As Zog settled into his temporary chair, blissfully unaware of the impending upgrades, Clorita leaned back and folded her arms, her mind already imagining the Duj in its full restored glory. It would be worth every credit for two top-of-the-line captain’s chairs, polished chrome, and heated panels.
And if Zog ever found out how much it really cost?
She’d cross that bridge when they came to it.
With the extensive repairs underway at Anduril Station, the Duj was alive and active. Engineers buzzed around the hull, and the ship hummed with power as systems were tested, polished, and upgraded. However, Zog and Clorita found themselves with an unusual luxury: free time.
“Don’t know why we need to keep poking around,” Zog grumbled, following Clorita through a dimly lit hallway. “The ship’s already big enough to get lost in.”
“Exactly,” Clorita said, shining a small flashlight ahead. “We’ve been so busy patching it up and surviving we haven’t even scratched the surface. What if there’s something useful down here?”
“Or something horrible,” Zog muttered, stepping gingerly over a loose panel. “Like a mutant space rat or... worse.”
Clorita rolled her eyes. “Come on, Captain Curious. Live a little. We’re just checking out the lower deck. It’s probably just storage.”
“That worries me,” Zog replied, gripping his LubriCoffee mug tightly.
The corridor ended at a heavy door labelled STORAGE AND INVENTORY—AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY. Clorita grinned, pulled out her multitool, and pried open the control panel.
“Authorized personnel?” Zog said, raising an eyebrow at the glowing panel. “Yeah, that’s not us.”
Clorita smirked, stepping up to the console. “Relax, Captain Strickler. We are authorised. It’s our ship now.”
The panel flickered, projecting a sophisticated hologram of an eye scanner. A disembodied, elegant voice greeted them. “Welcome. Please provide an iris or facial scan for entry.”
Zog squinted at the display. “Iris scan? We don’t have irises. Or faces that scan properly.”
Clorita sighed, popping open the console’s wiring panel. “Don’t overthink it, Zog. It’s just a glorified ‘no trespassing’ sign.”
The hologram interrupted its voice firm. “Scan not detected. Unauthorised personnel. Step away from the door.”
Zog scoffed, gesturing at the panel. “Step away? Listen, we own this ship. That makes us the most authorised personnel here.”
The voice remained unimpressed. “Authorization invalid. Unauthorised personnel.”
Clorita rolled her eyes as she began to reroute the circuits. “It’s like arguing with a bouncer. ‘Sorry, sir, you’re not on the list.’”
Zog huffed, pacing in front of the door. “We are on the list! We saved this ship from a black hole, fixed it up, and now we’re running it. What part of that screams ‘unauthorised’?”
The hologram responded smoothly. “You must complete registration for biometric access.”
Zog groaned. “Registration? There’s no one left to register us! What are we supposed to do—fill out a form in triplicate and mail it to nowhere?”
Clorita chuckled from her crouched position. “You’re leaning into the metaphor here. ‘Please, sir,’” she mimicked, “‘just let us in. We’re totally VIPs.’”
“Can you just fix it?” Zog snapped, gesturing at the stubborn panel. “Before it locks us out completely.”
The hologram’s voice returned, colder now. “Unauthorized access attempt detected. Intrusion protocols initiating.”
Zog’s circuits buzzed with alarm. “Intrusion protocols? You’re kidding me!”
Clorita worked faster, her fingers flying across the exposed wiring. “Calm down, Captain Catastrophe. I’ve got this.”
The hologram paused, its tone shifting as Clorita’s rewiring took effect. “Manual override... acknowledged. Access granted to maintenance-level personnel.”
“Maintenance level?” Zog said, throwing his hands up. “We’re the captains of this ship, not plumbers!”
Clorita stood, brushing her hands off as the door slid open with a soft hiss. “Hey, Captain Wrench, the door’s open. You coming or what?”
Zog glared at the now-cooperative door as they stepped through. “One day, I’m upgrading this ship. Starting with its attitude.”
Clorita laughed, giving him a playful nudge. “I don’t know. Watching you argue with a glorified door bouncer might be my new favourite hobby.”
The door hissed fully open. It revealed a cavernous room filled with rows upon rows of shelves, crates, and trunks. The dim lighting cast long shadows, and the air smelled faintly of dust and old machinery.
“Lost and found, huh?” Clorita said, stepping inside. “Let’s see what the Celestial Reverie’s passengers left behind.”
