Chapter Twelve
A Ripple in the Hull
The soft golden glow of Yellow ford Station's inbound beacons shimmered across the hull of the S.S. Cosmic Clover, illuminating the faded green stripe along her side as she glided into approach. It was the kind of station that seemed welcoming even before you docked — with hand-painted signage, warm docking lights, and a rumor among haulers that they served “the best tea this side of the Perseid Drift.”
Naturally, Kessa had declared they were obligated to confirm it.
Kael suspected she simply wanted tea to soothe the existential trauma of dealing with emotive kale.
The Clover hummed contentedly beneath them — steady, comfortable, familiar.
Until she wasn’t.
A faint, unusual tremor rippled under Kael’s boots. A second tremor followed. Then a third, accompanied by a soft taptaptap through the starboard bulkhead.
Kessa froze mid?stretch. “Uh… did we just hit turbulence?”
“In vacuum?” Kael asked. “No.”
The ship shuddered again — brief, almost shy, but unmistakable.
Kessa leaned toward the nearest wall. “Okay, that sounds like a mouse.”
“There are no mice in space.”
“So it’s a ghost mouse.”
“Kessa…”
“I’m just saying — we don’t know what kind of spectral rodents exist out here.”
Kael ran a diagnostic. “Engine output is normal. Power grid stable. No coolant anomalies. Hull sensors show…” He frowned. “…fluctuations in Deck Three, Section Five?B.”
Kessa gasped. “That’s the pantry.”
Kael sighed. “Of course it is.”
The Pantry Problem
The pantry lights flickered on as the door swished open. Neatly arranged shelves of soup packets, tea canisters, dried fruit, and Kessa’s suspiciously large stockpile of chocolate?berry swirl bars all sat exactly where they should be.
Nothing out of place.
Which was somehow worse.
“It’s too normal,” Kessa whispered.
Kael knelt beside the starboard wall panel. His palm hovered over it… …and immediately felt the temperature difference.
“Kessa. The panel’s warm.”
She beamed. “I told you! Ghost mouse!”
Kael ignored that and pulled a handheld scanner from the emergency kit.
It chirped almost immediately.
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“Localized vibration,” Kael read. “Mechanical oscillation. No structural damage.”
Kessa leaned over his shoulder. “Mechanical? So not a mouse.”
“No. Probably a loose coupler. Or a faulty maintenance node. Or—”
He stopped.
Kessa narrowed her eyes. “Or what?”
Kael hesitated, then sighed. “Or something crawled into the conduit.”
Kessa gasped so loudly she choked. “KAEL. IT’S A BABY ROBOT BEE.”
“No—”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Kessa—no.”
She grinned triumphantly. “Open the panel.”
Kael muttered a short prayer to any cosmic entity listening and removed the screws.
The panel fell away with a soft click.
Inside, tucked into the wiring like a cat curled in a sunbeam, was a tiny golden?striped maintenance drone—one of Port Serein’s robotic bees. Its little wings were folded around itself in a perfect nap pose.
Its optics blinked awake.
“Bzzt?”
Kessa squealed so hard she startled the drone. “KAEL. IT FOLLOWED ME!”
Kael pinched the bridge of his nose. “It did not— How— Did you—”
She scooped the tiny bee into her hands like it was the last cookie in the universe. The bee leaned into her palm with a quiet thrmm, vibrating contentedly.
The ship stopped trembling instantly.
Kael stared. “It was napping in the warm conduit.”
Kessa stroked it like a tiny cat toaster. “He was scared and alone.”
“It’s a robot.”
“HE WAS SCARED AND ALONE.”
Kael scanned the bee. “No damage. Just lost. It must’ve slipped aboard when we toured the greenhouse dome.”
The bee blinked at him, optics glowing softly.
“Bzzt… friend?”
Kessa clutched her chest. “KAEL. It imprinted on us.”
“It’s malfunctioning.”
“It LOVES us.”
“It’s a maintenance drone.”
“It’s our son now.”
Kael inhaled slowly. “We are returning it.”
The bee buzzed a sad, low note.
Kessa gasped. “You broke its tiny mechanical heart!”
“Kessa—”
“LOOK AT IT.”
“It doesn’t have a face.”
“It has emotional energy.”
Back to the Bridge
After resealing the panel and triple?checking the hull sensors (all normal now, of course), Kael followed Kessa back to the bridge.
She had placed the bee gently on her shoulder. It perched there like an ornament of pure mischief.
Kael dropped into his seat. “We are taking it back to Port Serein after Yellow ford.”
Kessa sat, hands folded in her lap, entirely too innocent. “Mm?hmm.”
“You promise?”
“Yes.”
“You’re lying.”
“Yes.”
The bee chirped approvingly.
The S.S. Cosmic Clover hummed under their feet as they approached Yellow ford's docking lane. Her lights blinked with steady confidence — no more trembling, no more tapping, no more conduit stowaways.
At least for now.
Kessa leaned back. “You know, Kael… this ship feels more like home every day.”
Kael glanced at her, then at the little bee now grooming its antennae in her hair, then at the Clover’s familiar, scuffed console.
“Yeah,” he murmured. “She really does.”
“You think Jorin knew we’d attract chaos like this?”
Kael smiled softly. “Absolutely.”
The Clover angled gently toward the station’s warm lights.
Wherever they were headed next — mystery beacon, new contracts, kale drama, or runaway robot bees — Kael knew two things with utter certainty:
They’d face it together. And this ship — this cozy, stubborn, space?punny Clover — was exactly where they belonged.
