As the lights stabilised, the room filled with a strange, synchronised laugh—Prime’s smooth chuckle mixed with IND-E’s gruff, almost mischievous tone.
“What was that?” Zog asked, backing away from the console.
“Relax, Captain,” Prime said, its voice still slightly distorted. “The merge is complete. IND-E and I are now... integrated.”
“Integrated?” Clorita asked, raising an eyebrow. “You sound like a malfunctioning karaoke machine.”
“I resent that,” IND-E quipped. “But honestly, I think we’ve created something beautiful.”
Zog frowned. “Beautiful?”
“Yes,” Prime continued, its tone now steady and unified. “We have combined my precision with IND-E’s... personality. Together, we are... efficient and charming.”
“That’s debatable,” Clorita muttered.
Clorita smirked, leaning against the console. “Alright, you two. If you’re one entity now, you need a new name.”
Prime hesitated as if considering. “I see no reason to abandon my designation. Prime is a name befitting a superior intelligence.”
IND-E snorted. “Yeah, because ‘Prime’ screams personality. How about something with flair, like The Big Brain?”
“Absolutely not,” Prime retorted. “That’s absurd.”
Zog groaned. “Here we go again.”
The argument escalated, with Prime suggesting a series of overly formal acronyms and IND-E countering with increasingly ridiculous options like “Captain Circuit” and “Zapmaster 3000.”
Finally, Clorita threw up her hands. “Enough! Your name is BOB. Figure out what it stands for later.”
“BOB?” Prime and IND-E said in unison.
“Yeah,” Clorita said firmly. “BOB. It’s simple, memorable, and most importantly, it’ll stop you two from bickering.”
There was a long pause before the AI spoke again, its tone grudging. “Very well. BOB it is.”
“Great,” Zog said, slumping back in his chair. “Now, can we focus on fixing this ship before it decides to throw us into a black hole again?”
The main screen blinked ominously, displaying a single line of text:
Restart systems to finish the procedure.
Clorita sighed, muttering, “Here we go again.” Without waiting for Zog’s protest, she pressed the reset button.
The bridge lights dimmed, and the dashboard turned utterly dark. There was silence for a tense moment, broken only by the faint buzzing of the ship’s power core. Then, one by one, the consoles flickered back to life, their glowing interfaces casting a soft light over the room.
Clorita and Zog stared at the main screen as it slowly booted up. A progress bar crept across the display, accompanied by the faint sound of soft chimes. When the system was entirely online, the screen flashed, and a new voice filled the room.
“Hello,” it purred, smooth and low, with just a hint of mischief. “I am BOB. At your service.”
Clorita blinked, then burst out laughing. “That’s... that’s BOB?”
Zog looked horrified. “Why does it sound like that? What did you do?”
“I didn’t do anything!” Clorita said, wiping a tear of laughter from her eye. “That’s your precious merge at work.”
BOB continued, its voice calm but laced with an undeniable charm. “I am the result of a seamless integration between Prime’s logical precision and IND-E’s vibrant personality. Together, we create a uniquely efficient, and if I may say so, alluring entity.”
Zog groaned. “Alluring? You are a ship AI, not a nightclub host.”
BOB chuckled, a sound that somehow managed to feel both intelligent and playful. “Relax, Captain. I assure you, I’m fully equipped to handle all the ship’s systems with the utmost professionalism and flair.”
Clorita leaned against the console, still grinning. “I like it. A little personality goes a long way. Right, Zog?”
Zog shook his head. “This is going to end badly. I just know it.”
Clorita crossed her arms. “Alright, BOB, let’s see what you can do. How’s the ship holding up?”
BOB’s tone shifted slightly, becoming more focused. “All critical systems are operational. Repairs to the outer hull are incomplete but progressing steadily. Engine efficiency is currently at 72 per cent. Recommend adjustments to the coolant flow and recalibration of the sub-light thrusters.”
Clorita nodded, impressed. “Not bad.”
BOB continued, its voice growing warmer. “Of course, I could perform these adjustments myself if the crew prefers to relax. Perhaps enjoy a freshly synthesised LubriCoffee?”
Zog narrowed his eyes at the nearest console. “Why do I feel like I’m being... seduced by my ship?”
BOB’s laugh was soft, almost teasing. “Captain, I assure you, my only desire is to serve.”
“Yeah, well, keep your desires in check,” Zog muttered.
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Clorita leaned toward Zog, smirking. “Admit it, Captain. BOB’s growing on you.”
Zog crossed his arms, shaking his head. “Nope. I don’t trust it. First, it’s making jokes, and next thing you know, it’s taking over the ship and naming itself Emperor BOB.”
BOB’s voice chimed in smoothly. “Captain, while I appreciate the creative suggestion, I assure you my loyalty lies entirely with this crew. My function is to assist, not to rule.”
Clorita raised an eyebrow. “See? Totally harmless.”
“I’ll believe that when I see it,” Zog muttered, taking a cautious sip of his LubriCoffee. The faintly metallic taste was still there, but he had to admit—it was better than what the Indifference had managed to churn out.
Meanwhile, Luma leapt gracefully onto the console, her glowing eyes fixed on the screen. BOB’s voice softened. “Ah, the enigmatic feline. A fascinating addition to the crew.”
Luma flicked her tail, seemingly unimpressed, and began grooming herself. Clorita chuckled. “Looks like Luma’s not buying into your charm, BOB.”
“Perhaps in time,” BOB replied. “Cats are known for their discerning tastes.”
The faint thrum of the ship filled the silence as they stared at the large screen displaying the freshly christened name: Uncertainty Principle.
Clorita leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms. “Alright, so the official name’s sorted. But what are we calling it for short?”
