And so—
some time later,
they were already standing in front of the hangar gates,
staring at their flying tin can.
A vessel perfectly engineered to either start up, fall apart,
or—ideally—do both at the same time.
Blindy was carrying some paper crap that demanded he:
Confirm flight authorization, collect fuel, pass tech inspection, and "Sign an insurance waiver because we don't give a damn if you die."He squinted at Zeros.
“Hey, you iron dick-droid…
you know what I just realized?”
Zeros didn’t move. Blindy pressed on:
“This ship’s got no name.
No signature. No personality.
Not a single drop of sex—you get that?
People gotta think we’re badass bastards…
not some hobos flyin’ a scrap bucket
stitched together from rejected parts.”
Zeros activated Close-Range Idiot Filter™
filtering out all human voices within two feet.
Blindy refused to surrender:
“Maybe we oughta name it after some hot kitty…
like Stella Starfire… or Nova Vixen.
Somethin’ that sounds like she’d give you a private dance—
then blow your brains out.
Y’know… a sexy name!”
Zeros didn’t move,
standing there like a disconnected appliance.
“Come on, come up with somethin’,” Blindy said.
“And don’t you dare name the ship after your droid-mommy.”
Zeros slowly turned his head—
exactly two degrees.
“Your ideas remain consistently repulsive.”
“Great talk,” Blindy muttered.
“Be creative, asshole.”
Some time later—
when that pathetic star Suckalia finally dragged itself to zenith,
casting shadows so faint they were embarrassed to exist…
Blindy came back.
Chewing on the documents.
Like a dog that decided to eat its own homework—
you know the type.
He looked up. And froze. Painted across the ship’s hull, in fresh colossal letters, gleamed:
“0ⁿ&Ø”
Blindy squinted at it as if deciphering an elder cosmic curse
written by a demon who failed algebra.
“WHAT THE FUCK IS THAT?!”
Zeros stood on the ramp, arms crossed.
“The ship’s name.”
Blindy blinked rapidly.
“Zero… tiny ‘n’… a fucked up eight… crossed-out zero…
WHAT KIND OF MATHEMATICAL BULLSHIT IS THIS,
YOU METALLIC PSYCHO?!”
Zeros, calm as a gravestone:
“It reads as: Zero to the power of N… and empty space.”
Blindy‘s eye twitched like it was trying to escape his skull.
“You named our ship after a BROKEN FORMULA?!”
“Efficient. Minimalistic.
Reflects us: we give precisely zero fucks.”
Blindy pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose,
desperately wrestling an incoming aneurysm.
Later, inside the cockpit…
Blindy slumped into the pilot’s seat and hit the comms.
“Spaceport Lambda-Six, requesting takeoff.”
The system transmitted their new ID signature: “0ⁿ&Ø.”
Station Operator Stew:
“Uh… hey, Jasper, how the hell do you READ this?”
Station Operator Jasper:
“Blindy, you cosmic sack of dogshit…
What kind of goddamn signature is that?
We DID NOT ask your damn Wi-Fi password.
Permission to GO FUCK OFF—GRANTED.”
Blindy smashed his forehead against the console.
“I hate my life, dick-droid …”
Zeros didn’t even look at him—
kept the same dead, granite expression.
“Mutual,” he intoned, flat as cold metal.
“For morons like you—short form: Zero–P–N–Empty.”
Or, whatever… just call it Z–P–N–E–S.”
Zeros delivered the line like he was announcing the fundamental theorem of the universe.
“Come to think of it… maybe, those two operators are your long-lost siblings…..”
A colder stare.
“Y’know—your mama working as…”
He waved a hand dismissively.
“Doesn’t matter.”
Blindy’s eyelid began to violently spasm.
He inhaled slowly… painfully…
forcing down a primal urge to strangle The android
who, insultingly, didn’t even breathe.
“You say ONE more word—ONE more fucking word—
I swear to holy deGrasse, I’ll ram this ship—
straight into the nearest asteroid—
just to shut your—
your metal mouth!”
Zeros tilted his head, calmly analyzing the threat.
“Threat acknowledged.
Probability of execution: 8.4%.”
Blindy, without looking, raised a middle finger.
“Just ONCE—JUST ONE TIME—do what you’re asked!
You named our ship ‘z penis’…”
Zeros replied instantly:
“Well… you did ask for something sexy.”
Blindy slammed his forehead into the console again
and continued muttering obscenities
while the ship rose into orbit.
And when they slipped into hyperspace,
neither of them yet knew—
“0ⁿ&Ø”—or, as history would carve it: Z–P–N–E–S
would become one of the most feared, respected,
and cursed starship names in the entire galactic fleet.
But, as always:
through blood, idiocy,
and a very long list of corporate complaints.
But that…
is another story.