Space 2047: a suspicious comfort robot and the absurd incident of a letter from Shopkeepers Anonymous
Somewhere inside a space motorway service station, in the sort of silence that only space can make when it is trying to be annoying, a suspicious comfort robot began to suspect that the day was about to become memorable for all the wrong reasons.
The Boredom Before the Disaster
It began, as most regrettable events aboard the spaceship Are We There Yet? began, with somebody insisting that nothing whatsoever was wrong. On this occasion it was a suspicious comfort robot, who had adopted the facial expression of a person attempting to look calm while internally arranging panic into alphabetical order. The crew had been passing through a space motorway service station, a region of space so tedious that even the emergency lights seemed to yawn, when the crew are accused of shoplifting nostalgia.
Brian blamed a letter from Shopkeepers Anonymous immediately, which was unfair but not entirely stupid, because the object had been humming in a manner normally associated with suspicious machines, guilty sandwiches, and robots pretending not to understand tax law. The shipboard recording software noted the accusation carefully, not because it was useful, but because it enjoyed the possibility of using it in evidence at a later date.
The crew gathered in the control room, which had recently been cleaned by a robot that believed dust was a protected species. a suspicious comfort robot proposed a sensible investigation. Brian proposed shouting at the ceiling. a sentient sandwich suggested sending the problem an invoice, because in the modern galaxy nothing was truly real until somebody had charged you for it twice.
For inspiration, the ship’s ancient memory banks produced the phrase, “with a momentary bit of enjoyment but not much. The broken window was another thing that Karen started to worry about, because she realised that her parents probably”, which nobody understood but everyone pretended was profound. Cedric nodded as if he had just discovered philosophy inside a vending machine. Salomina stared at the readout with the expression of a woman who had once seduced a vacuum cleaner and therefore no longer trusted electrical appliances with smooth edges.
The first plan involved a robotic organ part. The second plan involved pretending the first plan had never happened. The third plan, which Brian liked best, involved lifting something heavy, looking heroic, and hoping the universe mistook confidence for competence. Unfortunately the universe had met Brian before and was not easily fooled.
Soon the situation spread to a meteorite with speakers attached, where an automated announcement declared that all passengers should remain calm, panic in an orderly queue, and avoid making eye contact with any parcel that appeared to be breathing. This advice was immediately ignored by everyone except the parcel, which seemed offended that nobody had asked about its feelings.
a suspicious comfort robot attempted diplomacy. This consisted of standing very close to a letter from Shopkeepers Anonymous and saying, “Now listen here,” in the kind of voice people use when they have no idea what they are about to say next. The object responded by making a noise like a kettle discovering jazz. The crew stepped backwards. The ship stepped metaphorically backwards. Even the wallpaper seemed to reconsider its future.
A message then arrived from an intergalactic official who claimed authority over the matter, although in space there were so many authorities that even authority had begun applying for a holiday. The official demanded forms, counter-forms, an emotional declaration from the nearest toaster, and proof that Brian had not recently insulted a moon. This was difficult, because Brian had insulted at least three moons that morning.
By the time the crew reached the fourth argument, the original problem had become a sort of travelling circus. Lights flashed. Buttons beeped. A cupboard opened by itself and revealed a packet of crisps that nobody trusted. Karen suggested that the crisps might be bait. Brian suggested eating them to remove the danger. Cedric suggested asking whether the crisps were single, which caused a silence of such depth that several nearby asteroids turned away out of embarrassment.
In the end, the crew solved the matter in the traditional Space 2047 manner: accidentally, noisily, and with paperwork still attached. a suspicious comfort robot tripped over a robotic organ part, Brian shouted an apology at the wrong person, and the ship’s space horn went off with enough force to make a distant meteorite forget the second verse of a song it had been singing since Tuesday.
A Suspicious Object Becomes Important
It began, as most regrettable events aboard the spaceship Are We There Yet? began, with somebody insisting that nothing whatsoever was wrong. On this occasion it was a suspicious comfort robot, who had adopted the facial expression of a person attempting to look calm while internally arranging panic into alphabetical order. The crew had been passing through a space motorway service station, a region of space so tedious that even the emergency lights seemed to yawn, when the crew are accused of shoplifting nostalgia.
