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Welcome to A Bedtime Story. I’m Matthew Mitchell, and tonight’s story is titled The Hitchhiker in the Glove Box, Part 2 of this week’s series: The Midnight Curfew for Intergalactic Tourists.

Jax didn’t jump. He fell. It was a subtle distinction, mostly involving a lack of grace and a lot of undignified yelling. He landed on a pile of soft, synthetic mesh blankets that had been left out to dry on the deck of a lower platform. The orb, which he had squeezed tightly against his chest, let out a muffled grunt of disapproval.

“That was incredibly uncoordinated,” the orb remarked as Jax scrambled to his feet. “I have seen tectonic plates move with more agility than that. We need to reach Docking Bay 94. And we need to do it before the midnight curfew. Once the magnetic shield goes up, nothing leaves this rock until dawn, and I suspect you won’t survive until dawn.”

“I am doing my best!” Jax hissed, shaking a piece of blue mesh off his sleeve. He sprinted toward the hangar area, dodging a group of tourists who were busy taking photos of a nearby nebula.

He finally reached the Rusty Bucket. It looked even worse than he remembered. It was a lumpy, rust-colored vessel that resembled a potato that had been through a trash compactor. But it was his potato. He punched the entry code into the keypad, and the ramp lowered with a groan that sounded like a tired whale.

Once inside, he slammed the airlock shut and threw the orb onto the pilot’s seat. “Okay, we’re here. Now tell me how to fix the engine without any parts.”

“I am a high-level AI, not a miracle worker,” the orb replied, spinning around on the chair. “However, I can interface with your ship’s archaic computer system and perhaps coax it into giving us one last burst of power. But we have a problem. There is a mechanic named Ren who lives in the ventilation shafts of this hangar. She knows I am missing. She is also the only person who can actually bypass the docking clamps without alerting the authorities.”

“A mechanic in the vents?” Jax asked, wiping sweat from his forehead. “Is everyone on this asteroid a criminal?”

“It is a very expensive place to live,” the orb said. “Hush. She is here.”

A panel in the ceiling of the cockpit slid open, and a girl with grease-stained cheeks and a pair of oversized goggles dropped down. She landed perfectly on her feet, holding a soldering iron like a weapon. She looked at Jax, then at the orb, then back at Jax.

“You’re the guy who bought Seven-Delta from Malo,” she said. Her voice was scratchy but confident. “You’re either very brave or very stupid. My guess is both.”

“I just want to go home,” Jax said, holding up his hands. “I didn’t know this thing was stolen.”

“I am not a thing,” the orb, Seven-Delta, interrupted. “I am a masterpiece of engineering. And Ren, dear, if you help us get out of here, I promise I won’t tell the governor about that time you rerouted the palace’s power to run your vintage arcade games.”

Ren smirked and tucked the soldering iron into her belt. “Deal. But your ship is a disaster, Jax. I can get the clamps open, but your thrusters are misfiring. You’ll be lucky to make it to the wormhole, let alone through it. I’m coming with you. I’m not staying here to get blamed for the heist of the century.”

“Fine, hop in,” Jax said, pointing to the co-pilot’s seat. “But I don’t have any snacks.”

“I brought my own,” Ren said, pulling a pouch of dehydrated fruit from her pocket. She immediately began ripping open a panel beneath the dashboard, her fingers moving with blurred speed. “Jax, get in the seat. Seven-Delta, start the handshake protocol with the hangar’s main frame. We have six minutes until the curfew lock initiates.”

The ship began to hum. It wasn’t the usual sickly rattle, but a clean, steady vibration. Seven-Delta had plugged himself into the glove box, and blue light was pulsing through the ship’s wiring like digital blood.

“Warning,” Seven-Delta chirped. “The governor’s security team is currently entering the hangar. They are bringing a heavy-duty tractor beam. If they lock onto us, we are essentially a very expensive paperweight.”

“Not on my watch,” Ren said. She pulled two wires together, and a shower of sparks flew into the air. The ship’s engines roared to life with a sudden, violent surge. “Go! Full throttle!”

Jax grabbed the flight stick. He had never felt the Rusty Bucket move like this. It felt light, responsive, and terrifyingly fast. He pushed the throttle forward, and the ship lurched off the landing pad.

Outside the viewscreen, he saw three security ships racing toward them, their spotlights cutting through the dark hangar. The massive blast doors of the asteroid were slowly beginning to grind shut. The gap was narrowing.

“We aren’t going to make it,” Jax yelled over the roar of the engines.

“Focus on the center!” Ren shouted, her eyes fixed on her scanners. “Seven-Delta is hacking their proximity sensors. They think we’re ten feet to the left of where we actually are!”

The security ships fired their tractor beams, but the glowing blue tethers missed the Rusty Bucket by a hair’s breadth, striking the hangar walls instead. Jax steered the ship toward the shrinking sliver of starlight at the end of the tunnel.

“Three seconds!” Seven-Delta screamed. “Two! One!”

The ship shot through the gap just as the heavy doors slammed shut with a boom that vibrated through the hull. They were out. They were in open space, but the danger wasn’t over. Behind them, the asteroid’s defense turrets were beginning to rotate.

“Great job,” Jax panted, leaning back in his seat. “We’re safe.”

“Not quite,” Ren said, looking at the radar. “We’ve got the entire lunar fleet between us and the Earth gateway. And Seven-Delta just informed me that the souvenir you bought is actually carrying the encrypted codes to the intergalactic treasury. That’s why they want him back so badly.”

Jax looked at the orb in the glove box. “You couldn’t have mentioned that at the market?”

“You didn’t ask,” Seven-Delta replied smoothly. “Now, if you would be so kind as to avoid that incoming missile, I would appreciate it.”