Catch a Falling Star

— Sample Chapters

Chapter 1. Robot Walk

In the vast expanse of space, where distant stars glittered with adventure, Nova Starsong arrived at the troubled Solaris-Five station. The Star Rangers had entrusted the legendary galactic explorer with this critical mission after receiving a distress call—followed by an eerie silence. They hadn’t called anyone else.

Talia’s imagination tended to whisk her away to another realm where Nova Starsong always answered the call of duty—even now, as she was really in the underground vault of Fenclave on Arcadia. She just couldn’t resist envisioning her sleek vessel, the Tutu Pele Voyager, slicing through the majestic expanse of space in search of the beleaguered station.

Unfazed by the lack of response to her hails, Nova guided her ship into a flawless manual docking sequence, hands steady, movements precise—like she’d done it a hundred times before, like there had never been a question that she could. That was the thing about Nova Starsong: people didn’t wonder if she was good enough. They already knew. She was the one they sent for when things mattered.

Her heart quickened as she passed through the airlock connecting her ship to the station, the flame of an explorer’s spirit igniting in her eyes. The industrial groans and creaks of the station melded with the beat of adventure coursing through her veins.

Her footsteps echoed in the empty hallways. Flickering lights cast shadows across her determined features as she strode forward, a lone figure in the silent theater of an unknown disaster, unhesitating, unafraid.

“What will she find?” Talia’s inner narration broke through as she clutched her trusty buzz-cannon, voicing her imagined world like a radio drama. She lowered her voice. “They called the right woman.”

A furrowed brow, a swift glance around the corner, and she paused. A metallic minion lay ahead. Had a robotic rebellion overtaken the station? Once slaves to human ambition, had androids seized control and toppled their masters? Their mechanical hearts had to be pulsing with unchecked rage.

With the ease of someone who already knew how this would end, Nova Starsong stepped around the corner, her buzz-cannon poised to confront the minions of doom. This one, however, did not immediately attack. Instead, it continued diligently mopping the floor. But Nova Starsong knew better—this seemingly benign machine concealed a sinister agenda, just like the rest.

Talia debated whether to blast it to smithereens or take the time to reprogram it, when a human scream pierced the air. Moonbeam came charging toward her, repeatedly howling over his shoulder at his pursuer, “I’m not the young master! I’m not the young master!”

Hot on his tail, a shapely white nanny-bot held aloft a blue Fenclave jumpsuit fit for a toddler, insisting, “The young master must be properly attired before being seen in public!”

At this point, Moonbeam stepped onto the freshly cleaned section of the floor.

Now, to best understand the subsequent events, it’s important to recognize that this particular service robot had been experimenting with improved cleaning agents during its time in Fenclave. Its latest experiment involved an agent known as Compound 201, which it had found in the rocket repair bay.

Advertised as the slipperiest oil in the galaxy, Compound 201 promised to unstick anything, claiming to be the ultimate and final lubricant anyone would ever need. The service robot reasoned this must also make it the perfect cleaning agent—after all, if nothing could stick to the surface, it followed that it would drastically reduce the frequency of cleaning cycles.

So it was with detached curiosity that the robot observed Moonbeam place his foot on the freshly “cleaned” section of the floor, triggering a slide that transformed into a series of deft splits and tumbles. Despite his best efforts, Moonbeam still ended up face-first, his momentum propelling him several meters across the slick, well-lubricated surface.

The robot made notes on the efficiency of Compound 201.

Despite her rubber footpads, the nanny-bot chasing him met a similar fate. Helpless against Compound 201, she sprawled in a clattering crash, which secretly delighted the service robot.

Talia dropped her buzz-cannon and sprinted forward, transitioning with the grace of a celestial dancer into a calculated slide across the slick floor. Gliding to a halt before the service robot, she caught it by surprise and quickly located its maintenance switch, powering it off.

Meanwhile, the persistent nanny-bot had seized Moonbeam’s foot, engaging in a tug-of-war as he struggled to crawl away while it continued to insist he dress properly.

