Before he could protest further, a chirpy voice crackled over the comms.
"Welcome to Club Meteor’s VIP dock! Please lower your landing gear and prepare for valet retrieval."
“VIP?” Blip barked excitedly. “That’s us! We’re VIPs, right?”
“We’re broke, that is what we are,” Zog grumbled. “Do we even have to valet?”
Clorita sighed, already flipping switches on the console. “Yes, Captain Stingy. It’s required. Just let them park it.”
The docking ramp lowered, and a young alien in a shimmering jumpsuit hopped aboard. He had bright purple skin, four arms, and a cheerful demeanour that clashed with the crew’s scepticism.
“Wow!” the valet exclaimed, his eyes sparkling as he looked at the ship’s interior. “This thing is… uh… vintage!” His expression was a mix of awe and polite horror, like someone seeing their first T-Ford in a galaxy of hypercars.
Clorita smirked. “It’s got character.”
The valet clapped his hands with enthusiasm. “Alright! Just leave the controls to me. I’ll have her parked and polished in no time.”
IND-E’s voice dripped with venom, as though someone had suggested he cuddle a rattlesnake. “Polished? I’d rather be dismantled and sold for parts.”
The valet froze, his head snapping toward the console, his grin faltering for only a moment before widening again. “Oh, cool! Integrated AI! Alright, big guy, just tell me where the reverse thrusters are—”
IND-E’s tone dropped to an icy chill, sharp enough to frost over the cabin. “I would rather ignite my stabiliser than let you touch my thrusters.”
The valet chuckled nervously, his hands hovering uncertainly over the controls. “Uh… okay. How about you just tell me where the reverse is?”
IND-E’s voice erupted into something between a growl and a banshee’s wail, like a machine possessed. “How about no?”
Clorita crossed her arms, smirking. “IND-E, cooperate. Or I’ll reprogram you into a jukebox for the asteroid clubs.”
IND-E, still in a defensive mode, whispered: “Fine. The reverse is… somewhere near your clearly inadequate neural capacity. Good luck finding it.”
The valet glanced back at Clorita, unsure whether to laugh or panic. “This thing’s got attitude.”
“You have no idea,” Zog muttered, stepping aside. “Just get it parked without scratching anything.”
The valet grinned. “Relax. I’ve got this.” He hopped into the pilot’s seat and managed to guide the ship into a glowing docking bay after a brief struggle with the Indifference’s temperamental controls.
The crew stepped onto the asteroid’s bustling promenade, the air thick with bass-heavy music and the dazzling glow of neon lights. Behind them, the valet zipped back in his sleek shuttle, its chrome hull gleaming under Ibizoid-7’s artificial sky.
“She’s all set!” the valet announced, his grin as bright as the holographic signs overhead. “Your ship’s in good hands.”
IND-E’s voice crackled over the comm, laced with disdain. “Famous last words.”
Clorita gave the side of the Indifference an affectionate pat as they walked away. “Don’t worry, IND-E. We’ll be back soon.”
“Take your time,” IND-E retorted, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “I’ll be here, suffering the indignity of valet parking. LubriCoffee, anyone?”
Blip bounced ahead, his tail wagging furiously. “I love this place! Even the parking’s shiny!”
Zog sighed, rubbing his temples as he followed the others onto the promenade. “I already regret this,” he muttered.
The promenade stretched before them in a dazzling array of sights and sounds. Alien fashionistas strutted down holographic runways, their outfits shifting with iridescent colours. Vendors shouted from stalls selling everything from zero-G boots to glowing accessories. Above it all, holographic billboards flashed advertisements for the asteroid’s premier attractions.
Clorita grinned, taking in the spectacle. “Come on, Captain Grump. Live a little. What’s the worst that could happen?”
Zog shot her a sceptical look. “That’s a dangerous question.”
Blip barked happily as he darted toward a stall covered in shiny trinkets, nearly colliding with a hoverboarder weaving through the crowd. “You know,” Zog said, watching Blip narrowly avoid another collision, “leaving the ship might’ve been a bad idea.”
Clorita laughed, looping her arm through his and steering him toward the nearest vendor. “Too late now, Captain Dour. Let’s see if this place lives up to the hype.”
Behind them, the valet shuttle zipped away, its pilot giving the Indifference one last appreciative glance. Somewhere in the distance, a loud crash echoed, followed by a booming cheer. The chaos of Ibizoid-7 welcomed them with open arms.
