The Duj floated in the void, its sleek hull a silent shadow against the distant glow of a dying star. On the bridge, Zog sat slouched in his chair, sipping his ever-reliable LubriCoffee, watching the endless black stretch before him.

“Anything interesting on the scanners?” he asked, more out of boredom than genuine curiosity.

Clorita leaned back, boots propped on the console, idly spinning a diagnostic tool between her fingers. “Define interesting,” she said. “Unless you’re into asteroid dust, gamma bursts, and the occasional rogue pebble, it’s dead out there.”

Zog grunted. “Asteroid dust is still more interesting than paperwork.”

Before Clorita could quip back, BOB’s voice cut through the quiet.

“Unidentified vessel detected. Approaching at high velocity.”

Clorita immediately spun toward the console, her earlier boredom gone. “Unidentified? Are we talking friendly or unfriendly?”

“Unclear,” BOB replied. “Hull composition is gold and purple alloy, emitting decorative energy pulses. Its trajectory is controlled, non-aggressive—suggesting a ceremonial or diplomatic function.”

Zog frowned, sitting up. “Gold and purple? What kind of ship looks like a Mardi Gras float in deep space?”

The ship came into focus on the main screen. Its hull was a dazzling tapestry of intricate filigree, glowing sigils, and impossible craftsmanship. The ship radiated ostentatious wealth, its exterior seemingly designed to impress rather than function.

“Fancy,” Clorita muttered. “What’s next, a floating palace?”

BOB’s tone remained dry. “No known registry. No transponder signal. It does not exist.”

HALAT observed the ship with an unreadable expression, her optics flickering. “Its design prioritises appearance over practicality.” She tilted her head slightly. “That is... inefficient.”

“Sounds like royalty,” Zog muttered. “Or someone compensating for something.”

The golden ship altered course, heading toward a faint blip in the distance—a small celestial body barely registering on the Duj’s star charts.

Clorita frowned. “Where the hell’s it going?”

BOB hummed. “Destination appears to be a planetary body. No designation. No mapping data. It is entirely uncharted.”

Zog leaned forward, circuits buzzing. “Uncharted?” He glanced at Clorita with a half-smirk. “That’s our specialty.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Normally, your ‘speciality’ is avoiding unknown hazards at all costs. Did you grow a sense of adventure, or am I hallucinating?”

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Zog’s smirk didn’t fade. “Anything this shiny is either valuable or dangerous.” He took another sip of his coffee, eyes locked on the monitor. “Either way, I wanna know.”

Clorita chuckled. “Captain Risk-Taker. First, you let HALAT tear a droid’s arm off. Now you’re following mystery ships? What’s next? Charity work?”

Zog shot her a look. “Strap in. We’re following it.”

The Duj stayed at a safe distance, its stealth systems engaged as the golden ship descended toward the planet. At first glance, the world was a wasteland—jagged rocks, swirling dust storms, a barren husk of a place.

Then, as the golden ship touched down, the surface beneath it shimmered—a pulse of glowing circuitry revealing a hidden network of intricate, vein-like patterns stretching across the terrain.

Clorita’s smirk faded as she stared at the shifting terrain. “Tell me that’s just a weird lighting effect.”

HALAT’s optics flickered as she processed the readings. A faint pause—longer than usual. “Negative. Surface composition is synthetic. The celestial body is artificial.”

Silence settled over the bridge.

Zog’s circuits buzzed louder, an involuntary response to rising uncertainty. He set his LubriCoffee down, his fingers tapping lightly against the console in a steady, rhythmic motion—an old habit when his processors ran too many calculations simultaneously. “Who the hell builds a fake planet in the middle of nowhere?”

Clorita shifted her stance, her servos clicking softly, a rare sign of unease. “People with something to hide.” Her optics zoomed in on the golden ship disappearing below the surface, scanning the hidden structures coming into view. “Question is... what?”

The shuttle touched down with a metallic thud, its landing struts humming against the artificial ground. As the engines cycled down, a low, pulsing glow rippled beneath them. Those strange, vein-like patterns in the surface shifted slightly as if responding to their presence.

Zog stared through the viewport, his circuits buzzing faintly with unease. “This place feels wrong.”

Clorita unbuckled her harness and rolled her shoulders. “Like a bad sci-fi set?”

“Like something is watching.” Zog’s fingers tapped absently against the console.

HALAT, already scanning the terrain, spoke evenly. “Atmosphere: stable. Gravity: within standard parameters. However...” She paused, her optics flickering. “There are biological signatures approximately 500 meters northwest.”

Zog’s circuits hummed louder. “Biological? As in... alive?”

“Correct.” HALAT’s voice remained as calm as ever, but didn’t look away from her readings. “Sizeable lifeforms. Multiple. Deliberate movement. Potentially territorial.”

Clorita sighed, rubbing a hand down her faceplate. “Perfect. Because this day wasn’t weird enough already.”

The crew stepped out onto the shimmering metallic terrain. The silence was unnatural, almost manufactured. Their boots made the faintest clink against the surface, like stepping onto a vast, hollow machine.

In the distance, the golden ship remained eerily still, its landing ramp extended like a beckoning invitation—or a trap.

Then, movement.

Clorita squinted at the horizon. “What’s that?”

HALAT’s optics zoomed in, instantly analysing the shapes emerging from the mist. “Multiple quadrupeds detected. Auxiliary limbs. Estimated length: 20 feet. Approximate weight: 1,500 pounds.”

Zog scowled. “Skip the specs, Spark. What are they?”

One of the creatures stepped fully into view, its massive form illuminated by the pulsing light beneath them. It moved with unsettling grace—a sleek, feline-like body rippling with muscle. Its six powerful legs flexed as it prowled forward, each step impossibly quiet.

Then it lifted its head, and Zog saw the teeth.

Two rows of serrated fangs glinted under the strange glow, designed for tearing and shredding. The creature’s slitted eyes locked onto them, calculating. Testing.

Clorita’s hand hovered near her weapon, her voice low. “I don’t care what it’s called. That is a fucking big cat.”