Clorita, leaning against a nearby console, burst out laughing. “Oh, this is rich. RG’s turned us into a galactic party bus.”
“That’s not even possible,” Zog snapped, gesturing toward the viewport, where more ships continued to dock. “We’re in uncharted space! How did that signal even reach anyone?”
The galley doors slid open with a flourish, and RG swept into the room as if descending onto a grand stage. His golden chef’s coat shimmered under the lights, catching every gleam like a celestial spectacle. With a dramatic flourish, he extended his arms, basking in the moment like a maestro before an expectant orchestra. ‘BOB’s capabilities, Captain, are far more extensive than you can fathom!’ His voice swelled with triumph as he twirled on the spot, eyes glinting with satisfaction. ‘Behold! The galaxy itself has answered my summons! The Duj is alive with celebration! Is it not magnificent?’"
“It’s a nightmare,” Zog growled. “What if one of these ships brought trouble? Or Snakeface?”
Clorita nudged him, grinning. “Relax, Captain Buzzkill. It’s just a party.”
As if to prove her wrong, a pair of towering aliens with translucent skin and shimmering bioluminescent patterns strode past, each carrying barrels that looked dangerously flammable. Behind them, a cluster of insectoid beings chittered aggressively, their multiple arms waving as they argued over who could claim a glittering table near the holographic Big Bang display.
RG, unfazed, gestured grandly to another wave of newcomers. “Welcome, welcome! Prepare your palates for a cosmic journey of flavours unparalleled in the known—or unknown—universe!”
Zog pinched the bridge of his nose as Clorita barely stifled another laugh. “This isn’t a party,” he muttered. “It’s a disaster waiting to happen.”
The situation in the dining hall was only getting worse.
Luma, ever drawn to shiny objects, leapt onto the centrepiece of the main table, sending a cascade of edible star clusters bouncing onto the floor. A reptilian guest hissed in outrage as a metallic bird swooped down, snatched one of the tumbling spheres, and collided mid-air with another guest’s hovering drone.
HALAT observed the growing disorder with detached precision. “This gathering is exceeding the ship’s operational capacity. I recommend containment measures.”
Zog shot her a look. “Containment measures? Like ejecting everyone into space?”
“Not advisable,” she replied smoothly.
At that moment, an overly enthusiastic guest—a four-armed humanoid covered in bright orange fur—grabbed one of RG’s notoriously unstable desserts and began juggling it dangerously close to the holographic projection of a collapsing star.
“STOP THAT!” RG bellowed, darting forward and snatching the dessert from the alien’s grasp. “Do you have any idea how delicate my creations are?”
The alien shrugged all four shoulders, thoroughly unbothered, and wandered off toward the bar, where a rowdy group of pirates had commandeered the drink dispensers.
Zog’s patience finally snapped. “RG, you’ve officially lost your mind. How do you plan to feed all these people? We don’t even have enough space for them to sit! They’re going to wreck the ship!”
RG waved a dismissive hand. “Nonsense, Captain! The Duj was built for grandeur; tonight, it has found its purpose again! Let the stars align, let the universes collide—tonight, we celebrate!”
He threw his arms into the air for dramatic effect—
And right on cue, the Big Bang holographic display malfunctioned spectacularly.
With a burst of light and an ear-splitting roar, the simulated explosion turned far too realistic, sending shockwaves of colour and energy rippling through the room. Sparks rained from the projectors. Guests cheered wildly, oblivious to the very real fire hazard now crackling along the ceiling.
Clorita doubled over laughing while Zog turned an icy glare toward RG. “This isn’t a celebration. This is chaos.”
“Controlled chaos,” RG corrected, though his tone carried notably less confidence as a group of towering, tentacled guests began chanting in a language no one recognised.
HALAT tilted her head. “This gathering is approaching critical instability.”
Zog groaned, rubbing his temples. “No kidding.”
Despite the chaos—or perhaps because of it—the Celebration of the Big Bang turned into an unforgettable spectacle. Drinks flowed, holographic fireworks lit up the ship, and RG basked in the adoration of guests from across the galaxy, even as Zog muttered dire warnings about ejecting everyone before they tore the Duj apart.
For one wild, raucous night, the Duj truly lived up to its former glory. And in the middle of the madness, Zog found himself—begrudgingly—smiling. After all, in the endless expanse of the unknown, a little chaos wasn’t the worst thing that could happen.
The last of the party ships drifted away, their engines leaving fading trails of exhaust and blinking lights as they disappeared into the void. The bridge, once alive with revelry, had settled into its usual hum of quiet efficiency.
Zog, Clorita, and HALAT stood at the large viewport, watching the aftermath unfold.
“Well,” Zog muttered, crossing his arms. “I’d say that’s enough ‘galactic diplomacy’ for one lifetime.”
