Out of darkness the ship flew, completing another orbit of B-115. The planets atmosphere glowed in yellow-green hues from the chlorine evaporating from its surface. Finley flinched as the sun’s blinding rays fell on their resting face. “All right! All right, I’m awake!” Finley exclaimed, fingers fumbling at the buckles. Their eyelid winced in the light as they slid the shade over the window and slipped out of their sleeping bag. They floated over to the ship’s filtration system and pulled the lever on the spout labeled “edible.” Algae colored sludge poured into their bowl. “Ah, another beautiful morning in Scarlet Aurora, isn’t it Skyler? I mean look at that glow.” They grabbed another bowl–much smaller than they poured themself–from a net labeled “clean” that was anchored to the wall. “This planet sure does have the most delicious bacteria, don’t you think Sky? I wonder why that is.” On their way to Skyler’s tank they passed by their little garden which lined the window. Chives sprouted from a glass bulb filled with dirt, grown purely for the beauty of their purple blossoms. A shrub hovered to its left, fruiting berries of Deadly Nightshade. They plucked a handful to top the slurry of bacteria that sloshed in their bowl. They slid the smaller bowl into Skylers feeding well, and scanned the tank in anticipation, but it was empty. In a panic, Finely’s eye searched the enclosure a few times more before noticing the lid was ajar. Finley raced about the cabin, calling his name. “Skyler? Where’d you go bud?” They searched the kitchen high and low, the flight deck, the sleeping bag, the waste module: he was nowhere to be found. When they couldn’t think of anywhere else to look, they passed over everything once again, more thoroughly this time, tossing things left and right to search behind and below. It was after their third pass through the cabin that it occurred to them to check the filtration system. His slender body was no doubt small enough to fit through the metal vents. Finley rushed to the utility closet, and swung open the door. A collection of tubes ran from vents around the cabin, the waste module, and a few from the ship’s external intakes. They all fed into a central collection tank before being filtered into minerals, edible bacteria, and waste. Thankfully before filtration, the collection tank was fairly transparent: consisting mostly of vapor from the planet’s upper atmosphere. A few chunks floated in the liquid, but none in the shape of a worm. While scanning the debris, they thought to check the filters. “There’s no way he could have made it through the fine mesh, but maybe he’s caught up against it.” Finley switched the shut-off valve and removed the filters one by one, but found nothing except a reminder of maintenance they’d neglected. He slumped into the captain chair, gazing across the burning sky. The planets were glimmering polka-dots upon a cloak of velvet. The supply outpost had opened its gates, and was already bustling with patrons. They had been following more or less the same orbit for several months now, remaining within gliding distance of their ship. Then it occurred to them: if the latch to his tank was undone at the time, Skyler could have accidentally floated out on Finley’s supply run the previous night. They thought about how scared and lost he must be. A worm of his species was adapted to the harsh conditions of space, but other than bringing mild comfort that he was most likely alive, it didn’t do much to lessen Finley’s concern. Within a minute they were suited up, propulsion pack and all. The airlock hissed as gases were expelled into the boundless void. They swung out the solar sails, gave the thrusters a gentle tap, and glided towards the outpost. Finley approached Shae’s booth. An assortment of characters lined the counter, huddled in groups with drinks in hand, and laughter that roared above the hubbub of the surrounding markets. Shae was also a Jarlin-the only one Finley knew in the area: a miner with a passion for sculpting. “Hey there Shae. Busy morning I see–” “Yeah you know, it’s about that time of year again. We’re at the furthest point in our orbit and everyone is getting out to enjoy the nice–” “Have you seen Skyler around? His tank was unlatched this morning, and he was nowhere inside the ship.” Before Shae could respond, a horned beast covered in iridescent feathers turned away from their group to interject. “That’s why I always keep mine on a leash. Keep those suckers from squirming away.” A slender figure with tentacles growing from his face joined in. “That’s kind of cruel, don’t you think? How would you like to be tethered to the wall all day?” “Well it’s not like it could go anywhere else anyway. The leash is long enough for it to reach every corner of its cage.” The beast declared. “Mobility has nothing to do with it! It’s about the feeling of being tied down, having something dragging along with you, attached to your neck. “Like during solar storms. You know, when you have the windows shut, and you’re buckled tightly in your sleeping bag with nothing to do but wait it out in fear? Except imagine your whole life was like that, and you didn’t have the solar flares to distract you from your thoughts, or the fear to remind you that you’re still alive.” They continued back and forth, with more patrons joining passionately into the