Chapter 6: Cosmic Power and Celebrity Massage

Hi, it's me again, Sierra Fox. Yep, your favorite ex-space tyrant who can go anywhere in the galaxy... except a men’s changing room. Seriously, cosmic power comes with locker room restrictions.

So, there we were, lounging in the hot spring simulation, steam curling around us like a fluffy, warm blanket. The whole scene was straight out of one of those overly calming ASMR videos, except, you know, Lily had to ask that question.

“Wait. Hold up. Before you came back… which changing room were you using?”

Yep. That question.

“Well, you see… there’s a whole bunch of pre-ship adventures, dubious decisions, and at least one galactic tax fraud situation before I kinda got this program.” I dangled the stories in front of her like bait, hoping she’d bite.

But no. Lily waved me off like I was explaining the color of space dust. “Whatever. So, after you had this ship, did you use the men's changing room the whole time?”

Damn. As expected of Lily—once she latched onto something, she never let go.

I blinked, trying to act nonchalant. “I mean, I was alone on the ship, so who cares which room I used? You think I held a ribbon-cutting ceremony to inaugurate the spa’s changing areas?” I tried to sound casual, but I could tell from Lily's unimpressed look that she wasn’t buying it.

And then, of course, Mom had to chime in. “And I bet you didn’t even bother with towels,” she said, giving me that same Mom-stare she used when I’d sneak snacks before dinner.

I winced. “Okay, look, maybe there were a few days—okay, all days—where towels were optional. But I had a lot going on! You know, galaxy-conquering, war-profiteering... normal space tyrant stuff. Towels were low priority!”

Lily gave me the I’m judging you but trying not to laugh look. “Right… and clothes too, I’m guessing?”

That’s what I was afraid of. I opened my mouth to protest—there were some days I wore clothes—but quickly realized that capes hardly count as real clothing. “Fine, yes. There was a phase where towels—and clothes—were optional. It’s called efficient living, okay?”

Dad, ever the diplomat, cleared his throat. “So, how long can we stay in this simulation? I could get used to this.”

“Forever?” I suggested, leaning back in the hot spring like I was trying to sell them a timeshare. “I mean, what’s Earth got that this doesn’t? No annoying politicians, no traffic, and definitely no midterms.”

But, as usual, Mom had to be the sensible one. “You can’t just hide up here forever, Sierra. It’s fine to visit, but you should spend time on Earth too. You need to connect with real people.”

“Technically,” I said, “these simulated people are pretty real. I could introduce you to one right now. She’s got about 85% of a human personality and only a slight bug with sarcasm.”

“No.” Mom’s voice was sharp. And to my surprise, Dad and Lily were nodding along with her.

Great. Even my own family was against the idea of permanent space exile. So much for Plan A.

After the hot spring soak, we made our way to the massage room, because what’s a space tyrant’s spa without some personalized pampering? I casually hopped onto one of the massage tables like I’d done it a million times (which, let’s be real, I had). “Just lie down like this,” I instructed.

They all followed suit, and just as they got comfortable, four burly men walked in, ready to start the massages.

Lily raised an eyebrow. “Are these your type?” she asked, her voice full of sarcasm and mischief.

I nearly choked on my own words. “W-What? No! I just find that big hands are... more effective for, uh, massaging. Nothing weird about it!”

Lily gave me the I know exactly what you’re up to look. “Uh-huh. You know, I’ve got a quarterback at my university I could introduce you to.”

“Don’t bother. I know nothing about football. Except that it involves sweaty men running into each other for some reason,” I muttered. Totally not a lie.

Thankfully, Dad, blissfully unaware of the tension in the air, chimed in. “Wait, can’t you change the masseurs? Aren’t they just part of the computer program?”

I sighed with relief. “Yeah, Dad. You could even have Ariana Flappe or Taylor Sniff give you a massage.”

Dad’s face lit up like a kid who’d just been told Christmas would happen twice this year. But before he could say anything, Mom shot him a death glare so sharp, it could melt a spaceship’s hull. “No.”

Dad deflated. “Just an idea.”

Since Dad was the first to recognize me—no matter how convoluted his reasoning—I decided to give him an early bonus, space tyrant style. “Hey, Dad, if you pretend to be done early, head to the room on the left. I’ll make sure you get the massage of a lifetime,” I whispered.

Being the opportunist that he is, Dad winked at me and dramatically announced, “I think I’m done here,” getting up and heading toward the secret room.

Of course, I couldn’t decide if Dad would prefer Ariana Flappe or Taylor Sniff, so naturally, I sent both into his room. Gotta keep the old man happy, right?

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

After our massages, we all felt ridiculously relaxed. We gathered in the rest area, sipping holographic herbal tea. Everything was perfect—until Mom asked, “Where’s your father?”

I tapped into the holodeck sensors and saw Dad enjoying himself a little too much with his celebrity masseuses. I quickly terminated the subprograms before this turned into a real Fox family disaster.

“He’s in the bathroom,” I said quickly, averting my gaze.

Mom frowned but, thankfully, didn’t press further. Because let’s be honest, no one needed to know the details of Dad’s “bonus” massage experience.

Once we emerged from the holographic room, fully refreshed—some in more ways than one—I still had hundreds of places I wanted to show them. There were power cores, cloaking devices, weapon banks, shield emitters, a fake thermal exhaust port, and other civilization-conquering machines. But since most of them come with side effects like spaghettification or vaporization, I decided to skip those.

Feeling relaxed from our spa session, I figured it was the perfect time to show my family my living quarters. We headed to my living area for lunch, freshly printed from my room’s replicator.

My living room isn’t exactly what you’d call “minimalist.” Picture a mashup between a suite fit for a space tyrant and a geek’s dream apartment. One side of the room is dominated by a massive, curved display screen that can pull up star charts, intergalactic news, or, more often, reruns of alien comedy shows.

