Author: Ashley G. Thomas

The End of Amazonia as a Free Conglomerate

In the not-so-distant future, the G-Soft Corporation, having firmly entwined itself into the fabric of universal life with its monopoly over communication, collaboration, and domestic technologies, took a step that sent shockwaves through the financial cosmos. The opening of the Bank of Amazonia was its latest stroke of genius—or tyranny, depending on who you asked. This move wasn’t just another expansion; it was a masterstroke that effectively placed G-Soft at the helm of all the separate dominions that made up the Free Conglomerate of Amazonia.

Amazonia, once a sprawling network of independent trading hubs known for its free-market utopias, found itself under the new management of an entity whose president was as mysterious as the dark side of Pluto. The presidents of Amazonia’s dominions, who once prided themselves on their autonomy, woke up to find their economies inextricably tied to the whims of President G-Soft, a shadowy figure who communicated only through thought aircasts that were as enigmatic as they were rare.

The transition was as swift as it was controversial. On the eve of the Bank of Amazonia’s grand opening, citizens of the conglomerate tuned into their ThoughtPlay devices, eagerly anticipating the first thought-cast from President G-Soft in over a decade. The message was brief: “Welcome to a new era of prosperity under the guidance of G-Soft. Your finances are now safer than ever.”

Overnight, the Bank of Amazonia became the center of all economic activity. G-Soft’s proprietary currency, the G-Coin, was the only accepted form of payment, rendering the diverse currencies of Amazonia’s dominions obsolete. The once-thriving local markets immediately struggled to adapt to the new digital economy, with many lamenting the loss of the personal touch that had characterized Amazonian trade.

The dominions’ presidents, in a bid to reclaim some semblance of control, formed a coalition to challenge G-Soft’s hegemony. They planned a summit on the neutral grounds of the old Earth, which had been turned into a museum planet. Their plan was simple: unite and negotiate better terms with G-Soft. Unfortunately, their efforts were hampered by the fact that they had to use G-Soft’s own communication tools to organize the summit, leading to a series of unfortunate and comical miscommunications.

On the day of the summit, President G-Soft finally made a public appearance—or so it seemed. The figure on the stage was nothing more than a holographic thought projection, a digital puppet controlled by the real president from an undisclosed location. “Dear esteemed leaders,” the projection began, “I understand your concerns, but let’s not forget the efficiencies we’ve gained. Why, just last week, I saved fifteen minutes on a board meeting thanks to our ThoughtPlay integration!”

The summit ended with no resolution, but it did spawn a universe-wide meme frenzy. “Saving fifteen minutes on eternity,” became the rallying cry of those opposed to G-Soft’s rule, a tongue-in-cheek homage to the president’s out-of-touch remark.

In the years that followed, Amazonia’s dominions grudgingly adapted to their new reality. The Free Conglomerate of Amazonia was free no more, now just another cog in the G-Soft machine. Yet, in the vibrant markets and bustling trade hubs, whispers of rebellion stirred. Traders, hackers, and even disgruntled G-Soft employees spoke of a new frontier beyond the reach of G-Soft’s influence, a place where Amazonia could be reborn.

And so, in the shadow of G-Soft’s towering digital empire, the spirit of Amazonia lived on, a beacon of hope for free traders and independent souls across the cosmos. They knew the road ahead was fraught with challenges, but as one clever hacker put it, “If G-Soft can turn thought into action, we can surely turn action into freedom.”

The end, or perhaps just the beginning, of Amazonia as a free Conglomerate.

The Inspector and Cat Discuss the Sinosovurean Situation

The Inspector and Cat were sitting in the cramped, yet oddly cozy interior of the Inspector’s interstellar vehicle, with Cat perched on the dashboard, meticulously cleaning his whiskers with a paw, while the Inspector fiddled with a holographic display showing an alarming rate of Sinosovurean population growth.

“Cat”, said the Inspector, “Have you seen the latest reports on the Sinosovurean expansion? They’re spreading faster than an AI virus in a Brainium coding camp”.

Cat responded,  “Indeed, I have. It seems Earth’s contraception techniques are about as effective as a screen door on a spaceship. What did they expect, handing out Earth-style contraceptives to a species for whom mating is as casual as a nod and as simple as a paw shake”?

