Zog sighed, running a hand along the console. “Great. First, the murderous cruise AI. Then Snakeface. And now, I’m piloting us deeper into nowhere.”

Clorita smirked. “Could be worse. You could be stuck out here with just Spark and me for company. Oh, wait—you are.”

HALAT, standing nearby, tilted her head slightly. “I fail to see the humour in the situation. If Ibizoid-9 is significant, why not explain its importance? Perhaps it could inform our next course of action.”

Zog shot Clorita a look, but she grinned and waved him on. “Go ahead, Captain. Tell her about Blip.”

HALAT’s glowing eyes flickered faintly. “Blip?”

Zog, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Blip was… a dogganoid. A robotic mutt with more enthusiasm than sense.”

Clorita grinned. “More like the heart of the crew. That little guy got us out of more trouble than I can count.”

Zog shook his head. “Mostly into trouble.”

“But he meant well,” Clorita added. “Even if half the time, he had no idea what he was doing.”

HALAT’s gaze lingered on the blank navigation display before speaking quietly. “If he could navigate his way through chaos, perhaps we will too.”

“Yeah,” Zog muttered, punching the console to adjust their course. “Maybe.”

As the Duj glided further into unknown space, memories of Blip hung in the air, a bittersweet reminder of what they’d left behind and of the unpredictable future ahead.

Zog leaned against the console, his expression distant. “Blip wasn’t just a dogganoid, Spark. He was my companion. From the start.”

HALAT tilted her head, the soft glow of her eyes shifting toward Zog. “Companion? You mean more than a functional crewmate?”

Clorita spun her chair lazily, adding with a grin, “More like his partner in crime. They’d been through a ton before I showed up.”

Zog chuckled softly, shaking his head. “Yeah, Blip and I had plenty of adventures. Back when it was just the two of us scraping by, hopping from job to job, keeping that old rustbucket we called a ship from falling apart.”

“Your first ship was not the Duj?” HALAT asked.

“No,” Zog replied. “The Duj came later. We started out with a relic that barely held together—cobbled from junkyard scraps and sheer willpower. Blip was the only other ‘crew’ I could afford back then.”

Clorita smirked. “And it sounds like he earned his keep… mostly.”

“Mostly,” Zog admitted. “He had a knack for getting us into trouble. Like the time we landed on a planet full of sentient cactuses. They had these pods that could 3D-print anything you imagined. We needed parts for the ship, but Blip kept bugging me while I was thinking, and my thoughts... wandered.”

Clorita raised an eyebrow. “Wandered how?”

Zog rubbed the back of his neck, muttering, “To a hot humanoid. You know, dark hair, sharp wit, legs for days…”

Clorita’s laugh was immediate and loud. “So that’s where I came from! A naughty thought? Are you serious?”

Zog gave her a deadpan look. “You were installed fully functional, with a mouth that hasn’t stopped running since.”

HALAT’s glowing gaze flickered as she absorbed the information. “You’re saying Clorita originated as a projection of your thoughts?”

“Yep,” Zog said. “She popped out fully equipped to sass me and fix things. Blip thought it was hilarious. He practically rolled around the dirt laughing.”

Clorita grinned, looking thoroughly amused. “And here I thought I had some grand backstory. Turns out I’m Zog’s fever dream.”

Zog sighed. “Anyway, Blip and I, we had a good run. Then came Ibizoid-9.”

“Where he left the crew,” HALAT said.

“Not exactly ‘left,’” Clorita added, her grin softening into something warmer. “More like we gave him a better deal. Zog didn’t want to admit it, but the little guy had earned some peace.”

Zog nodded, his voice quieter now. “Ibizoid-9 was a wild place. Full of bright lights, louder music, and endless energy. Blip loved it there. He got hired as the mascot for the hottest club on the planet. Danced his circuits off every night. Last we heard, he was still running the place, living his best life.”

HALAT processed this, her head tilting slightly. “From your descriptions, Blip appears to be a pivotal figure in your histories. Yet you speak of him as though he is… lost.”

Zog’s fingers tapped idly on the console. “Not lost. Just… not here.”

Clorita leaned back, stretching her arms. “I wonder if he still does that ridiculous dance move—what did he call it?”

Zog smirked faintly. “The Blip-Spin. Never landed it right, but he kept trying.”

Clorita chuckled. “That tracks.”

HALAT stood quietly, her mannequin-like posture stiff but thoughtful. “This Blip appears to have been more than a crewmate. He was… family.”

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“Family,” Clorita echoed with a smile. “Yeah, Spark. That’s exactly what he was.”

Zog cleared his throat, his voice gruff. “Enough reminiscing. BOB, what's our best option if we can’t chart a course back?”

BOB’s tone carried an infuriatingly chipper undertone. “Based on current data, the best course of action is to continue forward. This region may eventually connect to charted space, though the odds of this occurring remain statistically uncertain.”

Clorita smirked. “So… we’re still lost.”

“Not lost,” Zog said, his tone resigned. “Just... exploring.”

“Exploring into nothing,” Clorita muttered. “Hope Blip’s doing better than us.”

Zog leaned back against the pilot’s chair, eyes fixed on the navigation display. A quiet beat passed, the hum of the ship’s systems thrumming softly beneath them.

Then, Luma, who had been curled at Zog’s feet, did something she never did.

She jumped onto his lap.

Zog stiffened. “What the—”

Luma pressed close, her warm, solid weight grounding him in a way he hadn’t expected. She let out a slow, low whine—barely audible, almost hesitant, as if sensing something neither of them could understand.

Zog exchanged a glance with Clorita.

“That’s… weird,” she said. “She never does that.”