Brian blamed a letter from Shopkeepers Anonymous immediately, which was unfair but not entirely stupid, because the object had been humming in a manner normally associated with suspicious machines, guilty sandwiches, and robots pretending not to understand tax law. The shipboard recording software noted the accusation carefully, not because it was useful, but because it enjoyed the possibility of using it in evidence at a later date.
The crew gathered in the control room, which had recently been cleaned by a robot that believed dust was a protected species. a suspicious comfort robot proposed a sensible investigation. Brian proposed shouting at the ceiling. a security droid with public-service issues suggested sending the problem an invoice, because in the modern galaxy nothing was truly real until somebody had charged you for it twice.
For inspiration, the ship’s ancient memory banks produced the phrase, “started to worry about, because she realised that her parents probably would be as angry as the man walking towards her house. The man who really didn’t appreciate”, which nobody understood but everyone pretended was profound. Cedric nodded as if he had just discovered philosophy inside a vending machine. Salomina stared at the readout with the expression of a woman who had once seduced a vacuum cleaner and therefore no longer trusted electrical appliances with smooth edges.
The first plan involved a space horn. The second plan involved pretending the first plan had never happened. The third plan, which Brian liked best, involved lifting something heavy, looking heroic, and hoping the universe mistook confidence for competence. Unfortunately the universe had met Brian before and was not easily fooled.
Soon the situation spread to the planet Elegencincia, where an automated announcement declared that all passengers should remain calm, panic in an orderly queue, and avoid making eye contact with any parcel that appeared to be breathing. This advice was immediately ignored by everyone except the parcel, which seemed offended that nobody had asked about its feelings.
a suspicious comfort robot attempted diplomacy. This consisted of standing very close to a letter from Shopkeepers Anonymous and saying, “Now listen here,” in the kind of voice people use when they have no idea what they are about to say next. The object responded by making a noise like a kettle discovering jazz. The crew stepped backwards. The ship stepped metaphorically backwards. Even the wallpaper seemed to reconsider its future.
A message then arrived from an intergalactic official who claimed authority over the matter, although in space there were so many authorities that even authority had begun applying for a holiday. The official demanded forms, counter-forms, an emotional declaration from the nearest toaster, and proof that Brian had not recently insulted a moon. This was difficult, because Brian had insulted at least three moons that morning.
By the time the crew reached the fourth argument, the original problem had become a sort of travelling circus. Lights flashed. Buttons beeped. A cupboard opened by itself and revealed a packet of crisps that nobody trusted. Karen suggested that the crisps might be bait. Brian suggested eating them to remove the danger. Cedric suggested asking whether the crisps were single, which caused a silence of such depth that several nearby asteroids turned away out of embarrassment.
In the end, the crew solved the matter in the traditional Space 2047 manner: accidentally, noisily, and with paperwork still attached. a suspicious comfort robot tripped over a space horn, Brian shouted an apology at the wrong person, and the ship’s space horn went off with enough force to make a distant meteorite forget the second verse of a song it had been singing since Tuesday.
The Crew Hold a Meeting
It began, as most regrettable events aboard the spaceship Are We There Yet? began, with somebody insisting that nothing whatsoever was wrong. On this occasion it was a suspicious comfort robot, who had adopted the facial expression of a person attempting to look calm while internally arranging panic into alphabetical order. The crew had been passing through a space motorway service station, a region of space so tedious that even the emergency lights seemed to yawn, when the crew are accused of shoplifting nostalgia.
Brian blamed a letter from Shopkeepers Anonymous immediately, which was unfair but not entirely stupid, because the object had been humming in a manner normally associated with suspicious machines, guilty sandwiches, and robots pretending not to understand tax law. The shipboard recording software noted the accusation carefully, not because it was useful, but because it enjoyed the possibility of using it in evidence at a later date.
