The Galactic plumber

Twelve hours.

That's how long we had before an unknown, ominous-sounding group called The Collective showed up to reclaim their sentient space turd.

Not exactly enough time to prepare for what I assumed would be an incredibly messy, possibly explosive confrontation.

But, hey—what's a little intergalactic catastrophe between friends?

Damage Control and Panic Management

Benny and I booked it back to Engineering, where the reactor was still not happy about the abuse it had suffered. The power grid was unstable, our containment systems were shot to hell, and at this point, I was pretty sure the ship's AI was quietly judging me for every life decision that had led me here.

I slapped the emergency console. "Alright, listen up, people! We've got twelve hours before some very unfriendly folks show up looking for their pet sludge monster. That means I need this ship running at full capacity yesterday."

The engineering team groaned but got to work. I turned to Benny. "We need defenses. Any way to reroute power to shields and weapons without frying the whole system?"

Benny chewed his lip. "Uh… maybe? But it's risky. The reactor's already unstable. If we push it too hard, we might become the explosion instead of preventing one."

I exhaled through my nose. "Alright. New priority: Don't explode. Secondary priority: Prepare for war."

Benny gave me finger guns. "Copy that."

A Not-So-Secret Weapon

An hour later, I was knee-deep in coolant fluid, trying to keep the reactor from melting into a puddle, when the intercom crackled.

"Logan," Captain Ryker's voice came through. "Get to the bridge. Now."

I groaned. "Can it wait? I'm busy preventing a spontaneous combustion situation."

"It's about the sludge."

Oh, for the love of—

I grabbed a rag, wiped off my hands (which did nothing because I was still covered in grease and coolant), and stomped my way to the bridge.

When I got there, Orla was standing at the main console, looking way too serious for my liking. The giant viewscreen showed… something I really did not want to see.

Specimen 37.

Or at least, what it had become.

The external ship scanners had picked up a transmission—an image of the creature, now fully grown. It wasn't a sludge monster anymore. It had a distinct form. Humanoid. Vaguely insectoid. With armor-like plating where there had once been gelatinous goop. Its eyes glowed with an eerie, pulsating light, and worst of all?

It was wearing a uniform.

A sleek, black uniform that matched the enemy ship.

Benny, who had followed me up to the bridge, let out a strangled noise. "Uh. Logan? Why does our former toilet monster look like it just got promoted to evil space commander?"

Ryker didn't look away from the screen. "Because, gentlemen… I don't think they just took Specimen 37."

He turned to me, jaw tight.

"I think they made it."

The Collective Makes Contact

As if to confirm Ryker's theory, the intercom buzzed again. Another transmission. This time, a live feed.

And there it was.

Specimen 37.

But it wasn't just some mindless sludge anymore. It stood upright, its glowing eyes locked onto us. When it spoke, its voice was layered, like multiple beings speaking at once.

"You did well… for primitives."

Oh, hell no.

Ryker stepped forward. "You seem to have us at a disadvantage. Mind telling us what exactly you are?"

The creature tilted its head. "We are The Collective. We are evolution. We are unity."

Benny muttered, "Great. It's a hive mind. I hate hive minds."

I crossed my arms. "Cool story. But last time I checked, you were clogging up our filtration system like a particularly bad burrito. So why don't you cut the mysterious villain act and tell us what you actually want?"

The thing's glowing eyes locked onto me.

"I remember you, Logan. You were the first to try and destroy me."

Oh.

Oh, that's not good.

Ryker gave me a look that said Great. Now it has a personal vendetta against you.

Specimen 37—or whatever it was now—continued. "You saw me as waste. But waste can be repurposed. Perfected. Now, I am no longer a mistake. I am the future."

Orla whispered, "Yup. Definitely evil now."

Ryker stayed calm. "And what does this 'future' entail?"

Specimen 37's voice darkened.

"Assimilation."

Well, that's not ominous at all.

I clapped my hands together. "Welp! Looks like it's time to shoot the talking poop monster into space."

But before anyone could react, Specimen 37 leaned closer to the camera.

"You cannot run. You cannot hide. The Collective is coming. And soon… you will join us."

Then, the transmission cut.

Silence filled the bridge.

Benny broke it. "Sooo… anyone else feel like throwing up?"

Ryker stood up straight. "Alright. We're out of time. Logan, get back to Engineering. Orla, get us whatever combat capabilities we can muster."

He turned to the weapons officer. "Because next time they show up? We won't be handing over our trash."

I nodded, already heading toward the door.

Time to prepare for a war against a rapidly evolving, sewage-born hive mind.

Just another day on the S.S. Nebulon-7.