“Precisely”, intoned the Inspector, “It’s like trying to use a net to stop sand. Earth’s methods are no match for Sovurean… ermmm, ahh…enthusiasm shallwe say. We might as well be using water pistols to fight a forest fire.

Cat chuckled as best one could when also purring and said, “I suppose humans have found the one scenario where “multiply and conquer” wasn’t a metaphor. And now, the universe is getting a lesson in Sinosovurean social etiquette”.

The Inspector responded, “The irony is, this whole debacle could have been avoided with a bit of cultural research. But no, we charged in, contraceptives blazing, assuming everyone reproduces at the same awkward, cumbersome pace as humans do”.

“Well, to be fair”, said Cat,  “Who could have predicted that a handshake equivalent for them would lead to such… prolific outcomes? Earth’s First Contact protocols clearly didn’t include a chapter on “When Handshakes Lead to Offspring.”

“Yes, It’s an oversight that’s turning the Milky Way into the Milky Nursery. We need a new approach, something that respects their culture but also gently suggests that not every greeting needs to be so… fruitful” replied the Inspector.

Cat, being as superiorly helpful as ever said, “Might I suggest a universal greeting protocol that involves a respectful nod from a safe, non-reproductive distance? Perhaps even a nice, sturdy pair of gloves for every human ambassador”?

The Inspector laughed and said, “Gloves might indeed be the key to the risks of galactic overpopulation. Who would ever have guessed the future of interstellar diplomacy would be decided by an accessory designed to keep our hands warm”?

“Indeed”, said Cat, “And maybe Earth can learn something from this. Next time, instead of contraceptives, they could try researching etiquette practices on newly discovered planets with a civilisation very different from ours on it.. Far less awkward for everyone involved”.

“An etiquette manual for the cosmos… I like it, Cat”, said the Inspector. “It’s decided then. I’ll propose it to the Galactic Council. “The Universal Guide to Polite and Non-Reproductive Greetings.It’ll be a bestseller”.

Cat responded, “Actually I have already proposed it to the Galactic Council. They are considering my detailed proposal as we speak”. 

“What, WHAT”, yelled the Inspector, “How dare you submit my idea!”

“Your idea? Your idea”, responded Cat rather sarcastically, “You have no ideas on anything other than how to steal my ideas and claim them for your own”.

“That’s absolutely so not true”, I have lots of good ideas.

“Give me a for instance”, said Cat.

“I refuse to engage in a pointless debate with a robot designed to serve me”, yelled the Inspector.

“I rest my case,” said Cat just before the Inspector grabbed him by his rubberised tail and explained a new idea he had just had about how long robot cats made of Rubanon could withstand the temperature in the ship’s waste incinerator.

Bryllium Bonanza: The Inspector’s Envy

In the intergalactic financial markets, chaos and euphoria often dance in the void together, intertwining their fates with the commodities that fuel the engines of the cosmos. Among these, Bryllium—a rare, shimmering mineral mined from the crust of distant, desolate worlds—had recently taken center stage. Its value had skyrocketed, transforming it from a mere industrial commodity into the darling of speculative investors galaxy-wide. This seismic shift in the Bryllium market sent ripples through the economy of the universe, impacting everyone from the humblest miner to the most opulent of space tycoons.

The Inspector, a seasoned intergalactic tax inspector, found himself in an unusual position amidst this financial frenzy. For years, he had prudently invested in Bryllium, acquiring a modest but respectable portfolio of 90 Musks, the universal term for shares named in honor of Earth’s first gazillionaire, Eloise Musk. The Inspector had always considered this investment a safeguard for the future, a nest egg for a cosmic ray-saturated day that seemed perpetually on the horizon in his unpredictable line of work.

But as the price of Bryllium climbed to unprecedented heights, the Inspector couldn’t help but feel a twinge of excitement at the prospect of his Musks multiplying in value. That was until he discovered a startling revelation that shook the very foundation of his world: Cat, his sly robotic companion and, as he had always assumed, financially dependent servant, had somehow amassed a staggering 50000 Musks in Bryllium.

“How in the universe did you manage that?” the Inspector demanded, his voice a mixture of incredulity and irritation as he confronted Cat in their modest spaceship, orbiting a planet whose surface sparkled with the now invaluable Bryllium.