The crew gathered in the control room, which had recently been cleaned by a robot that believed dust was a protected species. a suspicious comfort robot proposed a sensible investigation. Brian proposed shouting at the ceiling. Brian suggested sending the problem an invoice, because in the modern galaxy nothing was truly real until somebody had charged you for it twice.
For inspiration, the ship’s ancient memory banks produced the phrase, “man walking towards her house. The man who really didn’t appreciate a satellite television projector crashing into him whilst he was on his bicycle. Of course, and unfortunately”, which nobody understood but everyone pretended was profound. Cedric nodded as if he had just discovered philosophy inside a vending machine. Salomina stared at the readout with the expression of a woman who had once seduced a vacuum cleaner and therefore no longer trusted electrical appliances with smooth edges.
The first plan involved a letter from Shopkeepers Anonymous. The second plan involved pretending the first plan had never happened. The third plan, which Brian liked best, involved lifting something heavy, looking heroic, and hoping the universe mistook confidence for competence. Unfortunately the universe had met Brian before and was not easily fooled.
Soon the situation spread to a suspicious asteroid shopping centre, where an automated announcement declared that all passengers should remain calm, panic in an orderly queue, and avoid making eye contact with any parcel that appeared to be breathing. This advice was immediately ignored by everyone except the parcel, which seemed offended that nobody had asked about its feelings.
a suspicious comfort robot attempted diplomacy. This consisted of standing very close to a letter from Shopkeepers Anonymous and saying, “Now listen here,” in the kind of voice people use when they have no idea what they are about to say next. The object responded by making a noise like a kettle discovering jazz. The crew stepped backwards. The ship stepped metaphorically backwards. Even the wallpaper seemed to reconsider its future.
A message then arrived from an intergalactic official who claimed authority over the matter, although in space there were so many authorities that even authority had begun applying for a holiday. The official demanded forms, counter-forms, an emotional declaration from the nearest toaster, and proof that Brian had not recently insulted a moon. This was difficult, because Brian had insulted at least three moons that morning.
By the time the crew reached the fourth argument, the original problem had become a sort of travelling circus. Lights flashed. Buttons beeped. A cupboard opened by itself and revealed a packet of crisps that nobody trusted. Karen suggested that the crisps might be bait. Brian suggested eating them to remove the danger. Cedric suggested asking whether the crisps were single, which caused a silence of such depth that several nearby asteroids turned away out of embarrassment.
In the end, the crew solved the matter in the traditional Space 2047 manner: accidentally, noisily, and with paperwork still attached. a suspicious comfort robot tripped over a letter from Shopkeepers Anonymous, Brian shouted an apology at the wrong person, and the ship’s space horn went off with enough force to make a distant meteorite forget the second verse of a song it had been singing since Tuesday.
An Intergalactic Authority Gets Involved
It began, as most regrettable events aboard the spaceship Are We There Yet? began, with somebody insisting that nothing whatsoever was wrong. On this occasion it was a suspicious comfort robot, who had adopted the facial expression of a person attempting to look calm while internally arranging panic into alphabetical order. The crew had been passing through a space motorway service station, a region of space so tedious that even the emergency lights seemed to yawn, when the crew are accused of shoplifting nostalgia.
Brian blamed a letter from Shopkeepers Anonymous immediately, which was unfair but not entirely stupid, because the object had been humming in a manner normally associated with suspicious machines, guilty sandwiches, and robots pretending not to understand tax law. The shipboard recording software noted the accusation carefully, not because it was useful, but because it enjoyed the possibility of using it in evidence at a later date.
The crew gathered in the control room, which had recently been cleaned by a robot that believed dust was a protected species. a suspicious comfort robot proposed a sensible investigation. Brian proposed shouting at the ceiling. Cedric suggested sending the problem an invoice, because in the modern galaxy nothing was truly real until somebody had charged you for it twice.
For inspiration, the ship’s ancient memory banks produced the phrase, “him whilst he was on his bicycle. Of course, and unfortunately for Karen, the man was angrier than anyone that she had ever seen in her life, which”, which nobody understood but everyone pretended was profound. Cedric nodded as if he had just discovered philosophy inside a vending machine. Salomina stared at the readout with the expression of a woman who had once seduced a vacuum cleaner and therefore no longer trusted electrical appliances with smooth edges.
