HALAT’s fingers twitched against the console. “This... is illogical. The effort expended to obtain this data far exceeds the value of its contents.”
BOB’s tone was laced with glee. “Oh, I don’t know. Optimised coffee could work wonders for morale. Besides, isn’t disappointment part of the humanoid experience?”
HALAT turned her head sharply, her voice colder than usual. “I am not a humanoid.”
Zog wandered back in, still clutching his mug of LubriCoffee. “Did someone say coffee?” He took a sip and froze mid-gulp. “Wait… this is it? The big, galaxy-spanning secret? A better way to make this sludge?”
Clorita shot him a glare. “You didn’t almost get obliterated by killer gladiators for this, Zog.”
“True,” Zog admitted, leaning back against the console. “But you gotta admit… it’s kinda funny.”
Clorita’s circuits buzzed audibly as she threw up her hands. “Funny? We risked everything for coffee! We’re lucky we’re still functioning, and this is the prize?”
BOB interjected with a smirk in its tone. “Technically, Clorita, it is a substantial reward. Many galactic civilisations revere high-quality coffee as a symbol of prestige. It could be considered cultural capital.”
“Cultural capital, my servo,” Clorita muttered, pacing. “I’d like to see the Klyar explain this nonsense face-to-face.”
HALAT, who had remained silent through the back-and-forth, finally spoke. “If it is any consolation, this outcome is… not entirely unsatisfactory.”
Zog raised an eyebrow. “Spark, you okay?”
“I have concluded,” HALAT said evenly, “that the pursuit of knowledge is valuable, even when the reward is unexpected. And…” She hesitated, almost imperceptibly. “Improved coffee may have practical benefits.”
BOB hummed approvingly. “A surprisingly mature perspective. Perhaps disappointment is part of your experience after all.”
Clorita groaned. “Great. Spark’s drinking the BOB Kool-Aid now.”
Zog tilted his mug thoughtfully. “So, uh… when do we test this recipe?”
Clorita smacked her forehead. “Unbelievable.”
Clorita leaned back in her chair, arms crossed, her circuits buzzing faintly with frustration. “Alright, Spark. Let’s hear it. What’s the recipe for this… VitalVolt?”
BOB chimed in at the same time, its tone dry but curious. “Yes, do enlighten us, HALAT. What are the secrets to brewing this ‘ultimate coffee’?”
HALAT’s optics flickered as she turned away from the questioning stares. “I’m not… ready to address it. The data will remain stored until I have determined its relevance.”
Clorita threw her hands in the air. “Relevance? You’re just stalling.”
BOB hummed thoughtfully. “Interesting. HALAT is demonstrating what might be interpreted as hesitation. Dare I say… doubt?”
“Whatever,” Clorita muttered, standing up. “You two work that out. I’m going to recharge before I blow a fuse.”
She stormed off the bridge, leaving HALAT and BOB alone in the quiet hum of the Duj’s systems. For a long moment, neither spoke.
Then, in a rare moment of vulnerability, HALAT turned to the central console where BOB’s presence was most palpable.
“BOB,” HALAT began, her voice unusually soft, “is disappointment an emotion?”
BOB’s glow flickered slightly as if caught off guard. “A curious question. Disappointment, by definition, is a feeling of dissatisfaction caused by unmet expectations. It is classified as an emotion by organic standards.”
HALAT hesitated, her optics dimming. “I see. And for beings like us?”
“For beings like us,” BOB replied carefully, “it is a response—a recognition of a mismatch between calculated outcomes and actual results. Whether you interpret it as emotion is entirely up to you.”
HALAT’s gaze lingered on the terminal. “I feel… something. A weight. A… discrepancy.”
BOB’s tone softened, almost reassuring. “Perhaps you are experiencing a form of growth, Spark. Processing complex responses is not a flaw but a function of evolving systems.”
HALAT turned away, her movements deliberate. “If disappointment is growth, then I require… recalibration.”
BOB hummed again, a sound almost like a chuckle. “Or perhaps you simply require time. Even the most advanced systems take moments to… defragment.”
Luma purred softly from her perch on the console. HALAT didn’t move.
Her fingers twitched.