Zog reluctantly followed her, peering at the haphazardly stacked items. Some crates were neatly labelled with destination tags, while others appeared to have been dumped without ceremony. Clorita began rummaging through a nearby trunk.
“Look at this!” she called, pulling out a glittering, oversized sunhat adorned with holographic flowers. She plopped it on her head and struck a pose. “What do you think? Too much?”
“Way too much,” Zog muttered, sidestepping a pile of mismatched luggage. “This place is a mess.”
Curiosity gnawed at Clorita as she glanced around the dusty, abandoned room that once served as Reverie’s Lost and Found department. Rows of cubbyholes stretched along the walls, stuffed with forgotten trinkets, luggage tags, and datapads coated in a thick layer of grime. The air smelled faintly of stale metal and time.
“BOB,” Clorita said, leaning on the nearest shelf, “how exactly did this place work? And why does it look like no one’s been here in over a century?”
BOB’s voice hummed through the room with faint disapproval. “The Lost and Found department was once a hub of efficiency and hospitality. Organic crew members managed complex customer interactions while automated drones catalogued, stored, and retrieved items. However, when the Reverie was evacuated 127 years ago, all operations ceased.”
Clorita raised an eyebrow. “And no one bothered to come back for... this?” She gestured at a dusty pile of unclaimed items.
“Unsurprising,” BOB replied. “The evacuation was chaotic, to put it mildly. Priorities shifted. Most organic staff were reassigned to escape pods. The drones, however, were rendered inactive when Celeste sabotaged central systems.”
Clorita frowned, picking up a cracked datapad. “So, you’re saying all this junk has been sitting here since before Zog and I were... well, created?”
“Precisely,” BOB confirmed. “A timeless testament to the transient nature of ownership. People abandon what they once held dear when faced with survival.”
Clorita rolled her eyes. “Great. Now it’s just a dusty dump.”
She turned toward the terminal embedded in the wall, brushing off years of grime with her sleeve. “What about the drones? If they’re still here, can we reactivate them to clean this place up? It’s not like you’re short on processing power.”
BOB’s hum grew sharper, a touch defensive. “Reactivating the drones may be... unwise. They were programmed to operate under Celeste’s directives. Without significant reprogramming, their protocols could conflict with current system stability.”
Clorita smirked, crossing her arms. “So, you’re saying you’re afraid of a few dusty old robots?”
“Not afraid,” BOB retorted. “Cautious. There is a difference.”
Clorita tapped the terminal’s cracked screen, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Well, if it’s between reactivating the drones or letting Zog loose in here to ‘organise,’ I’m voting for the drones.”
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
BOB sighed audibly for dramatic effect. “Very well. I will assess their operational status. But I take no responsibility if they attempt to clean more than just the Lost and Found.”
Clorita grinned. “Fair enough. Let’s see what 127 years of dust-bunny drones can do.”
As BOB began a scan of the dormant units, Clorita leaned against the wall, looking at the heaps of forgotten belongings. “Who knows? Maybe we’ll find something useful in this mess. Or at least something that hasn’t completely turned to dust.”
Nearby, a dusty storage pod flickered to life as Zog accidentally brushed against it. A holographic projection of a former passenger appeared—a regal alien woman with six arms demanding her belongings.
“Don’t forget my diamond-encrusted plasma violin!” the projection wailed before flickering out.
“Not touching that again,” Zog said, backing away quickly.
Clorita’s attention was drawn to a huge, ominous crate tucked into the back corner of the room. It was sealed with heavy-duty clamps, and the words DO NOT OPEN were scrawled across the front in faded red letters.
“Well, that’s not suspicious at all,” Clorita said, running her hand over the dusty surface.
Zog paled. “Let’s not. Whatever’s in there, we don’t need it.”
“Come on, don’t you want to know what the old crew thought was dangerous?” Clorita grinned as she began working on the clamps.
“No,” Zog said firmly, taking a step back. “And you shouldn’t either.”
Before Clorita could respond, the crate emitted a soft click and hissed open. Inside, they found a lifelike humanoid mannequin, its eyes glowing faintly.
“Uh... hello?” Zog said nervously.
The mannequin remained still, its gaze blank.
Clorita shrugged. “Looks like some kind of high-end training bot. Probably harmless.”
“That’s what you always say before something tries to kill us,” Zog muttered, taking another cautious step back.
Clorita ignored him, leaning in to examine the bot more closely. “Hey, its neural interface is still intact. This thing could be useful—or at least entertaining. Looks like it’s straight off the production line and never even fired up.”