discussion. Finley’s stomach churned as he imagined Skyler feeling that way. “Why do you even need to own another species anyway? Just because they can’t communicate audibly doesn’t mean they should lose their right to autonomy.” Despite being intimidated by the intensity of their claims, Finley interjected. “Skyler and I are buddies though! We enjoy each other’s company, and I feed him well. He helps me and I help him: it’s a mutually beneficial symbiosis.” That seemed only to feed the impassioned banter. “Who are you to say homopods wouldn’t be better off fending for themselves?” “It’s been scientifically proven that they live half as long in the wild!” Another voice blurted out. “Sure, but duration is hardly the only measurement for quality of life, or the most significant.” “I heard someone say they wanted to own a Gluaton! I mean, the audacity! I used to work with one on an old shipping rig; their durable claws and clever minds were indispensable. I can’t imagine confining them to a cage, and away from their families no less!” “Yeah!” another cried. “And did you hear they’re running tests on Dinophids now? Pour little creatures, being treated as disposal, and for what? Our scientific benefit?” “Yes, that’s exactly what it’s for, our benefit! And what a wonderful benefit it is. We’re on the verge of understanding their robust immune systems and lack of physical aging. That makes their lives worth it, does it not?” “Not if leads to the extinction of their species!” A potent voice from a large shadowy figure bellowed from deep in the crowd. “Is the purpose of life not to be forever in the pursuit of meaning? And does the acquisition of meaning not require autonomy? At least so much as to react to the things you cannot control. A life deprived of control is a life void of meaning, and hardly one worth living. “I say leave your worm to its own devices, wherever it may be now, and return to your own life. Even if he finds himself starved within the week, at least you will have given him a chance to finally live. He will have at least taken a step towards the pursuit of meaning, and his life won’t have been for not.” A stubby figure with wart covered skin who had previously been quiet, now spoke up in anger. “Hey man, watch it! You’re just assuming they’re still adapted to their natural environment! It’s been decades since they were first taken into captivity. There’s no way they still know how to survive without us.” “Even if that were true, how do you suppose we’d address it? Continue enslaving them for our entertainment indefinitely? Or give them a fighting chance to define their own life?” “Yeah? Is that what you think throwing them out into space would do? Giving them a fighting chance? What about giving them a chance to learn how to live on their own again?” “Four decades is but a flash in evolutionary terms. It’s wholly irrational to assume they have lost their instincts in such an immaterial amount of time.” Finley’s head was spinning. They were already disoriented from the frantic search for Skyler, but now their mind rattled with these questions they were trying to answer for themself. A delicate voice approached Finley from behind, placing a gentle paw on their shoulder. “Hey, sorry about your homopod. A friend of mine lost hers a while ago, and ended up finding him on the outside of her ship. But I assume you’ve already looked–” “No, I haven’t!” They exclaimed with a newfound sliver of hope. Finley whipped around and propelled themself back to the ship, assisted by the thrusters when a safe distance from the crowd, who continued arguing passionately about the intricacies of forced inter-species dependence. After an hour of searching the ship’s exterior, they still couldn’t find Skyler. They were scooting along the front of the ship, holding themselves tight against the hull, when their fingers got caught in an intake vent. They wiggled and squirmed, trying to release their hand. Wrapping their free hand around their wrist, and with their feet pushed against the ship, they yanked at their suit as hard as they could. Bolts snapped and flew as the vent tore off the hull. They quickly grabbed at them as they floated away, but began feeling dizzy and out of breath. Their suit had a hole where their finger had been pinched. They searched their suit, pack and pockets trying to find something to hold the leak. Then they noticed–in their peripheral–a shadow floating from the intake tube. It was Skyler, looking surprised and a bit confused. He wrapped himself around Finley’s finger, so tight that they yelped in pain while continuing to lose consciousness. When they came to, they found their finger on the thrust–Skyler still tightly around their throbbing blue fingertip–gliding slowly towards the airlock. As they approached, Skyler secreted a paste that quickly solidified around Finley’s exposed finger, then uncoiled himself and pressed the button to open the hatch. Finley had fully regained consciousness now, and glanced at their finger in awe. They entered the airlock and turned to Skyler with a warm smile. Finley gestured inquiringly towards the ship, and after a pause, hesitantly towards the open sky. Skyler bowed his head unassumingly, still floating just outside the hatch. Finley watched for a time, with gratitude for their cherished friend, before shutting the airlock and retiring to their ship.