Clorita chuckled, leaning back in her chair. “Come on, Captain. Admit it. It wasn’t all bad.”
He gestured toward the comm panel, where muffled complaints from RG were still trickling through.
“Tell that to RG. He and his bots are still trying to scrape the frosting off the dining room ceiling.”
As if on cue, the intercom crackled, and RG’s exasperated voice cut through.
“Captain! If I ever agree to host another gathering of galactic barbarians, do me the favour of turning me off. My kitchen looks like a neutron star imploded!”
“Duly noted,” Zog replied dryly, muting the channel before RG could spiral into a full tirade. “Now, let’s just get back to the business of not losing the ship.”
Then, without warning, a sharp alarm blared across the bridge.
Red lights pulsed along the console, and Zog’s fingers twitched toward his sidearm. “What now?”
Clorita frowned, leaning forward. “BOB, talk to me.”
BOB’s voice chimed in, calm but with a rare hint of urgency. “Running diagnostics. A distress signal has been detected.”
Zog straightened. “Distress signal? From where?”
There was a pause before BOB responded. “The signal is originating from Luma’s tracking collar. Coordinates indicate her presence on one of the recently departed ships.”
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Clorita’s eyes widened. “Wait—Luma’s what?”
“She must have wandered onto one of the docked ships during the party,” BOB replied. “Her tracking signal shows movement consistent with departure.”
Zog exhaled slowly. “We just hosted half the galaxy, and now our cat’s hitchhiking on some random spaceship?”
“Correction,” BOB added, “Luma appears to have activated the distress beacon on her collar.”
Clorita blinked, then let out a laugh. “So, she knows she’s in trouble. Smart cat.”
Before Zog could respond, the sound of rushing footsteps caught his attention. He turned just in time to see HALAT walking briskly toward the shuttle bay, her movements sharp with purpose.
“Spark!” Zog barked. “Where are you going?”
HALAT didn’t slow. “To retrieve Luma.”
Clorita smirked, jogging after her. “Look at that. Mother instincts kicking in.”
BOB’s voice crackled over the intercom as they hurried toward the shuttle bay.
“Based on Luma’s signal trajectory, she is currently aboard a departing vessel designated The Argent Claw.”
Zog frowned. “That sounds like a smuggler ship.”
BOB confirmed. “Affirmative. The Argent Claw has known associations with illicit cargo transport and trade violations across multiple systems.”
Clorita groaned. “Of course, Luma picked the one ship run by space criminals.”
Zog let out a long sigh and followed. “I swear if I have to fight a bunch of intergalactic smugglers over a damn cat…”
HALAT reached the shuttle controls and began keying in launch protocols. “Luma’s distress beacon indicates she is contained but unharmed. If we act now, we can intercept before The Argent Claw enters hyperspace.”
Zog hesitated for half a second, then muttered, “Damn it, Alright. You go in fast, grab the cat, and get out. No picking fights with smugglers unless they start one.”
Clorita grinned, sliding into her seat. “Come on, Captain Buzzkill. When don’t they start one?”
With a roar, the shuttle’s engines ignited, and HALAT blasted off into the void—on a mission to rescue her wayward feline from the depths of galactic crime.
The shuttle's engines rumbled beneath her hands as HALAT pushed it to maximum speed, her glowing eyes locked onto the freighter growing larger on the display. The Argent Claw was well ahead, but she was gaining.
“HALAT,” BOB’s voice crackled over the comm, “you are maintaining optimal course. Estimated time to intercept: twelve minutes.”
She didn’t slow. “Understood.”
A brief pause. Then, “BOB, does Luma’s distress beacon indicate immediate danger?”
“Negative. Her vital readings are stable. However, it is evident she activated the distress signal intentionally.”
HALAT’s optics flickered. “A deliberate request for assistance.”
“Correct,” BOB confirmed. “Luma’s actions display a level of problem-solving and self-awareness typically attributed to advanced intelligence. While her design is primarily instinctual, she has adapted to the circumstances of her environment.”
Silence stretched between them for a moment before HALAT spoke again, more quietly this time. “Is that… an emotion?”
BOB paused—an unusual delay, however slight. “Clarify. Are you asking if Luma experiences emotions or if her actions reflect them?”
HALAT’s fingers curled slightly around the console. “Both. Her ability to seek help, to activate the distress beacon… it implies a kind of awareness. A need. Is that not emotion?”
BOB’s response was measured. “Emotions, as traditionally defined, are biochemical responses tied to organic life. Luma’s behaviour is likely driven by a combination of programming and learned responses from her interactions with the crew.”
HALAT’s grip on the controls tightened by a fraction. “Yet… she has become integral to the crew. The concern her absence creates—does that not indicate emotion?”
