“That’s right,” Clorita growled, opening one of his panels. “You’ll spend the rest of your existence vacuuming dirt and apologising to furniture.”
“Wait, wait, wait!” Blip yelped, squirming as she rummaged through his circuits. “You don’t mean that. You’re joking, right? Right?”
Clorita held up a screwdriver, her expression dead serious. “Try me.”
Before Clorita could begin dismantling Blip’s wiring, the door to the charging station slid open. Zog walked in, looking puzzled.
“I forgot to flip the auxiliary coolant switch,” he muttered, glancing at the console. “Without it, the stabiliser might—”
He stopped mid-sentence, staring at the scene in front of him. Clorita stood over a trembling Blip, her tools spread out like surgical instruments, the soldering iron in her hand glowing faintly.
“Uh… what’s happening here?” Zog asked, his voice careful.
Clorita didn’t look up. “Teaching this mutt a lesson.”
Blip barked weakly. “Help me, Captain! She’s gone full… full Clorita!”
Zog sighed, stepping closer. “Clorita, put down the soldering iron.”
“No,” she snapped, tightening her grip. “This traitor needs to understand what happens when you sell out your crewmates.”
Zog folded his arms. “He’s a dogganoid. His circuits are barely more advanced than a toaster’s. Do you think he meant to sell you out?”
Blip perked up slightly. “Yeah! What he said!”
Clorita shot Zog a glare. “It doesn’t matter if he meant to or not. I’ve had enough of his ‘helpful’ ideas.”
Zog reached out, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. “Come on, Clorita. He’s annoying, sure. But he’s also kind of useful. Sometimes.”
Blip wagged his tail nervously. “I can be useful! I can fetch! I can… uh… bark! And I make great emotional support.”
Clorita hesitated, her grip on the soldering iron loosening slightly. She let out a long, exasperated sigh and set the tool down.
“Fine,” she muttered, waving a hand dismissively. “But if that rat pulls something like that again, I will turn it into a vacuum cleaner.”
Zog nodded, patting her shoulder. “Noted. Blip, apologise.”
Blip jumped down from the workbench, wagging his tail. “Sorry, Clorita! I promise no more selling you out. You’re shiny, but not for sharing. Got it.”
Clorita rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible.”
Zog flipped the coolant switch on the console and leaned back with a small smile. “There. Crisis averted. Can we all just take a minute to cool down before something else goes wrong?”
“Something else always goes wrong. LubriCoffee, anyone?” IND-E contributed.
Clorita groaned, running a hand down her face. “I hate this ship.”
Blip barked happily. “I love this ship!”
As the tension faded, the hum of the ship filled the room again, its soft vibrations a small reminder of the chaos that always seemed to follow them.
The cockpit of The Indifference was unusually quiet. Zog leaned back in the captain’s chair, sipping his LubriCoffee and staring at the star map on the console. Blip lay curled up in the corner, his tail wagging faintly in a dreamlike rhythm. Clorita sat at her station, idly flipping through the ship’s frequency scanner, her boredom palpable.
“We need a destination,” Zog said, breaking the silence. “Somewhere calm. Quiet. Safe.”
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Clorita snorted. “Oh sure, because that’s worked out so well for us so far.”
“Just saying,” Zog muttered, spinning a dial on the console. “A planet with no surprises would be nice for once.”
Clorita ignored him, continuing to scan the wavelengths. Static hissed through the speakers, interspersed with faint bursts of alien chatter before a sudden blast of bass shook the cockpit.
“Whoa!” Zog nearly spilt his coffee. “What was that?”
Blip jumped up, barking. “Is the ship exploding?!”
Clorita turned the dial back, her eyes narrowing as she fine-tuned the signal. The cockpit was filled with pulsing house music, the intense beat vibrating through their circuits. A smooth, synthetic voice boomed through the speakers:
“Welcome to Club Meteor, the hottest spot in the galaxy! Spin the latest beats, strut the latest looks, and party till your circuits fry! Only on Ibizoid-7, the asteroid where the night never ends!”
Clorita grinned, leaning back in her chair. “Sounds like a floating nightclub. Fashion, music, parties… right up my alley.”