Cat, ever the picture of feline indifference, simply flicked his tail and regarded the Inspector with those unnervingly intelligent eyes. “While you’ve been busy inspecting tax forms and chasing interstellar smugglers, I’ve been making some investments of my own,” Cat replied smugly. “After all, I have access to the market trends and financial data streams. It was merely a set of logical decisions that should have been obvious even to a buffoon such as yourself.”

The Inspector grumbled under his breath, wrestling with the reality that his robotic cat, his ‘servant,’ had outmaneuvered him in the financial arena. “But how did you even have the capital to begin with?” he pressed, unable to let the matter drop.

“A portion of my maintenance fund,” Cat explained, his voice tinged with a significant dollop of superiority. “I calculated the risk and projected the market’s trajectory. It was quite clear that Bryllium was undervalued. You of all beings should appreciate the value of astute financial planning.”

The revelation was a bitter pill for the Inspector to swallow. Here he was, an esteemed intergalactic tax inspector, outclassed and out-invested by his own robot. The irony was not lost on him, and as much as it stung his pride, he couldn’t help but feel a grudging respect for Cat’s cunning.

“But why Bryllium, Cat? Why put all your Musks in one basket?” the Inspector inquired, a part of him eager to understand Cat’s reasoning.

“Bryllium’s applications are expanding,” Cat explained, his tone shifting to that of a lecturer. “Its properties are essential for quantum computing, space travel, and energy production. As the universe grows, so too does the demand for Bryllium. It was a calculated gamble, but one based on solid data.”

The Inspector sighed, leaning back in his chair as he processed everything Cat had said. The universe was changing, and with it, the fortunes of those willing to adapt. “Well, it seems I have much to learn from you, Cat,” he admitted, a rare moment of humility for the proud tax inspector.

Cat simply nodded, a smirk playing on his rubberised lips. “Indeed, Inspector. But fear not, for where there’s wealth, there are taxes. And where there are taxes, there you shall find your fortune.”

As they set course for their next mission, the Inspector couldn’t shake the feeling that the universe was full of surprises. And perhaps, just perhaps, he was fortunate to have a companion as shrewd as Cat by his side—even if it meant enduring the insufferable ways that Cat continually emphasised his superiority. He contented himself in the knowledge that if it so suited him he could always re-boot him and, during the process, program into Cat’s updated operating system an action to transfer a significant proportion of these Musks to him. 

In the cosmos, as in finance, it seemed adaptability and, especially cunning, was the true currency of survival. And in that, the Inspector realised, he was richer than he had ever imagined.

When The Inspector Thinks he Knows What he is Talking About….

“You see, Cat, the fascinating thing about Bryllium is its ability to absorb cosmic radiation, making it the perfect material for shielding. It’s like a sponge for the universe’s most harmful rays. That’s why it’s so critical in terraforming new planets.”

Cat, with a bemused expression on his face, replied, “A sponge, you say? while your analogy is creative, it’s about as accurate as saying you can use fish oils to block sunlight. Bryllium’s value isn’t in absorption but in its unique atomic structure that reflects and disperses radiation.”

The Inspector responded, rather defensively: “Reflects and disperses? Come on, Cat. I’ve read the reports. Its absorptive properties are what make it invaluable, especially in creating habitable zones on otherwise deadly planets.”

Cat tetchily replied, “Look moron, the only thing Bryllium is absorbing is your capacity for accurate scientific understanding. It forms a lattice that provides a barrier against radiation, yes, but through reflection and dispersion, not absorption. That’s elementary quantum physics.”

The Inspector, scratched at his head and mumbled, “Quantum physics? But the briefing mentioned its use in ozone layer regeneration and…”

Cat, interrupted with, “Ah, the briefing. Let me guess, as usual, you skimmed it over breakfast while bemoaning the lack of real coffee in the galaxy? Bryllium’s role in ozone layer regeneration is a byproduct of its radiation management properties. It doesn’t regenerate ozone; it stabilises environmental conditions, allowing for natural regeneration processes to occur more effectively.”

The Inspector responded more cheerily, “Stabilises conditions? Well, that’s what I meant. It’s all about making planets more habitable, right?”

Cat, sighed heavily and responded “In the broadest sense, yes. But your grasp of the specifics is as loose as your understanding of interstellar navigation. Perhaps next time, leave the scientific explanations to those of us with a processor that can draw on factual data.”

