With their course set for Aqualis-9, BOB quickly assumed the role of mission coordinator. Its smooth, almost motherly voice guided the crew through the logistics.
“Priority one,” BOB began, “is ensuring the Duj’s capacity to accommodate 400 evacuees. All service robots will need to be activated for room cleaning and preparation. Maintenance bots must be operational to inspect and repair shuttles.”
Zog leaned on the console, muttering, “This will be a disaster.”
“Not if you follow my instructions,” BOB replied sweetly. “Though, given your history, I’d recommend preemptive applause for marginal success captain, please oversee shuttle readiness. HALAT, repair and calibrate the service robots. Clorita, you will ensure the kitchen is operational. It appears to have been inactive for… approximately 127 years.”
Clorita raised an eyebrow. “Of course. The kitchen. Glad to know we’ve got our priorities straight.”
As the crew dispersed, Zog grumbled, “Why can’t we just live on nutrient paste? It’s so much simpler.”
Clorita went to the main kitchen, a cavernous space that felt eerily pristine despite its age. Stainless steel counters gleamed under dim lighting, and rows of dormant cooking appliances lined the walls. As she wandered through the space, BOB’s voice chimed in.
“The kitchen systems are largely intact, but there is one peculiar anomaly. You may wish to investigate the walk-in freezer.”
Clorita sighed. “Of course. Something’s always frozen, isn’t it?”
Opening the freezer door, she was greeted by a blast of icy air and the sight of a humanoid-shaped android standing motionless among crates of frost-covered food supplies. Its frame was sleek, adorned with chef-like embellishments, including an apron etched with the phrase, “Perfection is my recipe.”
She tapped on its head, wiping away a layer of frost. “What do we have here?”
BOB’s voice came through, slightly amused. “Meet RG, the Duj’s culinary android. According to records, RG possesses an extensive database of culinary techniques and recipes and kitchen management expertise.”
Clorita shrugged and flipped the activation switch hidden behind RG’s neck. With a low hum, the android powered up. Its eyes glowed a warm amber, and it stretched stiffly as if waking from a long nap.
“Good evening,” RG said, his voice clipped and precise. “I am RG-309, master of all things culinary. State your desires: haute cuisine, galactic street food, or the delicate art of pastry?”
Clorita raised an eyebrow. “How about getting this kitchen up and running for 400 people?”
RG’s eyes lit up, a mechanical grin spreading across his face. “A challenge worthy of my talents! The kitchen will be a masterpiece of efficiency and flavour. First, I shall inventory the supplies. Then, I will restore the equipment. And finally…” He paused dramatically, raising one metallic hand. “I will revolutionise your menu!”
Clorita chuckled. “Sure. Revolutionise away. Just don’t break anything.”
RG buzzed around the kitchen like a whirlwind, awakening an army of dormant kitchen bots. They whirred to life with varying degrees of enthusiasm, moving to reorganise shelves, sharpen blades, and clean surfaces. Amid the chaos, RG bellowed, “Clorita, I demand specifics! Who are these guests I am to culinarily entertain?”
Clorita, leaning casually against the freezer, smirked. “About 400 evacuees from Aqualis-9. Their planet is about to get smashed by another one.”
BOB called over the intercom as RG began issuing orders to the kitchen bots. “For reference, Aqualis-9’s inhabitants are known as Aqualinians. Their diet consists predominantly of raw fish, shellfish, and occasionally nutrient-rich seaweed. They have highly sensitive palates and a cultural aversion to artificial flavours.”
RG froze, his expression a mix of horror and determination. “No artificial flavours? Do they also prefer their meals served on driftwood?”
“Focus, chef,” Clorita said, tapping the counter. “It’s not about your artistry. It’s about keeping 400 refugees alive.”
RG glared at her, then spun toward his bots. “Listen up, you rusted heaps of tin! We are about to embark on a culinary adventure the likes of which this ship has never seen. Inventory the storage rooms. Find me anything resembling seafood. And someone gets me kelp! Lots of kelp!”
