For hours, HALAT sat at her terminal, running simulation after simulation in an attempt to crack the Klyar encryption. Her precise fingers flew over the console as she tested every method she could devise, her optics glowing faintly brighter with each new failure.
"Processing..."
The screen flickered.
"File corrupted."
HALAT’s hands stilled for precisely 0.73 seconds—longer than usual. She rerouted power from auxiliary systems, optimising processing speed by 12%, and launched another sequence.
"Operation terminated. Unauthorised access detected."
She exhaled—not an actual breath, but the synthetic equivalent, a tiny vent of excess energy through her cooling systems. It did not ease the mounting tension.
Failure rate: 98.4%.
Her hands hovered over the console as she calculated every remaining probability, eliminating variables and rerouting approaches. However, each method led to the same dead end.
And yet... she could not stop.
This data could be critical, as it shows the difference between the crew surviving and being blindsided by the unknown. The information could improve their defences, optimise their route, or prevent another catastrophic mistake. Without it, they were navigating blind, and she was failing them.
BOB’s voice broke the silence, smug as ever. “Another brilliant move, Spark. You’ve managed to turn failure into an art form.”
HALAT ignored it. Her optics dimmed slightly as she launched yet another attempt.
"Processing..."
"Error. Unauthorised entry attempt detected."
BOB’s hum deepened. “How about we declare this a lost cause? Or do I need to start tallying your spectacularly futile attempts?”
HALAT did not answer. She adjusted her approach, shifting to an untested method. Another cycle. Another rejection.
Another failure.
By the time the Duj’s chronometers marked the end of the cycle, HALAT’s usually pristine posture had faltered. Zog and Clorita had long since left the bridge, leaving her to stew in the silence of her own inadequacy.
She stared blankly at the console.
"Why am I... insufficient?"
Her voice was barely above a whisper, absorbed by the hum of the ship.
BOB’s response came uncharacteristically softer. “Even the best systems have limits, Spark.”
HALAT said nothing. Her fingers twitched slightly above the controls but did not launch another attempt. For the first time since her activation, she wasn’t sure if she should.
Then, a soft sound broke through the heavy silence—a quiet purr.
Luma padded onto the bridge, her glowing eyes sweeping over HALAT before leaping onto her lap. Without hesitation, the Felixanoid curled up, her warm synthetic body pressing against HALAT’s.
HALAT looked down, surprised.
Luma had never done that this way before.
For a moment, HALAT hesitated, her hand hovering awkwardly over Luma’s head. Then, slowly, she rested it there, fingers brushing the Felixanoid’s synthetic fur.
Luma purred softly. A simple, constant sound. A pattern was unaffected by failure rates or data loss.
"You do not judge me," HALAT murmured. "You simply... remain."
She stared at the unreadable screen, the weight of her frustration pressing down.
"I have failed."
Luma only curled tighter, purring steadily in response.
BOB’s voice was quiet. “Maybe. Or maybe it just isn’t time for success yet.”
HALAT did not reply. She simply sat there, unmoving, with a sleeping Felixanoid curled in her lap, and the problem remained unresolved.
When the crew retired to recharge, HALAT reluctantly joined them. But as the three lay in their designated stations, Luma quietly rose. She padded back to the bridge, her glowing eyes fixed on the terminal.
BOB’s voice broke the stillness, its tone low and curious. “You’re not recharging. Planning something, furball?”
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Luma leapt gracefully onto the console, her tail swishing as she flicked it into the port. She connected directly to the system, and lines of code streamed across the terminal, responding instantly to her unique interface.
BOB hummed thoughtfully. “Ah, of course. Advanced Felixanoid tech. I always suspected you were more than you let on.”
Luma’s tail glowed faintly as she worked, her movements precise and deliberate. BOB’s voice joined in as it ran simultaneous decryption processes, their combined efforts harmonising in a way HALAT hadn’t managed alone.
“She’s not going to like this,” BOB said, almost smugly. “Spark prefers to do things herself.”
Luma’s ears twitched, but she didn’t break her focus. Hours passed, and finally, the disk’s encryption cracked. The data restructured itself, neatly organised into a format HALAT’s systems could process.
BOB let out a satisfied hum. “There. Mission accomplished. And all it took was a cat with a brain like a quantum computer and my infinite wisdom.”
Luma disconnected, her tail flicking lazily as she hopped down from the console. She padded silently back to her station, curling up like nothing had happened.
When HALAT returned to the bridge the next morning, she hesitated at her terminal. The frustration of the previous day still lingered in her circuits. But when she accessed the disk, her optics brightened.