There’s the standard space tyrant decor, of course: mysterious glowing orbs, floating artifacts, and a few suspicious-looking relics that occasionally hum or emit soft whining sounds.

The centerpiece of the room? A sleek, black couch that’s somehow both too futuristic and too comfortable for its own good. The kind of couch that looks like it belongs on a top-of-the-line starship but has definitely seen me spill nutrient gel on it more times than I’d care to admit. A couple of beanbags are scattered around—because, hey, even space tyrants need chill seating options.

Hanging above it all is a strange, floating chandelier that radiates soft, ambient light from what looks like miniature galaxies swirling inside each glass orb. I’m not even sure where I got it. Probably from some alien bazaar where I accidentally plundered it during a drug bust operation.

And let’s not forget the shelves—oh, the shelves that line every other wall. They’re overflowing with my “collection”—materia samples, shimmering alien crystals, and random space souvenirs. Everything from simple asteroid fragments to ultra-rare exotic matter. Some of them are more confusing than others.

But of course, all of them are safe... probably.

“Wow, is this gold bar real?” Dad asked, poking at the gold bar and leaving a greasy smudge as he balanced a slice of pizza in his other hand.

“Yeah, Dad, but be careful when you pick it up—it’s heavier than it looks.” I warned him, recalling the time I dropped it on my foot. Let me tell you, 12.4 kg causes a lot of pain.

“What kind of sorcery is this? Why is it floating?” Lily asked, twirling a blue-green iridescent bar in the air, pretending to be David Cropcirclefield. Apparently, the rule about not touching a space tyrant’s stuff doesn’t apply to my family.

“That’s Negatite, negative matter suspended in a Tritanium crystal matrix,” I explained. “Their masses almost cancel each other out, so at normal atmospheric pressure, it just floats like that. It’s used mainly in jump drives and other antigravity technology. Some civilizations use this stuff as currency.”

Actually, the one she’s spinning could buy a few fully armed frigate-class spaceships.

“Are you really James?” Lily blinked, giving me a look. “You seem too smart to be my idiot brother.”

“I just learned a lot in these ten years… Hey! I’m not stupid.” Losing at Mario Kart didn’t count.

“Alright, since everybody’s full, let’s go back home,” Mom said, standing up.

“Wait, what about her room?” Lily pointed at me.

“What about it?” Mom asked offhandedly.

“Didn’t you already give James’s room to me? Do you expect me to share a bed with him… her?” Lily dropped the bombshell.

“Wait, what about my old games and action figure collection?” I asked, suddenly alarmed. Dad mimed packing, and I realized my treasures must be stashed in a storage room somewhere.

“That’s not the point, Sierra,” Lily snapped.

“How about I stay here?” I suggested, already scanning and beaming up my treasures from home storage for safekeeping.

“No, if I leave you alone, you’ll devolve back into running around naked in a cape in no time,” Mom snapped.

She had a point, though.

“Fine, I’ll sleep up here instead,” Lily chimed in, probably thinking she’d take over my ship in the process. But nope. Mom shot her the don’t mess with me glare, and Lily wisely backed off.

Dad opened his mouth, probably to suggest something logical and diplomatic, but the second he saw Mom’s expression, he promptly shut it again. Smart man.

“So, can’t you just use all your fancy space tech to build yourself a room at our house?” Mom asked.

“You know we’re talking about interdimensional technology here, right? Not IKEA.” Sure, creating extra space is easy. But every new space comes with a cable management nightmare.

“Well, it’s not like you haven’t done crazier things.” She gestured around my room, clearly unimpressed by the glowing orbs and floating relics.

Ah, yes. Now I see where my space tyrant streak comes from. Looking back, most of my galactic demands weren’t that far off from this. Really, a mother’s influence runs deep.

“Technically, yes,” I said, rubbing my chin like I was considering a major interstellar political move. “But I’m going to need my old closet back.”

“Wait—my closet? Can’t you just live in the garage instead?” Lily shot back, all defensive about her precious wardrobe space. I see it now. The space tyrant bloodline runs strong in her too.

“And where exactly are we supposed to park our car?” I replied, giving her a look that screamed do you even logistics? “You know, I could expand the space a bit, but if someone pokes their head in and notices that our garage is suddenly the size of a warehouse, we’re going to have government agents knocking on the door before we can say ‘Area 51.’”

Lily blinked, taking that in. “So… you’re going to build a room. In my closet?”

“Right. Your closet is the biggest one in the house, and honestly, it could fit more junk than I had when I used to live there,” I pointed out, remembering how I practically hoarded everything from old gaming consoles to mismatched action figures. My minimalist phase? Let’s just say it never happened.

“And by the way,” I added, because I’m an older sibling and it’s my duty to be slightly annoying, “when I stay there, don’t lock the door.”

Lily stared at me, utterly unimpressed. “You’re building a secret lair in my closet and walking all over my private space?”

I shrugged. “Well, technically, if I want to invade your privacy, there’s nothing you could do to stop me.” I gestured at my high-tech moon-sized spaceship.

“Fine,” she said finally. “But if I catch you messing with my stuff—”

“Relax,” I cut in, throwing my hands up. “I’ve got my own tech. I’m not interested in your hair straightener collection or whatever.”

Lily narrowed her eyes. “It’s a styling wand. And don’t pretend you don’t know the difference.”

I still don’t know the difference, though.

With the room arrangement more or less settled, the great bedroom crisis came to a close… sort of. Now, it’s time to build my secret lair on Earth and, hopefully, no government agents will come knocking.

But hey, if they do, I could always offer them a celebrity massage in the holographic room as a distraction. Because who could say no to that?