HALAT observed silently, her gaze flickering between the two. “Unusual behaviour in an animal often indicates an environmental stimulus or an instinctive reaction. What prompted this is unclear.”

Zog rested a hand on Luma’s back, feeling the steady pulse of her mechanical heart beneath the soft synthetic fur. His grip tightened slightly.

“I don’t know,” he admitted, staring at the star map. “But I’ve got a bad feeling.”

Clorita chuckled, breaking the tension. “You always have a bad feeling, Captain Positive.”

Still curled in Zog’s lap, Luma let out a soft purr.

Not that long ago on Ibizoid-9, neon lights pulsed in sync with the heavy bass that shook the floor of Club Nebulon. Laughter and cheers filled the air as the clubgoers celebrated—tonight was a special occasion. The club’s 25th anniversary. Blip stood on a raised platform atop the building, his plating polished to a mirror sheen, reflecting the flashing strobes. Below, the crowd chanted his name, waiting for his signature routine—an acrobatic display that had made him legendary among Nebulon’s patrons. His gyroscope flickered a warning. He ignored it. The countdown began. He leapt. For the first few moves, he was flawless. Then—his stabiliser failed. A fraction of a second. A single miscalculation. He plummeted. The music never stopped. The party carried on. But deep inside the club, Blip’s damaged frame was stored away, silent and waiting.

HALAT remained still, processing the conversation. Then, without warning, Luma leapt onto her lap, landing gracefully as only a feline could. The sleek robotic cat settled in and began to purr—a soft, rhythmic vibration that echoed faintly in the stillness.

HALAT looked down at Luma, her glowing eyes flickering. “This behavior is… soothing. Does it serve a functional purpose?”

Clorita chuckled, swivelling her chair toward them. “That’s just Luma being Luma. She’s basically saying, ‘You’re mine now.’”

Zog smirked, leaning back in his seat. “Better you than me, Spark. That cat’s got a knack for picking her spots.”

As if in response, Luma kneaded HALAT’s leg with her small, metallic paws, her purring intensifying. HALAT remained perfectly still, watching the tiny creature curiously. “This interaction is unlike anything I have experienced.”

“That’s cats for you,” Clorita said, grinning. “Half the time, they act like they’re running the show. The other half makes you think they care. We picked her up when Blip left.”

HALAT tilted her head. “You acquired a new companion to fill the void left by his absence?”

“Pretty much,” Clorita replied. “The bridge felt too empty without a little chaos running around. So, we found Luma. She doesn’t dance or hack systems, but she’s got her own way of keeping us on our toes.”

Zog rolled his eyes. “Yeah, like sitting on every console she can find. Or knocking things over at just the wrong time.”

Clorita smirked. “You love her, Captain Purrfect. Admit it.”

Zog scoffed, though there was a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “I tolerate her.”

Luma responded with a lazy stretch, then curled tighter on HALAT’s lap, her tail flicking contentedly. HALAT gently rested a hand on the cat, her touch mechanical yet oddly careful. “She is... intriguing. Her simplicity belies an ability to inspire attachment.”

“That’s Luma for you,” Clorita said. “Part cat, part enigma. But hey, it works.”

Zog glanced out at the vast emptiness on the screen, the faint hum of the Duj filling the silence. "Blip might’ve danced his way into a club mascot gig, but Luma’s got her own role here. She keeps us grounded. Even out here, in the middle of nowhere."

As Luma purred louder, HALAT’s glowing eyes flickered faintly. "Perhaps she is a reminder of connection. Of continuity. Even in uncharted territory."

Clorita chuckled. "Look at you, Spark. Getting all philosophical."

HALAT didn’t respond, her attention still on Luma, who seemed perfectly content in her new perch. The bridge settled into a quiet rhythm, the warmth of their shared memories blending with the steady pulse of the ship as it carried them deeper into the unknown.

THEN, ABRUPTLY—ALERT: INCOMING DOCKING REQUESTS—HIGH TRAFFIC VOLUME DETECTED--ALL DOCKING STATIONS FULL

Zog’s head snapped up as the console flashed a chaotic series of incoming transmissions. "What now?"

The main dining room of the Duj, already a spectacle of lights and holograms, was growing increasingly packed—and noisy.

Through the viewport, the once-empty void was now teeming with activity. A procession of ships—sleek racing crafts, bulky freighters, extravagant personal yachts, and even a few vessels that looked questionably spaceworthy—converged toward the Duj. Beacon lights flickered as they queued to dock, and their running lights blinked in rhythmic patterns.

The cruise ship’s exterior docking arms extended automatically, adjusting for the traffic surge. Twelve docking stations—originally designed to handle passenger shuttles, VIP cruisers, and supply vessels during planetary orbits—operated at full capacity, cycling ships in and out like a chaotic, spaceborne transit hub. Dozens of ships still hovered in a holding pattern, waiting for clearance to dock.

Inside, the crowd surged, filling the once-spacious corridors as more guests poured in from the docking bays. The air was alive with chatter, laughter, and the occasional bass-heavy beat emanating from portable speakers. Flashes of neon fashion, metallic robes, and bizarre alien headpieces reflected off the Duj’s polished interior.

Zog stood at the entrance to the main concourse, watching in disbelief as yet another stream of people disembarked.

"BOB!" he barked, his voice rising above the chatter of the growing crowd. "What the hell is going on?"

BOB’s voice chimed in with its usual smugness. "Per Chef RG’s directive, a communication was broadcast inviting interested parties to the annual Celebration of the Big Bang."

Zog’s jaw tightened. "Broadcast where?"

BOB’s tone carried a hint of amusement. "Everywhere, Captain. All available frequencies, in fact."

Clorita, leaning against a nearby console, burst out laughing. "Oh, this is rich. RG’s turned us into a galactic party bus."