Zeros and Blindy sat in the pilot seats, waiting for clearance.
Blindy hit the comms button.
“Spaceport Lambda-Six, request permission for takeoff.”
Operator Stew came through, half-awake, half-alive.
“Uh… Jasper… can we, like… just let these idiots go already…?”
Operator Jasper didn’t even pause.
“Blindy, you brain-rotted dumbass—takeoff denied. That twelve-armed bar freak is gonna kill us all if you don’t deliver the cargo. Ringing any bells? No? Thought so. So shut the sewer you call a mouth and wait.”
Behind them, in the cargo hold, the noise was rising.
Voices overlapping.
People in cages.
Crying. Begging. Screaming.
Some of them rich.
Some of them criminals.
Some just unlucky enough to exist.
And one—clearly an alien child—hissing in pure, animal terror.
Blindy scratched his chin, yawned like none of it mattered.
“That it back there? We good to bail?” he shouted over his shoulder.
A dock worker counted the cages, waved lazily.
“Yeah! All thirteen units accounted for! Get the fuck outta here!”
The rear hatch slammed shut.
And then—
the onboard system, the one Zeros had personally configured, kicked in at full volume:
"ATTENTION.
Electromagnetic locks—RELEASED.
TAKEOFF AUTHORIZED.
MOVE YOUR ASS, BLINDY."Blindy snapped his head toward Zeros.
Zeros sat there, arms crossed.
His expression said: I have no idea who said that. But the ship is clearly tired of you.
They launched.
Space swallowed them whole.
The journey was long.
The destination—a lone intergalactic star, drifting halfway to Andromeda.
One million light-years from the center of the Milky Way.
Star 208 RR Lyrae.
Ancient. Unstable. Temperamental.
It had passed through its red giant phase and now survived on helium scraps like a washed-up addict.
It expanded.
Collapsed.
Shifted its light from blue-white to yellow-white
every single SST hour.
Five times the size of Sol.
Less mass than Sol.
No logic.
Questionable health.
Behavior: like an alcoholic trying to quit… and failing every hour.
And that’s exactly where they were headed.
To the absolute ass-end of space.
—VRRRAK—SHZZZT—TUDUM-TUDUM
Radio Nebula 69.99 FTLM![A short burst of cosmic jazz filled the air—
the kind that sounded like a space Titanic crashing into an ice comet, splitting in half, sinking with tragic dignity into the vacuum… while the orchestra, ejected into open space without suits, kept playing anyway out of pure professional stubbornness and a complete misunderstanding of physics.
Dick's voice cut in]“Jackie, sweetie… I think our listeners deserve a break. This story’s frying brains—not just mine. I’m pretty sure we’ve already triggered flashbacks, migraines, and at least a couple existential crises out there.”
[He exhaled]“Play something smooth… and for the love of everything holy in a black hole, no Stargasm™ or Butt Pimple™ tonight. I’m begging you. Have mercy.”
[Jackie let out a soft laugh
Her voice slid into the broadcast like velvet over static, easing tension in half the audience—and dissolving moral standards in the other half]“Alright, Dick. I’ll be kind… just this once.”
[He let that hang in the air]“I’m putting on a track from Nova Lyria™. Calm. Romantic. Her voice can soothe even someone born in a cryopod to the sound of an emergency siren.”
[A softer tone]“She’s trending hard right now… among couples—
and people pretending they have one.”
[A gentle synth-vocal washed into the air, melting slowly—
like a sunset deciding to lie down beside you and pull you into an embrace.
As the music faded…
the studio door opened quietly.
Todd stepped into the frame.
Perfectly pressed suit.
Color: legal depression.
Tablet in hand.
Face of an Arcturian who genuinely believed he was better than the universe itself]“Bonsoir, mes amis…”
[His voice slid in smooth, velvety, slightly breathy]“My apologies for the intrusion… but we have a small… regulatory request.”
[Dick rolled his eyes so hard the sound carried through the mic]“Oh great. He’s here. My favorite nightmare.”
[A quiet moment passed]“What do you want, Todd? We’re working, as you can clearly see. What dragged your green ass in here? New fine for saying ‘fuck? Or did my voice finally get classified as extremist content?”
[Todd smiled like he was about to sell Dick's soul at a premium]“Non, non, non, cher Melody…”
[He adjusted his posture, savoring himself]“Our très cher station owner…”
[A slight tremor in his voice—]“…wishes to introduce a listener message segment. It will improve engagement, retention… and other words that do not exist in your vocabulary.”
[Dick let out a grunt, like he'd just heard the word contract]“No, Todd. YOU don’t get it.”
[His tone turned sharp]“Our listeners are third-rate idiots. We CANNOT trust them to speak.”
[Todd straightened his tie, puffed up, exhaled a French word like it added value to the room]“The format is très populaire. People send short messages to 555–69–99… and you read them on air.”
[A faint smile]“Preferably without hysteria.”
[Dick stared at him like a wet sock that had been stuck to the ceiling for three days]“You want… me… to read messages… from OUR beloved gremlins?”
[He leaned forward]“The same people who call a black hole a DEEP THROAT?!”
[Todd sighed dramatically, like he was inhaling expensive French cheese]“Oui.”
[Dead silence]“It is a direct order. Obligatoire.”
[His jaw tightened slightly]“And… if you refuse, I will be forced to activate clause 14-B of your contract… which means you will be replaced with someone of a more… agreeable temperament.”
[Jackie let out a soft laugh]“I’m glad to finally meet you, Todd. Dick talks about you all the time.”
[Todd transformed instantly.
A full smile. A theatrical bow. A business card already in motion]“Oh, ma chère Jacqueline Rho… you have tremendous potential.”
[He offered the card]“Do you have representation? I would be delighted to become votre agent… and ouvrir la voie vers le sommet.”
[Dick slapped his hand mid-motion.
The card snapped back into Todd's pocket like it feared contamination]“That’s enough.”
[A sharp breath]“Todd, fuck off. Jackie already has an agent. Me.”
[Something in his tone shifted]“Fine. You win. We’ll do your stupid segment. We’ll obey our beloved fat boss.”
[He leaned in, voice dropping]“But YOU… get the hell out of my station before I personally throw you into open space in that ‘legal depression’ suit.”
[Dick flipped instantly into broadcast mode]“Alright, you beautiful gremlins… send your messages to 555–69–99.”
[The silence settled between them]“We’ll read them. Or delete them. Or sue you. Or all three.”
[Todd nodded, satisfied, already turning toward the exit]“Magnifique. Merci beaucoup. Please continue… being charming.”
[The door began to close—
Dick shouted after him]“AND DON’T EVER COME BACK, YOU PIECE OF SHIT!”
[No one spoke for a second, then—]“Alright, send the messages!”
[He dragged a hand across his face]“Baby… never take a business card from people like that. Got it?..”
[A softer tone]“…But don’t worry. As long as I’m around—and you stick with me—I’ll protect you from corporate predators.”
[A brief silence]“Just… stay close, alright?”
[Jackie's voice slipped in, quiet, soft—
and razor-edged]“Thanks… but I can take care of myself.”
[She hit the next track.
Of course—Butt Pimple™]