Sleepover Blues

Lady Penelope adjusted the folds of her silken robe as she looked down at me, curled up at the foot of the Chesterfield in her hotel suite. The lights of Demeter City glowed softly through the window, casting pastel blues and purples across the room. I was completely knackered, my hair tousled, my eyes half-shut, and my little limbs draped across the carpet like I’d melted.

“Darling, you look utterly worn out,” she said, brushing a strand of hair from my cheek. “Did you sleep at all during your little adventure?”

I gave a sleepy sigh and murmured, “Sort of. But I had the best time with Slomo…”

And just like that, the memory of our whirlwind sleepover began to bubble up in my tired little brain…

---

The night before, Slomo had invited me to stay at a hotel in Demeter City—an old retro-futuristic place with smooth curves, glowing floor panels, and a rooftop hot tub that overlooked the twinkling skyline. Slomo and I had stepped into the hot tub together just as the stars came out, the bubbles fizzing around us like we were inside a great big soda bottle.

I leaned against his cool metallic frame, giggling as he gently extended one of his robot arms to mimic a splash. He wasn’t built for water, but he had waterproofed himself just for tonight. We cuddled up close, sharing sleepy stories and warm snuggles, the kind only siblings can give.

Slomo had a way of whirring softly, like a lullaby, and when he tilted his head, I couldn’t help but laugh. “You're the comfiest robot in the whole galaxy,” I whispered, resting my head on his shoulder.

The next morning, all dewy with dreams and warm towels, we wandered down to a nearby coffee shop for something to perk us up. It was bustling, full of aliens and humans ordering double-caffeinated glopachinos and buttery croissant clones. Slomo blinked at the menu, then blinked at me.

“You smell like a hot tub,” he said.

“You smell like warm toast,” I replied.

Just as we settled down with our drinks, the music changed. A DJ in the corner slid on some visors and raised the volume—an all-night rager was revving up.

“Should we?” Slomo asked, flicking his LED eyebrows suggestively.

“I think we must,” I said, standing on my tiptoes to hold his metallic hand.

And off we went.

The rager was wild. A full-blown neon-lit alien dance party. Creatures from every quadrant danced like their limbs were made of jelly. I drank something fizzy and bright green that made my feet tingle. Slomo had four cans of Coke Zero wired into his frame and spun in circles so fast he became a disco ball.

We danced like nobody was watching—because by 4am, nobody was. They were all asleep. Passed out across beanbags, under tables, and in booths with spilled chips and blinking glowsticks. I blinked at Slomo, who blinked back.

“We should probably get back,” I mumbled, feeling the world wobble slightly.

We stumbled outside, tipsy and giggly, and found a hovercar parked just off the curb with the keys still humming.

“Slomo, that car’s winking at us.”

“I believe it wants to go home,” he said.

And so we stole it. Giggling the whole way, we somehow made it back to the hotel without crashing, getting caught, or even dropping our half-eaten bag of cheesy noodles. Slomo parked it in a flowerbed and saluted.

That night, back in the rooftop hot tub, we didn’t say much. Just floated in the warm fizz, sharing popcorn and more Coke Zero. We watched the stars, counted blinking satellites, and traded lazy tickles and gentle cuddles under the city sky.

“You’re like my space brother,” I whispered.

“And you are my sleepy human bean,” Slomo replied with a tiny beep.

Back in our hotel room, the bed was soft and downy, like sleeping inside a cloud with arms. Slomo nestled beside me, clicking his sleepy circuits into snooze mode. We snuggled close under the blanket, heads tucked together. He tickled my back gently with a robotic finger. I curled up tighter and whispered, “Don’t ever let the night end.”

He replied with a soft, robotic hum: “Then let’s stay in the dream a little longer.”

---

But morning came anyway. I woke up feeling blue. Something tight and sad bubbled up in my chest. Maybe it was leaving, maybe it was too much fizzy drink, or maybe I just missed home.

Slomo noticed right away. He tucked me under his arm and whispered, “Hey, you’re safe. You’re with me. You’re loved.”

I nodded slowly. “Can we go tell Podley and the others? I just want them to know…”

So we made our way to the 88th Precinct. Podley raised an eyebrow when he saw us. Romek and Orrin perked up. I tried to tell them everything—about the dance, the stars, the cuddles, the silly things, the hovercar. But halfway through, I just… collapsed.

Swoosh. Out cold.

---

Back in the present, Lady Penelope gently scooped me up into her arms. My face nuzzled against her satin shoulder as she carried me toward the suite bedroom.

Slomo wheeled into the room, where Parker was polishing his shoes. The old butler blinked in mild surprise.

“I say… he looks completely spent.”

Slomo nodded. “She partied harder than most kids I’ve met.”

“But she’s a good one,” Lady Penelope whispered. “She’s got heart.”

Slomo's eyes dimmed gently, like a lamp being turned low. “She always had the biggest one.”

And with that, she tucked me into bed—soft, warm, and finally still—while Slomo powered down beside me, guarding my dreams like the sibling I never knew I needed.

The End.

Podly's Island: Now There's A Thought

I've been thinking about Podley lately. You know, the gruff but good-hearted desk chief from Space Precinct. Always holed up in the control room, barking orders at Brogan and Haldane, trying to keep order in the madness that is Demeter City. He’s not exactly built for sandy beaches and sunshine, but what if, somehow—maybe a freak teleportation mishap, or a downed cruiser during a solo mission—Podley ended up stranded on a desert island?