Talia approached the nanny-bot with slow, deliberate steps on the treacherous surface, deactivating it in a similar manner. Then she opened a back panel and triggered a full-system reset before returning to the service robot and repeating the process.

Once finished, she gracefully crossed to the oil-free section of the floor and retrieved her buzz-cannon. Meanwhile, Moonbeam, unable to right himself, had inched forward like a worm, managing to reach her. She helped him stand on stable ground, all while fighting the flutter in her heart as she clasped his hand.

Brushing himself off, Moonbeam surveyed the scene, offering a grateful smile, “Thank you, ma’am. Not sure what got into that thing.”

“Ma’am?” Talia responded, surprised, her gaze lingering on Moonbeam’s well-fit shoulders, followed by a wistful sigh: if she had met him before Ashe, would things have unfolded differently? Or… what if he had come looking for her? Was there more to this chance encounter?

A storm of confusion clouded Moonbeam’s face, making him appear even more enigmatic than usual. He glanced around, then stretched and tried to act casual. “So, where…are we?”

“We’re near environmental,” Talia answered, pointing the way he’d come, “The central plaza is back that way.”

Moonbeam appeared on the verge of saying more—perhaps wanting to engage in some flirty banter? Or, perhaps he had questions about Ashley? This was the moment Talia had hoped for, where she could fill him in on all the peculiar edges of her bestie.

Thinking of Ashe made Talia wonder about her friend’s progress searching through Fenclave’s databases. She had offered to help research clues about Ember’s whereabouts and interrogate the captured Ordyne soldiers. However, she first had to mop up the remnants of the robot insurrection she had intentionally sparked while aiding in the effort to reclaim Fenclave.

“Okay, then,” Moonbeam said, pivoting and stepping back toward the slippery floor.

Talia lunged, grabbed Moonbeam’s jacket, and pulled him back before he could repeat his earlier mistake. His arms flailed as he struggled for balance, then he fell into her embrace. Their eyes met—his almond gaze filled with surprise and amusement—before he flashed his trademark grin. “Why, hello there, you lovely goddess. You know, if you wanted me to stay, you just had to ask.”

This close to him, Talia couldn’t ignore his pleasant scent, which sent her heart racing. He had clearly indulged in Fenclave’s amenities and had somehow found cologne—the alluring musk was undeniable. But was that also a hint of cinnamon? It reminded her of the pastries pilfered by a rogue robot earlier that morning.

She straightened him upright, her fingers lingering on his upper arm for an extra beat. “Moonie, you don’t want to go that way; it’s all slippery, remember?”

He glanced at the floor and muttered, “I need to remember.”

Concern wrinkled her brow. “Are you okay? Did you take a hard fall?”

He puffed out his chest, “I’m good. Didn’t fall hard. Just did a little dance, you know?”

She smiled, unable to resist asking, “Do you like to dance? Like formal? Or a bop?”

Moonbeam considered the question far longer than she expected. “I don’t know. It might come to me, I suppose. Sometimes things do that.”

Rolling her eyes, Talia wrestled with frustration and attraction at his usual antics. Their eyes locked, and an awkward moment stretched for a few heartbeats. Spurred by a surge of impulsivity, Talia extended her hand. “Let’s try. Maybe you’ll remember.”

For just a moment, she glimpsed an inner storm in his eyes.

“Maybe,” he said softly, accepting her offer. Drawing close, he placed his hand on her hip, maintaining a respectful distance. Talia felt a sizzle in the air between them, but did he?

“Don’t we need music?” he asked.

Talia shrugged and took the lead, swaying in a slow dance without it. “Where? I don’t know how Ashe has managed to keep hers working, but my AstroCom died a while back.”

They fell into a rhythm, moving together, and Talia pulled Moonbeam closer, until there was no space left between them. She could feel his heartbeat as they moved as one. He relaxed and followed her lead. Her eyes closed, and she allowed herself to be swept away in the moment—her first dance!

