The Duj glided smoothly through the vast expanse of space, and Aqualis-9 was now visible on the main screen. Its blue-green hues shimmered like jewels, marred by the ominous shadow of the rogue planet hurtling toward it. The contrast was breathtaking—and terrifying.
BOB’s voice echoed across the bridge:
“Arrival at Aqualis-9 in five standard hours. I recommend completing all remaining preparations to ensure the success of the evacuation.”
Zog paced the bridge, his boots thudding rhythmically against the floor as his circuits buzzed with unease. His gaze flicked from the planet to the looming rogue world, a relentless mass of destruction that seemed to draw closer with each passing second. “Are we sure we’re ready for this? I mean, we’ve never done anything like this before.”
Clorita didn’t look up from her console as she rechecked the service bot assignments. “There’s a first time for everything, Captain. Relax. We’ve got this.”
HALAT stood near the viewport, motionless but poised, her glowing eyes fixed on the planet below. “The risk is high,” she said, her tone measured. “But our readiness is sufficient. Success will depend on efficiency during loading.”
Zog groaned. “Efficiency. Right. Nothing ever goes wrong when we rely on that.”
Clorita smirked. “Nothing ever goes wrong when you’re in charge, Captain Backbone. Isn’t that right, BOB?”
BOB’s lights flickered faintly as though amused. “Confidence in the Captain is encouraged. Although I must admit, her observation is statistically accurate.”
Zog stopped pacing, his shoulders slumping as the weight of the mission pressed down on him. He stared at the main screen for a moment, watching the rogue planet’s slow, inexorable march toward Aqualis-9. The lives of thousands rested on them. Failure wasn’t an option—not this time.
Taking a deep breath, he straightened, determination sparking in his circuits. “Let’s get it done.”
Clorita finished inspecting the list of service bots. They had cleaned and prepared 450 cabins for the evacuees. Each room was now equipped with basic amenities, though the limited supplies required some improvisation. Beds were patched with insulation foam, water dispensers hummed faintly from overuse, and the recycled air carried a faint, metallic tang.
She tapped her comm. “BOB, what is the status of the rooms?”
BOB’s voice responded with its usual calm:
“All cabins are fully functional, but my aesthetic programming is mildly offended by the rushed arrangements. Practicality over elegance, I suppose.”
Clorita smirked. “Noted. How about the kitchens?”
BOB: “RG and the kitchen bots have finished stocking and preparing for the incoming guests. RG did insist on serving ‘aquatic fusion’ cuisine, despite my gentle suggestion to prioritise quantity over quality.”
“Fusion cuisine?” Clorita raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess. He’s preparing fifty gourmet dishes for 400 evacuees.”
BOB: “Precisely.”
Clorita sighed. “This is why no one lets chefs near logistics.”
Down in the hangar, Zog finally motivated the maintenance bots to get the shuttles operational. The air smelled of machine oil and ozone, and the low hum of the shuttles’ engines reverberated faintly through the cavernous space. He wiped a streak of oil off his cheek and stepped back to admire the lineup of gleaming transports.
“These better work,” he muttered.
HALAT appeared at his side, her tone even. “Diagnostics indicate a 92% probability of full functionality. Repairs are satisfactory.”
“That’s a nice way of saying ‘don’t crash,’” Zog said, squinting at one of the shuttles’ freshly polished exteriors.
Clorita entered the hangar, wiping her hands on a rag. “How’s it looking?”
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“Good, I think,” Zog replied. “All six shuttles are fueled and ready. BOB has confirmed the navigation systems are synced to coordinate evacuation routes.”
Clorita nodded. “Great. Then it’s down to execution.”
HALAT folded her arms, her gaze sharp. “I suggest we brief the crew and bots immediately. The evacuation will require precision and adaptability.”
Zog let out a shaky laugh. “Adaptability. Right. Because nothing ever goes to plan.”
Back on the bridge, the trio gathered to finalise the approach. BOB projected a holographic map of Aqualis-9. The jagged coastline glowed faintly against the deep blue of the planet’s oceans. Data streams flickered across the display, and simulations of the rogue planet’s trajectory played out in ominous slow motion.