First off, the image alone is hilarious. That big frog-like Creon body of his, sitting under a palm tree with his uniform rumpled, webbed feet half-buried in hot sand, staring out at the ocean with a deeply unimpressed frown. You just know he'd grumble something like, "This is not in my job description."

But the thing about Podley is—beneath that crusty, bureaucratic exterior, he's sharp, level-headed, and deeply resourceful. He’d complain at first, probably muttering to himself about budget cuts, incompetent engineers, and why on Altor they let him go out on a field assignment in the first place. But then, slowly but surely, he'd shift into survival mode.

The uniform jacket would come off, sleeves rolled up. He’d find a big stick and immediately declare it his “Command Baton.” He’d start organizing his surroundings like it was Precinct 88 all over again. I imagine he'd assign zones around the island: one for sleeping, one for food collection, one for “operations”—which is just him sitting on a rock scanning the horizon for a rescue ship with a homemade periscope made from bamboo and broken visor lenses.

He'd keep a daily log, of course. Scribbled on palm fronds, bark, or anything he could find, in that neat, slightly grumpy handwriting of his. “Day Twelve. Still no sign of rescue. Ate something that looked like a Flarn beetle. Regret everything.”

And then there’s his sense of authority. Even if he’s the only one on the island, Podley would still try to maintain order. I bet he’d talk to the local wildlife as though they were rookies under his command. A crab walks past? “You! Patrol the perimeter. And stay out of the food rations.” A seagull swoops down and steals his snack? “I will file a formal complaint with Central Command, bird!”

And yet, underneath it all, I think the solitude would crack something open in him. There’s a quiet loneliness to Podley, always behind that desk while others go out and take risks. On the island, away from constant alerts and reports, he might allow himself to just… stop. Watch the waves. Listen to the wind. Feel something soft in himself that he's not usually allowed to show at work.

Maybe he even finds a moment of peace. Sitting on a rock at sunset, sipping coconut water from a carved-out shell, watching the pink sky ripple across the sea. He might grumble out loud just to keep up appearances—“This is absurd. Ridiculous.”—but secretly, he lets himself smile.

And then, of course, the rescue ship would appear on the horizon. Maybe it’s Brogan and Haldane in a beat-up cruiser, waving like mad, thrilled to find him alive. As they land, Podley would stand, brush off his trousers, and announce, “Took you long enough. Now get me back to my desk.”

But I like to think there’d be a beat—a tiny beat—where he looks back at the island, just once, before boarding. Not with regret, but with quiet recognition. A memory of stillness. Of being alone, but not afraid. Of finding a kind of balance between control and surrender.

Podley on a desert island. It sounds like a silly what-if, but really, it’s a gentle reminder that even the toughest desk chiefs need a break. Even the ones with webbed hands and an endless stack of reports.

He’d survive. Grumble, organise, adapt, and endure.

Because that’s just who he is.

The Break Room - Chapter 1

I've been living in Demeter City for a long time now, ever since I moved here I felt really lonely and misunderstood. I live in this cosy, quiet apartment in the city, on the 64th floor. All I had for company was the things I loved and my dog, Mylo. Don't worry, unlike Liz's pet mouse, Mylo got injected with the CO-26 vaccine so he could stay alive. My temper caused me to lose lots of friends in the past, but one thing, ONE THING I wanted more than anything is to have a friend who can trust me.

Slomo and me enjoying a quiet time in our apartment watching the rain fall outside, Slomo cradling me in my arms.

Slomo and me getting comfortable in our apartment with hot cocoa and a cosy bed with fresh bedsheets when Winter hits Demeter City.

The Break Room - Chapter 1: Alone In Demeter City

1.I have been in Demeter City for almost two weeks now, and I am free to do what I want.

2.I live in my own apartment with my dog Mylo on my own.

3.I always have no friends because I always lash out at them.

4.I often go to the pub, where alien races sing and drink ‘til they pass out.

5.I order some Galaxy Beer. Seeing it’s not enough, I order more.

6. “Look,” cries one of the aliens, “That girl’s drinking like a Moranira bat on fire!”

7.Soon the whole bar gathers round me, chanting “CHUG! CHUG! CHUG! CHUG!”

8.With one last drink, I throw the can over to the other side of the bar.

9.Everyone cheers! That is, until I become woozy and pass out on the floor.

Space Precinct 30th Anniversary

• Bake an awesome cake to celebrate

• Pretend you’re playing with Slomo

• Collect the Space Precinct Blu-Ray

• Tell the episodes from Slomo’s perspective

• Do some art of new places in Demeter City

• Make Space Candy

• Draw Slomo in different cartoon styles

• Daydream of visiting Demeter City

Slomo's Lifestyle

I dare say, if Slomo had a heart rather than circuits, riding around Demeter City in a sleek flying limousine, surrounded by charming young ladies and an abundance of delicious Space Candy, would indeed tickle his mechanical fancy! Though, my dear, I suspect our sweet Slomo would be rather adorably overwhelmed, blinking and beeping bashfully as those glamorous ladies shower him with attention. Quite the delightful image, I must say!