Zog took a deep breath, staring at the coordinates glowing on the screen. “We head for Ecliptica. If there’s a chance to understand what we’re up against, we’re taking it.”
“Bold,” Clorita said with a grin. “Let’s hope we don’t get swallowed whole.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” Zog muttered, his circuits buzzing with unease as the crew prepared for their next leap into the unknown.
The pirate sat sullenly in the Duj’s hangar bay, arms crossed as the crew prepared his “departure package.” Reginald stood nearby, a pristine picnic basket in his metallic hands, filled with sandwiches, a bottle of Galactic Dew, and an actual napkin folded into an elaborate swan.
“I can’t believe this is how it ends,” the pirate muttered. “Abandoned on a rock with a packed lunch.”
Clorita smirked, leaning casually against the wall. “Consider yourself lucky. Most pirates don’t get the sandwiches.”
“And you’ll be happy to know I’ve prepared the Galactic Dew at the optimal drinking temperature,” Reginald said with genuine pride. “Do you prefer a glass, or would you rather drink straight from the bottle?”
The pirate groaned. “Just dump me already.”
Zog, standing at the shuttle controls, nodded to Clorita. “Coordinates locked. Meteor X-11. Plenty of solar exposure and minimal asteroid traffic.”
“Sounds cosy,” Clorita said.
The pirate shot them a glare as he boarded the shuttle. “You lot are the strangest crew I’ve ever met.”
“You should meet us on a good day,” Zog said, flipping a switch. The shuttle hummed to life.
Reginald placed the picnic basket beside the pirate with a polite bow. “Should you require additional condiments, I regret to inform you we are currently out of stock. Bon voyage.”
The shuttle was detached and sped off, leaving the pirate to his meteor in the middle of the vast emptiness of space. The barren rock stretched endlessly around him, pocked with craters and jagged ridges. A single scraggly bush grew from a crack in the surface—and immediately burst into flames under the relentless sunlight.
As he sat there, glaring at the distant glow of the Duj, he muttered, “Next time I meet them, I’m taking their ship.” But as he opened the picnic basket and found the sandwiches neatly cut into triangles, with crusts removed, he couldn’t help but crack a reluctant smile.
The crew gathered on the bridge of the Duj, the coordinates to "Outpost Ecliptica" glowing ominously on the main display. Zog slouched in his captain’s chair, nervously drumming his metallic fingers against the armrest. Clorita paced the room, her expression a mix of curiosity and scepticism. HALAT stood by the console, her sleek frame motionless as streams of data scrolled across the secondary display. Luma lay curled up in her favourite spot, her tail twitching faintly as if sharing in the crew's collective unease.
Zog finally broke the silence. “I’m telling you, this is a bad idea. The Void is… it’s too big. Too unknown. We’re just… us. A rusty ship, a few barely functioning bots, and a handful of bad ideas. What chance do we have if this thing is real?”
Clorita stopped pacing and turned to face him, her eyes narrowing. “Real? Do you think the Void is real? Zog, the pirate spun that story to save his tail. ‘A creature that devours everything’? Come on. It’s a fairy tale, nothing more.”
HALAT, without turning, spoke in her calm, precise voice. “I have reviewed extensive records from the galactic database—”
“What database?” Zog asked, cutting her off. “We’re not even connected to anything.”
“I downloaded fragments during our stop at Polaris Dynamics,” HALAT replied smoothly. “From what I could recover, several ship logs corroborate the pirate’s account, to an extent.”
Zog leaned forward. “What do you mean, ‘to an extent’?”
HALAT’s synthetic gaze shifted to him. “Many logs from vessels in the vicinity of the coordinates cease abruptly. The final entries often describe strange anomalies: sensory distortions, mechanical failures, or unidentifiable threats. One log simply ends with the phrase: ‘Something’s out there. It’s not a ship. It’s not—’ The entry cuts off.”
Clorita rolled her eyes. “Or they align with space madness, or rogue pirates, or just lousy piloting. We have no evidence that this ‘Void’ is more than an overactive imagination.”
Zog pointed at the display. “What about those missing ships? They didn’t just disappear for no reason.”
Clorita shrugged. “Maybe they ran out of fuel. Maybe they got caught in a gravity well. Space is big and dangerous; ships go missing all the time.”
HALAT tilted her head slightly. “The statistical anomaly is significant. Over one hundred vessels have been logged as lost in this specific region over the past century. The rate far exceeds galactic averages.”
If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
Zog groaned. “Great. So not only is the Void probably real, but we also have a one-in-a-hundred chance of becoming its next meal.”
Clorita crossed her arms. “Assuming the Void exists. Which it doesn’t. And even if it did, what’s at this ‘Outpost Ecliptica’ that’s worth the risk?”
HALAT turned back to the console. “Unknown. However, the outpost appears in historical records as a research station established near the edges of mapped space. It is plausible it was positioned to study the region in question.”
Zog looked at Clorita, desperate for support. “We’re talking about flying into a region where ships go missing for a research station that might not even be there anymore.”
“And if it is?” Clorita shot back. “What if it holds answers? Supplies? A map out of this mess?”
“Or it’s a trap,” Zog said, his voice rising. “A big, hungry, void-filled trap.”
Luma let out a small meow from her perch, hopped down, stretched lazily, and trotted toward her favourite hiding spot. Clorita smirked. “See? Even Luma’s not worried.”
Zog buried his face in his hands. “You’re all insane.”
HALAT stepped forward, her tone as steady as ever. “The choice is yours, Captain. However, delaying indefinitely may not be in our best interest. Current food and fuel reserves will last approximately 72 standard days.”
