Dick dropped onto the sofa opposite the training rigs, exhaling like the whole damn ship had been sitting on his ribs. The corner had no business being this comfortable: dark cushions, a low black table catching the window’s blue glow, shelves of actual books watching from the wall like old judges. Real paper. Real bindings. Rare enough now that even Dick treated them with a little more respect than he admitted.
Across the room, the training rigs stood cold and patient, all steel limbs and restraint harnesses, waiting for the next round of punishment. Over here, though, the place softened. Just a little. Enough for a man to pretend he was resting instead of recovering.
The drone floated in from the open floor, slow and smooth, its thrusters breathing pale blue light onto the polished panels. It turned once, making a wide panoramic sweep of the room—the rigs, the shelves, the sofa, the table, Dick slouched like trouble had finally run out of speed—then stopped right in front of him.
Its lens narrowed softly, locking focus on his face. Too close.
Dick leaned back into the cushions on instinct.
The lens narrowed softly, locking focus on Dick’s face—close enough that he instinctively leaned back.
“Hey… round idiot…
you mind not getting right up in my face?
Can’t fucking breathe here!”
The drone, of course, didn’t react—just hovered there, stabilizers humming quietly.
Even that hum somehow sounded… mildly disappointed with the shot.
The ship slipped deeper into hyperspace.
Stars stretched, warped—like someone spilled water over an oil painting of the cosmos, smearing everything into a chromatic mess.
Shiori, meanwhile, calmly sat down at a rack and started lifting.
Every movement—precise, controlled, like she trained through hyperspace jumps on a daily basis.
The drone shifted slightly upward, switching to her:
a thin ribbon of light from its lens traced her outline, framing her perfectly.
Dick frowned. Her calm only made it worse.
He caught the drone’s angle out of the corner of his eye, quickly looked away, and buried himself in his holo-tablet, pretending to be busy with settings.
“So… my dear gremlins… you still with me?
As you can see, my partner in crime ditched me and went off to ‘play’ with the android downstairs.
Airi’s showing her ‘insides’ while I’m stuck up here entertaining you.
We’re still heading to that trash planet…
So I guess it’s just me holding the stream together…”
And at that moment, the drone tilted—just slightly—adjusting to his angle. Like a cameraman who knew: this was where the host mattered.
Dick caught it in his peripheral, snorted.
“Great. At least someone’s listening.”
— DING-DING DING-DING—The call hit his eardrums so sharp Dick actually ground his teeth.
“Fucking cosmos… we really gotta change that ringtone already…
This is Radio Nebula 69.99 FTLM… We’re currently in hyperspace, so your call is, frankly, at a terrible fucking time… Alright, go on. Talk.”
A couple seconds passed—just hyperwave static.
Then—heavy, rasping breathing, like Darth Vader calling from a broken cryo-chamber.
“Dick… can you hear me? It’s me—Sage. The author.”
Dick slowly dragged a hand down his face—the whole galaxy could hear the disappointment.
“Fuck… wish I couldn’t. What the hell do you want?
Honestly, I don’t give a shit.
This is on you—you could’ve written literally anything,
and we wouldn’t be flying to this goddamn trash planet.”
The author exhaled—heavy, defeated, like a deeply miserable diver at the bottom of the ocean.
“Dick… please… enough.
Your boss and your agent are already breathing down my neck.
You’re with Shiori and Airi, right? You’re on your way here?
Please… hurry.I’m at the bar ‘Three Tits™’…
like some degenerate undercover off-brand Bond…
and… and… I’m scared out of my freaking mind.”
In the background—noise.
Something splashed.
Loud alien laughter.
Bones cracked.
Doce yelled:
“We don’t have change for five million!”
A short silence followed.
“So… I bought a coat from some local homeless guy…”
A heavy gulp.
A sound like his entire body rejected existence.
“It smells… like he died in it three times…
But I’m hoping I blend in now.My recorder’s with me.
It’s hooked through CosmoNet™ to my computer back on Terra.
Audio goes to text, text goes to you.And you… just… read it raw, in your usual style… alright?”
Dick sighed.
“Yeah?
What else?
Go on.
You’re already pissing me off.”
The author groaned. Then let out a quiet, broken whimper.
“Oh, cosmic goddess of chaos…
this beer tastes like…
like it was brewed from cockroach piss on Red Rodeo…
I’m gonna throw up…”
Dick burst out laughing so loud Shiori almost dropped the barbell.
The drone flipped slightly mid-air, stabilized, and smoothly zoomed in on Dick’s face—perfect close-up.
“HAHAHAHA!
Hang in there, Agent Off-Brand Bond.
Mission’s just getting started.”
By then Jackie was already coming back.
She had heard everything.
Worse—the whole galaxy had too.
“Mister Sage!
You’ve got this!
We believe in you!
You’re stronger than you think!”
The author was practically crying, barely holding his voice together.
And the drone… of course… activated its signature mode:
“INDIAN DRAMA MONTAGE”
It started darting through the air, cutting angles wildly:
close-up on Jackie → Dick's face → Airi's eyes →
Shiori's calm, stone-like expression → wide shot →
tight zoom on Dick's holo-tablet.The rhythm—frantic.
The emotions—exaggerated.
Maximum drama.
Maximum absurdity.
“Y-yeah… yeah…” the author choked out.
“Okay…
Thank you… dear…
Alright… I’ll try…”
The author whispered into the recorder, voice shaking, barely holding together.
“I… I’m watching the locals…
One of them is trying to eat a glass… and the table…
Another one’s selling weapons on credit…
And the third… I think…
Oh, Chaotic Mother of the Cosmos… he—he’s…”
The whisper sped up. Broke into panicked squeaking.
“He’s flirting with an android T.8.0.0…
Dick… Ja-ckieee…
I’m sorry… no… I can’t do this…
I’m gonna have a breakdown…
Why are they looking at me?!
WHY IS EVERYONE LOOKING AT ME?!”
Dick, cold baritone, like a doctor calmly explaining to a patient that he’s an idiot:
“They’re not looking at you, Sage.
You’re just a paranoid dumbass.”
The author exploded into a whisper like he was being strangled by a giant ferret.
“NO!
They ARE looking!
One of them is staring right at me!
He’s got SIX EYES!
HE’S LOOKING AT ME WITH ALL OF THEM!”
Jackie sat down next to Dick, her voice soft—
like a warm bandage over a wound.
“Mister Sage…
Take a deep breath…
You’ll be okay.
I believe in you.
We’re almost there.”
The author, whispering, trembling:
“Please… get here faster… I… I won’t make it…
Another minute and I’ll be part of the menu…
Or they’ll force me into bar rodeo…
I don’t want rodeo… I want to go home…”
A sudden thud. Someone clapped the author on the shoulder.
An unknown voice—
raspy, friendly in a threatening way:
“Hey… man… Why you so jumpy? First time at ‘Three Tits™’?”
The author—
final whisper:
“Dick…
If I don’t make it on air in a minute…
Tell my cat…
that I…”
The moment lingered.
“AAAAAAAA GODDESS OF CHAOS—GET OFF ME!”
The connection cut.