preferred imbibement.” “I know a lot about a lot of things. You will learn to quiet your mind and hear the music, too,” they said. “And you’re welcome for the drink.” They still wouldn’t turn to face me, opting to look out the window. “You know,” I said between sips, “it’s customarily polite to look at a person when you talk to them.” “Maybe among your people, but I’m not ready yet,” the figure said. I shrugged. “So, what brings you out this far? Not many folks come out to the edge of the galaxy for pleasure. Except the poets, but they’re weird anyway.” They were quiet for a moment. Then their shoulders moved slightly, like they were bracing for something, and they turned to face me. “I’m here for you,” they finally said. “Drink, it’s a muscle relaxant. It’ll help when we leave this station later.” “Wait,” I began. “Do you think I’m going with you? I don’t even know who you are. I don’t even know *what* you are, the people on this station need me. Why me, anyway? And why do I need to drink? I’ve been in Jump Space before and I was fine. And why the cloak? You look like a character from one of those old fantasy books. I have many questions, sorry.” After a moment of silence, they nodded, stood up, and walked to the coat rack by the door. There, they took off their cloak and hung it, revealing who was underneath. Now that they stood up properly, I could tell that they were about 3 meters, like I had assumed. Their skin was a pale purple, and completely hairless. Little was left to the imagination because they only wore a pair of pants, threadbare and too short for their long legs. Their figure was vaguely humanoid, save the long proportions. Their arms swung past their knees, and one hand had been replaced entirely by a prosthetic, with several computer inputs surrounding their wrist. Their chest was a mess of mechanics, and their spine had clearly been replaced, with mechanical joints connecting to pieces of exoskeleton, extending from their back, to their shoulders, to their elbows. Their face is what struck me most, however. It was human, or rather once was, by the look of it, but everything was wrong. Their mouth much wider than it should have been, and with some respirator attachment on their nose, with tubes running down into their back. Their eyes were massive for their head, and were black pits, seemingly without soul. They returned to the table and sat down; I stood up immediately and walked to the door. “I’m not going to force you to do anything,” they said, and I stopped. “I know what you think of us, but you’re wrong. Come sit and listen, and if you don’t like what you hear, you can leave.” I turned back to meet their eyes. There was nothing there, just a reflection of myself. But for some reason, I sat back down. Before they could say a word, I threw back the rest of my drink. They looked at the bartender, raised a hand, and I was brought another Venusian Margarita. “Thanks,” I muttered, staring at the table. “You’re welcome,” they said. “Now look at me.” I did. “What am I?” It took me a moment to respond, but after gathering the courage to say it, I replied “a Custodian.” The Custodian nodded. “What do you know of our people?” I took my first sip from my new drink. “Every species in the galaxy that we’ve found knows about you. You came to every world right before they made it to the stars.” “And?” “... And there are stories. Stories of people visited by Custodians who vanish. No note, they take nothing with them, they just vanish. And for some reason nobody does anything about it.” The Custodian sat for a moment, their eyes boring into the top of my head. “Normally,” they began, “it’s polite to make eye contact.” I looked up to meet their gaze and shuddered. They tried to smile sweetly to comfort me, but their altered face only made it more uncanny. I shuddered and they stopped smiling, to my relief. “I suppose first I should apologize. We have a rather negative reputation, though not entirely unearned. The stories you have heard are true, though only one side of the story. Before I can properly explain what, or rather who, we are, you should understand how the universe will die. Spoilers, by the way. “When this universe grows old, all that will be left will be black holes. Many supermassive black holes, drifting off into infinity, forever. What matter isn’t in those black holes will break down, the strong force holding the atoms together decaying. It is a tragedy, but that is how all universes must die. It happened to the universe before ours, and it will happen to the next in line, and the universe after that. Reasonably, you will ask yourself how there could be a universe after ours if that is our fate, or how we could exist if this were the fate of the universe before us. And that is where the Custodians come in. The universe is very messy, so when she’s done playing out this game, we clean up after her so a new one may begin. We collect everything together and effectively start up another big bang. “Every sentient being in the universe has the ability to make choices. But there are some whose lives have been carefully curated. They can make choices, but the circumstances under which those choices are made are decided. We think this is designed by the Custodians that came before, but there is no way of knowing for certain. All we know is that these individuals are made to become Custodians. We assume we were designed by the previous Custodians because we have laid the groundwork for the next generation in the next universe. As I’m sure you’ve guessed, you are one of these individuals. I’ve come to bring you with me to become a Custodian, the same choice I made so long ago.” While they spoke, I drank. You would, too, if presented with all of this information. Every developed species in the galaxy, potentially the universe, knew about the Custodians, but most had never met or even seen one. And here I was, having a casual chat with one about the heat death of the universe. After the Custodian finished, they gave me a moment to consider all they had said. I finally was able to speak after a time, though I’m not sure how long. It could have been 30 seconds or 3 hours. “Why would I want this,” I asked. “Why should I go with you?” “Earlier, I mentioned hearing the universe. Spacetime... She has a song. But not a song as you know it, with measures and sheet music, Passionately improvisational, all happening at once. Every note has happened, is happening, and will happen, all at once. Custodians can hear this song. We have to, the entire universe, all at once. It’s a lot at first, but learn to understand it... there’s nothing more beautiful, nothing that even remotely compares. Being a Custodian is a thankless job, only appreciated by the other Custodians, past, present, and future. But it is the greatest role in the universe, and among the most important.” “Does it hurt? Becoming like you?” “The transition isn’t easy, but when it’s done, it’s done.” “And I can say no? I can stay?” They nodded. “I cannot make you come. I cannot make you do anything. But you will choose to come. Nobody has ever chosen to stay.” “What if I do? Stay, I mean. You said you can hear the entire universe at once, can you hear..?” “You can choose to stay,” they began, “but you will live the next 32 years, 3 months, and 16 days, after which you will pass away quietly, in your sleep. That whole time will be on this station. In 6 years, you will become the lead of the maintenance staff, a position you will try to use to push for better conditions and pay for those beneath you. There will be marginal successes, but in the end, you will be another tool for those who own this base to keep your team in line. Nothing will change except you. You will die alone and unloved. No family, no friends, nothing to show for your life but a temporary position of power that meant nothing.” I only had one question left, the question burning at the back of my mind since the Custodian suggested I go with them. “Will I be happy? If I go with you, I mean. Do you even know that sort of thing? Do you know Custodian me? You can time travel, right? I mean, I’m not happy now, and it sounds like the most I can hope for in staying is to become complacent, so what’s out there for me?” The Custodian looked out the window again for a moment, and then turned back to meet my gaze. “Custodians don’t have many traditions. We’re a conglomerate, a melting pot of a million million different people from a million million worlds. Most of the traditions from our past lives were forgotten, we are all Custodians and nothing more. But there is one custom, unique to the Custodians.” They got out of their chair, kneeling to meet my gaze and placing a hand on my shoulder. “It is the privilege of the Custodians, in the moments before the beginning of the next universe, to travel back and invite ourselves to become Custodians. It is the true reward for our sacrifice. “I could detail every moment of what comes next for you if you leave with me. I could give every secret between the two of us you have ahead of you, but there is no fun in that. What I can tell you if that, in choosing to come with me, you will be happier and more fulfilled than you could ever hope to be here.” They stood up and walked to the door, grabbing their cloak and putting it on before they walked out. “You have an hour,” they said from the doorway. “Deck 22, dock 67. I’ll let you finish your drink, the time jump is hell if you’re sober *and* mortal.