A cosmic storm raged across the night skies of Altor, lighting up the city with bursts of electric violet and deep red. Inside the 88th Precinct, where even the flickering corridor lights dared not sleep, all was unusually calm—apart from the thunder rolling like giant footsteps across the heavens. Tucked away in his small quarters was Slomo, the precinct’s kind-hearted, slightly clunky service droid. He was curled up in his recharge bed, low on power but dreaming in low-frequency whirrs.
BANG!
The loud thump against the window jolted Slomo from his dormant mode. His optics blinked to life with a soft breeeep, and he rose slowly, curious but cautious. Another TAP TAP TAP followed. He glided over to the window, lifting the shutter panel with a hiss. Pressed against the glass was something small, scruffy, and shivering. It was Zil—Lieutenant Brogan’s eccentric little pet, looking soaked to the bone and desperate to be let in.
“Oh, dear me,” Slomo said, voice fuzzy with static concern. He swiftly opened the side hatch and Zil flew in with a splatter of water, wings drooping and feathers in disarray. “Poor thing! What are you doing out in a storm?”
He hurried to the storage area and rummaged through his pile of useful junk until he found a cardboard box, a soft striped blanket, and a single old slipper. With gentle hands, he lined the box and placed it near the warmer vent. Zil shivered, then curled up immediately in the box, beak resting on the slipper like it was her best friend. Slomo smiled and sat beside her until her breathing slowed into the rhythm of sleep.
Morning arrived too fast.
A piercing scream from the main office shattered the silence. “WHAT IN ALTOR’S NAME—?!” cried Officer Took.
Slomo rushed out, blinking as he took in the sight. Muddy, feathery footprints were everywhere—up the walls, across the floor, on the ceiling. One of the computer monitors had feathers stuck in its grill.
“It’s chaos!” Orrin shouted, chasing a blur of white fluff.
Zil.
Slomo recognised her little squeaks immediately. He clanked after her, finding her hiding under the briefing desk, wings filthy again. “You cheeky fluffball,” he murmured fondly. “Come on, bath time.”
He ushered her to the cleaning quarters, where he filled the tub with warm water and a generous squirt of bubble bath foam. The bubbles frothed with delightful squeaks, and he placed a little rubber space duck in the middle. Zil tilted her head, fascinated, then leapt in with a splash that soaked the floor.
Just as Slomo passed her a towel, Romek and Orrin entered, wide-eyed. “Oh no,” Orrin began.
Too late.
Zil shrieked and flapped, splashing water and foam in every direction. Romek slipped on a sponge and fell straight into the tub, while Orrin tried to pull him out, only to get yanked in too. Chaos erupted in a matter of seconds—limbs and wings tangled in foam. Slomo quickly beeped in panic before calmly grabbing a towel.
“Zil, calm protocols initiated!”
He held out his arms and Zil flew to him, soaking wet but clearly pleased. He wrapped her in the towel and began drying her with a gentle whoooosh of the hairdryer. Her feathers puffed out hilariously, like a giant fluffy dandelion, and Slomo giggled. But just as he turned to fetch a brush, Zil zoomed across the room like a scraggly comet, leaving a trail of fluff behind.
Later, in the mess hall, Slomo poured Galaxy Flakes into a bowl and added milk. Zil tilted her head, watching intently. “Here,” Slomo said, setting the bowl down. “We eat like this.”
Zil pecked at the flakes once, then slipped, flopped into the bowl, and ended up sitting in a puddle of cereal and milk.
“Oops.”
Before Slomo could clean it, Orrin marched in with a stereo box and thumped a button. Dubstep pounded out in heavy beats, shaking the tables. “Mood lifter!” he announced.
Officers nearby started nodding to the rhythm. Even Zil pecked her cereal in perfect time with the beat, flapping her wings like a backup dancer. Slomo wasn’t sure whether to join in or reboot.
Eventually, the mess had to be cleaned. As Slomo mopped cereal from the ceiling tiles, a blur moved past him—Podley, furious and with Zil in a small transport cage.
“To the airlock with this feathered menace!” he growled.
“Wait, Commander Podley!” Slomo pleaded, blocking the path. “She’s only a little creature. She didn’t mean any harm.”
Podley paused, then sighed. “Alright. But you take full responsibility, Slomo.”
Slomo nodded quickly, relief buzzing through his circuits.
That evening, back in his quarters, Slomo opened The Altor Book Of Fairytales and began reading aloud. Zil snuggled in her box, calm—until a page turned to a creature with massive wings and glowing eyes. Zil squeaked in terror, trembling.
“Oh, dear,” Slomo whispered. “That looks just like you, doesn’t it?” He put the book down, gathered her in his arms, and gave her a slow, comforting squeeze. “Don’t worry. That creature isn’t real. But you are. And you’re safe.”
Tears sparkled in Zil’s eyes, but she closed them in his embrace.
Just then, the main doors hissed open.
Lt. Brogan and Jack Haldane walked in from patrol, tired but smiling. “Zil!” Brogan exclaimed, rushing forward. Zil zipped across the room and landed straight on his shoulder.
“I was wondering where she went,” Brogan laughed. “Thanks for looking after her, Slomo. You’ve done a fantastic job.”
Slomo blinked shyly. “She… she entered my life at just the right time.”
“Well, come on, girl,” Brogan said, giving Zil a scritch. “Let’s go home. My kids’ll want to see you. I’ll call it a day early.”
As Brogan stepped out with Zil, everyone gathered near the entrance—Romek, Orrin, Took, Podley, Haldane, and most of all, Slomo, whose optics shimmered with happy tears.
Zil turned around, fluffed up, and waved her wing. “Squeee!”
Slomo waved back, a little choked up. “Goodbye, Zil… thank you for the footprints, the cereal splashes, and the hugs.”
The doors slid shut.
The storm was long gone.
And Slomo’s heart felt full.
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