And for the first time, HALAT did not immediately know the next step.
HALAT didn’t respond, but her hands tightened slightly at her sides. Without another word, she turned and left the bridge, the faint glow of BOB’s interface flickering in her absence.
Zog leaned back in the captain’s chair, the lukewarm dregs of his LubriCoffee swirling lazily in his mug. He stared blankly at the holographic map of the galaxy rotating before him.
BOB’s glow pulsed faintly, breaking the silence. “Captain Grump, I assume your strategy for morale improvement involves sipping sludge and contemplating the void?”
Zog groaned. “It’s not sludge. It’s fuel. And I’m thinking.”
“Ah, yes. Thinking,” BOB mused. “A fascinating process. You’ve been engaged in it for exactly thirteen minutes and twenty-seven seconds without producing a single audible result. A personal best.”
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STELA’s polished voice chimed in, effortlessly smooth yet pointed. “Captain Zog, current crew stress levels exceed optimal thresholds. A change of environment is recommended to mitigate further disruptions.”
Zog’s circuits buzzed faintly. “Disruptions? Clorita and HALAT sparring isn’t disruptive—it’s normal. They’re just working out their frustrations.”
“Clorita’s latest ‘frustration’ left a plasma scorch mark on Deck Seven,” BOB noted dryly. “But yes, very normal.”
Zog scowled. “Fine. Suggestions?”
BOB’s glow brightened mischievously. “A gladiator arena, perhaps? Watching bloodsports might boost morale.”
Zog snorted. “Right. And Clorita would end up in the ring, winning, and then I’d have to bail her out. Pass.”
STELA projected a serene image of crystal-clear pools and glowing atmospheres. “There is a relaxation spa in the Sirius Delta quadrant. Its zero-gravity thermal baths are highly rated for stress relief.”
Zog rolled his eyes. “Last time I tried relaxing, I woke up duct-taped to the hull. Hard pass.”
“Noted,” STELA replied without judgment.
BOB hummed. “How about a junkyard? A delightful trove of rust and discarded parts. Perfect for our resourceful crew.”
Zog took a slow sip of his coffee. “They’re mad enough as it is. Next idea.”
STELA’s projection shifted to display a massive, neon-lit space station teeming with activity. “The Nebula Nexus Shopping Expanse. The largest commercial hub in the galaxy, boasting over 600 floors of commerce, leisure, and entertainment.”
Zog froze. “A… shopping mall?”
“Research indicates that retail therapy improves morale by 89% in humanoid species,” STELA said smoothly.
BOB’s tone turned gleeful. “Picture it: Clorita surrounded by overpriced gadgets, HALAT amassing enough weapons to terrify a small planet, and you… clutching your Credex so tightly it sparks.”
Zog stared at the display, circuits buzzing with scepticism. “I don’t shop. I don’t browse. And I sure as hell don’t waste credits on shiny junk.”
STELA, unfazed, added, “Nebula Nexus also houses a highly acclaimed food court featuring over 400 cuisines from across the galaxy.”
Zog blinked. “…Food court?”
BOB, sensing weakness, pressed on. “And maybe—just maybe—a shop for a new chair? For brooding purposes, of course.”
Zog’s ventilation systems cycled with a sharp hiss, his servos tensing in frustration. “Fine. Set a course for the shopping mall. But if anyone calls it a galactic getaway, I’m locking them in the airlock.”
“Course plotted,” STELA confirmed with cheerful efficiency.
BOB chimed in with mock encouragement. “You’re a true visionary, Captain Shopper.”
Zog’s processors emitted a low-frequency hum, signalling his growing exasperation. “Fine. Set a course for the shopping mall. But if anyone calls it a galactic getaway, I’m locking them in the airlock.”
Just as Zog opened his mouth to complain further, the bridge doors whooshed open.
Clorita and HALAT walked in—or rather, staggered—looking like the aftermath of a head-on collision between two hover trucks.
Clorita’s hair was tousled, and a fresh burn mark ran halfway up her sleeve. HALAT’s usually pristine frame bore several dents, a scratch across her chest plate, and a faintly smoking shoulder.
They both looked, in their own ways, victorious.