As they disappeared into the neon-lit streets of Ibizoid-7, the sound of bass thumping in the distance was a fitting prelude to the chaos that was sure to follow.
Clorita looked around, her eyes lighting up. “This is paradise.”
Zog frowned. “This is chaos.”
Blip barked, darting toward a vendor selling glowing collars. “I want one! Can I get one?”
Clorita ignored him, focusing on a shop advertising “The Latest in Cyber Chic for Every Species.” She grabbed Zog’s arm, dragging him along. “Come on, Captain Shabby. Let’s get you something that doesn’t look like it came from a junkyard.”
“I like my junkyard look,” Zog muttered, reluctantly following her.
Clorita emerged from the shop beaming, while Zog followed behind, looking like he’d just lost a battle—and his dignity. Gone were his usual patchwork overalls and grease-streaked jacket. In their place was a sleek, tailored jacket in a muted metallic blue paired with dark trousers that shimmered faintly under the asteroid’s neon glow. A crisp black shirt completed the ensemble, its collar subtly accented with a luminescent thread that pulsed faintly with his movements.
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Zog tugged at the jacket’s cuffs, his circuits buzzing with discomfort. “I look like a diplomat at a disco.”
“You look amazing,” Clorita corrected, admiring her handiwork. “Captain Grump finally has some style.”
“I’ll give it an hour before this thing’s covered in grease,” Zog muttered, his tone sour as they rejoined the streets outside.
Blip spun in circles, his excitement barely contained. “This place is amazing! I love this place! Can we live here?”
As the crew melted into the vibrant crowd, the music pulsed louder, drawing them deeper into the wild, kaleidoscopic chaos of Ibizoid-7.
THE SHOPPING SPREE AND CLUB DISAPPOINTMENT
The vibrant promenade of Ibizoid-7 buzzed with life, a chaotic mix of neon lights, pounding music, and fashionistas strutting in outrageous outfits. The crew of The Indifference stuck out like a sore bolt amidst the glitz—especially Zog, who was still wearing his patched-up jumpsuit from their last repair job.
Blip darted ahead, his tail wagging as he sniffed at every stall and shop. “This place is amazing! Can we live here?”
“Not on our budget,” Zog muttered, eyeing the extravagant prices displayed in holograms outside the boutiques.
Clorita smirked, flipping her hair as she scanned the shops. “Relax, Captain. We’ve got more money than we know what to do with.”
“Technically,” Zog said, raising a finger, “we don’t have that money. Most of it’s stuck in Otaceni, and the rest—”
“Looks just fine on the credex,” Clorita interrupted, pulling the device from her belt. She gave it a smug little shake. “With my hack, it won’t ever run dry. Trust me.”
“That’s not how economics works,” Zog muttered.
Clorita ignored him, her eyes lighting up as she spotted a boutique advertising “Intergalactic Chic: For the Boldest of Beings!”
Inside, the shop was a dazzling display of shimmering fabrics and futuristic accessories. A stylish alien with eight arms and holographic eyelashes greeted them with an approving hum.
“Oh my stars, darlings,” the alien cooed, circling Clorita. “You’ve been walking through space looking like this? Come, come! Let’s fix it!”
Clorita beamed, letting herself be whisked away. The alien’s arms moved in a blur, draping her in shimmering fabrics and thrusting gleaming boots and accessories into her hands.
The result? A stunning transformation: thigh-high pink boots that gleamed like molten starlight, a metallic dress that hugged her frame perfectly, and glowing accents that highlighted her best features. As a finishing touch, the alien applied makeup that sparkled subtly with every movement.
Clorita admired herself in the mirror, her smirk widening. “Perfect.”
Meanwhile, Zog was dragged to the male section, where the alien’s assistants bombarded him with bright, garish outfits.
“I’m fine as I am!” he protested, but they ignored him, shoving him into a yellow jumpsuit so bright it could have signalled ships from lightyears away. To make matters worse, they forced his feet into absurdly expensive sneakers that blinked with holographic flames.
Blip barked with laughter. “You look like a giant banana!”
“Shut it, Blip,” Zog muttered, his circuits buzzing faintly with humiliation as he struggled to get back into the clothes Clorita had bought for him. The tailored jacket and shimmering trousers, which he’d grumbled about endlessly at first, now felt surprisingly comfortable—and even a little… dignified. He wouldn’t admit it, but he appreciated them more now than when they’d first left the shop.