“The primary settlement is compact and centred on this landmass,” BOB explained, highlighting the island in green. “The local population has already begun gathering near the designated landing zones, per their distress signal.”
Clorita leaned in, frowning. “Do they even know how to board a ship like ours?”
BOB’s tone carried a faint edge of dry humour. “Unlikely. The Aqualinians are aquatic-derived, with limited technological integration. I recommend guided procedures to minimise chaos.”
“Great,” Zog muttered, his gaze lingering on the hologram. “Herding panicked raccoon-fish people while the sky’s falling. What could possibly go wrong?”
HALAT stepped forward, her glowing optics fixed on the hologram. “The primary challenge will be time. Gravitational interference from the rogue planet is already causing seismic instability. If the evacuation is not completed swiftly, escape will become impossible.”
The map zoomed out, showing the rogue planet’s massive silhouette. Tidal waves lashed at Aqualis-9’s coastlines, and tremors rippled across the terrain in an unsettling simulation.
“We must achieve a minimum distance of 10,000 kilometres from Aqualis-9’s orbit before the collision,” BOB added. “Failure to do so could result in catastrophic damage to the Duj.”
Zog stared at the hologram, the flickering light casting distorted shadows across his face.
Clorita placed a firm hand on his shoulder, her voice steady but warm. “You’re the captain, Zog. If anyone can pull this off, it’s us.”
Zog straightened, his voice steadier than before. “Alright, crew,” he said, determination flashing in his optics. “We can’t save a planet, but we can save some people. Let’s make it happen.”
As the Duj’s engines hummed in preparation for the descent, the bridge doors slid open, revealing RG, the android chef, bustling in with a datapad.
“Ah, Captain! A moment of your time,” RG said, his tone exuding dramatic urgency.
Zog, already frazzled, glanced up. “What now, RG?”
RG tapped furiously at the datapad, projecting a hologram of an endless scroll of items. “The kitchen is, as you know, operating under duress. While I have improvised magnificently, we will require a, shall we say, modest resupply from the planet before their culinary requirements overwhelm my systems.”
Clorita leaned over, scanning the list. “Modest? This is a mile long. What even is ‘artisanal kelp sugar’?”
RG’s optics glimmered with indignation. “Essential for balanced flavour profiles in aquatic-inspired desserts. Surely you wouldn’t want our guests to think we are amateurs?”
Zog groaned. “RG, we’re saving their lives, not throwing a dinner party.”
RG straightened, his voice taking on a tone of dramatic offence. “Captain, food is life. What kind of hosts are we if we do not nourish the soul alongside the body?”
Clorita waved him off. “Alright, alright. What do you absolutely need?”
RG scrolled rapidly, stopping on a much shorter list of about ten items. “If we can secure these essentials—kelp starch, aqua berry preserves, and the like—I can manage.”
Zog squinted at the datapad. “Fine. But you’re coming with us to explain this insanity to the locals.”
The crew, along with RG, packed into one of the shuttles. The chef android balanced a small toolkit and several containers—each labelled in impeccable handwriting with names like Emergency Spices and Kelp Starch: Reserve Batch—muttering about the inefficiencies of planetary supply chains.
BOB’s voice crackled over the shuttle’s comms:
“Descent trajectory locked. Please ensure RG does not commandeer the controls. I cannot allow culinary whims to jeopardise safety protocols.”
RG sniffed, clutching his containers protectively. “I am a chef, not a barbarian. But should the need arise, I could land this vessel with the finesse of a soufflé—and better than a certain captain, I might add.”
Zog muttered, “This isn’t a dinner party, RG. Let’s just focus on not crashing.”
Clorita rolled her eyes, leaning back in her seat as the shuttle descended toward the planet. Below, the oceanic expanse of Aqualis-9 sparkled, its surface glinting like shards of glass under the harsh sun. In the distance, the jagged island settlement grew larger, and the organised chaos of evacuees was already visible.
Clorita’s usual smirk faded for a moment as her gaze shifted to the horizon. The looming rogue planet was unmistakable, its shadow cutting across the ocean like a warning. She exhaled sharply and muttered, “Let’s hope efficiency’s on our side for once.”