As they moved to a silent beat, Moonbeam was remarkably graceful. Talia’s mind wandered, imagining what it would be like to dance with that special person she yearned for. Would he be an artist? A warrior? Or someone who simply reveled in the joy of being alive, like Moonbeam? And if things didn’t work out between Moonbeam and Ashe…could that person be him?

He pulled back and locked eyes with her. His words came with a lingering smile. “You’re a good dancer, Talia.” The intensity in his gaze sent a shiver down her spine, and for a moment, the world went quiet around them.

Talia wasn’t sure if she was reading too much into it. That quirk to his smile felt like a hidden promise, and she couldn’t help but wonder: did his eyes hold an unspoken invitation? This wasn’t how friends looked at each other. Were they both ready for this?

But what would Ashe think if she saw them like this? Talia forced herself to grin, not wanting to push things too far, suddenly worried she might be misreading the moment. Still, she savored his compliment and added, “Well, my Kupuna Wahine used to say that dancing is like storytelling with your body.”

Moonbeam’s eyes sparkled with curiosity. “Storytelling, neat. So who was that?”

Talia spun him as they continued dancing. “She was my grandmother and a renowned performer. Knew all sorts of folk dances, plus many others from across the galaxy. She said each step in a dance is part of a story.”

He laughed at the spin, then took the initiative and pulled her into a close embrace again. “So what does this step mean in the story?”

She tried to suppress the pull she felt, but couldn’t ignore the heat between them. And then the image of Ashe flashed in her mind.

But… this isn’t serious, right? She told herself, suddenly feeling guilty. Just some idle fun. And it is my first dance—I should enjoy it, shouldn’t I?

Feeling a hint of mischief, she wondered how Nova Starsong might handle this situation.

“Well, in this story,” Talia replied, her voice taking on a narrative note. “It means two explorers, after vanquishing a robot uprising, find a moment to enjoy each other’s company in a dance both radiant and absurd amid the ruins of their civilization.”

Moonbeam’s eyes sparkled. “So, we’re in a pulp romance novel?”

“Maybe,” Talia said softly. “What do you think?”

Her gaze locked with his as they resumed swaying, and she guided him through a few more improvised steps. He seemed content to follow her lead while her emotions twirled. She couldn’t deny his pull—an intriguing presence that drew her in, leaving her fascinated, but uneasy. Why was he so odd at times?

Moonbeam’s gaze grew distant, as if searching for something beyond the moment. “You know,” he said quietly, “sometimes I feel like I’m dancing with shadows. There are times I forget things. Mostly names and faces, but—”

Talia’s heart skipped at his unusual vulnerability. He leaned in close, his movements carrying a sense of desire, and she wished he’d come closer still, close enough to feel his breath against her ear.

He spoke so quietly she almost couldn’t hear him. “I remember…”

Their bodies swayed in tandem. The walls seemed to fade, leaving only the two of them moving together.

He continued, his voice distant. “Somebody…somebody I think I need. She’s a fire burning bright. I wondered if it was you—”

Talia’s breath hitched, and she froze. They lingered in that embrace for a few heartbeats, each one sharpening the ache in her chest. In that silence, she knew—with painful clarity—whose fire Moonbeam yearned for, and it wasn’t hers.

Ashe’s strangled, outraged voice shattered the moment. “What in all the cosmos are you two doing?”

Talia released Moonbeam and stumbled back, her face flushing as she met Ashe’s blazing eyes. “It’s not what you think! We weren’t—”

Ashe spun around, her steps sharp as she retreated. For some reason, Jade lingered behind. His brow furrowed as he glanced between Moonbeam and Talia, studying them with his enigmatic green eyes.

“Ashe!” Talia called. “Stop! Let’s talk!”

But her friend bolted around a corner and yelled back. “Just leave me alone!”

