The peace didn’t last long.

  Back on the bridge, HALAT brought it up first.

  "Captain, Clorita’s current power supply is degrading. A replacement is advisable before catastrophic failure occurs."

  Zog snapped his head up from his console. "No. Absolutely not. We nearly lost her once. I'm not risking it again."

  "Statistically," BOB added, "risk increases by 6% per standard day. Your refusal is mathematically unwise."

  Clorita stayed quiet.

  For once.

  Zog shook his head. “No. End of story.”

  Tuk cleared his throat, standing near the bridge console like he wasn’t sure if he was about to be laughed out of the room.

  "I… I might have a way to make it safer."

  Zog raised an eyebrow. "Go on."

  Tuk glanced at Clorita. She didn’t say anything. Just gave him a shrug that said as much as it's your idea, genius.

  “So, uh... what if we bypass her power supply entirely during the swap? We hook her up directly to the Duj’s core feed. Full, stable ship power—no interruptions. And... and we use Luma as a memory buffer. Real-time backup, just in case."

  Silence.

  Then HALAT nodded. "The concept is sound. Utilising the ship's main reactor as an auxiliary power source would ensure continuous current. And Luma's neural storage systems are sufficiently advanced for temporary data buffering."

  BOB’s voice crackled through the comm. "Creative. I am, frankly, impressed. Mildly."

  Zog rubbed his face. "Fine. But someone explain to me how Clorita doesn't end up unconscious mid-procedure?"

  HALAT’s optics flickered as she calculated. "With continuous power from the Duj, Clorita's consciousness will remain active throughout the transplant."

  The room paused.

  Zog blinked. "Wait. You mean she's going to be awake?"

  "Affirmative."

  Clorita grinned, leaning back in her chair like she'd just won a bet. "Oh, finally. I've always wanted to supervise my own surgery."

  Tuk stared at her. "You’re gonna be talking the whole time?"

  "Obviously."

  Zog groaned. "This is going to be unbearable."

  BOB helpfully added, "Adjusting risk calculations. A new factor introduced: 'Operator refuses to stay silent.' Probability of mission distraction has tripled."

  Clorita smirked. "Come on, Cap. You know you’d miss me if I wasn’t complaining while you slice me open."

  Zog muttered, "I hate surgeries."

  Tuk glanced over, half-smiling despite himself. "You hate everything."

  Clorita nudged his shoulder. "Welcome to the crew, kid."

  The workshop felt different this time.

  Tools were laid out with surgical precision.

  Monitors glowed softly, cycling through diagnostics.

  The faint hum of the Duj's power grid pulsed just a bit louder, like the ship itself was holding its breath.

  Tuk ran a hand over the workbench, checking everything twice, then again.

  HALAT stood nearby, calibrating the power feeds.

  "Auxiliary lines connected. Reactor output stable. Luma's neural link is online and synchronised."

  For her part, Luma sat perched on a crate by the door, tail twitching like she was just here for the show.

  Clorita strolled in, looking about as casual as someone about to have their chest opened could look.

  “Wow. You boys really went all out. Should we put on mood lighting or something?”

  Zog lingered in the doorway, arms crossed, gaze sweeping the room like he might spot some last-minute excuse not to be there.

  "You sure you want to do this?"

  Clorita shrugged, though there was more weight to it than usual.

  “If I don’t, the old core’s gonna fail anyway. Better now, with backup plans, than mid-mission with a blaster at my head.”

  Zog looked like he wanted to argue.

  Instead, he checked the time like it meant something.

  “Well, someone’s gotta... You know, keep an eye on the bridge. Just in case."

  Clorita smirked.

  “Yeah, yeah. Run along, Captain Confidence.”

  "If anything goes wrong, I’m blaming all of you," he muttered halfway out the door.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Tuk swallowed hard.

  “No pressure.”

  BOB’s voice echoed cheerfully from the ceiling.

  "Prepping celebratory playlist. Suggestion: 'Stayin’ Alive.' "

  Clorita cackled.

  “Perfect. Play it on a loop.”

  Zog’s voice drifted faintly from down the hall.

  “I still hate this.”

  HALAT gestured toward the table.

  "Mother, please take your position. We are ready to proceed."

  Clorita winked at Tuk as she laid back.

  “Don’t mess it up, kid.”

  Tuk set his tools on the tray beside her, trying not to fidget.

  “I won’t.”

  As HALAT powered up the system and the soft glow of the heart-shaped core flickered to life once more, the workshop settled into a quiet that felt almost sacred.

  It was time.