Clorita tapped her communicator. “BOB, the kitchen’s in hands so capable they might revolt. RG’s just declared war on the pantry.”
“Let’s hope the pantry surrenders gracefully,” BOB replied.
“Alright, you lazy bolts of scrap,” Zog barked. “Get moving! We’ve got shuttles to repair, diagnostics to run, and—”
He paused, realising none of the bots had moved. One let out a faint whir as if contemplating its next nap. Zog groaned and slapped the nearest one on what he assumed was its head. “Work! That’s what you’re programmed for, isn’t it?”
Clorita’s voice crackled over the comm. “How’s it going, Captain Command? Are the bots running yet?”
Zog glared at the sluggish machines. “Not yet. They’re... considering it.”
“Considering? They’re bots, Zog. They don’t have thoughts. You tell them to work.”
Zog sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, and tried again. “Maintenance Unit Forty-One, activate and begin diagnostics on Shuttle Three.”
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The bot emitted a high-pitched beep and creaked into motion. Zog smirked, muttering, “One down, ten to go. I’m practically a miracle worker.”
HALAT stood in the centre of a chaotic sea of service bots in one of the expansive residential decks. The bots whirred and beeped, their cleaning attachments sweeping furiously as they darted between rooms. With her flawless metallic frame and piercing gaze, HALAT directed them like a maestro conducting a symphony.
“Unit 12, shift to Sector 7-B! Dust levels are unacceptable,” HALAT commanded. “Unit 5, recalibrate mopping trajectory. Efficiency is non-negotiable.”
Clorita leaned against the doorframe, watching with a bemused expression. “You’ve got them lining up to clean like they’re preparing for battle. Is this a tactical operation or spring cleaning?”
HALAT didn’t break stride. “A tactical approach ensures results. Filth is the enemy, and morale is the casualty. Victory over chaos is inevitable.”
Clorita snorted. “Great. Maybe you can bring that ‘victory’ to Zog’s shuttle bay once you're done. Pretty sure that’s where chaos is winning.”
HALAT gestured toward a group of bots preparing to enter a room. “If you do, they will be cleaned promptly. No exceptions.”
Clorita shook her head as she turned to leave. “Alright, Commander Clean. You run your spotless little empire here. I’ll check on Zog and see if he’s figured out how to get a maintenance bot to listen to him without grovelling.”
HALAT called after her, her voice tinged with satisfaction. “Good. Ensure he’s not disrupting efficiency. The cleaning must proceed uninterrupted.”
Clorita waved her hand dismissively. “You’ve got this deck under control, Spark. Just don’t let it go to your head.”
HALAT turned back to her bots, her voice sharp and commanding once more. “Unit 42, dusting speed is suboptimal. Adjust immediately. We do not tolerate mediocrity.”
The sound of bots chirping in agreement echoed down the hallway as Clorita left, chuckling to herself. HALAT might’ve been overzealous, but at least the rooms would be spotless.
Clorita strolled into the bridge, her joints whirring softly as she moved. BOB’s ambient glow lit up the console, pulsing gently as she approached.
“BOB,” she said, placing her hands on her hips. “Kitchen’s back online, and RG’s already berating his bots like a culinary drill sergeant. HALAT’s got the service bots cleaning so well I’m starting to feel bad about my boots. Is there anything else I can do, or are we finally ahead of schedule?”
BOB’s voice resonated through the room, its usual sultry tone conveying satisfaction. “Ah, Clorita. Your efficiency knows no bounds. Allow me to cross-reference current tasks.”
A soft hum filled the air as BOB processed the ship’s status. The lights on the console danced in intricate patterns as if the ship were thoughtfully considering its options.
“Primary tasks are proceeding smoothly,” BOB reported. “Room preparation is at 68% completion, kitchen operations are at 92% functionality, and shuttle maintenance is… pending resolution.”
Clorita rolled her eyes. “Yeah, Zog’s working on that. Or trying to, anyway.”
BOB chuckled, a sound both mechanical and oddly human. “He has a unique approach, doesn’t he? Still, I’m confident he’ll manage… eventually.”