Zog groaned. “Why do I let you talk me into these things?”
Beyond the storage area, the duo stumbled upon a heavy steel door with a biometric scanner. Above it, the words VAULT 42 were engraved in metallic letters.
“Great,” Zog said. “A vault. Because that’s not ominous.”
Clorita studied the scanner. “BOB, can you get this open?”
BOB’s voice purred through their wrist communicators. “Of course, Clorita. Accessing now, oh my, this vault contains private belongings of considerable value.”
“Define considerable,” Zog said, his interest piqued despite himself.
“High-grade artefacts, rare gemstones, and several items marked ‘confiscated contraband,’” BOB replied. “I estimate a total worth exceeding 300 million credits.”
Zog’s jaw dropped. “Three hundred million?! We’re sitting on a fortune!”
“Correction, Captain,” BOB said smoothly. “You are sitting on contraband, which may also be illegal in several systems.”
Clorita grinned. “Guess we’ll have to open it and find out.”
Clorita and Zog found themselves again staring at the imposing door to Vault 42. The promise of contraband and valuables worth 300 million credits hung in the air like an unspoken challenge.
“I still don’t like this,” Zog muttered, “Contraband doesn’t scream ‘safe.’ It screams ‘space prison.’”
“Lighten up,” Clorita said, fiddling with the biometric scanner. “It’s not contraband if no one catches us, Captain Kidd.”
“That’s... not how the law works,” Zog replied, his tone edging toward panic.
BOB’s voice chimed in. “Captain, as the de facto owners of the Duj, you technically possess legal salvage rights. The contraband is now yours—assuming you don’t bring it into restricted sectors.”
Zog blinked. “That’s reassuring. Kind of.”
“Glad you’re on board,” Clorita said, smirking as the scanner beeped and the vault door slid open.
The air inside the vault was cool and stale, its dim lighting flickering to life as they stepped through the threshold. Rows of meticulously organised crates and display cases lined the walls, each labelled with holographic tags: ARTIFACTS, JEWELS, RARE TECH, and EXPERIMENTAL WEAPONS.
“Well, this is... excessive,” Clorita whistled softly.
Zog took a cautious step forward, peering at a display case containing an ornate, jewel-encrusted dagger. “Why does a cruise ship need all this?”
“Smuggling,” Clorita replied. “The crew probably had a side hustle. Or maybe the passengers were rich enough to ‘lose’ some valuables here.”
Zog took a cautious step forward, peering at a display case containing an ornate, jewel-encrusted dagger. The gemstones sparkled faintly in the dim light, their brilliance undimmed by the years. “Why does a cruise ship need all this?”
“Smuggling,” Clorita replied, her tone dry as she sifted through a pile of abandoned items. “The crew probably had a side hustle. Or maybe the passengers were rich enough to ‘lose’ some valuables here.”
BOB’s voice hummed through the room, its tone uncharacteristically sharp. “Incorrect, Miss Clorita. The Duj’s Lost and Found department was not a den of criminal activity.”
Zog raised an eyebrow, glancing at the glowing display panel. “Then what’s with the jewelled dagger? It doesn’t exactly scream ‘forgotten sunscreen.’”
BOB paused before responding, its tone becoming almost conspiratorial. “Many of the ship’s wealthiest passengers travelled with excessively valuable trinkets. Jewellery, relics, artefacts. It became a status symbol to possess such items—and, consequently, a status symbol to ‘misplace’ them.”
Clorita snorted. “So, what, they just left this stuff here to show off?”
“In a manner of speaking,” BOB replied. “It allowed them to make grand declarations upon retrieval. ‘Oh, I nearly lost my priceless artefact on the Duj!’ Social standing was often bolstered by tales of absentmindedness involving obscene wealth.”
Zog groaned, stepping back from the display case. “Rich people are weird.”
“Indeed,” BOB agreed. “However, I must point out that not all these items were reclaimed. Some passengers were unable to return.”
Clorita’s head snapped up. “Unable how?”
BOB hesitated for just a moment, its voice softening. “Evacuation. Chaos. Not everyone made it to the escape pods. Their belongings remained behind.”
The room fell silent, the weight of BOB’s words settling over the crew. Zog cleared his throat awkwardly, shifting to his feet. “Well... that’s cheerful.”
Clorita shrugged, moving toward another shelf. “Cheerful or not, there’s probably something useful in this mess. Let’s see if the rich left us any surprises.”