The first plan involved an inflatable space taxi dress. The second plan involved pretending the first plan had never happened. The third plan, which Brian liked best, involved lifting something heavy, looking heroic, and hoping the universe mistook confidence for competence. Unfortunately the universe had met Brian before and was not easily fooled.
Soon the situation spread to the galaxy Hooareu, where an automated announcement declared that all passengers should remain calm, panic in an orderly queue, and avoid making eye contact with any parcel that appeared to be breathing. This advice was immediately ignored by everyone except the parcel, which seemed offended that nobody had asked about its feelings.
a suspicious comfort robot attempted diplomacy. This consisted of standing very close to a letter from Shopkeepers Anonymous and saying, “Now listen here,” in the kind of voice people use when they have no idea what they are about to say next. The object responded by making a noise like a kettle discovering jazz. The crew stepped backwards. The ship stepped metaphorically backwards. Even the wallpaper seemed to reconsider its future.
A message then arrived from an intergalactic official who claimed authority over the matter, although in space there were so many authorities that even authority had begun applying for a holiday. The official demanded forms, counter-forms, an emotional declaration from the nearest toaster, and proof that Brian had not recently insulted a moon. This was difficult, because Brian had insulted at least three moons that morning.
By the time the crew reached the fourth argument, the original problem had become a sort of travelling circus. Lights flashed. Buttons beeped. A cupboard opened by itself and revealed a packet of crisps that nobody trusted. Karen suggested that the crisps might be bait. Brian suggested eating them to remove the danger. Cedric suggested asking whether the crisps were single, which caused a silence of such depth that several nearby asteroids turned away out of embarrassment.
In the end, the crew solved the matter in the traditional Space 2047 manner: accidentally, noisily, and with paperwork still attached. a suspicious comfort robot tripped over an inflatable space taxi dress, Brian shouted an apology at the wrong person, and the ship’s space horn went off with enough force to make a distant meteorite forget the second verse of a song it had been singing since Tuesday.
The Problem Becomes Larger Than the Ship
It began, as most regrettable events aboard the spaceship Are We There Yet? began, with somebody insisting that nothing whatsoever was wrong. On this occasion it was a suspicious comfort robot, who had adopted the facial expression of a person attempting to look calm while internally arranging panic into alphabetical order. The crew had been passing through a space motorway service station, a region of space so tedious that even the emergency lights seemed to yawn, when the crew are accused of shoplifting nostalgia.
Brian blamed a letter from Shopkeepers Anonymous immediately, which was unfair but not entirely stupid, because the object had been humming in a manner normally associated with suspicious machines, guilty sandwiches, and robots pretending not to understand tax law. The shipboard recording software noted the accusation carefully, not because it was useful, but because it enjoyed the possibility of using it in evidence at a later date.
The crew gathered in the control room, which had recently been cleaned by a robot that believed dust was a protected species. a suspicious comfort robot proposed a sensible investigation. Brian proposed shouting at the ceiling. Salomina suggested sending the problem an invoice, because in the modern galaxy nothing was truly real until somebody had charged you for it twice.
For inspiration, the ship’s ancient memory banks produced the phrase, “than anyone that she had ever seen in her life, which wasn’t really a great surprise because the satellite television projector had hit him at great speed at”, which nobody understood but everyone pretended was profound. Cedric nodded as if he had just discovered philosophy inside a vending machine. Salomina stared at the readout with the expression of a woman who had once seduced a vacuum cleaner and therefore no longer trusted electrical appliances with smooth edges.
The first plan involved a tomato-shaped escape craft. The second plan involved pretending the first plan had never happened. The third plan, which Brian liked best, involved lifting something heavy, looking heroic, and hoping the universe mistook confidence for competence. Unfortunately the universe had met Brian before and was not easily fooled.