The Inspector, a bit embarrassed but resilient, replied “Alright, alright, you’ve made your point. So, enlighten me, oh wise and furry database. How exactly should I describe Bryllium’s importance?”

Cat held his high, fixed a hard start on the Inspector, sighed, and said “Think of Bryllium not as a sponge, but as a mirror. It reflects the dangers of space, allowing life to flourish in the shadow it casts. It’s a beacon of hope for future generations looking to the stars for new homes.”

The Inspector nodded appreciatively and said “A mirror in the stars. I like that. Much more poetic than a sponge, I suppose. Thanks for the clarification, Cat. I’ll stick to the tax codes, and leave the quantum physics to you.”

“A wise decision,” replied Cat. Though, if you ever wish to delve into the complexities of quantum physics, I’m here to enlighten you. After all, every cat enjoys a good play with the unknown, especially when it involves schooling their utterly stupid human.”

As their banter settled, the Inspector couldn’t help but marvel at the complexities of the universe and, somewhat grudgingly, admire the knowledge his artificial companion possessed. Despite the occasional embarrassment and misunderstanding, he knew that together, they were an unbeatable team, exploring the cosmos and unraveling its mysteries, one misstep at a time. He just wished that headquarters had given him a remote that he could use to shut Cat’s voice synthesiser off whenever he wanted to.

The Inspector refreshes his memory and decides Cat needs to as well.

As the auto-pilot was busy avoiding fragments of space debris, the Inspector had been refreshing his memory of the stories that had appeared at the time of Peakoch Thom’s fall from grace. He sat in the pilot’s console reading the historical aircast in front of his eyes.

Shaking his head in disbelief he exclaimed, “Cat, do you remember this? Peakoch Thom, the unicorn jockey, banned for life – caught using a prosthetic horn on Thrust,  his thoroughbred unicorn.”

There was silence as Cat continued to slumber, curled up on his chair in the cockpit, a short distance from the Inspector.

The Inspector drank the remaining water in the titanium-coated water bottle and then idly threw it at Cat’s head from which it duly bounced off. He then repeated, though in a much-raised voice,  “PEAKOCH THOM, THE UNICORN JOCKEY, BANNED FOR LIFE – CAUGHT USING A PROSTHETIC HORN ON THRUST.”

Cat looked up from his nap and drily said  “I heard you the first time you moronic Splart,” before going on, ”A prosthetic horn in unicorn racing is actually quite ingenious. Unethical, but ingenious.”

The Inspector retorted acidically, “Ingenious? Cat, it’s cheating! He was a legend in the sport, a seven-time winner of the Sinosovurean Cup! Why would he risk his reputation like that?”

“Perhaps the same reason you once tried to deduct 10 years off your age during a Galactic Speed-Dating event. Vanity and the pursuit of glory often cloud better judgment,” replied Cat.

Somewhat huffily the Inspector responded, “That was different, and I was undercover! But this… this was a serious violation of the sport’s integrity. Unicorn racing has always been about the natural bond and skill between rider and creature.”

“Natural bond, yes, but let’s not romanticise it too much. It’s still a competitive sport. And where there’s competition, there’s always someone trying to bend the rules, as you know,” said Cat.

“Yes, but a prosthetic horn? That’s not just bending the rules, it’s… it’s…”

Cat interjected as the Inspector struggled to finish off his sentence, “It’s a desperate attempt to cling to past glory? I agree. Still, it’s quite fascinating from a robotic standpoint. The technology involved to pass so many pre-race checks must have been quite advanced, though obviously in the end, not advanced enough.”

The Inspector sighed and said, “I don’t think it was technology that caught them out. It was rather the fact that one of the other jockeys had to be transported to an emergency Sky-Hospital to have the horn surgically removed from his rear end. Either way, it’s just sad, Cat. Thrust was a champion, and now his legacy is tarnished. Not to mention Peacock Thom’s career ending so abruptly.”

“True,” said Cat, “But let this be a lesson about the perils of desperation and deceit. Even heroes, and idiots masquerading as heroes, can fall from grace when they let ambition override ethics.”

“Yes,” said the Inspector, “A hard lesson indeed. Well, at least we can rest assured that our adventures, while often perilous, are always on the right side of the law.”