Clorita grinned. “There you go, Captain Backbone. It’s time to make a decision.”
Zog stared at the glowing coordinates, his circuits buzzing with apprehension. Finally, he sighed, slumping back into his chair. “Fine. Set course. But when this ends in disaster, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Clorita patted his shoulder, smirking. “That’s the spirit.”
HALAT turned to the controls. “Course plotted. Engaging engines.”
The crew settled into an uneasy silence as the Duj began its slow journey into the unknown. Outside the viewport, the stars seemed to shift unnaturally, their light bending and fading as though the darkness was alive. Zog adjusted his jacket out of habit as if straightening it might somehow bolster his confidence. Captains were supposed to inspire confidence. He just hoped his crew couldn’t tell how hard he was trying not to panic.
THE CALL FROM AQUALIS-9
The Duj cruised steadily through the emptiness of space, its engines humming a soothing rhythm. The tension from their earlier debate about the Void had settled into an uneasy silence, interrupted only by the occasional flicker of BOB’s interface or Luma’s faint purring.
Zog leaned back in his chair, flipping through a maintenance log without much interest. Clorita had taken over Luma’s perch on the dashboard, idly cleaning her joints while HALAT scrolled through another set of fragmented ship logs.
Suddenly, a sharp tone blared through the cockpit.
“Galactic Emergency Channel activated,” BOB’s sultry voice announced. “Incoming transmission flagged as priority one.”
Clorita swung her legs down, straightening. “Priority one? That’s rare. Patch it through.”
BOB’s holographic interface shimmered, projecting a crackling feed. The screen displayed an image of a frantic humanoid figure wearing a sea-green tunic. Behind them, the background was awash with chaos—shaking ground, flashing lights, and distant, panicked voices. A tremor shook the scene, sending a stack of crates crashing to the ground. Smoke billowed from somewhere offscreen, curling upward like a desperate signal.
“This is Commander Reena of Aqualis-9,” the figure said, her voice strained but steady. “Our planet is on a collision course with Althis-5. Impact is projected in thirty days. We require immediate assistance to evacuate approximately 300 citizens. Repeat: this is an emergency planetary evacuation request.”
Another tremor rocked the transmission. A faint child’s cry echoed in the background before being drowned out by a distant explosion. Reena flinched but continued, her voice breaking slightly. “Please, we’re doing everything we can, but we can’t save them all alone. We need your help.”
The crew exchanged stunned glances. Zog was the first to speak. “Collision? Like… two planets hitting each other? That’s even worse than the Void!”
Clorita sighed, standing and placing a hand on Zog’s shoulder. “Calm down. BOB, how far are we from Aqualis-9?”
BOB’s interface blinked as it processed. “With current engine output, approximately 20 days.”
“We’d barely make it,” Zog said, shaking his head. “And even if we do, what are we supposed to do about 300 people?”
“More like 400,” HALAT corrected, her tone calm. “Given the scale of their population, the estimate may be conservative.”
Zog groaned. “Even worse! We’re not a rescue ship! We don’t have the space, the supplies, or the—”
“Correction, Captain,” BOB interjected smoothly. “Based on the Duj’s current configuration, we can prepare enough accommodations for 400 to 450 individuals. Several decks, previously unused, can be repurposed.”
Clorita raised an eyebrow. “How long would it take to get them ready?”
“Approximately three weeks for cleaning and system activation. All service bots will need to be repaired or reprogrammed to assist. Additionally, food and water reserves will need significant restocking once the passengers are aboard.”
“And the shuttles?” HALAT asked, her voice clipped. “We can’t rely solely on the Duj’s capacity to beam them up.”
“All shuttles require inspection and testing,” BOB admitted. “One currently shows a faulty stabilizer, and the other is a misaligned propulsion system. Repairs are feasible but time-intensive.”
Clorita folded her arms, looking thoughtful. “So it’s possible, but barely.”
Zog shot her an incredulous look. “Possible? Clorita, this isn’t a charity cruise! We’d be risking everything—our supplies, our systems—on a rescue that might not even work!”
HALAT stepped forward, her tone as steady as ever. “And what is the alternative? To ignore a distress call and let hundreds perish?”
The words hung in the air, heavy enough to make Zog’s processors buzz louder. He tightened his grip on the armrest, his circuits humming unevenly. He hated being put on the spot—especially when the right choice also felt like the worst one.
BOB’s voice broke the silence. “Margin of error: minimal. However, the mission is achievable with the entire crew working efficiently.”
“Efficiently?” Zog muttered. “Has she met us?”
Clorita smirked. “All the more reason to start preparing now. Zog, Captain’s orders?”
Zog hesitated, glancing at the worried faces of his crew—or at least the approximation of worry HALAT’s and Clorita’s expressions managed to convey. Luma let out a lazy yawn somewhere in the corner, her tail flicking nonchalantly as if to say she was the only one aboard who wasn’t worried.
Finally, Zog sighed, slumping back into his chair. “Fine. But if this goes south, I’m blaming all of you.”
Clorita clapped him on the shoulder, grinning. “Good. I’ll get started on reprogramming the bots. Reginald’s going to love this.”
BOB’s voice chimed in. “Course set for Aqualis-9. Time to arrival: 20 days. Crew efficiency: to be determined.”
Clorita and HALAT exchanged nods and left the bridge to begin preparations, their footsteps fading down the corridor. The faint hum of the engines filled the silence as Zog stared at the empty viewport. Somewhere out there, a planet was running out of time—and now, so were they. The Duj groaned softly as if protesting the weight of the task ahead.
In the corner, Luma stretched languidly, her tail flicking again. Zog sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, real helpful.”