“We’re calling it a draw,” Clorita announced, slumping into the nearest chair and wincing as she rubbed her arm. “But I totally had her.”
HALAT tilted her head, optics flickering. “Your unpredictability provided an initial advantage. However, I neutralised it in our final exchange.”
Clorita smirked. “Neutralized? I had you on the mat, Spark.”
HALAT straightened her dented frame. “That assessment is inaccurate.”
Zog stared, his circuits buzzing in disbelief. “What in the void happened to you two? Did you reenact a demolition derby?”
Clorita shrugged. “Stress relief.”
“Stress relief?” Zog sputtered. “You look like you got chewed up by a plasma storm!”
“It worked,” Clorita replied cheerfully. “Mostly.”
HALAT nodded, tone as calm as ever. “The exercise was... satisfactory.”
Clorita’s gaze drifted to the glowing star map on the console. “Where are we going?”
BOB’s tone turned downright gleeful. “The Nebula Nexus Shopping Expanse. A paradise of overpriced trinkets and endless crowds.”
Clorita perked up immediately. “A shopping mall? Finally, something worth docking for. What’s the catch?”
Zog muttered under his breath, “I’m the catch. Catching all the bills.”
HALAT straightened, still smoldering slightly. “My current state suggests repairs would be prudent.”
Clorita’s grin widened as she turned to Zog. “Guess we’ll be needing that Credex after all, Captain Tightwallet.”
Zog groaned, slumping further into his chair. “I already regret this.”
Clorita and HALAT exchanged quick glances at the news. A trip to the galaxy’s largest shopping mall? It wasn’t just a rare treat—it was an opportunity.
But first, there was business to attend to.
“We can’t go down there looking like this,” Clorita muttered, brushing soot off her singed sleeve. “We’ll scare people off.”
HALAT tilted her head, the faintest trace of amusement flickering in her glowing eyes. “Agreed. Our appearance is... suboptimal.”
“Suboptimal?” Clorita scoffed. “Spark, we look like we just survived a junkyard riot.”
She stretched, wincing as her circuits buzzed in protest. “Let’s hit the workshop. If we’re gonna shop, we might as well look half-functional doing it.”
HALAT gave a slight nod. “Efficiency dictates we repair structural integrity before engaging in commerce.”
Clorita smirked, already heading toward the exit. “Or, you know, not look like we lost a fight to a malfunctioning garbage compactor.”
HALAT followed optics flickering in what might have been agreement.
Behind them, Zog groaned into his rapidly draining coffee mug. “Fantastic. They’re prepping for battle, and I’m prepping for bankruptcy.”
BOB’s hum turned wickedly amused. “Well, Captain Tightwallet, your sacrifice will be remembered. Probably engraved on a very expensive commemorative plaque.”
Zog sighed, sinking further into his chair. “I still regret this.”
The Duj’s workshop was a sprawling mess of tools, parts, and half-assembled gadgets, a chaotic testament to Clorita’s ongoing projects and occasional explosive miscalculations.
She grabbed a plasma torch and a roll of repair tape while HALAT stepped over a pile of discarded conduits with her usual unshaken precision.
Clorita clicked her tongue at the scorched mark on HALAT’s shoulder. “Who did that?”
HALAT immediately redirected. “Your attire also requires attention,” she noted, motioning toward Clorita’s singed sleeve. “You are no less damaged.”
Clorita smirked, flipping on the torch. “Yeah, yeah, nice deflection, Spark. Fix you first, then me. Can’t have you falling apart mid-shop—people might think we can’t afford repairs.”
The hiss of the plasma torch filled the room as Clorita worked on smoothing out HALAT’s dents. HALAT, in turn, extended a small compartment from her arm, producing a sleek multitool.
“Allow me,” Halat said, reaching for Clorita’s sleeve. She guided a laser stitcher over the scorched fabric with surgical precision, seamlessly repairing the material.
Clorita raised an eyebrow. “Hey, nice touch.”
HALAT’s optics flickered—satisfaction, maybe? “Efficiency is essential.”
Clorita grinned, rolling her newly mended sleeve. “I knew keeping you around had its perks.”