Clorita smirked. “Right. So, nothing else?”
“Actually,” BOB said, her tone shifting slightly. “I’ve detected minor irregularities in the lower cargo hold. You may want to investigate.”
Clorita arched an eyebrow. “Irregularities?”
BOB’s glow dimmed slightly as if shrugging. “A faint energy signature. Likely residual interference from long-dormant systems. But… be thorough.”
Clorita tilted her head, curiosity sparking in her circuits. “Alright, BOB. But if this turns out to be a wild goose chase, I’m signing you up for hallway mop duty.”
“Duly noted,” BOB replied, its tone lightening briefly. “Do take care, darling. I wouldn’t want to lose my most competent crew member.”
Clorita smirked to herself as she picked up HALAT and they made their way toward the lower cargo hold. Whatever irregularities awaited, she’d handle them. Probably.
The lower cargo hold was colder than she’d expected, a faint chill lingering in the air. Shadows stretched unnaturally across the crates, and the cold clung to her circuits like a phantom. Clorita’s boots echoed as she strode through the dimly lit space, her eyes scanning for anything unusual.
Her circuits buzzed uneasily as the hum of the ship grew faint here, replaced by an eerie silence. “BOB, where’s this mystery signature?” she muttered, tapping her communicator.
A faint glow drew her attention to a forgotten corner. There, tucked between rows of storage crates, sat an unmarked console, its surface coated in years of dust and grime. The faint, pulsating glow of its controls beckoned like a heartbeat.
Clorita crouched beside the console. Okay, Spark, she thought, glancing at HALAT, who was already brushing away grime with methodical precision. Let’s see if this thing wakes up happy—or hungry.
HALAT’s glowing eyes locked onto the faded plaque bolted to the side: Autonomous Defense Drones – Fleetwing MK-IV.
BOB’s voice echoed over the intercom, unusually serious. “Oh dear. It seems we’ve stumbled upon some relics of the ship’s more... proactive safety measures. These self-thinking drones were highly advanced for their time. Too bad they’ve been disconnected from the mainframe for decades.”
Clorita crossed her arms. “Disconnected? Why didn’t you tell us about these earlier?”
BOB hesitated. “This hangar wasn’t included in my reprogramming schematics. Besides, I’ve been a bit preoccupied with keeping you all alive.”
Clorita snorted. “Fair. So they’ve just been sitting here? Do they even work?”
HALAT straightened, her tone precise. “Their condition is unknown. However, if reactivated, they may provide significant defensive capabilities.”
Clorita tapped the console, her circuits tingling. “Or significant headaches.”
She pressed a button, and a soft hum began to build. The nearby crates rattled faintly as a storage bay opened, revealing sleek, metallic drones lined up like soldiers. Their optics flickered to life, glowing faint red before shifting to a neutral blue.
The lead drone tilted its head, scanning the room. Its voice was cold and mechanical. “Designation? Confirm allegiance.”
HALAT stepped forward, her tone unyielding. “Override code: HALAT Prime 8872. Confirm allegiance to crew and primary mission directive.”
The drone paused, its optics flickering erratically. For a brief moment, its wings twitched, emitting a faint whir. “Registry… incomplete. Error detected.”
Clorita tensed, her hand hovering near her sidearm. “BOB, what’s happening?”
BOB’s tone turned cold and precise. “Clorita, step back. Their systems are unstable—I’m working to stabilise the registry.”
The drone’s optics suddenly steadied, straightening with a sharp whir. “Directive acknowledged. Allegiance confirmed.”
Clorita let out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. “Great. Killer drones. Just what this ship needed.”
HALAT’s glowing gaze lingered on the drone for a moment. “Monitor their behaviour,” she instructed BOB. “I want regular status updates. Any deviation must be addressed immediately.”
Clorita smirked, stepping back toward the door. “Sure, until they decide the crew is expendable. Let’s hope your override code holds, Spark.”
As they left the hangar, the faint hum of the reactivated drones filled the air, a lingering reminder of the ship’s buried secrets.