Zog had shut it down immediately.

  “No.”

  Tuk had barely even asked the question.

  Clorita had been more specific. “If you try to mess with Luma, I promise you, she will dismantle you first.”

  HALAT, ever analytical, had simply stated, "Luma does not require maintenance. Your request is unnecessary."

  So, in theory, that was the end of it.

  In practice, Tuk just got sneakier.

  It was simple. Elegant. Foolproof.

  A crate, propped up by a carefully balanced wrench, with a baited trail of shredded fabric leading inside. The moment Luma stepped in, the wrench would dislodge, and bam—instant containment.

  Tuk crouched in the shadows, barely breathing. This was it.

  Luma strolled past, stopped, and flicked an ear toward the crate.

  Then, without even breaking stride, she lifted a paw and batted the wrench away—collapsing the trap without stepping inside.

  Tuk gaped.

  Luma looked him dead in the eye before knocking the crate over for good measure.

  Then she left.

  Tuk clenched his jaw. Fine. Beginner’s mistake. He’d do better.

  The next one was perfect.

  A modified magnetic pull trap was carefully calibrated to engage only when Luma stepped into the centre. It would hold her gently in place, suspended just off the floor—completely unharmed.

  Foolproof.

  Except for one thing.

  Luma did not step inside.

  Instead, she sat down next to the snare, licked her paw, and ever so slightly flicked her tail into the trap’s active field.

  It sprang to life instantly—catching her tail.

  Luma let out an annoyed chirp.

  Tuk grinned. Got you now.

  Then, with absolute calculated precision, Luma rolled onto her back, twisted her body just right, and snapped the trap apart with one fluid motion.

  Tuk watched in stunned silence as she calmly stood back up, stretched, and flicked her tail at him before walking off.

  The broken trap sparked uselessly on the floor.

  Okay. Fine.

  Luma was smarter than expected.

  So, this time, he wouldn’t use bait. He wouldn’t use a visible mechanism.

  He hid a perfectly silent pressure-triggered field beneath a loose panel.

  No visible wires. No motion detectors. Just pure mechanical genius.

  And it might have worked.

  If Luma hadn’t casually avoided the loose panel like she already knew.

  Tuk hissed under his breath as she paused nearby, stared at him, and deliberately walked around his trap.

  She knew.

  SHE KNEW.

  Tuk’s eye twitched.

  Enough.

  She was too aware of traps. So, what if he let her think she won?

  The setup was flawless. However, the previously failed box trap was slightly damaged and slightly off-centre—too obvious. It looked like an amateur mistake, a desperate second attempt.

  Except, it wasn’t.

  Inside, a modified micro-stasis field was hidden beneath an auto-closing containment shell. The moment she stepped in—bam.

  Tuk hid around the corner, heart pounding.

  Luma strolled past. Paused. Ears flicking.

  She saw the crate. Considered it.

  Then—oh, this was it—she stepped inside.

  Tuk’s pulse spiked.

  She sniffed the floor.

  Looked around once.

  Then—suddenly bolted.

  Tuk jumped out of hiding, a victorious “HAH!” already forming in his throat—

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Only to see Luma had never triggered the trap.

  Instead, she had grazed the trip sensor with her tail just enough to set it off without stepping inside.

  The box slammed shut—empty.

  Tuk stood there, blinking.

  Luma sat nearby, smugly licking her paw.

  Slowly, deliberately, she looked up, locked eyes with him—and smirked.

  Tuk felt the smirk. Deep in his soul.

  The message was clear.

  Nice try.

  Tuk’s hands clenched into fists.

  This wasn’t just about curiosity anymore. This was war.

  Later, back on the bridge, Zog barely glanced up from his console.

  "How’d that go for you?"

  Tuk sat in sullen silence.

  Clorita smirked, leaning against the rail. "Lemme guess. She pretended to fall for it, just long enough to let you get cocky?"

  Tuk glared.

  Clorita grinned. "Shocking."

  HALAT, ever analytical, added, "Luma does not fall for deception. She utilises deception."

  BOB’s voice hummed over the comms. "Placing bets on the next failed attempt. Odds are currently 100 to 1."

  Tuk scowled. "I hate all of you."

  Zog sighed. "Kid. She works because she works. Accept it."

  Tuk crossed his arms. "No. I need to understand."

  Zog smirked. "Sure. Keep telling yourself that."

  Luma curled up on the console and yawned.

  Tuk swore she was laughing at him and was getting frustrated.

  But that frustration turned to wariness when he realised Luma was now watching him more than usual.