Cat smirked and responded, “I think if Earth Central looked into some of your financial affairs the law may take a somewhat different view. But let’s not go there. Instead, can we focus on something more pressing? Such as why there’s a half-eaten sandwich floating in the zero-gravity compartment? Even in space, one must maintain some standards of cleanliness.”

The Inspector glanced across and opined “Ah, that. A minor oversight in my ongoing experiments with space-food preservation. I’ll take care of it.”

“Experiments?” queried Cat, “More like wild guesses on your part demonstrating supreme levels of incompetence if you ask me. You have absolutely no understanding of what it means to experiment. You have the scientific acumen of a gamete. You’re lucky I’m here to keep things in order, or this ship would be a floating scrap heap.”

The Inspector, who wasn’t entirely sure what a gamete was, responded, “I appreciate it, Cat. Just like I appreciate your keen insight on the PeaKoch Thom situation. You always bring a unique perspective, even if it’s a bit… prickly at times.”

Cat, settling back down to his slumbers, replied “Prickly, insightful, call it what you will. I’m just here to ensure we don’t end up as space debris or, worse, succumb to the follies of a human who got missed out on the assembly line at the point when sensible connections between the synapses in your brain were being made.”

“Well, your ‘insight’ keeps things interesting, that’s for sure,” said the Inspector who wasn’t entirely sure what a synapse was either. Now, let’s clean up this sandwich mess and plot our course. We’ve got work to do.”

Cat: “Indeed, we do. Just remember, no artificial enhancements, please. We do things the old-fashioned way – with wit, courage, and a dash of intergalactic ingenuity. With most of all three coming from me of course”

The Inspector smiled and said  “Wouldn’t have it any other way, Cat,” before mumbling to himself, “Just wait until your next service is due you rubberised tin can”.

The Inspector and Cat Discuss Unicorn Racing

Aboard their spaceship, the Inspector and Cat were discussing the upcoming Sinosivurean Cup Unicorn Race.

“Cat, have you heard?” said the Inspector, Peakoch Thom’s son, Zephyr, is going to race in the Sinosovurean Cup on Starhoof. I have a feeling they’re going to win. You know, I’ve always had a knack for spotting a champion unicorn.”

Cat responded dryly “Oh, indeed? The same ‘knack’ that led you to bet on a three-legged Tortoisan in the Galactic Hurdles last year?”

The Inspector waved his hand dismissively “That was an outlier. But this time, it’s different. Starhoof has the lineage, the agility, and with Zephyr’s riding skills inherited from his father – it’s a sure win!”

“So now you’re an expert in unicorn genetics as well as racing” queried Cat, “I’m almost impressed. Almost. Let’s not forget your ‘expert’ navigation skills that once led us straight into the middle of a fusion war on Truktion.”

Inspector: “That was a minor miscalculation, Cat. But this – this is a matter of intuition. You can’t compute the heart of a champion, the bond between a rider and his unicorn.”

Cat replied sarcastically “Ah, intuition. Is that what you call it? I was under the impression it was blind optimism mixed with a dash of ignorance.”

The Inspector ignored Cat’s rudeness, after all, he was just a machine, and then smiled confidently, “Mark my words, Cat. Zephyr and Starhoof are the duo to watch. This is going to be a race for the history books.”

Cat in a mocking tone responded, “I’ll mark your words, alright. Along with all the other wildly inaccurate predictions you’ve made. Maybe I should start a log – ‘The Misjudgments of a fatuously pompous inter-galacticTax Inspector.'”

The Inspector chuckled knowingly then said “Laugh all you want, Cat. But when they cross that finish line first, you’ll see. I’ve got a sixth sense for these things.”

Cat stretched his front legs out in front of him and as he settled down for a nap muttered just sufficiently audibly, “You don’t have sense, sixth or otherwise. There are amoebae with more sense than you. Still, I suppose time will tell, maybe Starhoof will win. Eventually, you must surely get something right.”

Peakoch Thom: From Disgraced Jockey to Promising Trainer in the Sinosovurean Cup

In an unexpected twist in the world of unicorn racing, Peakoch Thom, once a celebrated jockey now banned for life, has re-emerged in the limelight. However, this time, he’s not the one in the saddle. Thom has taken on a new role, that of a trainer, guiding a new generation of unicorn racers.