Moonbeam’s once-warm gaze now carried a hint of sadness as he watched Ashe disappear down the hallway. Talia couldn’t shake the frustration rising in her as she admitted Nova Starsong would have handled this with far more finesse. A groan escaped her as she wondered how long Ashe had been watching.

Chapter 2. Engine Number Nine

Ashe’s day began on a high note. They had achieved the unthinkable and liberated Fenclave. Yet, as the hours passed, one challenge after another piled up, wearing away at her spirit.

Her plans to interrogate the Ordyne prisoners were dashed when she found a cryptic note on Rainwood’s door: gone to Pikeston. He had told her last night they’d handle the prisoners first thing today.

“Probably took that one-man circus act along with him, too,” Ashe muttered, thinking of Moonbeam.

Another blow struck at breakfast when a rogue robot swiped her cinnamon buns just as they arrived—she’d waited an hour for those to bake! But all the robots were acting out thanks to the code changes Talia had made yesterday.

All the while, she was aware of Jade’s ability to sense her thoughts and actively worked to suppress her concerns about locating his sister, Ember. Most of her hope hinged on extracting information from the prisoners, particularly the Captain.

Jade seemed content to follow her that morning without comment, observing in his quietly enigmatic way. He had insisted on putting that crazy tinfoil hat on again, though it was starting to wear out. Ashe had no idea how it even worked, but he seemed to think it stopped the noise of other people’s thoughts, and so she let it go.

Fuming over the loss of the pastries, Ashe started her investigation with Fenclave’s mainframe, only to encounter frustrating dead ends. With Rainwood still absent, they took the elevator up and stepped onto the launch pad.

Ashe’s smile returned at the sight of Goldstar-9 standing tall. Its sleek form promised adventure, just like Talia always said. She’d come across wrecks of rocket ships in the wilds, but this was her first encounter with a fully functional one.

Her fingers traced its smooth surface, noting a surprising amount of wear now that she was up close. The cool metal sent a shiver down her spine. Jade mirrored her every move, touching the same places she had.

Slapping the ship’s side with a grin, Ashe said, “How about we try to crack this thing open?”

He slapped the ship and nodded in silent agreement.

They climbed the rickety stairs to the rocket ship’s entrance to find the door locked tight. Ashe wasted no time locating an access port. She connected her AstroCom to the ship’s systems and navigated the security protocols, using the tools and tricks she’d picked up surviving on her own. Finally, the door opened.

The interior greeted her with a soft hum, the scent of machinery filling the air. She climbed up through the ship’s central column, making a beeline for the pilot’s chair at the top. There, she dove into the onboard computer, hoping to uncover clues about Ember.

To her disappointment, she quickly discovered that Goldstar-9 was a planetary ship, not an interstellar vessel. It might look sleek and intimidating, but it couldn’t leave Arcadia’s solar system without the aid of a jump ship. Not that it mattered—Talia was the one dreaming of scouring the galaxy for adventure. Ashe had no intention of leaving Fenclave now that she was back.

Last night, Rainwood said they’d need someone to help manage things here. He insisted, in fact. Said if they didn’t ask a powerful group that they liked, such as the Star Rangers, then Ordyne or the Wardens would just take it. Ashe scowled and pushed the thought aside. Rainwood had also said he’d work it out with the Star Rangers, and she had more important things to focus on.

Much like the Fenclave mainframe, Goldstar-9’s data banks offered no clues to Ember’s whereabouts. It had spent the past year shuttling between the surface and orbiting stations or other ships. One detail stood out in the flight logs: the Captain had regularly taken Goldstar-9 to the solar system’s edge, stopping at the same jump-point monitoring station. The logs revealed nothing about the purpose of those visits.

She consulted a few astrogation maps, noting the plotted destinations, then decided it was time to interrogate the prisoners with or without Rainwood. Surely Talia had finished her work with the robots by now.

Which led to her stalking the halls of Fenclave, Jade trailing behind, until she came upon Talia and Moonbeam in an embrace—and her heart lurched.