  “Alright,” Clorita said over breakfast, pointing a spoon at Tuk. “Why do I keep catching you lurking around corners with random tools?”

  Tuk froze mid-bite. “No reason.”

  Zog looked up suspiciously. “You better not be messing with the ship.”

  “I’m not.”

  “Then what are you doing?”

  Tuk hesitated.

  Then, Luma, from her perch, chirped smugly.

  Zog frowned, glancing between them. “...Tuk.”

  Clorita suddenly grinned.

  “Oh my gods.” She pointed at him. “You’re trying to trap Luma, aren’t you?”

  Tuk glared at his plate. “No.”

  Clorita cackled. “Oh, that’s adorable.”

  Zog sighed heavily. “Kid, we told you—”

  “I’m not hurting her,” Tuk snapped. “I just—” He hesitated. “—need to understand how.”

  Clorita wiped a tear from her eye. “Oh, I like this. Keep trying, kid. Let me know when she inevitably wins.”

  Luma stretched dramatically, flicking her tail, still watching Tuk with that unreadable look.

  Zog rubbed his temples. “Just—no permanent damage.”

  Tuk muttered into his food.

  This wasn’t over.

  Luma blinked slowly.

  She knew.

  It had been a few days since Tuk’s war on Luma began, and the crew had run out of patience.

  Zog caught a blur of movement out of the corner of his eye—Tuk, crouched behind a console, holding a small, improvised scanner. His eyes were locked on Luma, who was perched on a shelf, grooming herself like she hadn’t a care in the world.

  Zog sighed deeply. He had enough problems without a kid-cat rivalry.

  “Tuk,” he said flatly.

  Tuk froze.

  Zog crossed his arms. “What did we say about trying to trap the cat?”

  Tuk hesitated. “I wasn’t trapping her.”

  Clorita walked in, immediately bursting into laughter. “Oh my gods, he’s still at it?”

  Tuk scowled. “I was just—”

  “No,” Zog cut in. “No excuses. No studies. No mechanical breakdowns of her inner workings. Luma is off-limits.”

  Luma stared at Tuk. Her tail flicked once, slow and deliberate.

  BOB’s voice chimed in from the overhead speakers. "Luma does not require disassembly, Tuk. She is fully operational."

  Tuk muttered, "That’s what Celeste’s machines used to say."

  Silence.

  Zog’s expression darkened. Clorita’s smirk faded slightly.

  Luma didn’t blink. Didn’t move.

  HALAT, standing in the doorway, finally spoke. "Luma is not Celeste." Her voice was neutral but firm.

  Tuk looked away. He still didn’t trust the ship completely.

  Zog sighed, rubbing his face. “Listen, kid. If you want to take apart machines, that's fine. I’ll give you something else to work on.” He gestured vaguely. “Something that isn’t alive.”

  Tuk exhaled, shoulders stiff. “Fine.”

  Luma, very slowly, stretched and flicked her tail against his leg before hopping down and walking away—ultimately victorious.

  As she left, she flicked her paw at a nearby console—just enough to knock over one of Tuk’s tools.

  It clattered loudly to the floor.

  Tuk clenched his jaw.

  This wasn’t over.

  Tuk perched on the edge of his bunk, cross-legged, carefully fine-tuning the sensor calibration on his latest trap—a pressure-activated snare disguised within the floor panelling. Perfect. Silent. Undetectable.

  At least, that’s what he thought.

  As he worked, a faint creak echoed from beneath him. A subtle shift, like the bones of the ship settling. Tuk ignored it. Probably just the structure flexing. Nothing to worry about.

  Another creak. This time, the frame of the bunk gave a barely noticeable tremor.

  Tuk frowned. Okay, that was weird.

  Then, the entire bed groaned.

  Tuk froze, suddenly hyperaware that the soft vibrations weren’t coming from the ship—they were coming from right under him.

  A final snap rang out.

  The bunk gave way.

  With an ominous CRACK, the frame collapsed in on itself, sending Tuk crashing to the floor in a tangled heap of blankets, wiring, and loose tools. He barely had time to register the impact before the remains of the bed half-buried him.

  For a moment, there was silence.

  Then, a soft, unmistakable meow.

  Tuk’s vision cleared just in time to see Luma standing beside him, eyes half-lidded with amusement. She leaned in close, her whiskers brushing his cheek.

  Then, with the slow, deliberate elegance of a creature that knew she had won, she turned and padded away, her tail gliding lightly across his face as she disappeared out the door.

  Tuk just lay there, glaring at the ceiling.

  But the game was still on.