While Tuk sulked over his cat-related failures, HALAT and BOB were busy with a more critical search.

  "Cross-referencing last recorded boarding data," BOB intoned. "Date: 127 years, 4 months, 22 days ago."

  HALAT watched the terminal screen as lines of passenger data filled the console.

  "Total passengers: 5,032. Crew: 982. Child passengers: 217."

  Zog walked over, glancing at the data. “You found the old manifest?”

  "Affirmative," HALAT responded. "This would have been the last known record before Celeste initiated the lockout."

  Zog leaned forward, scanning the names. “You said there were 217 kids on board?”

  "Correct. The majority within the age range of six to ten years."

  Zog let out a low whistle. “So Tuk could’ve been any of them.”

  HALAT scrolled through the rows. "If he boarded with his parents, his name should be on the manifest. The only way he wouldn’t be listed is if he was born aboard after launch."

  BOB hummed. "Probability of parental presence: 98.6%. Given the timeline, it is highly likely Tuk was travelling with biological guardians at the time of boarding."

  Zog rubbed his chin. “And we don’t know what happened to them?”

  "Negative. There are no records on board regarding who evacuated or who perished." HALAT paused, then added, "But if Tuk’s parents were aboard when Celeste took control, they would have been caught in the event."

  Clorita, who had been listening, frowned. "Wait. So you’re saying this kid’s been alone for over a hundred years, and we don’t even know if his parents made it off the ship?"

  BOB was silent for a moment. Then:

  "There is no trace of them beyond the original boarding logs."

  The words hung in the air.

  Zog let out a slow breath. "So either they didn’t make it…"

  HALAT’s tone remained neutral. "Or they are somewhere in the universe, wondering what happened to their kid."

  Zog frowned at the screen. "So if Tuk was born before launch, he has to be on this list. If he was born after, there won’t be any record of him at all."

  BOB’s tone was dry. "Which makes your search approximately 500% more difficult."

  Another pause.

  Zog sat back, arms crossed. “Well. That’s… not great.”

  Clorita exhaled. “What are the odds Tuk knows anything about it?”

  BOB responded instantly. "Unknown. However, given his response patterns, the discussion of Celeste and the lockdown triggers elevated stress markers. He either remembers something important, or he has significant trauma associated with the event."

  Zog gritted his teeth. “Yeah. No kidding.”

  HALAT continued scanning. “Further narrowing parameters to unaccounted child passengers. This will take time.”

  Zog nodded. "Keep at it. Let me know when you find something solid."

  HALAT scrolled through the old passenger manifest, cross-referencing every record against the new translation updates. The terminal has thousands of names, ages, and room assignments from 127 years ago.

  BOB’s voice chimed in, bored as ever. “At our current rate, this process will take approximately… forever.”

  HALAT didn’t react. “Progress remains insufficient. Without a full name, a registered cabin, or a home planet, we cannot narrow the results.”

  Zog, half-listening from his chair, frowned. “You’re telling me you can’t just guess based on ‘Tuk, eight years old, left behind’?”

  "Correct."

  Clorita leaned over the console. "Alright, so what do we need?"

  HALAT listed them off without hesitation. “A full name, including any family or clan designations. A room assignment. The planet he originally boarded from and any physical identifiers recorded at boarding.”

  BOB added, "Additionally, confirming what species he belongs to would be useful. Right now, the database would classify him as ‘Probably Not Human, which is for most of the kids on the list’”

  Clorita smirked. “Helpful.”

  HALAT continued, “Given the ship’s passenger capacity of 5,000 and over 200 children on record, we are currently attempting to identify one child out of many with incomplete data. This is inefficient.”

  Zog sighed. "Great. So unless the kid suddenly remembers his old address, we’re stuck."

  Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

  HALAT nodded. “Correct.”

  BOB hummed. “Perhaps we should simply ask him.”

  Zog scoffed. "Yeah, that’ll go great. He’s so cooperative."

  Clorita grinned. "Oh, I wanna see you try."

  Later that evening, Zog and Tuk sat in the crew lounge, staring at the screen as the least exciting show in existence played before them.

  "Welcome back to another episode of Galaxy’s Dullest Accidents, the show where nothing really happens, but it’s still somehow legally considered a collision!"

  The screen showed a slow, endless replay of a cargo haulier slightly bumping into a docking bay.

  Tuk squinted. “…This is what you watch?”

  Zog grunted, taking a sip of his LubriCoffee. "It’s relaxing."

  A long pause.

  The footage replayed again.

  Tuk shifted in his seat. “…I feel like I’m dying.”

  Zog smirked. “That’s how you know it’s working.”