BOB’s tone brightened, regaining its usual sass. “Perhaps a monogrammed towel or two? You never know when those might come in handy.”
Zog frowned. “That doesn’t make me feel better.”
“It feels like a trap,” Zog muttered, eyeing the dimly lit vault with suspicion.
Clorita smirked, her flashlight cutting through the shadows. “It’s a storage vault, Zog. The only trap here is how much fun I’m about to have.”
She moved ahead with purpose, her gaze drawn to the section labelled WEAPONS in bold, ominous letters. As she approached, the faint hum of a containment field buzzed in the air, and the sleek outlines of dangerous-looking devices glowing faintly behind transparent barriers.
“You’re heading straight for the guns,” Zog said, trailing behind cautiously. “Of course you are.”
Clorita shrugged a glint of mischief in her eye. “What can I say? Army-grade AIs know their priorities.”
“Yeah,” Zog muttered. “Blow things up first, ask questions later.”
Clorita stepped into the WEAPONS department, the faint blue glow of the containment fields reflecting in her eyes. Row after row of sleek, futuristic weaponry stretched before her, each labelled with a holographic tag detailing its specifications.
She picked up a small, compact blaster with a sleek silver casing. The hologram above it read: MODEL Z-9: HIGH-PRECISION PLASMA PISTOL.
“This,” she said, turning it over in her hands, “is beautiful.”
“It’s a death ray,” Zog countered, staring uneasily at the glowing barrel.
“Not a death ray,” Clorita corrected, activating the hologram to display its specs. “It’s a high-precision plasma pistol. Perfect for close combat, minimal collateral damage.”
“And maximum legal problems,” Zog added. “Put it back.”
“Yes, Captain,” she replied smoothly, slipping the gun into a concealed locker at her back with the practised ease of a seasoned gangster.
She ignored him, her attention drawn to a more significant weapon mounted on the wall. The tag above it read: PLASMA LAUNCHER MK IV. WARNING: HANDLE WITH EXTREME CAUTION.
Clorita’s grin widened. “Now that’s a beauty.”
Zog took a step back. “No. Absolutely not. That thing could take out a city block.”
“Good thing we don’t live in a city,” Clorita quipped, her fingers tracing the edges of the launcher. “This could come in handy if we ever run into trouble.”
“Clorita,” Zog said, his voice climbing an octave. “We’re not a warship!”
“Not yet,” she replied with a wink.
As Clorita continued to explore the weapons section, something unusual caught her eye—a long, sleek case tucked into the corner. This one didn’t glow or display a hologram unlike the other weapons. It sat quietly, its black surface unmarked except for a faint, almost invisible emblem.
“What’s this?” she murmured, crouching to inspect it.
Zog peered over her shoulder. “Probably nothing. Let’s move on.”
Clorita opened the case carefully, her curiosity overriding Zog’s caution. Inside, nestled in a foam-lined compartment, was a weapon unlike any she’d ever seen. It was sleek and metallic, its surface shimmering with an iridescent hue that seemed to shift colours as she moved it.
The hologram above the case flickered to life, displaying one word: PROTOTYPE.
“This,” Clorita said, hushed, “is special.”
“Special as in ‘illegal’?” Zog asked, his nerves fraying.
“Special as in ‘one-of-a-kind,’” Clorita replied, lifting the weapon carefully. It felt perfectly balanced in her hands, its weight just right. “I wonder what it does.”
“Maybe don’t press anything,” Zog said quickly, stepping back.
Clorita’s finger hovered over a faint button on the side. “Oh, come on. You’re not even a little curious?”
“No!” Zog said, panic creeping into his voice. “Not curious! Not at all!”
Before Clorita could experiment further, BOB’s voice interrupted. “Clorita, I must advise caution. That weapon is untested and potentially unstable.”
“Unstable, huh?” Clorita said, inspecting the weapon more closely. “Sounds like my kind of thing.”
“Please note,” BOB added smoothly, “it is also highly valuable. Its estimated worth is 85 million credits.”
Zog’s jaw dropped. “Eighty-five million?! Put it back! Put it back right now!”
Clorita chuckled. “Relax, Captain. I’m not selling this beauty.”
“You’re not keeping it either,” Zog shot back. “No way. No how.”
BOB’s voice purred with amusement. “Captain, I believe Clorita’s intentions are clear. Perhaps it’s best to let her have her fun.”
Clorita grinned, cradling the weapon. “See? Even BOB is on my side.”