The cockpit of The Indifference buzzed with its usual blend of bickering, tension, and questionable decisions. Zog leaned over the navigation console, squinting at the screen while Blip lounged lazily in his corner, gnawing on a chewed-up bolt. Clorita stood nearby, arms crossed, radiating disapproval at the glacial pace of their discussion.
“We need to pick a planet,” Clorita said flatly. “Preferably one that doesn’t get us killed. Or stranded.”
“I’m working on it,” Zog snapped, his hands hovering over the glowing display. “SPAZE, help me out here.”
The cheerful voice of SPAZE, their trusty trip-planning AI, chimed in with its usual chipper tone. “Greetings, esteemed travellers of The Indifference! May I suggest reviewing the planetary profiles before making a decision?”
Zog sighed in relief. “Finally, a voice of reason.”
Before SPAZE could display anything, Clorita raised a hand, her tone sharp. “Oh, no need. I can already tell you that the large planet on the top left is the logical choice.”
SPAZE faltered, its enthusiasm momentarily replaced with mild confusion. “Uh… actually, that one has—”
“Resources,” Clorita interrupted. “Potential for first contact. Environmental intrigue. Shall I continue?”
Zog raised an eyebrow. “Shall you listen? SPAZE, what’s on the small one?”
SPAZE chirped eagerly. “The small dot on the right is a Class F planet with—”
“Class F?” Clorita interrupted again, her voice dripping with disdain. “That’s one step above ‘useless rock.’ Why even bother?”
“Because I said so!” Zog snapped, slamming his hand on the console. “We’re going to the small dot. End of discussion!”
The cockpit fell silent as everyone stared at Zog. Even Clorita seemed momentarily taken aback by his sudden assertiveness. Then Blip broke the silence, wagging his tail.
“Well, look at you, Captain Backbone. Alright, small dot it is. But if we end up stranded on another rock, I blame you.”
Clorita sighed dramatically, settling into her chair. “Fine. But when we find nothing but dust and disappointment, don’t come crying to me.”
“I wasn’t planning on it,” Zog muttered, keying in the coordinates.
The navigation screen lit up, and the display zoomed in on their chosen destination: a nondescript little world with faint atmospheric readings and an eerily smooth surface.
“So, what’s it called?” Blip asked, tilting his head.
SPAZE’s voice chimed in: “Welcome to Planet Murflon. Estimated travel time: 17 hours. Known features: minimal vegetation, extensive reflective plains, and… oh, how fun! Large subterranean pockets of pressurized gas.”
“Subterranean gas?” Zog asked, frowning. “What does that mean?”
“Correct!” SPAZE replied brightly. “Known to cause spectacular explosions under certain conditions.”
Clorita smirked, already enjoying the future argument. “Excellent choice, Captain.”
Blip barked a laugh. “I’m betting five credits we blow up in the first ten minutes.”
Zog groaned, rubbing his temples. “Blip, you don’t even have five credits.”
“Neither do you,” Blip shot back, grinning. “But that’s the beauty of it—credits are just numbers on a screen until someone actually wants something.”
Clorita raised an eyebrow, her tone sharp. “Wait. Are you saying this entire operation is running on a negative budget?”
Zog hesitated, glancing nervously at the glowing display panel where their total balance flickered ominously: -47 Credits.
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“Technically,” Zog muttered, “we’re pre-funded.”
“Pre-funded?” Clorita repeated, her voice dripping with disdain. “You mean broke.”
“Not broke,” Zog corrected, adjusting the controls. “Just temporarily resource-challenged.”
The screen flickered as SPAZE chimed in once again, its tone a little too cheerful for the situation. “Not to worry, esteemed travellers! I couldn’t help but notice that your booster fluid reserves are critically low.”
“We know,” Zog said flatly.
“But do you know,” SPAZE continued, “that with your current reserves, you won’t reach any viable planetary system without drifting aimlessly through space for approximately… 387 standard years?”
Blip tilted his head, wagging his tail slightly. “Sounds cosy.”
“Not to worry!” SPAZE said quickly. “I have the perfect solution! Allow me to introduce the Floating Fuelway 9000—your one-stop refuelling solution conveniently located just a small detour away!”
Clorita narrowed her eyes. “Define small.”
SPAZE paused, then replied brightly: “Only 37 light years off your current trajectory.”
Clorita sighed. “Forget it. We don’t have time for detours.”
“But it’s the cheapest option within several light years!” SPAZE protested. “And they offer flexible credit plans!”