Blip barked a laugh, his tail wagging. “I didn’t say anything! But if I had, it’d be that Captain Shabby cleans up pretty well.”
Zog shot him a glare. “Not another word, bolt-breath.”
Not to be left out, Blip was whisked off to an animal boutique nearby. When he returned, he was sporting a flashy collar embedded with glowing gemstones and a miniature hover disk attached to his back for extra flair.
“Look at me!” Blip barked, spinning in circles. “I’m shiny!”
Feeling like new beings (well, some of them), the crew made their way to the asteroid’s famed nightclub district. Neon signs flickered above the entrances, advertising the hottest clubs on the rock. They finally settled on Club Nova, the loudest and most exclusive spot.
A towering bouncer with glistening scales and reflective shades blocked their path as they approached.
“Hold up,” the bouncer growled, looking down at Blip. “No faunanoids allowed.”
Blip’s ears drooped. “What? Why not? I’m not just any faunanoid. I’m a very shiny faunanoid!”
The bouncer didn’t budge. “Rules are rules. No animals unless you’re at Club Furry, down the promenade.”
Blip turned to Zog and Clorita, his eyes wide with betrayal. “You’re not going to leave me here, right?”
Clorita hesitated. “Well… it’s just one night.”
Zog shrugged. “He’s not wrong, Blip. Rules are rules.”
“What?” Blip barked. “You’re abandoning me?”
“Don’t be dramatic,” Clorita said, adjusting her pink boots. “We’ll come get you when we’re done.”
Before Blip could protest further, the two disappeared into the club, the pounding bass swallowing their laughter as they vanished through the doors.
Blip sat outside, fuming. “This is the worst place ever. I’m getting in there, no matter what.”
Blip scanned the area, his processor whirring as he plotted his next move. He spotted a delivery drone buzzing toward the back entrance, its storage compartment full of drinks for the club. The idea hit him instantly.
Blip darted after the drone with a mischievous bark, timing his leap perfectly to land inside the compartment. He nestled between two glowing cocktail trays, his small frame fitting snugly.
The drone hovered toward the back entrance, where a second bouncer barely glanced at it before waving it through.
Blip grinned. “Easy peasy.”
Once inside the club, the bass thudded so loudly it felt like a physical force. Strobe lights flickered, and beings of all shapes and sizes danced on the glowing floor. Blip wriggled out of the drone, his shiny collar reflecting the lights.
“Showtime,” he muttered, wagging his tail.
He weaved through the crowd, dodging stomping feet and flashing appendages, until he spotted Zog and Clorita near the bar. Clorita sipped an extravagant glowing drink while Zog looked miserably out of place in his diplomat outfit.
“Miss me?” Blip barked, jumping onto their table.
Clorita nearly spilled her drink. “Blip?! How did you get in here?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Blip said smugly, wagging his tail. “I’m here now, and I’m ready to party.”
The bartender approached, raising an eyebrow. “We don’t serve faunanoids.”
“Great,” Zog muttered. “Now we’re getting kicked out.”
Clorita sighed. “You’ve got ten minutes, Blip. Make it count.”
Blip grinned, hopping onto the dance floor. “Watch me shine!”
Blip, now gleaming with his flashy collar and pure determination, strutted onto the dance floor as though he owned it. The pounding bass vibrated through his circuits, and the strobe lights reflected off his shiny frame like a living disco ball.
The crowd paused, their movements slowing as they noticed the unlikely dancer in their midst. For a moment, Blip stood still, soaking in the attention. Then, with a dramatic wag of his tail, he began to move.
It wasn’t just dancing—it was a performance. Blip spun on his hind legs, moonwalked backwards across the glowing tiles, and executed a perfectly timed robotic shuffle. He leapt, flipped, and landed in a split, his glowing eyes flickering perfectly with the beat.
The crowd erupted into cheers.
The music seemed to shift, as though the DJ followed Blip’s lead. The circle of dancers widened, and beings of all shapes and sizes gathered around him, clapping and chanting. Phones and holographic cameras floated into the air, capturing the spectacle.
Zog and Clorita watched from the bar, their drinks forgotten.
“That’s… our dog?” Zog muttered, his circuits buzzing with disbelief.
Clorita smirked. “He’s got moves. I’ll give him that.”
Blip, basking in the adoration, threw in a few more daring moves: a spinning backflip, a tail-wagging twerk, and a slide that left a trail of sparks on the floor. The crowd went wild, their cheers shaking the walls.