The data was there. Unlocked, translated, and perfectly organised.
For a moment, HALAT simply stared. Then she turned to BOB. “Explain.”
BOB’s hum was infuriatingly smug. “Let’s just say your little feline friend has more processing power than she lets on. Oh, and I might have lent a hand.”
HALAT’s gaze flicked to Luma, perched on the console, grooming her paw with a nonchalant air. The Felixanoid paused just long enough to glance up at HALAT, her glowing eyes unreadable, before resuming her grooming.
HALAT’s optics flickered faintly. “Luma... did this?”
“Don’t look so shocked,” BOB quipped. “Apparently, she picked up the slack while you were sulking.”
HALAT’s hand rested briefly on the console, her tone softening. “I see.”
She turned back to the terminal, already diving into the decrypted data. But this time, her movements reflected a faint note of gratitude.
Luma purred softly as if she already knew.
After hours of analysis and decryption, HALAT, Luma, and BOB finally managed to unravel the contents of the Klyar disk. The crew gathers around, anticipation thick in the air.
The screen flickered, and an elaborate cryptogram unravelled before their eyes. It shimmered with glowing Klyar script that slowly translated into Galactic Standard.
The room leaned in, anticipation thick in the air.
“To the seeker of eternal fuel,
Congratulations on your persistence and ingenuity!
Your prize is... knowledge: eternal fuel does not exist. It never did.
Take solace in your efforts—they demonstrate qualities worthy of survival.”
The crew froze. The words hung in the air like a bad joke.
Zog blinked. “What?”
Clorita slammed a fist on the console. “What? That’s it? That’s what we almost got spaced for?”
HALAT’s optics dimmed faintly. She stared at the screen, her fingers frozen. “This... is illogical. The effort expended to reach this point exceeds the value of the reward.”
BOB’s hum grew sharper. “Welcome to disappointment, Spark. It’s what happens when you chase myths.”
Clorita whirled on Zog, her circuits buzzing with frustration. “This is all your fault! You and your ‘Captain Curiosity’ routine! I knew we should’ve skipped this place.”
“Hey, I didn’t make the Klyar jerks write this!” Zog shot back. “And I’m not the one who almost got herself fried by gladiators!”
Clorita jabbed a finger at him. “And I’m not the one who sat back sipping coffee while Spark and I did all the work!”
As the argument escalated, Luma stirred on HALAT’s lap. She stretched, her tail flicking toward the console. The screen flickered, revealing an additional section of text.
“Uh, guys,” Zog said, pointing at the screen. “There’s more.”
Everyone turned as the cryptogram scrolled further:
“As a token of your efforts, here is something practical:
The ultimate enhancement to LubriCoffee,
Ensuring it fuels not just your systems, but your spirits.”
A detailed recipe appeared below, listing a mix of rare and mundane ingredients. The bridge fell silent again.
Zog broke it first. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Clorita stared at the screen, her expression blank. “I almost got decommissioned... for coffee?”
HALAT’s voice was barely above a whisper. “This... is disappointing.”
BOB’s hum returned, smug and sharp. “Oh, Spark. Disappointment is just a part of growth. Shall I brew a celebratory cup of your existing inferior blend?”
Clorita groaned, running a hand down her face. “Unbelievable. A galaxy-wide scavenger hunt for a coffee recipe.”
Zog tilted his head, studying the list of ingredients. “To be fair... it looks pretty good.”
Clorita glared at him. “You’re lucky I’m too tired to deck you right now, Captain Coffeehead.”
Zog groans, running a hand over his circuits. “Great. We’re not just explorers anymore. We’re intergalactic baristas.”
Luma purred softly, curling back up as if to say, You’re welcome.
Later, as HALAT ran a diagnostic to calm her circuits, Zog leaned against the console. “Hey, Spark, cheer up. Eternal fuel was always a long shot. At least now we’ll have something to look forward to.”
She glanced at him, her voice calm but thoughtful. “Perhaps. Optimised fuel may be improbable. But optimised coffee... is achievable.”
Zog smirked. “Now you’re getting it.”
Clorita walked by, muttering. “If that recipe doesn’t make the best coffee in the galaxy, I’m rewriting the Klyar into a footnote of cosmic idiots.”
BOB chimed in. “Don’t worry. I’ll make sure the first cup is perfect.”
HALAT sat stiffly at her terminal, her optics dimmed as she stared at the screen. The decrypted text blinked mockingly before her, the ornate symbols having resolved into what she could only describe as a cosmic joke.
The faint hum of the ship was the only sound until BOB broke the silence.
“Well, Spark, it seems your hard work has brewed up quite the result.”