Chapter 3. Memories are made of this

Earlier that morning.

Flashes assailed him—hideous beasts with unspeakable forms, tendrils of eerie purple, gibbering teeth, and malevolent eyes radiating malice. They howled and gnashed in the shadows as they closed in. He was surrounded. No escape.

From the boiling darkness came a grotesque beast with two mouths, seven putrid eyes, and stringy, unkempt black hair. One dreadful step at a time, it drew closer. Its ethereal, translucent skin revealed shivering organs pulsing with horrific energy.

In a burst, it lunged—and the world shifted.

He was in a building, surrounded by people fleeing in terror. Someone stepped in front of him, shouting for him to run and hide, but their face eluded him. He should have known who they were, but suddenly couldn’t—and they became a formless blur.

He ran.

Distant screams echoed behind him. The beast had found him again, each footstep clapping across the world like shrieks of the dead. A nightmarish jungle rose around him as he fled, filled with writhing tendrils covered in slicing teeth.

He knew the creature chasing him was the source of his pain and loss. It was viscerally terrifying… and somehow familiar. For some reason, it felt like he had once been loved by it—but now it plagued his dreams over and over. Even as his instincts buckled beneath the gnashing terror, a deep-seated dread told him that if it touched him, he would die.

His heart pounded so hard he thought it would burst.

He stumbled, nearly falling.

Torn, lifeless bodies surrounded him. Their faces—faces he should have recognized, perhaps family—remained just out of reach, lost in a blurring screech of red. He felt that if he could truly remember them, it might save him.

Then it was upon him.

He hid in a closet, only to have the pulsating, grotesque abomination rip the door open. It hissed with malevolent pleasure, knowing he could not escape, and reached forward.

It tore out his eyes.

With each pluck, his soul was rent—his very essence shredding with agony. Darkness swallowed him as the creature devoured first one eye, then the other. Pieces of what defined him faded with each bite, and he howled.

Then, it took his mouth.

In the usual cycle of the nightmare, a stalwart dark bear would arrive like a storm, fighting off the beast.

But not this time.

A splash of fire sent the creature fleeing into the shadows. From the flames, a burning hand reached out to him. Somehow, he knew she was crying, even as she extended it.

He yearned to see her face, but she was ablaze—an inferno of angelic flame. He hesitated, torn between the desire to take her hand and the fear of burning up in her searing heat.

And yet, he reached for her hand anyway.

***

Moonbeam woke with a start, chest gripped with familiar dread because he knew he had lost his memories again. The returning nightmares refused to release their hold, despite his many efforts. Still, he hoped that someday he would unravel the mystery and get all his memories back.

Blinking against sleepy eyes, he surveyed the unfamiliar room, lit only by dim light from the hall. To his surprise, he found himself in a bed with a proper mattress—not a rough sleeping bag on rocky ground. He rolled out and stretched, then realized he was wearing nothing but his underwear. A hot flush rose in his cheeks as he braced for those around him to recoil in shock at his indecent behavior—he wasn’t raised in a barn, after all… or was he?

Of course, nobody recoiled, because he was alone.

He chuckled at himself, musing aloud to the empty bedroom, “Nope, that’s an entirely different type of nightmare.”

Usually, he slept in his clothes and changed in private, because he never knew what company he’d wake up with; and you never wanted to surprise the fair ladies.

Whistling a familiar tune, he poked through the rooms of this mysterious abode in search of his clothes, while also hoping to avoid surprising anyone with his impropriety—he even practiced an embarrassed, “Whoopsie! My mistake, sorry!” once, so that he’d be ready.

Normally, the stalwart great bear would remind him where he was and who he was with, but this ally remained conspicuously absent.

In the kitchen, he found his belongings neatly arranged on a table, including his clothes laundered and folded.

“How funny,” he muttered.

