— KCHHH PS-SHH-NOPE VVVZHHH TUDUM
RADIO NEBULA 69.99 FTLM!—
[A short cosmic jazz jingle—like flagnators in mating season confused a saxophone with a sexophone,
and now the whole sound is desperate attempts to reproduce to a backing track]“Alright, dear gremlins, let’s take a little musical break…
and then we’ll keep going.While Jackie’s prepping another masterpiece from her favorites, I gotta say something.”
[He leans closer to the mic, voice a bit warmer]“When I was reading that bit about those two idiots
who suddenly became ‘happy property owners’…
not only was I laughing my ass off…I actually felt proud of D-12R.
Yeah, yeah—you know me.
Your favorite—Dick Melody—was born and raised on Prime Inc™.
So the whole ‘talk-your-way-into-a-signature’ skill?
Runs in the blood.
I’m a proud product of a corporate planet
where even dogs sign contracts.D-12R?
That’s basically Todd.
Just made of metal.
And needing recharge cycles—
which means at least sometimes he shuts the hell up.”
[He exhales]“Maybe one day…
if I ever manage to break my contract with Todd…
I’ll get myself a Deeler droid too.Those Deeler-class androids process like ten exabytes of data
just to know every contract trick, loophole, penalty,
every ‘sign right here’ moment—all that stuff that kills a normal person… morally.”
[Dick sighs]“Alright, Jackie. What are you putting on?”
[Jackie steps to the mic, voice warm, soft—like a blanket]“Another track from Saga of Code, like you liked, Dick.
DON’T LET THOSE TEARS FALL™ by Coren Vale.
Just… don’t cry, okay?”
[The song fades. A short silence in the broadcast—
like the studio itself held its breath for a second][Dick, quietly, a little rough]“So… sweetie… I’m not crying.”
[He turns—and sees Jackie lowering her head,
wiping her eyes with the back of her hand]“Ah… baby…
you told me not to cry—
and you’re the one falling apart like a little girl.”
[He reaches out, hands her a handkerchief
with the Prime Inc™ logo—smelling like corporate deodorant and mild open-office despair][Dick, warm but gruff]“Yeah… that music hits hard.
Makes you wanna open an airlock
and just step out into space.But my heart’s already too moldy
to squeeze out a single tear.”
[Jackie sniffles softly, wiping her face]“Easy there, Baby…
I don’t cry anymore.
After a dozen legal battles,
your heart just… breaks the wrong way.That’s normal.”
[He takes a deep breath—professionally switching back into host mode]“Alright…
let’s get back to the story.”
Blindy got a job.
Simple. Boring enough to make you yawn.
Deliver cargo—and some guy—to somewhere.
Basically a space taxi gig
with minimum pay and maximum humiliation.
Zeros usually reacted to jobs like that
quickly and efficiently—
telling them to go fuck themselves
at machine-gun speed.
But this time?
He didn’t argue.
Didn’t complain.
Didn’t threaten to fry anyone alive.
He was ready to take anything—
even trash-tier work,
even something that belonged in a bin—
as long as it got them off this dump
before his patience ran out
and the locals turned into marinated cutlets
à la Zeros.
They met the client at the spaceport.
And calling him “human” was generous at best.
What stood before them was:
Vaellenis of House Olliander—
an aristocrat who hadn’t risen through effort,
but by standing on other people’s heads.
He didn’t walk in—
he descended,
gracing the miserable world
with the faint reflection of his greatness.
He wore a snow-white suit
no one in their right mind would ever wear—
the kind that belonged in museums—
not on living people.
The fabric gleamed like it had been washed in plasma,
every seam precise as a surgical incision,
every ruby clasp whispering:
I cost more than your life.
A crimson sash stretched across his chest—
a visual declaration: “I command. You obey.“
On his shoulders—
a heavy cloak, fastened with silver chains
bearing miniature crests.
It trailed along the ground so smoothly
it felt like Vaellenis wasn’t walking—
but gliding on his own importance.
His boots—high, white, flawless.
Too flawless to have ever touched real ground.
Not footwear—
but the dream of a man
who has never known dirt.