Stranded in the Starlit Void
"It's not the same, I tell you?"
"Oh... space... it's so damn cool."
"Nom... this is really weird... why does it taste so good...? Even so, compared to what I ate back then, it feels a bit lacking somehow..."
Unlike us, who'd spent the night in detention, whipped up some cooking, and secretly milked my baby batter all night long to stuff her until her belly nearly burst, the ship had only stayed briefly at the colony for the cadets to get familiar with the fatigue of boarding and the vessel's controls before heading straight into space. Through the massive round glass window—the only one in the detention room—I could see the pitch-black cosmos, countless lights embedded in the void like a spectacular display.
Space was honestly just a simple structure: a black canvas dotted with white specks like Go stones. But there was something overwhelmingly majestic about its sheer scale and vastness that drew even someone like me, no matter how jaded, to stare blankly out the window with magnetic force.
"Huh? Seriously, it's just... different, okay? Not just delicious... more like... a tickly kind of flavor? That's the feeling..."
While I felt a chest-thumping thrill, the romance of space stirring my inner man, Linda—clutching a bowl full of the fruit salad I'd made to her chest and chomping away with a fork—tilted her head repeatedly. Her eyes sharpened fiercely as she glared at me.
"You're scarfing it down like crazy... Hey! More than half the ingredients are gone already, you useless glutton bitch."
Ever since that day, she'd been clinging to me nonstop, begging for more cooking whenever the mood struck. I couldn't help but sigh, watching her like some immature teenage girl, her body still slim despite it all, as I kept whipping up meals. Inevitably, the once-stuffed fridge had turned into something a rat had gnawed through.
"No, really, I'm not some total pig... but this shit's insanely good, I swear? It's just a simple salad, why is it this delicious...?"
Unable to make sense of it herself, Linda flashed an awkward grin, chuckling sheepishly. Worried she might offend me and cut off the supply, she scratched her head before starting to spear the fruits in her mouth one by one with her fork.
Whenever she thought my eyes weren't on her, she'd chew with utmost care, as if dissecting the food down to molecular, atomic levels to analyze the taste. It was like she was chasing the flavor from that day her taste memory got nuked—the subtle aftertaste of my cum burps and the lingering mystery from my lower half. I couldn't help but snicker at the sight.
What the hell changed to make her this obsessed?
The taste itself should've been flawless thanks to my Master Chef skill, but what synergy was it sparking with my Incubus abilities to have her hooked like a junkie? I tilted my head just like her, baffled.
I can't taste my own stuff, so I have no idea how to blend those two properly... It's a bit tricky, but yeah, that's a problem.
Stuffed to the brim with this ridiculous dilemma, I let out a hollow laugh and a sigh, starting to rise from my seat—
Thud!
"Huh? It stopped... what the?"
"..."
A low rumble like some massive machine powering down echoed softly. The cosmic backdrop flowing past the window suddenly froze, leaving only eerie stillness. Linda, with more ship experience than me, widened her eyes, scanning outside before turning to me.
"Didn't they say we were heading to the space station? Those guys?"
"Yeah, something like that."
"But out there, it's just endless ocean of nothing... why'd we stop?"
Even without game knowledge, the hyper-advanced era had turned common sense into baby babble for her. I sauntered over, lounging on the sofa casually before asking Linda,
"Why? Looks like something happened. Even if they're formally trained cadets, they're not assigned military crew handling this ship."
"...Hmm... maybe...? But that sound just now—I'm pretty sure it's the shutdown of all main propulsion except the core engine, and the cruise drives... weird."
She kept spearing salad into her cheek as she spoke. I barely grasped half of what she said, let alone a quarter, but what was my greatest strength? Street smarts and shamelessness that let me navigate any world. Ignoring her exact words, I pieced together the puzzle from her tone and implication, brain cells firing.
The main engine has to stay on unless fully docked—that makes sense. But shutting down those other systems while drifting like a lost kid in deep space...?
I'd mentioned it myself, but the thought that the cadets had trained for this kind of stop faded. Instead, a whiff of "we're fucked" trouble hit me, curling one corner of my mouth upward.
Wasn't the classic space travel cliché a ship or shuttle crapping out mid-void, crew scrambling to fix it? This vessel was brand-new, not even a day operational, so barring hardware faults...
Trouble with the AI, looks like. Heh heh.
Even before starting the game, I knew the ship's key features: materials, engines, and its era-exclusive fully autonomous independent AI. Reasoning out why we'd halted, I pictured the bridge scenario, nodding with a sly smile.
She'll come sniffing around soon...? Heh heh.
Seemed like the day I'd swallow this ship whole wasn't far off—my laughter wouldn't stop.
- Um... so, in a context similar to designated survivors in emergencies, you've ended up in the captain's seat?
- "Yeah. So, could you restart the ship already? Minerva, as I explained before, this situation is basically because of your existence itself. As captain, stepping aside is the best call, right?"
On the bridge, where all operating crew cadets had gathered. Bridget's tone was calm and explanatory, polite as always, but the pitch screamed irritation anyone could pick up, creating a tense atmosphere.
Even if her father had bankrupted the family with a galactic strategic blunder, excluding that one mistake, Jefferson was a bona fide war hero. That blood ran true—Bridget, petite and slender, commanded the room with raw charisma.
But no time to admire her skills. The massive front screen showed a hologram: snow-white hair, eyes, and dress—a pure white embodiment of artificial beauty. She beamed at Bridget.
"I can't do that, Cadet Bridget."
- "...I'm the captain."
"No. You're not the captain. As you said, I should restart and leave this sector, but even as an autonomous independent AI, I lack access to the system locks. To reboot me, you need official captain approval."
In the empty void free of threats, the ship suddenly halted, demanding formal registration as an official vessel via captain log-in—just looping nonsense. Bridget swallowed surging stress and hysteria with a shallow sigh.
"By Federal Military Code Article 17, Section 2, in emergency wartime protocols, the highest-ranking person on board becomes captain. That's programmed into you too—why keep dodging?!"
"No matter how much you push, Cadet Bridget... your rank won't register as captain, so I keep repeating myself? Even scanning bridge rank chips, you're at best vice captain."
Amid charismatic Bridget and unflappable machine Minerva, the cadets dithered, tilting heads. One thought burned in all minds: who on this ship outranked her?
No one recalled the two civilians in detention. Thus began the mysterious incident.