Soon the situation spread to the spaceship Are We There Yet?, where an automated announcement declared that all passengers should remain calm, panic in an orderly queue, and avoid making eye contact with any parcel that appeared to be breathing. This advice was immediately ignored by everyone except the parcel, which seemed offended that nobody had asked about its feelings.
a suspicious comfort robot attempted diplomacy. This consisted of standing very close to a letter from Shopkeepers Anonymous and saying, “Now listen here,” in the kind of voice people use when they have no idea what they are about to say next. The object responded by making a noise like a kettle discovering jazz. The crew stepped backwards. The ship stepped metaphorically backwards. Even the wallpaper seemed to reconsider its future.
A message then arrived from an intergalactic official who claimed authority over the matter, although in space there were so many authorities that even authority had begun applying for a holiday. The official demanded forms, counter-forms, an emotional declaration from the nearest toaster, and proof that Brian had not recently insulted a moon. This was difficult, because Brian had insulted at least three moons that morning.
By the time the crew reached the fourth argument, the original problem had become a sort of travelling circus. Lights flashed. Buttons beeped. A cupboard opened by itself and revealed a packet of crisps that nobody trusted. Karen suggested that the crisps might be bait. Brian suggested eating them to remove the danger. Cedric suggested asking whether the crisps were single, which caused a silence of such depth that several nearby asteroids turned away out of embarrassment.
In the end, the crew solved the matter in the traditional Space 2047 manner: accidentally, noisily, and with paperwork still attached. a suspicious comfort robot tripped over a tomato-shaped escape craft, Brian shouted an apology at the wrong person, and the ship’s space horn went off with enough force to make a distant meteorite forget the second verse of a song it had been singing since Tuesday.
A Terrible Plan Is Mistaken for Bravery
It began, as most regrettable events aboard the spaceship Are We There Yet? began, with somebody insisting that nothing whatsoever was wrong. On this occasion it was a suspicious comfort robot, who had adopted the facial expression of a person attempting to look calm while internally arranging panic into alphabetical order. The crew had been passing through a space motorway service station, a region of space so tedious that even the emergency lights seemed to yawn, when the crew are accused of shoplifting nostalgia.
Brian blamed a letter from Shopkeepers Anonymous immediately, which was unfair but not entirely stupid, because the object had been humming in a manner normally associated with suspicious machines, guilty sandwiches, and robots pretending not to understand tax law. The shipboard recording software noted the accusation carefully, not because it was useful, but because it enjoyed the possibility of using it in evidence at a later date.
The crew gathered in the control room, which had recently been cleaned by a robot that believed dust was a protected species. a suspicious comfort robot proposed a sensible investigation. Brian proposed shouting at the ceiling. Karen Toni Loretta Bobbi Erasmus suggested sending the problem an invoice, because in the modern galaxy nothing was truly real until somebody had charged you for it twice.
For inspiration, the ship’s ancient memory banks produced the phrase, “the satellite television projector had hit him at great speed at waist height, and after hitting him and knocking him off his bicycle, it had suddenly exploded and”, which nobody understood but everyone pretended was profound. Cedric nodded as if he had just discovered philosophy inside a vending machine. Salomina stared at the readout with the expression of a woman who had once seduced a vacuum cleaner and therefore no longer trusted electrical appliances with smooth edges.
The first plan involved a revisualizing device. The second plan involved pretending the first plan had never happened. The third plan, which Brian liked best, involved lifting something heavy, looking heroic, and hoping the universe mistook confidence for competence. Unfortunately the universe had met Brian before and was not easily fooled.
Soon the situation spread to planet Boring746759, where an automated announcement declared that all passengers should remain calm, panic in an orderly queue, and avoid making eye contact with any parcel that appeared to be breathing. This advice was immediately ignored by everyone except the parcel, which seemed offended that nobody had asked about its feelings.
a suspicious comfort robot attempted diplomacy. This consisted of standing very close to a letter from Shopkeepers Anonymous and saying, “Now listen here,” in the kind of voice people use when they have no idea what they are about to say next. The object responded by making a noise like a kettle discovering jazz. The crew stepped backwards. The ship stepped metaphorically backwards. Even the wallpaper seemed to reconsider its future.