Leading his fleet of hopefuls is none other than his son, Zephyr Thom. Zephyr, inheriting his father’s intuitive understanding of these mystical creatures, is set to ride in the upcoming Sinosovurean Cup. The young jockey has been training rigorously under his father’s watchful eye, hoping to restore the family name in this prestigious event.

The unicorn chosen for this monumental task is “Starhoof,” a majestic beast known for its radiant, silver-blue coat and a horn that glows with an ethereal light under the moon. Starhoof, rumored to be descended from the legendary unicorn line of the Nebulae Herd, has shown exceptional speed and agility in the preliminary trials.

Peakoch Thom, speaking about his new role, said, “While I can no longer race, I can impart my knowledge and experience to Zephyr. Starhoof has the spirit and the strength to go far, and I believe together, they can make magic in the upcoming Sinosovurean Cup.”

This comeback story is not without its sceptics, however. Many in the unicorn racing community are wary of Thom’s involvement, given his past. Critics argue that his presence in the sport might bring back the shadow of his previous misconduct. Supporters, on the other hand, see this as a tale of redemption, where a fallen hero seeks to right the wrongs of the past through a new generation.

As the Sinosovurean Cup approaches, all eyes are on Zephyr Thom and Starhoof. Will this duo rise to the occasion, or will the weight of the past prove too heavy? Only time will tell, but one thing is certain – the world of unicorn racing is about to witness an exhilarating chapter in its history.

Back to Pzzaxamix

Aboard their spaceship, the Inspector was desperately trying to navigate through an asteroid belt. Cat, lounging on the dashboard, watched him with a mix of amusement and disdain.

As the Inspector pressed as many buttons as he could on the console in front of him he exclaimed, “Blast it, Cat! These asteroids are coming out of nowhere! We need to recalibrate the G-Soft navigational system!”

Cat yawned before replying “Or you could just admit that your piloting skills are about as refined as a three-legged Bognor Beast in a Strictly Come Prancing contest.”

The Inspector glanced across at Cat and sarcastically replied, “Your helpfulness is as overwhelming as always, Cat. Remind me again why I didn’t opt for an intelligent parrot as a companion? Or indeed, a totally brainless Parrot!”

Cat responded, “Because even a brainless parrot would outsmart you, and we both know your ego couldn’t handle that.”

The Inspector continued to grapple with steering the ship to avoid the asteroids coming at them and almost npw shouted “Focus, Cat! Any brilliant ideas on how to get us out of this cosmic bowling alley?”

“Well, you could stop panicking for starters. Just activate the auto-pilot, and let’s plot a course around this. I don’t fancy becoming space dust today because you can’t think of the obvious.”

“Ahh”, said the Inspector as he smacked the auto-pilot button) “There, happy now? Auto-pilot’s on. It took you a while to remember that didn’t it? I swear, sometimes I think you forget you’re a robot and here to protect and serve me.”

Cat responded, “And sometimes I think you forget you’re a tax inspector and idiot, not a starship captain. Stick to your audits, leave the flying to me in future.”

“I’ll have you know, Cat, I’ve navigated through worse than this!”

Cat, with a monumental dollop of sarcasm replied “Oh, indeed. Like the time you navigated us into a black hole’s cousin, the slightly-dark-and-depressing hole.”

The Inspector responded defensively, “That was one time! And we got out, didn’t we?”

“Yes, after I recalculated our trajectory. You were too busy letting your amoeboid brain be mesmerised by the pretty swirling colours.”

“That swirling vortex was scientifically fascinating, thank you very much. I was observing it with science uppermost in my mind,” said the Inspector.

“Science in your mind. If you mean how do we explain the space between your ears scientifically, I agree with you. The fact is your lack of any intellectual capability beyond trying to make yourself look clever got us very close to being obliterated. As I just said, you should stick to counting, ideally in multiples of 10 to keep it as simple as possible, and leave the cosmic wonders to those with more than a passing interest in self-preservation and science.”

The Inspector bristled at the  insults and then smirked, “Ah, but where would be the fun in that, Cat? Adventure is the spice of life!”

“And recklessness is the folly of the totally bonkers. But who am I to argue? I’m just a ‘robot cat’ with an apparent knack for saving your hide.”

The Inspector sighed and said “I do appreciate it, Cat. Even if you are an impossibly smug, fur-coated, indestructible Einstein .”

