The Indifference hummed gently as Zog and Clorita climbed aboard, their newest crew member perched regally on Clorita’s shoulder. The sleek Felixanoid’s silver-coated frame shimmered faintly under the ship’s lights, its glowing eyes scanning the surroundings with calculated curiosity.

Zog eyed the feline warily as they walked into the cockpit. “So, does it have a name, or are we supposed to come up with one?”

Clorita shrugged, pulling a small tag from her pocket. “The shop called her Luma, probably because of the way she glows.”

Luma flicked her tail, the tip pulsing faintly with a soft light as if confirming the name was adequate—though not impressive enough for her tastes.

“Luma,” Zog repeated, tilting his head. “Sounds… fancy.”

Clorita smirked, scratching behind Luma’s pointed ears. “Better than anything you’d come up with. What were you going to call her? Captain Whiskers?”

Zog crossed his arms. “I was thinking something dignified, like Starclaw or Nebula Paws.”

Luma, as if offended by the very notion, turned her glowing eyes on Zog and let out a mechanical mrrrp, which somehow conveyed complete disdain.

Clorita laughed. “Looks like she’s already figured you out.”

As the trio settled into the cockpit, Luma began to explore her new domain. Her movements were fluid and precise, her paws making no sound as she padded across the console. She sniffed at the glowing buttons, batted at a few toggles, and ultimately curled herself into a perfect coil on the captain’s chair.

“Uh, that’s my seat,” Zog said, pointing at her.

Luma yawned, her tail flicking dismissively as she closed her glowing eyes.

Clorita chuckled, settling into the co-pilot’s seat with a grin. “Looks like you’ve been demoted.”

“Great,” Zog muttered, leaning heavily against the console. “First Blip, now her.”

IND-E’s voice crackled through the comm, dripping with dry sarcasm. “At least she’s quieter than the mutt. Shall I prepare a celebratory bowl of LubriCoffee for our newest crew member? Perhaps with a garnish of approval, seeing as she’s already outperforming the captain.”

Clorita raised an eyebrow, casting a glance at the sleek Felixanoid perched elegantly on the console. “She’s a Felixanoid, IND-E. I don’t think she drinks coffee.”

“A shame,” IND-E replied, his tone sharper now. “It might’ve improved the crew’s efficiency. Or, at the very least, its charm.”

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Zog groaned, rubbing his temples as Luna stretched lazily, her glowing optics narrowing in what seemed to be smug satisfaction. “Can we not? I’m already outnumbered here.”

Her glowing eyes seemed to see straight through people. When Zog reached for the console, she’d bat his hand away as if to say, That’s not yours anymore. She treated Clorita with cool affection, curling around her shoulders like an expensive scarf when she wanted attention.

“She’s… aloof,” Zog said after an hour of watching Luma groom herself in the middle of the cockpit.

“She’s a cat,” Clorita replied, not looking up from the repair manual she was reading.

“I think she’s plotting something,” Zog muttered, narrowing his eyes.

Luma glanced at him briefly, her expression unreadable, then stretched out lazily as if to say, You’re not worth my energy.

Clorita laughed. “Face it, Captain Catlover. She’s in charge now.”

Luma quickly established herself as a quiet but dominant presence aboard the Indifference. She had an uncanny ability to find the most inconvenient places to nap, from the ship’s control panel to Zog’s charging station. Despite her aloof demeanour, she occasionally showed hints of affection—usually toward Clorita, who seemed to understand her enigmatic ways.

Zog, however, constantly found himself outmanoeuvred. Whether his seat was commandeered or his morning LubriCoffee was mysteriously knocked over, Luma always seemed one step ahead.

“She’s testing me,” Zog said one evening, glaring at Luma as she swatted a bolt off the console. “Mark my words, she’s going to take over this ship.”

Clorita smirked, giving Luma a scratch behind her ears. “Relax, Captain. She’s just… adjusting.”

Luma purred softly, her glowing eyes half-closed as if already planning her next move.

The Indifference drifts lazily through the void on their way to the next planet, with Zog attempting to recalibrate a console that doesn’t actually need recalibrating, Clorita reviewing the ship’s dwindling inventory and ever-increasing wealth on the bank in Otaceni, and Luma curled up in the captain’s chair as usual. Suddenly, a harsh, rhythmic beeping echoes through the cockpit.

“Captain, we’re receiving an incoming transmission. Decoded bits suggest it’s an automated distress signal,” IND-E warned the crew.

Zog groans, rubbing his temples. “Great. What are the chances it’s something we don’t have to deal with?”

“Approximately 1 in 42 trillion, given your track record,” IND-E quickly calculated.

Clorita perks up, swinging her chair around to face the console. “Let’s hear it.”

The cockpit fills with static, followed by a garbled, synthesized voice:

“Help… stranded… critical systems failing… life support… black hole proximity… please respond.”

Zog looks horrified. “Black hole proximity? Nope. Nope, nope, nope. We are not going to do it.

Clorita rolls her eyes. “And what if someone’s actually in danger?”

“Then they’re already dead,” Zog says flatly. “Because black holes kill.”

Luma, who had been napping peacefully, stretched and leapt gracefully onto the dashboard. With a semi-deliberate flick of her glowing tail, she activated a secondary monitor. A star map flickered to life, and the source of the signal was highlighted—a short detour from their current course.

Clorita smirked, leaning back in her chair. “Looks like someone agrees with me.”

Zog threw his hands in the air. “Of course she does. Fine! But if we get sucked into a black hole, I’m blaming her.”