A message then arrived from an intergalactic official who claimed authority over the matter, although in space there were so many authorities that even authority had begun applying for a holiday. The official demanded forms, counter-forms, an emotional declaration from the nearest toaster, and proof that Brian had not recently insulted a moon. This was difficult, because Brian had insulted at least three moons that morning.
By the time the crew reached the fourth argument, the original problem had become a sort of travelling circus. Lights flashed. Buttons beeped. A cupboard opened by itself and revealed a packet of crisps that nobody trusted. Karen suggested that the crisps might be bait. Brian suggested eating them to remove the danger. Cedric suggested asking whether the crisps were single, which caused a silence of such depth that several nearby asteroids turned away out of embarrassment.
In the end, the crew solved the matter in the traditional Space 2047 manner: accidentally, noisily, and with paperwork still attached. a suspicious comfort robot tripped over a revisualizing device, Brian shouted an apology at the wrong person, and the ship’s space horn went off with enough force to make a distant meteorite forget the second verse of a song it had been singing since Tuesday.
The Delivery and the Consequences
It began, as most regrettable events aboard the spaceship Are We There Yet? began, with somebody insisting that nothing whatsoever was wrong. On this occasion it was a suspicious comfort robot, who had adopted the facial expression of a person attempting to look calm while internally arranging panic into alphabetical order. The crew had been passing through a space motorway service station, a region of space so tedious that even the emergency lights seemed to yawn, when the crew are accused of shoplifting nostalgia.
Brian blamed a letter from Shopkeepers Anonymous immediately, which was unfair but not entirely stupid, because the object had been humming in a manner normally associated with suspicious machines, guilty sandwiches, and robots pretending not to understand tax law. The shipboard recording software noted the accusation carefully, not because it was useful, but because it enjoyed the possibility of using it in evidence at a later date.
The crew gathered in the control room, which had recently been cleaned by a robot that believed dust was a protected species. a suspicious comfort robot proposed a sensible investigation. Brian proposed shouting at the ceiling. Father Alfonso Lonely suggested sending the problem an invoice, because in the modern galaxy nothing was truly real until somebody had charged you for it twice.
For inspiration, the ship’s ancient memory banks produced the phrase, “and knocking him off his bicycle, it had suddenly exploded and burst spectacularly into flames, setting his trousers on fire, and it had then sent him flying into”, which nobody understood but everyone pretended was profound. Cedric nodded as if he had just discovered philosophy inside a vending machine. Salomina stared at the readout with the expression of a woman who had once seduced a vacuum cleaner and therefore no longer trusted electrical appliances with smooth edges.
The first plan involved a chocolate bar with ideas above its station. The second plan involved pretending the first plan had never happened. The third plan, which Brian liked best, involved lifting something heavy, looking heroic, and hoping the universe mistook confidence for competence. Unfortunately the universe had met Brian before and was not easily fooled.
Soon the situation spread to a space motorway service station, where an automated announcement declared that all passengers should remain calm, panic in an orderly queue, and avoid making eye contact with any parcel that appeared to be breathing. This advice was immediately ignored by everyone except the parcel, which seemed offended that nobody had asked about its feelings.
a suspicious comfort robot attempted diplomacy. This consisted of standing very close to a letter from Shopkeepers Anonymous and saying, “Now listen here,” in the kind of voice people use when they have no idea what they are about to say next. The object responded by making a noise like a kettle discovering jazz. The crew stepped backwards. The ship stepped metaphorically backwards. Even the wallpaper seemed to reconsider its future.
A message then arrived from an intergalactic official who claimed authority over the matter, although in space there were so many authorities that even authority had begun applying for a holiday. The official demanded forms, counter-forms, an emotional declaration from the nearest toaster, and proof that Brian had not recently insulted a moon. This was difficult, because Brian had insulted at least three moons that morning.
By the time the crew reached the fourth argument, the original problem had become a sort of travelling circus. Lights flashed. Buttons beeped. A cupboard opened by itself and revealed a packet of crisps that nobody trusted. Karen suggested that the crisps might be bait. Brian suggested eating them to remove the danger. Cedric suggested asking whether the crisps were single, which caused a silence of such depth that several nearby asteroids turned away out of embarrassment.