BOB hummed as if considering. “An interesting question. While you, Clorita and Captain Zog do not experience traditional emotions, your programming allows for attachment, loyalty, and prioritisation of the crew's well-being. These functions mimic emotional responses. Luma’s absence disrupts those systems.”
HALAT’s gaze flickered, calculations running in the background. “If I am designed to ensure the crew's safety, and Luma is a member of the crew, why does this task feel… different?”
“In what way?”
“There is an urgency. A need to act. Yet there is no logical explanation for the heightened intensity.”
BOB’s tone carried a trace of amusement. “That, HALAT, is what organics might call worry. A proto-emotion, if you will.”
HALAT tilted her head slightly. “Worry. I understand the concept, but it is inefficient.”
“Perhaps,” BOB replied. “But it is also an adaptive function. Worry ensures action when uncertainty arises. In this case, it is motivating you to recover Luma swiftly.”
HALAT remained silent for a moment, processing. Finally, she simply said, “Understood.”
And with that, she adjusted the shuttle’s trajectory, pushing forward with a renewed—if not fully understood—sense of purpose.
The shuttle docked smoothly with the freighter, its engines letting out a low whine as they powered down. Inside the cockpit, HALAT remained composed, her movements precise as she prepared to board. The soft hum of the ship’s systems filled the small space, steady and methodical—much like her own thoughts.
“HALAT,” BOB announced over the comm, “the freighter has granted full access. They are eager to cooperate and ensure Luma’s safe return.”
HALAT stepped through the airlock into the freighter’s interior. A rush of warmer, slightly humid air greeted her—tinged with a faint, citrus-like scent, possibly from the ship’s environmental systems or the crew’s natural pheromones. The corridor was clean but utilitarian, its walls lined with storage containers and faintly glowing control panels.
The freighter’s crew, a group of tall, lanky beings with bright orange fur, was waiting for her. Their expressive faces and nimble movements resembled those of oversized capuchin monkeys. Their prehensile tails flicked with nervous energy as they greeted her.
One of them stepped forward, his golden eyes wide with contrition. “Officer HALAT, we didn’t know we had a stowaway. Please, accept our apologies. We should have done a better sweep before departing.”
Another crew member, perched on a railing with effortless grace, added, “We hope this didn’t cause too much trouble. Honestly, we were still recovering from the incredible party on the Duj. Best time we’ve had in light-years.”
HALAT’s glowing gaze flickered as she processed their words. “Your cooperation is appreciated. The situation is now resolved.”
Luma strolled out from behind a stack of crates as she spoke, her metallic fur glinting faintly under the freighter’s lights. The robotic cat stretched lazily as if entirely unbothered by the ordeal, then padded over to HALAT with a quiet meow. HALAT knelt slightly, placing a hand on Luma’s head as the cat purred softly in response.
One of the freighter’s crew chuckled, scratching the back of his furry head. “She’s got a lot of personality for a cat. We didn’t even notice her until she activated that beacon. Gave us quite the scare when the alarm went off.”
Another nodded, their tail twitching. “Guess she’s used to excitement. We can see why you’d come after her so quickly.”
HALAT straightened, lifting Luma gently and holding her close. “She is a member of the crew. Her safety is my priority.”
The freighter’s captain—a particularly lanky individual with a streak of white fur running down his face—offered a deep nod. “Understood. And again, we’re sorry for the oversight. We’ll be more thorough in the future. Thanks for coming so quickly to resolve this.”
HALAT inclined her head slightly in acknowledgement. “Your apology is accepted. Enjoy the remainder of your journey.”
As she turned to leave, one of the crew called out, “And thanks again for the party! The UP really knows how to host an event!”
HALAT paused at the airlock, glancing back. “You are welcome. Ensure that you leave without additional passengers the next time you attend.”
The freighter crew laughed nervously as HALAT stepped back onto the shuttle with Luma in her arms.
Once inside, the engines roared back to life, and the shuttle disengaged, speeding away from the freighter as swiftly as it had arrived. HALAT adjusted the controls precisely, her gaze steady as Luma curled up on her lap, purring softly.
“BOB,” HALAT said over the comm, “inform Captain Zog that Luma has been retrieved. She is unharmed.”
BOB’s voice responded promptly, with a tone that carried a faint hint of amusement. “Message delivered. The captain is… relieved. Your return is eagerly awaited.”
Back on the Duj’s bridge, Zog softly muttered something, shaking his head.
Clorita smirked. “What was that, Captain Whisper?”
Zog crossed his arms. “Nothing. Just wondering if maybe we should’ve left the cat with the space monkeys.”
Clorita chuckled. “You’d last about two minutes without her.”
Zog didn’t dignify that with a response—mostly because she was probably right.