A star-faring brother, sister, and robot get stuck together.

The shimmering purples, pinks, and blues of an active nebula were the beautiful jewels of space- calling them collections of dust and gasses would be like calling a diamond just another rock. Distant electricity, formed by the friction of so many particles colliding, arced silently through the hazy darkness, creating quite the light-show.

Unfortunately for Star-Captain Kelsen, the fact that he could currently see it from his bridge meant that he was well within it, and that made for a much less pleasant experience. What few systems remained online pulled impossible data from haywire sensors, completely scrambling the majority of his ship's electronics and leaving the CCV Don't Touch Me drifting along under the **** of inertia alone.

Even if he could somehow get the thrusters to respond when the ship was **** into a low-power state, his navigation system couldn't make heads nor tails of his actual position. Not even the beacons of nearby star systems could help him orient his vessel, as their signals were lost well before reaching him deep within the space-storm.

"Oktavia's really got her work cut out for her on this one..."

Kel was pretty certain in his own displeasure at the situation, though he wasn't entirely sure how his sister was taking things. As much as he wanted to believe that she felt the same way- angry about the number of systems she'd have to troubleshoot, repair, or replace; frustrated that their only option was to slow-boat through this pretty-but-obnoxious space cloud, or scared that they'd become completely disconnected from the outside world, he knew better.

This was her paradise- especially that last part. The Civilian-class Cargo Vessel he captained was not a standard model- Don't Touch Me was truly one-of-a-kind. That was mostly due to the way that his shut-in sister had built it- piece by piece, module by module, all attached to the core that was her triply-reinforced bunker of a room.

Mercifully, while Oktavia was a genius-grade engineer and mechanist, she hadn't honed her skills by getting kicked out of pilot school three times. Admittedly, none of those expulsions had anything to do with Kel's skill- he just wasn't cut out for a life of orders, and sitting around at a base, pretending to be waiting for the galactic peace to shatter when he was in fact peeling potatoes and playing card games on the taxpayer's dime.

They worked well together. Sure, Kel never got to shoot things, as CCVs weren't allowed weapons and he certainly wasn't allowed a permit, but Oktavia didn't get to fling herself so far into deep space that no attempt at communication could even reach her, either. Sometimes they even made a profit, hauling stuff from one end of the galaxy to the other.

Sometimes. Probably not this time. Even though the crates full of construction materials, tech components, raw textiles, and that one sealed crate supposedly full of some weird kitsune-made tea despite the dozens of ominous warning labels on it wouldn't go bad, the market could shift a lot in a whole week.

Assuming they even got out of the nebula in a week. Kel still remembered a couple of things from his academy days- even without a functioning computer system and half his ship offline, he still remembered the formula to estimate inertial velocity, and roughly how big the nebula had been based on sensor readings from outside of it.

It would take a week, give or take a couple days, to tumble out the other end of the giant celestial hell-cloud.

He stood up from his central chair, deflating with a deep sigh the moment he was on his feet. Although no one was around to hear him, he still felt the urge to fill the silence, with something- anything.

"A Captain shouldn't have to feel powerless on his own bridge, damnit..."

"Negative. Currently, this vessel is operating at 33% of normal power output. Output cannot be raised without risking catastrophic failure due to exospheric conditions. A captain is only as powerful as their vessel. Therefore, a feeling of powerlessness is warranted."

"Thanks, Irene. Knew I could count on you."

"You're welcome."

As usual, Kelsen got nowhere talking with his third and final crew member, Irene. The fully-mechanical borg girl was inherently linked to the Don't Touch Me in ways only Oktavia could hope to explain, and never in terms Kelsen could understand. She was there largely to handle the things Kel and his sister couldn't- heavy lifting, accounting, or roughhousing, when such was required.

Jokes were not her strong suit, but that was fair. She'd only recently started talking- Irene was as much an "ongoing project" of Oktavia's as the ship itself, and for a long time, her salvaged body had lacked a voice module.

She'd been putting it to good use ever since getting it, naturally.

"Just curious- what percentage of that is your charging dock? If it's anything close to how much of that throne your ass takes up, I'd say we're all in trouble."

Irene's two emotional states were "uninterested" and "glaring", and she switched to the latter quite quickly. "If you must know, I take up less than half a percentage of the generator's output to charge. Much less than your sister's card game simulators or your... well, personal stress reliever do."

"Wait, really? How much do those take up, then?"

"That depends. They would take up a combined five percent of our total energy output... if they were essential systems, that is."

"Wait, that means-"

"Look at that, you can learn. It means exactly what you think it does, Captain."

Kel gulped nervously. Before, all he'd had to worry about was complete, inescapable isolation as a derelict stuck in a sensor-killing cloud of space dust- it was easy to look confident then. Now, he was pale and anxious. Even though he knew it was just his mind playing tricks on him, he could already feel certain things setting in.

Like his eyes wandering down from Irene's glowing-green eyes, along the modest curve of her bust, all the way down to her bottomheavy, peach-shaped ass, her plush, thick thighs, or her extra-wide hips that suddenly filled his mind with thoughts of breeding- regardless of her being a robot.

"My personal estimate? You will not last more than three days. Your condition- or should I say, natural production rate- will far outstrip your reason, willpower, and resistance well before we escape this nebula. Your proximity to Oktavia and myself are likely to reduce that time even further."

"Oh yeah? Well, maybe it is a good thing your charger still works, since-"

"Correct. As you are my Captain, I am obligated to fulfil any order you give me, as your loyal ship and First Mate. If you were to tell me to drop to my knees and perform the same service as the machine in your room, I would do so without question... though I will not hesitate to act upon any unspecified parameters or creative interpretations of said orders, given the room to do so."

Kelsen closed his eyes and took a deep breath, to calm himself. As usual, Irene was planning to be as little help as she could get away with. Irene merely huffed, turning her back to him and heading down one of the ship's cramped hallways, taking up most of the space with her hips alone.

"Maybe this voyage will finally teach you to issue commands like a real Captain. If you need me, I will be in my room, charging."