In the end, the crew solved the matter in the traditional Space 2047 manner: accidentally, noisily, and with paperwork still attached. a suspicious comfort robot tripped over a chocolate bar with ideas above its station, Brian shouted an apology at the wrong person, and the ship’s space horn went off with enough force to make a distant meteorite forget the second verse of a song it had been singing since Tuesday.
A Closing Note from the Software
It began, as most regrettable events aboard the spaceship Are We There Yet? began, with somebody insisting that nothing whatsoever was wrong. On this occasion it was a suspicious comfort robot, who had adopted the facial expression of a person attempting to look calm while internally arranging panic into alphabetical order. The crew had been passing through a space motorway service station, a region of space so tedious that even the emergency lights seemed to yawn, when the crew are accused of shoplifting nostalgia.
Brian blamed a letter from Shopkeepers Anonymous immediately, which was unfair but not entirely stupid, because the object had been humming in a manner normally associated with suspicious machines, guilty sandwiches, and robots pretending not to understand tax law. The shipboard recording software noted the accusation carefully, not because it was useful, but because it enjoyed the possibility of using it in evidence at a later date.
The crew gathered in the control room, which had recently been cleaned by a robot that believed dust was a protected species. a suspicious comfort robot proposed a sensible investigation. Brian proposed shouting at the ceiling. Susan with the Viking helmet suggested sending the problem an invoice, because in the modern galaxy nothing was truly real until somebody had charged you for it twice.
For inspiration, the ship’s ancient memory banks produced the phrase, “trousers on fire, and it had then sent him flying into the middle of road, where he narrowly avoided being run over by a hovering mobility scooter. A”, which nobody understood but everyone pretended was profound. Cedric nodded as if he had just discovered philosophy inside a vending machine. Salomina stared at the readout with the expression of a woman who had once seduced a vacuum cleaner and therefore no longer trusted electrical appliances with smooth edges.
The first plan involved a packet of crisps. The second plan involved pretending the first plan had never happened. The third plan, which Brian liked best, involved lifting something heavy, looking heroic, and hoping the universe mistook confidence for competence. Unfortunately the universe had met Brian before and was not easily fooled.
Soon the situation spread to the Intergalactic Global Community Network depot, where an automated announcement declared that all passengers should remain calm, panic in an orderly queue, and avoid making eye contact with any parcel that appeared to be breathing. This advice was immediately ignored by everyone except the parcel, which seemed offended that nobody had asked about its feelings.
a suspicious comfort robot attempted diplomacy. This consisted of standing very close to a letter from Shopkeepers Anonymous and saying, “Now listen here,” in the kind of voice people use when they have no idea what they are about to say next. The object responded by making a noise like a kettle discovering jazz. The crew stepped backwards. The ship stepped metaphorically backwards. Even the wallpaper seemed to reconsider its future.
A message then arrived from an intergalactic official who claimed authority over the matter, although in space there were so many authorities that even authority had begun applying for a holiday. The official demanded forms, counter-forms, an emotional declaration from the nearest toaster, and proof that Brian had not recently insulted a moon. This was difficult, because Brian had insulted at least three moons that morning.
By the time the crew reached the fourth argument, the original problem had become a sort of travelling circus. Lights flashed. Buttons beeped. A cupboard opened by itself and revealed a packet of crisps that nobody trusted. Karen suggested that the crisps might be bait. Brian suggested eating them to remove the danger. Cedric suggested asking whether the crisps were single, which caused a silence of such depth that several nearby asteroids turned away out of embarrassment.
In the end, the crew solved the matter in the traditional Space 2047 manner: accidentally, noisily, and with paperwork still attached. a suspicious comfort robot tripped over a packet of crisps, Brian shouted an apology at the wrong person, and the ship’s space horn went off with enough force to make a distant meteorite forget the second verse of a song it had been singing since Tuesday.
And so the ship continued onwards, slightly damaged, morally uncertain, and almost certainly late, which was normal for the crew of Are We There Yet?.