With fragmented memories and lingering fears swirling in his mind, Moonbeam started into his morning exercise routine—something he’d clearly neglected as his muscles began to burn at only fifty pushups. As he pushed through, each repetition sharpened his focus, and a flicker of memory surfaced—a man named Lee Sang.

Moonbeam paused, glancing around the unfamiliar quarters—Lee Sang was the only person he knew who would have such luxurious digs, complete with a private laundry service. Did that mean he was captive in the warlord’s enclave on Miratori?

The details of Lee Sang remained distant and out of focus, but that didn’t stop the cold thread weaving through his gut at the thought. It was a visceral sense of being hunted. Moonbeam pressed on, performing pushups with one hand, then with only two fingers—a feat he still struggled with, unlike his martial arts master, who performed it effortlessly.

With the call of nature becoming urgent, Moonbeam wrapped up his routine, wiping sweat from his brow and enjoying the post-exercise high. He gathered his freshly cleaned clothes and found the bathroom, which, to his surprise, had running water and, better yet, a hot shower—a luxury he couldn’t recall ever experiencing before.

He let the warm water cascade over him, following the three P’s—pits, privates, and piggies. It was a mantra instilled by someone important, though he couldn’t recall who. And yes, he reminded himself with a smile, piggies meant toes, not actual pigs.

Chuckling at the absurdity of trying to drag a pig into the shower, he pondered the origin of such advice. Who might have given him such a silly mnemonic?

While checking his hair in the mirror—one must always take every opportunity to ensure one is presentable—Moonbeam noticed a bottle of cologne. He was fairly sure he’d never used cologne before, and after a brief hesitation, decided to try it. The pleasant scent made him understand its allure for the ladies, and he made sure to tuck the bottle into his pack.

Finally ready to depart, Moonbeam slipped out into a larger interior complex. The sinking feeling returned—this might actually be Lee Sang’s enclave. Fortunately, the halls were empty.

Straightening his pack and ensuring his trusty guns were securely holstered at his hip, Moonbeam wove through the corridors following the scent of food, trying to be as covert as possible. It wasn’t easy, and he had to keep reminding himself not to whistle—sneaky meant silent.

A memory surfaced of someone else who was sneaky, and his steps faltered. Was she the fiery one from the dream?

Unable to figure it out, he continued, eventually finding the cafeteria—a deduction he reached thanks to the sign above the door, which proclaimed, “Cafeteria.”

Signage really was a convenient practice, he mused, though he wisely avoided voicing the observation—covert operations required discretion. The presence of such signage reinforced his suspicion that he was in Lee Sang’s enclave, given their tendency to label anything and everything. Then again, it could be a space station. Or perhaps even a jump ship.

He paused just outside, hearing voices from within. It sounded like a few people, so he snuck a glance.

Indeed, two girls and a kid.

Two girls—nice!

And if his keen sense of smell was accurate, they were indulging in a delectable cinnamon treat. These enclaves had all the perks. He stole another glance, but they sat with their backs to him.

Pulling back, he considered his situation: If this was Lee Sang’s enclave, where was everyone? Should he go in and introduce himself to the ladies? No—he didn’t know if they were friend or foe, and needed to learn more before doing that.

A crisp voice cut through his thoughts, startling him. “Excuse me, sir, do you need help?”

Moonbeam snapped around to find a service android—one of the Unitron models that rolled on three wheels. He mentally chided himself for not being more aware of his surroundings, though he couldn’t help but blame his distraction on the presence of those two lovely cats.

His stomach growled so loudly he worried it might reveal his presence.

“Why, yes, you can. I want you to go in there and get me all the cinnamon things.”

“Of course, just one moment, sir.” The Unitron bobbed and rolled into the room.

Moonbeam resisted the urge to celebrate prematurely—he didn’t have the food just yet.

Protests erupted from inside the cafeteria.

“Hey, put those back!”

“Don’t bother chasing after it! Just one more of the crazy bots I need to round up.”