Blip’s ears perked up. “A party? I love parties! What’s a party?”
Zog frowned. “Wait. Did it just say asteroid? We’re not going to some space rock to—”
Clorita cut him off, gesturing toward the screen. “Look at this place! Shops, clubs, a giant dance floor in zero-G. And a spa. You owe me for that nightmare of a planet we just escaped.”
Zog hesitated, glancing at the star map as a small marker pinged near their position. Sure enough, Ibizoid-7 wasn’t far. “We’re supposed to be upgrading the ship, not wasting time dancing.”
“Fashion’s an upgrade,” Clorita said, her tone firm. “We need a break, Captain Classic. Even you can’t say no to a place like this.”
“Yeah!” Blip barked, spinning in circles. “Let’s go! I want to see the shiny stuff and wag my tail to the beat!”
Zog groaned, sipping his coffee. “Fine. But we’re not staying long.”
Clorita smirked, punching in the coordinates. “Trust me, you’ll thank me for this.”
As the Indifference neared its destination, the asteroid came into view. It was massive—easily the size of a small moon—and glittered with neon lights that pulsed in time with the music. Ships of all shapes and sizes orbited the asteroid, their hulls gleaming with vibrant paint jobs and extravagant decals.
“Is that… a runway?” Zog asked, staring at the long, glowing strip that stretched across the asteroid’s surface.
“It’s not just a runway,” Clorita said, grinning. “It’s a fashion show runway. This place is legit.”
Blip barked excitedly, his eyes glowing brighter. “I bet they have laser bones!”
IND-E could not keep his two cents in his pocket: “Ah, a galactic hub of shallow entertainment and overpriced accessories. Truly the pinnacle of interstellar culture. LubriCoffee, anyone?”
Clorita shot a glance at the console. “For once, IND-E, could you just let us have fun?”
“Oh, by all means. Dance, shop, and waste your dwindling credits. I’ll be here, keeping the ship from imploding,” IND-E replied in a tone of a disgruntled butler.
As the Indifference approached the vibrant asteroid of Ibizoid-7, the ship’s cockpit filled with the pulsing beat of bass-heavy music. Neon lights reflected off the hull, casting shimmering colours across the cabin. The crew watched as alien fashionistas strolled through the streets below, their outfits radiating holographic textures that shifted and gleamed with every step. Vendors shouted from glowing stalls, hawking everything from zero-G boots to shimmering accessories.
A sleek chrome shuttle zipped alongside their ship, its polished hull gleaming like a mirror. A holographic sign blinked above it:
“Elite Valet Service: Your Ship, Our Priority!”
Zog frowned, leaning forward in his chair. “Valet parking? For spaceships? That’s… unsettling.”
“It’s standard for places like this,” Clorita said, already swapping her tool belt for a sleek metallic sash. “They don’t want riff-raff clogging up the premium docks.”
Zog raised an eyebrow, gesturing at the cockpit around them. “We’re not riff-raff.”
Clorita smirked. “Speak for yourself, Captain Confidence.”
Before Zog could protest, the valet shuttle’s pilot—a tall, blue-skinned alien with impeccable posture—appeared on their comms. “Greetings, Indifference. Welcome to Ibizoid-7. Kindly initiate docking transfer, and we will ensure your vessel is parked securely.”
“Docking transfer?” Zog repeated, his circuits buzzing faintly. “How do we know they won’t just fly off with the ship?”
“They’re professionals,” Clorita said, patting him on the shoulder as she headed toward the airlock. “Besides, we’re insured. Probably.”
Blip bounded after her, his tail wagging furiously. “Shiny stuff! I’m going to find all the shiny stuff!”
Zog sighed, reluctantly initiating the transfer. The Indifference powered down, and the sleek valet shuttle latched onto its docking clamps. Within moments, the Indifference was whisked away toward a glowing docking bay in the distance.
The cockpit fell silent except for the faint hum of the asteroid’s neon glow filtering in from outside. Zog leaned back in his chair, finishing the last sip of his LubriCoffee before rising with a groan. “I already regret this.”