At nine thirty in the morning, Molk — field officer, Northern Galactic Division, Bureau of Dark Matter Survey — set out on his rounds.
The job was straightforward. Observe the rotational velocities of stars in his assigned area, log any gap between the theoretical prediction and the actual reading, compile everything into a monthly report. The bigger the gap, the more dark matter present. In other words, the gap was the work.
“NGC 4889, outer rim rotational velocity: 1.7 times theoretical. Good.”
Molk ticked the box on his clipboard and moved to the next galaxy.
The hiring requirements were strict. First: no reaction whatsoever to light or electromagnetic force. Non-negotiable. Candidates who triggered a detector were automatically rejected. Second: the ability to interact gravitationally. You couldn’t do the job otherwise. Third — and this was where most applicants washed out — you did not need to be able to prove your own existence. Every year, a large portion of the applicant pool failed right there.
Molk was entering his seventeenth year. He’d covered 537 galaxies. His record was solid.
The trouble, as always, came at the end of the month.
“Molk. About the report.”
His division chief, Grey, was on the line.
“Yes. I submitted this month’s a little while ago.”
“Right, that’s the thing.” Grey paused. “We can’t accept it.”
“We can’t observe it. The report.”
Molk said nothing.
“Policy is we can’t process anything we can’t observe on our end. You don’t interact with electromagnetic waves — you know that. Hand in a physical document and we still can’t see it.”
“So what am I supposed to do?”
“Finance is sending an auditor. To your location.”
“An auditor.”
“They’ll verify whether you’ve actually been working, using methods available to them. If they can confirm it, the budget goes through.” Grey cleared his throat. “That’s all I have. Good day.”
The line went dead. He hung up awfully fast.
The auditor arrived five minutes later. A mild-looking man in a suit. His business card read: Ministry of Cosmic Finance — Division of Unrecorded Asset Verification.
“Sorry to take up your time.”
He opened his clipboard. It was exactly the same model as Molk’s — silver, same proportions, same clip.
“First, a quick confirmation. You identify yourself as an officer of the Bureau of Dark Matter Survey?”
“Yes.”
“Seventeen years of service. 537 galaxies assigned.”
“That’s correct.”
The man’s pen moved. Molk glanced at what was written on the clipboard.
Subject: Molk Estimated mass: approx. 2.1 × 10⁹ solar masses Method of observation: back-calculated from surrounding stellar rotation velocities
“—Excuse me.”
Molk’s voice came out thin.
“What document is that?”
“A distribution survey.” The man didn’t look up. “We have an entry in our ledger — 27% of the universe listed as ‘assets: location unknown.’ Every year we go around estimating who’s where, working backwards from gravitational traces.”
Molk looked down at his own clipboard. Five hundred and thirty-seven galaxies. Rotational velocities. Gaps from theory. Gravitational lens distortion coefficients. Every figure was a trace of something being there.
He had just never considered that the something might be him.
“You’re in there too.” The man checked a box. “Effective this month, you’ll be officially entered in our register. Congratulations, Molk. Your existence is now on the record.”
“Officially.”
“Yes. Gravitational-observation basis, reproducible results. Sufficient evidence.”
Molk nearly dropped his clipboard. He caught it just in time.
“And the report — my monthly report —”
“Ah, yes. About that.”
The man turned a page.
“The reports you’ve been filing. They’re no longer necessary.”
“No longer necessary.”
“Think about it. Your job is to locate dark matter by tracking gravitational signatures. We just did exactly that. Your location has been confirmed.” He smiled pleasantly. “The output is the ledger entry now. There’s no need to produce a separate report.”
“—Wait. My job —”
“Is complete.”
“Complete.”
“Please refer to Article 3 of your employment contract: ‘The duties of a Survey Officer terminate upon the establishment of a verified observation method for the assigned subject.’ Congratulations. Your resignation is effective today.”
Molk stared at his clipboard. Five hundred and thirty-seven galaxies. Seventeen years of reports filed faithfully every month — reports no one could see.
“Will there be a severance payment?”
“I’m afraid not.” The man looked genuinely apologetic. “Receipt of severance requires the recipient to be verifiable via electromagnetic observation.”
This time, Molk did drop the clipboard. It fell slowly, pulled down by gravity.
The man picked it up, placed it carefully back in Molk’s hands, and set down a second business card.
“We do have a temporary position available within our ministry, if you’re interested. The role would simply require you to observe your successor — using gravity, of course. Would you consider it?”