Planet That Sent Itself Back

• Return to Sender
• Core Issues
• Receipt Not Included

 Return to Sender

The Peregrine Queen was cruising through an unusually well-behaved patch of the mid-Persean drift when the distress call arrived. “It’s from a planet,” Mara said, blinking at the scanner. “A whole planet. Moving backward.” Jonno sipped his tea and squinted at the readout. “Planets don’t go in reverse, Mara. That’s not how gravity works.” “This one disagrees,” she said. “And it’s quoting warranty terms.” The planet in question — a class-IV terrestrial body named *Woolghar-IX* — was reversing itself through a defunct wormhole corridor, broadcasting signals in Galactic Standard Legalese.   "This planetary body does not meet baseline sentience expectations. Requesting full refund, with moons." “Let me guess,” Jonno muttered. “It read the fine print.”  

 Core Issues

Upon arrival, they found the planet pouting. Literally. Its atmospheric storms pulsed in passive-aggressive spirals, and one continent was visibly folded into a frown. “I don’t like the way it’s looking at us,” Jonno said. “It doesn’t have eyes,” Mara replied. “It’s finding a way.” The planet launched a volcanic flare, which missed them by a polite 4,000 kilometres. The accompanying radio burst declared dissatisfaction with its crustal layout, climate instability, and "the smell of methane on Thursdays." Mara ran a diagnostic. “It’s not defective. It’s dramatic.” “I can relate,” Jonno muttered, flipping through cosmic legal forms on the comms console. “There’s no clause for planetary sulking.” Another geyser erupted. The planet had clearly found the sarcasm setting.  

 Receipt Not Included

The solution, as usual, involved minor fraud and a biscuit. Mara constructed a simulated Satisfaction Certificate using the ship’s mirror array, a borrowed moonbeam, and the imprint of Jonno’s half-eaten digestive. It looked official enough to fool an interstellar customs node. They uploaded the forgery via suborbital fax. The planet paused, rotated on its axis in contemplation, then let out a long geological sigh. The wormhole flickered closed behind it like a door slammed by a disgruntled bureaucrat. Woolghar-IX chose a nearby binary system and began orbiting something completely irrelevant but aesthetically soothing. Jonno packed up the forms. “We just gave a planet a spa day,” he said. Mara shrugged. “Better than it asking for a manager.” 

Beyond the Belt continues next week — assuming Jonno doesn’t have to notarise another volcano.