Moments later, the robot returned, presenting him with a plate bearing four cinnamon buns. Moonbeam grinned, accepted the plate, and expressed his gratitude before strolling down the hallway. Now he just had to figure out the mysteries of his surroundings and then escape. His memories were fragmented, but not gone. He knew that Lee Sang struck fear into the hearts of everyone on Miratori, and he didn’t want to be in the warlord’s clutches.

As he savored the last cinnamon bun, a sign declaring “Horticulture Labs” drew his interest, and he ended up at a pair of doors that opened to reveal a humid, earthy room overrun with plants. The scents drew him in—it was definitely a greenhouse, he realized, somehow knowing this.

Intrigued, Moonbeam wandered through tables tangled with overgrown foliage, muttering, “Boy, howdy, whoever maintains this place is clearly not doing their job.”

Setting down his pack, he instinctively began tending the plants—a strangely familiar task. Without questioning how he knew, he trimmed leaves, pulled dead growth, and even harvested vegetables, losing himself in the rhythm of it.

Amidst his gardening, he found a hand trowel. A distant memory flashed—a woman’s hands guiding his own, as she showed him how to till the dark earth. Her fingers wrapped around his small hand were warm, despite the cool soil. She said something about the importance of proper irrigation, but that wasn’t what stayed with him. It was her gentle touch.

Suddenly, terror gripped him—she was going to be taken away. He needed to warn her before it was too late. The fear surged uncontrolled, and he stumbled backward, fleeing the greenhouse and bolting down random corridors until his pulse slowed.

Regaining composure, Moonbeam straightened his jacket, ran a comb through his hair, and forced a smile. “If you keep smiling, everything will turn out fine, right? Besides, no reason to bring others down with your problems; they have plenty of their own.”

Surveying the empty corridor, he noticed a nearby door. With a shrug, he said, “Nice. I get to explore something new.”

Inside, several robots toiled away in a laundry facility. Among them, one stood out—a shapely, white, bipedal robot, and he wondered why they didn’t make more bots look pleasantly feminine like that.

They all turned to look at him.

“There you are, young master!” the shapely one declared in an alluring voice.

Moonbeam grinned and waved, “Yep, you found me!”

She gestured him forward, “Come, you must be presentable before the ceremony.”

Approaching cautiously, Moonbeam wondered about the ceremony, not to mention why he deserved such attention. Could that be why he was here? Excitement bubbled at the thought of receiving an award.

The robot lifted a purple Astrotec jumpsuit, freshly pressed and starched. While Moonbeam appreciated all things Astrotec, the size didn’t look right. “I think it’s a tad small,” he said, deciding it was fit for a toddler, at best.

“Of course not,” the robot insisted, seizing his arm in a tight, almost painful grip before shoving his hand into the sleeve.

“Okay, not nice! Nope, I lied. I’m not the young master!” he protested, wriggling free.

“The young master is going to be late. Come here now, or I will notify your parents!”

“But I didn’t do anything!” he cried, bolting from the room with the robot in hot pursuit.

Moonbeam ran through several corridors until he thought he’d finally lost her and stopped to catch his breath.

But she stepped around the corner, her eyes now glowing red. She shook the jumpsuit and declared angrily, “The young master is naughty. You will be punished, but first, you must be presentable.”

Moonbeam cried out, “How are you so fast?”

She paused to consider the question, and he seized the opportunity to sprint away, with her once again in pursuit, calling after him to stop while threatening increasingly severe punishments, from time-outs to spankings.

“I’m not the young master, I’m not the young master!” he howled, turning a corner.

Down the corridor, he spotted a service robot mopping the floor and beyond it, a formidable girl carrying a massive cannon, which he imagined must have been ripped from the hull of a battleship. She zeroed in on the service robot, her eyes widening as she noticed his arrival.

Then, inexplicably, the floor lost all traction. Moonbeam, ever proud of his nimble prowess, managed a few miraculous saves—skids, splits, a near-recovery—before finally pitching forward and sliding on his face until momentum gave out.