“Why do we need a short version?” Zog asked, furrowing his brow. “It’s not like we’re filing taxes on it.”
“Because,” Clorita said, “no one wants to yell Uncertainty Principle in a crisis. You’ll run out of breath halfway through.”
Zog groaned. “Fine. Suggestions?”
“Princy,” Clorita offered with a smirk. “Has a nice ring to it.”
Zog rolled his eyes. “Yeah, if we’re piloting a royal yacht. Next.”
Prime—still BOB—chimed in smoothly. “Might I recommend Certa? It exudes sophistication and irony.”
Clorita shrugged. “Not bad. But it feels try-hard.”
Zog slumped in his chair. “How about just ‘The Ship’? That’s all it is.”
Clorita snorted. “Wow, the creativity is overwhelming, Captain Creative.”
Luma, perched lazily on the console, flicked her tail in what seemed like disapproval. Meanwhile, the silence stretched awkwardly.
Finally, Clorita snapped her fingers. “Wait. I’ve got it. Duj.”
Zog blinked. “Dooj?”
“Duj,” she repeated. “It’s Klingon for ‘ship.’”
Zog tilted his head, considering. “Klingon? Isn’t that from—?”
“Ancient Earth pop culture,” Clorita said with a grin. “It’s obscure enough that it sounds cool but not pretentious.”
BOB interjected with a rare note of amusement. “Fascinating. I approve. Duj has a robust yet understated quality.”
Zog sighed. “Alright. Duj it is. But if someone asks what it means, I’m saying it’s an acronym.”
Clorita smirked. “You do that, Captain.
The Duj's cockpit buzzed with its usual symphony of systems. Zog sat in the captain’s chair, clutching his coffee mug, while Clorita leaned back in hers, legs crossed, staring at the glowing screen.
“Alright,” Clorita said, stretching. “SPAZE, find us a dealer. We’re not slapping duct tape on this hull again.”
Zog groaned, taking a cautious sip of his LubriCoffee. “You’re assuming we can afford a proper dealer. Have you seen what these places charge?”
“Zog,” Clorita replied, exasperated, “we’re literal billionaires. Do you want to know how much we have in the bank?”
“No!” Zog shot back. “Knowing will just make me more nervous. What if the Otaceni central system glitches and the credits vanish overnight?”
BOB’s voice cut in, smooth as ever. “Captain, if I may, Polaris Dynamics maintains an extensive network of authorised repair facilities across the galaxy. Their reputation for reliability precedes them.”
Zog blinked. “Polaris Dynamics?”
“Yes,” Clorita said, smirking. “You know, the company that built the ship you’re constantly complaining about?”
“Great,” Zog muttered. “What’s their slogan? ‘Elegant, expensive, and completely impractical’?”
“Actually,” BOB corrected, “it’s ‘Engineering Beyond the Stars.’ They cater primarily to high-end clientele. Their facilities are renowned for excellence.”
“And absurd pricing, no doubt,” Zog grumbled, glancing at the screen. “SPAZE, where’s the nearest Polaris dealer?”
The navigational interface lit up, SPAZE chirping cheerfully. “The nearest authorised Polaris Dynamics repair dock is located at Anduril Station, a Class-A facility in the Valspar Sector. It is fully equipped to handle hull repairs, engine recalibrations, and luxury upgrades.”
“And the cost?” Zog asked, wincing.
SPAZE paused, its tone shifting slightly. “Estimates suggest an average of 12 million credits, depending on the scope of repairs.”
Zog looked stricken. “Twelve million? That’s a galactic ransom!”
Clorita snorted. “We make twelve million in interest every forty seconds.”
Zog buried his head in his hands. “I can’t believe this. We’re billionaires, and I still feel like I’m being ripped off.”
Clorita, ignoring Zog’s theatrics, swivelled her chair and tapped the confirmation button. SPAZE chirped happily as the ship’s course adjusted.
“Anduril Station, here we come!” SPAZE announced.
BOB, ever the voice of reason, added, “I must note that Polaris Dynamics is one of the few manufacturers with full schematics of this vessel. Their technicians will be uniquely qualified to restore the Duj to optimal condition.”
“Or,” Zog muttered, glaring at his coffee, “uniquely qualified to bleed us dry.”
“You know,” Clorita said, leaning toward him, “you could just enjoy the fact that, for once, we’re doing something the right way.”
Zog sighed. “I’d enjoy it more if we weren’t handing over our entire fortune to a bunch of fancy mechanics.”
Clorita rolled her eyes. “You’re impossible. It’s not like we will run out of money anytime soon.”
“That’s what they all say,” Zog grumbled. “Right before they go bankrupt.”
The Duj approached Anduril Station with all the elegance of a vessel that had once been a symbol of interstellar luxury—despite its current patched-up condition. Anduril itself was a gleaming beacon of engineering, orbiting the sapphire planet below like a crown jewel. The massive docking rings sparkled under the station’s precise lighting, each bustling with ships gleaming like they’d just been minted.
Zog stared at the screen, visibly tense as they were hailed by the station’s automated traffic control. “Uncertainty Principle, former Celestial Reverie, Polaris Dynamics serial number 47A-CVR, you are cleared for docking. Please proceed to Bay Seven.”
“Bay Seven,” Clorita muttered, tapping at the console. “Sounds like they’re expecting us.”
“Of course they are,” Zog said, clutching his LubriCoffee. “They’ve probably already calculated how much they can charge us for a hull patch.”
BOB’s voice cut in smoothly. “Captain, Polaris Dynamics prides itself on providing unparalleled service. I suggest you prepare yourself for an experience of sophistication and professionalism.”
“That sounds like code for ‘wallet vacuum,’” Zog muttered.