Chapter Twenty?Three
The Station Scan That Went Sideways
Lumen Pier didn’t look like much from orbit.
A compact refueling spindle perched on the edge of a dim starfield, its docking arms painted an unconvincing shade of “maintenance gray.” The beacon flickered between WELCOME and WELC ME, which felt like an omen Kael didn’t appreciate.
But the ping they’d received was polite, friendly, and — according to the scan summary — routine.
Kessa bounced in her co-pilot’s seat, sipping tea. “Look at that! A maintenance request that isn’t on fire. This is gonna be easy.”
Kael gave her the Look. “Kes… every time you say things like that, the universe responds.”
“Yeah,” she said brightly. “It says ‘You’re welcome.’”
The robot bee hovered over her shoulder like a hopeful punctuation mark.
Kael sighed. “I hate that you’re not wrong.”
The S.S. Cosmic Clover docked with a perfectly smooth seal — suspiciously smooth, the kind of smooth that made Kael’s instincts twitch. No wobble, no odd harmonics, no complaint from the clamps.
Kessa stretched. “Flawless. Nailed it. Let’s go.”
Kael muttered, “This is going to go horribly.”
Station Operations, or: The Man Who Was Very Tired
Inside the airlock stood a station attendant wearing a loose vest and an expression that suggested he had been awake for approximately fifty-seven hours.
His badge read:
MARL — STATION OPS (Break Overdue Since Last Tuesday)
Marl blinked at them. “You the Clover?”
“Yes,” Kael said. “We received your scan request.”
“Right,” Marl said with the enthusiasm of a wilted houseplant. “Cargo manifest irregularity. Happens when the scanners get bored.”
Kessa tilted her head. “Your scanners get… bored?”
“They’re old,” Marl sighed. “Sometimes they pick up ghosts.”
Kael stiffened. “Ghosts?”
“Not real ones,” Marl clarified. “Usually not. Probably not. Please don’t touch the vending machine.”
Kessa opened her mouth. Kael grabbed her elbow and steered her away before she could ask follow-up questions.
Scan Bay 2 — Where Everything Went Wrong
The scan bay looked normal enough: soft lighting, a cheerful poster reading SCAN SAFE, BE SAFE!, and a console humming quietly.
Kael plugged in the Clover’s manifest key.
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
The console chimed.
INITIALIZING SCAN… SCANNING… SCANNING…
Kessa leaned on the wall. “See? Easy—”
The console beeped sharply.
ALERT: UNIDENTIFIED ORGANIC SIGNATURE DETECTED.
Kessa snapped upright. “Kael. KAEL. It’s happening again.”
Kael’s eyes widened. “There is no way we have another stowaway plant.”
The console updated ominously.
SIGNATURE IS MOVING.
Kessa gasped. “IT’S THE KALE. IT CAME BACK FOR US.”
“The kale cannot teleport!”
“You don’t know that!”
Kael groaned. “I am not fighting kale on a station.”
Before they could argue further, Marl stumbled into the room, pale and anxious. “Uh — so — that alert you got? The one that says something alive is on your ship? Yeah. We need to do a manual check.”
Kessa clapped her hands. “Field trip!”
Kael rubbed his temples. “Kes, this is not fun.”
“It is when you treat it like a science mystery.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
Marl whimpered.
The Clover’s Cargo Bay — A Journey Into Terror (Sort Of)
The cargo bay was dim and still, the Clover’s lights humming in a soft amber glow. Nothing moved.
Kessa tiptoed dramatically. Kael resisted the urge to drag her back to the airlock.
A soft beep sounded from the rear storage nook.
A red dot blinked.
“There!” Kessa whispered. “The creature!”
Kael squared his shoulders. Marl whimpered again.
The robot bee buzzed valiantly ahead of them.
Kessa reached into the nook—
—and pulled out a muffin.
A Breezy Muffin Café muffin. Still in its wrapper. Still glowing faintly from the freshness-bead embedded in the top — a tiny nutrient diode that emitted a low-level organic signature to keep pastries from staling.
Kael closed his eyes. “Kessa.”
“Yes?”
“You left a glowing muffin in the storage nook.”
“I might have forgotten about it.”
Kael inhaled deeply. “Kessa, we nearly called station security because you misplaced breakfast.”
Kessa held the muffin up reverently. “Kael… this is the most powerful baked good in the galaxy.”
Marl wiped his forehead. “Oh stars. It was a pastry. I thought it was a parasite.”
Kael groaned. “It’s always the muffins.”
Marl ended the alert and fled the ship as though pursued by baked goods.
Kessa took a heroic bite of the muffin. “Mystery solved!”
Kael leaned against the cargo crates, exhausted by the chaos. “Our lives are absurd.”
Kessa grinned through crumbs. “Kael? We’re just living our best loaf.”
“Kessa—”
“LOAF, Kael.”
Kael buried his face in his hands. “Please. Stop.”
The robot bee buzzed in pun appreciation.
Drifting Home
Back on the bridge, Kael settled into his chair with the air of a man personally wronged by carbohydrates.
Kessa flopped into hers and nudged him with her shoulder. “Come on. That was fun.”
Kael sighed, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him. “…It was a little fun.”
“A LITTLE?”
“Don’t push your luck.”
The Clover hummed warmly — fully aware of the absurdity of her crew and fully delighted by it.
Kessa stretched. “Alright. After this? Tea. A nap. Then maybe… Message Three?”
Kael nodded slowly. “Yeah. When we’re ready.”
The Clover’s lights dimmed to a cozy glow, as if saying:
One small thing at a time.
And the siblings leaned back, drifting through the soft-lane currents — carrying a glowing muffin, a nervous station attendant’s gratitude, and the kind of laughter that made the road ahead feel just a little lighter.