  Tuk groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “This is worse than waiting for protein bars to expire.”

  Zog took another sip, utterly unfazed. “Since we’re already suffering, how about a trade? You answer some questions, and I find something less boring to watch.”

  Tuk shot him a glare. “That’s blackmail.”

  “Yup.”

  Tuk grumbled, but the boredom was clearly killing him. “Fine. What?”

  Zog leaned back. “You remember your full name?”

  Tuk hesitated. “It’s Xixxon.”

  Zog waved a hand. “Yeah, we know that. But what about a last name? A family name?”

  Tuk frowned, thinking. “…No?”

  Zog raised a brow. “You don’t know, or you don’t have one?”

  Tuk shrugged. "I dunno. I was a kid. Nobody called me anything else."

  Zog sighed. “Alright. What about your room? Do you remember where you stayed?”

  Tuk hesitated longer this time. His fingers curled slightly.

  “…I was in the hold.”

  Zog’s gaze narrowed slightly. “Before that.”

  Tuk’s jaw tightened. He looked back at the screen.

  "Here we see another minor hull scratch occurring at a speed of nearly three meters per hour—"

  “I dunno,” Tuk muttered. “I don’t remember.”

  Zog let that sit for a second. Didn’t push.

  Then: “Alright. What about the planet? You remember where you were before boarding?”

  Tuk exhaled. “No.”

  Zog tilted his head. “You really don’t remember, or you don’t wanna talk about it?”

  Tuk tensed. “I. Don’t. Remember.”

  Zog watched him for a second. “Alright.”

  The screen played another mind-numbingly slow docking mishap.

  Tuk let out an annoyed breath. “Can we be done now?”

  Zog nodded. “Yeah. We’re done.”

  A beat.

  Then Zog grabbed the remote, took another sip of LubriCoffee, and changed the channel.

  Tuk blinked. “…That’s it?”

  “What, you want me to interrogate you?” Zog smirked. “You think I got time for that?”

  Tuk crossed his arms. "I hate this ship."

  Zog took another long sip. “Yeah, yeah.”

  Zog walked back onto the bridge with Tuk at his side. As he made his way to his chair, he gave HALAT and BOB a subtle headshake—a clear signal that he hadn’t gotten much out of the kid.

  HALAT didn’t react. BOB, however, hummed over the speakers. “Shocking. The child’s memory is, once again, inconveniently selective.”

  Zog ignored it, settling into his seat and reaching for his LubriCoffee. “Alright, kid. Clorita’s in the workshop. Get moving.”

  Tuk frowned. “Where’s the workshop?”

  Zog waved a hand. “You’ll figure it out.”

  Tuk most certainly did not figure it out.

  He wandered the corridors for a while, muttering insults under his breath. The ship was massive, and the hallways all looked the same.

  After several wrong turns and one accidental trip into a storage bay, he finally spotted Reginald.

  The butler bot turned smoothly, hands folded behind his back, his expression of endless patience.

  "Ah! Master Tuk. I see you are enjoying an aimless stroll through the ship."

  Tuk scowled. “I’m looking for the workshop.”

  "Ah, of course. Captain Zog’s ever-detailed instructions strike again."

  Tuk crossed his arms. “You gonna take me there or not?”

  Reginald gave a perfectly measured nod. "Naturally, sir. Follow me."

  Tuk sighed. At least someone on this ship gave straight answers.

  Reginald led the way with perfect precision, moving at an unhurried but annoyingly elegant pace.

  Tuk resisted the urge to kick something.

  By the time Tuk finally arrived at the workshop, Clorita was already elbow-deep in maintenance work, a wrench clenched between her teeth and sparks flying from an open panel.

  She glanced up as he entered. "Took you long enough."

  Tuk grumbled but didn’t argue.

  Clorita pulled back from the console, stretched, and then tossed something metal at him. Tuk caught it on instinct.

  It was a broken power supply unit.

  "Here. Play with this," Clorita said, wiping her hands. "See if you can figure it out."

  Tuk turned the part over, examining the damaged plating and fried circuits.

  "This is junk," he muttered.

  "Yup," Clorita said cheerfully. "It’s my old power core. Got shot up back at Xeryrion. Completely useless."

  Tuk narrowed his eyes. "Then why give it to me?"

  Clorita grinned. "Because you keep messing with stuff you shouldn’t. So now you get something you can mess with. Figure it out, genius."

  She dusted off her hands and turned toward the door. "I’m heading back to the bridge. Try not to electrocute yourself. Or do. Might be entertaining."

  Tuk glared at the broken power supply.

  Beyond all repair, huh?

  He sat down at the workbench and grabbed a tool.