“Let me guess,” Zog said, rolling his eyes. “By flexible, you mean we’d owe them the ship?”
SPAZE hesitated. “Technically, yes.”
“No,” Zog said firmly. “We’ll figure it out when we get there.”
Zog slumped in the pilot’s chair, staring at the navigation panel as SPAZE’s overly cheerful voice faded into the background. The glowing dot representing the Floating Fuelway 9000 pulsed gently, mocking him with its unattainable promise of salvation.
“We need currencies,” he muttered, rubbing his temples. “Credits, barterable goods, something. Anything.”
Clorita let out a dramatic sigh, leaning against the console. “Brilliant deduction, Captain. And where, exactly, do you propose we get those currencies?”
Blip wagged his tail, still grinning. “I’m still rooting for the ‘trade Clorita’ idea.”
Clorita shot him a glare. “Keep rooting, mutt, and I’ll turn you into spare parts.”
“Enough,” Zog said, throwing up his hands. “We need a real plan, and there’s only one place to turn.”
Blip blinked. “Oh no. You don’t mean—”
“Yes,” Zog said, sighing heavily. “We’re phoning the Ministry.”
The cockpit fell silent, save for the faint hum of the ship’s engines.
Clorita raised an eyebrow. “Let me get this straight. You’re calling the same bureaucrats who sent you on this suicide mission in the first place?”
Zog nodded reluctantly. “They owe us.”
Blip barked a laugh. “Oh, this I’ve got to see.”
As Zog keyed in the Ministry of Exploration's communication frequency, the crew braced for what they all knew would be an excruciatingly bureaucratic ordeal.
SPAZE chirped optimistically, its usual chipper tone grating on everyone’s nerves. “A commendable decision, Captain Zog! I’m sure the Ministry will be thrilled to assist. Connecting you now.”
The main screen flickered, displaying the Ministry’s logo: a cube-shaped planet encircled by an overly cheery slogan, “Exploration for a Better Tomorrow!”
Blip snorted, shaking his head. “More like ‘Exploration for a Broke Tomorrow.’”
The screen transitioned to reveal a holographic bureaucrat seated behind an impossibly tall stack of glowing forms. Their face was etched with practised indifference, their tone as lifeless as the paperwork surrounding them.
“Ministry of Exploration, Celestial Resources Division,” they droned. “Please state the nature of your inquiry.”
Zog straightened his posture, attempting to look professional as he cleared his throat. “Uh, this is Captain Zog of the Indifference. We’re stranded with critically low booster fluid reserves and urgently need assistance—”
“Do you have a valid Emergency Assistance Permit?” the bureaucrat interrupted, their eyes never leaving their glowing screen.
Zog faltered, glancing nervously at Clorita, who rolled her eyes. “Well… no. But—”
“You have to declare it,” Clorita said, leaning over his shoulder. “Bureaucrats live for declarations. Trust me.”
Zog frowned but gave it a shot. “I hereby declare this an emergency!”
Blip barked a laugh from the corner. “Nice. Very official.”
The bureaucrat sighed audibly, tapping at their console with the air of someone who’d rather be anywhere else. “Declaration acknowledged. Emergency status confirmed.” They paused for a moment, scrolling through an invisible screen. “Fuel shipments require clearance from the Celestial Crisis Committee. Estimated approval time: seventy-two galactic hours.”
“Seventy-two hours?” Zog groaned. “We don’t have seventy-two hours! We’re running on fumes!”
IND-E’s voice crackled through the speakers, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Oh, take your time. It’s not like we’re drifting hopelessly through space or anything.”
Clorita rolled her eyes, slumping into her seat. “This entire system is probably running on fossilized paperwork.”
The bureaucrat ignored the jab and continued with mechanical precision: “You may apply for a credit-based booster fuel subsidy for expedited processing. Forms can be submitted digitally or via certified drone courier. Processing fees apply.”
Zog threw his hands up in frustration. “We don’t have any credits!”
The bureaucrat’s expression remained entirely unchanged. “In that case, Captain Zog, I suggest seeking third-party assistance. Thank you for contacting the Ministry of Exploration. Have a better tomorrow.”
Before Zog could respond, the hologram blinked out, leaving the crew staring at the now-blank screen in silence.
Blip wagged his tail, his glowing eyes sparkling with amusement. “Well, that went about as well as expected.”
Zog buried his face in his hands. “We’re doomed.”