  The workshop settled into a hush so deep you could hear the faint hum of the Duj's gravity stabilisers ticking under the floor.

  Clorita lay back on the worktable, arms folded behind her head like she was reclining poolside—despite the fact that HALAT was prepping to crack open her chest and swap out her very essence.

  “Alright, boys,” she said, smirking. “Let’s make me shine.”

  HALAT moved with precision, gliding into position at Clorita’s side.

  "Power reroute confirmed. Core disengagement sequence active. Prepare for extraction."

  Tuk wiped his palms on his pants for the fifth time and reached for the first tool.

  “Okay... okay. Here we go.”

  He worked slowly at first. Steady. Careful.

  Disconnect the old core. Ease it free. Smooth, like they’d practiced.

  And when the fried unit slid out with a dull clunk, HALAT caught it and moved it aside like yesterday’s trash.

  "Old core removed. Auxiliary feed stable. Ready for installation of the upgraded unit."

  Tuk’s hands hovered over the heart-shaped power core, which he'd rebuilt, reinforced, and perfected.

  The casing gleamed under the lights.

  "Alright, sweetheart," he whispered to it, "don't blow up."

  He slid it into place.

  Screws tightened. Ports connected.

  Then, as he gave one final twist to secure the housing, a tiny, almost playful flicker zipped across the seam—too tiny to mean anything. It danced along the edge, vanishing just as quickly as it had appeared.

  Tuk blinked at it.

  Frowned.

  But Clorita's systems stayed steady. Her power levels held. No warnings, no failures.

  “Guess we’re good,” he muttered, brushing it off.

  HALAT ran a final scan.

  "Power distribution nominal. Neural pathways are stable. All systems are reporting optimal output."

  Clorita flexed her fingers, rolled her shoulders, and sat up.

  “Well, would you look at that. Still me.”

  Tuk exhaled and leaned back against the bench.

  “Yeah. You’re good.”

  For now.

  The Duj’s gym gleamed like it was expecting VIP guests.

  Spotless floors, perfect lighting, a boxing ring dead center, and ropes so pristine they probably cost more than Zog wanted to know.

  Usually, it sat empty.

  Tonight, it was the arena.

  Clorita hopped over the ropes like she owned the place, rolling her shoulders and flashing a grin.

  “Oh yeah. I feel good.”

  HALAT entered after her, all calm efficiency and impossible balance.

  "Combat parameters set. Safety protocols engaged. Please attempt to refrain from structural damage."

  “Sure, Spark,” Clorita said. “If you can keep up.”

  Zog's voice crackled in from the bridge.

  “Remind me again why we’re doing this?”

  Tuk’s voice followed, half-excited, half-terrified.

  “Science?”

  Luma watched from the sidelines, tail flicking like she was betting on HALAT but hoping for chaos.

  The bell didn’t even finish ringing before Clorita launched.

  Faster than she’d ever moved.

  Smoother. Sharper. Like every upgrade had synced perfectly into the rhythm of her body.

  HALAT reacted on instinct, blocking the first blow—barely.

  "Increased speed detected," she noted, stepping back to recalibrate. "Adapting defense."

  “Yeah,” Clorita grinned, “good luck with that.”

  The next hit landed.

  And the next.

  Usually, their matches were like two freight trains slamming into each other until boredom or mutual respect took over.

  Not tonight.

  Tonight, Clorita dominated the ring.

  Duck. Weave. Strike.

  She moved like she’d rehearsed it a thousand times, except...

  None of this was practice.

  HALAT threw a high kick.

  Clorita dodged with an ease that felt unnatural—even to her—and drove HALAT down hard to the mat.

  And before HALAT could so much as twitch?

  Clorita dropped to her knees, slammed a hand on HALAT’s shoulder, and counted. Loudly.

  “One!”

  Tuk snorted from the sidelines.

  “Is she... doing a three-count?”

  “Two!”

  Zog, who had come down from the bridge, sighed.

  “Yep. I hate sparring.”

  “Three!”

  Clorita stood, threw her arms in the air, and shouted, “Victory! I am undefeated! Somebody put that in the logs!”

  HALAT, still on the mat, calmly sat up.

  Her optics flickered once. Twice.

  "Match concluded. Unexpected outcome. Reviewing neural response patterns."

  Luma let out a slow, approving chirp, and BOB chimed in through the intercom.

  "Noted. Clorita, Champion of the Gym. Congratulations on finally besting the statistical odds."

  Clorita smirked, wiping nonexistent sweat from her brow.

  “Prep me a premium-grade lube cocktail. I've earned it.”