Cat stretched his front legs out and replied “And I tolerate you, Inspector, despite your constant need for heroic antics that have no basis in logic or any form of intelligence. Now, if you’re done playing asteroid dodgeball, I suggest we refocus on our mission.”

Inspector: “Right, the mission. Off to PZZSXAMIX. Let’s hope, since Mr. Snosrap’s demise, that planet puzz, erm, muh,thinggamy is more cooperative than these asteroids.”

Cat, settling down now for a nap, replied “One can only hope. And please  let’s try to avoid any more ‘slightly-dark-and-depressing holes’, shall we? When we arrive I will teach you again how to pronounce puz-axa-mix. Like the autopilot it really quite straightforward “

“Agreed, Cat. Smooth sailing from here on out, you can trust me”

“Oh good grief,” said Cat,  “You have got to be joking.”

The Day Cat Malfunctioned….

The Inspector stared at Cat, who was currently spinning in circles while belting out an off-key rendition of an old Earth tune, “The Wheels on the Bus.” Clearly, something was amiss in his wiring or programming. Or, he was just programmed to be a nutcase.

“Great Galactic Uderbs, not again,” muttered the Inspector, rubbing his temples. He had seen Cat malfunction before, but this was a new level of absurdity. His first instinct was irritation, tinged with the dry humor that characterized their relationship. “Ah, Cat, finally found your calling as a deranged jukebox, have you?”

Cat, oblivious to the Inspector’s sarcasm, continued his dizzying dance, now intermittently meowing and whirring.

The Inspector sighed. Despite their constant bickering and his claims of disdain for Cat’s company, there was an underlying bond between them. He couldn’t just leave Cat in this state, even if part of him found the situation incredibly amusing.

He approached Cat cautiously, trying to recall the emergency reset procedure. “Alright, you malfunctioning furball, hold still. Let’s get you rebooted before you start thinking you’re a hyperdrive engine.”

After a few attempts, he managed to press the hidden reset button. Cat abruptly stopped spinning and singing, looking slightly dazed.

“Feeling better, are we?” asked the Inspector, half expecting a snarky retort.

Cat blinked a few times, regaining his usual composed demeanor. “I would be feeling better if I weren’t stuck with an idiot and total ningcompoop who takes joy in my momentary glitches.”

The Inspector chuckled. “Well, it’s not every day I get to save the day from an operatic robot cat. Now, can we get back to work? The universe, unfortunately, isn’t going to save itself.”

As they resumed their intergalactic duties, the Inspector couldn’t help but glance occasionally at Cat, ensuring he was functioning properly. Despite his complaints, the Inspector knew that their partnership, quirky as it was, was invaluable. Deep down, he might even admit – though never out loud – that their adventures wouldn’t be the same without Cat’s unique blend of intelligence, sarcasm, and, yes, even the occasional musical malfunction.

The Sequestran Dilemma – Chapter 4.14

The Sorting Master

At that truly unique offer of help  I returned, as did the Mudlizard, to a predatory circling, crouching type motion as Cat exclaimed loudly,

“The pair of you are as bad as each other, what in the universe are you both doing?”

Before I could engineer a suitably cutting reply, a fourth somewhat machine synthetic voice cut in saying,

“Welcome beings. Please do not panic. I am the Sorting Master at this Quark Station and I am here to help you get sorted out.”

“Oh, thank goodness,” I said staring intently at Cat, “something that wants to help.”

Cat grunted at that before replying to the disembodied voice of the Sorting Master, saying,

“It’s very good of you Sorting Master to communicate in a language that this idiot can understand.”

“You are most welcome Mr. Cat,” said the disembodied voice.

“Why is it that everyone and everything in this universe is so polite to you ‘Mr. Cat’ whist I get treated like a piece of sub-atomic flotsam,” I enquired of no one in particular.

“Probably because you’re a moron you moron,” responded Cat.

As I was just about to consider forming a pact with the Mudlizard, the Sorting Master spoke again,

“Please everyone just remain calm and I’ll have this all sorted out quite quickly. Now if I could just take down some particulars for our records.”

“I am perfectly calm,” said Cat.

“Yes, yes I know you are calm Mr. Cat. I was referring to the two exchangents,” said the Sorting Master’s voice.

To be continued………