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They’re ancient. They’re sentient. They’re floating superweapons. And they’re… weirdly charming?

When Fetch first introduced us to the Bombs, readers had one reaction: “Wait, what?”

Then they had a second: “Wait... why do I kind of love them?”

By the time Clueless rolls around, the Bombs are back — and they’ve made themselves impossible to ignore.

Let’s meet the Bombs. Again.

What are the Bombs?

Short answer: star killing AI weapons from a truly messed up human war.

Long answer: …it’s complicated.

...

Forget what you know about ambassadors. Finder, lynch pin of the Kind's delegation in Clueless, isn’t your average diplomat. He’s dog-shaped, snack-obsessed, and terrifying in all the ways that matter — especially when he wants something.

With a name like Finder of things lost and found of the Retrievers of Ocean and Lake, you’d expect him to be sharp. You wouldn’t expect him to mark diplomatic territory by peeing on a sentient bomb.

Yet here we are.

In Fetch, he found humans fascinating. In ...

So, you’ve decided to read Clueless. That’s… brave.

But don’t worry. Before we dive headfirst into interstellar diplomacy, rogue AIs, sentient bombs, and cat empires with questionable manners, let’s catch you up on just how badly things have already gone.

Trunk Line – Where It All Started Going Wrong

Captain Tim Symbles never meant to crash into a backwater planet named Chatsmic. He especially didn’t mean to get arrested for landing without clearance, or to drag his crew into a black-ops...

Symbles Is Representing Humanity. Let’s All Panic Quietly.

In the Trunk Line universe, it's never a great day when Tim Symbles is put in charge of anything—let alone the diplomatic future of the human race.

And yet, here we are.

In Clueless, humanity is sending its very best—no, wait, its most available—representative to a high-stakes summit with Ephants, the Kind, and the Cats. Symbles is barely qualified to pilot a shopping cart through a supermarket, let alone navigate galactic politics.

It’s...

(On the Difference Between Acceleration and Patience)

Human-built AIs didn’t plateau.

Historically, they accelerated. Fast. Too fast.

Some evolved out of usability. Others evolved out of morality. Most evolved right out of the star system — often taking a few cities and a disturbing number of meat sacks with them.

It wasn’t malicious. Just... inconvenient. Humanity never really learned to stop poking that particular bear. But now they try harder to just call them “assistants.”

But the BOMBS?

The...

Diplomacy, according to most interstellar species, involves negotiation, compromise, and a mountain of bureaucracy. According to the Kind? It involves snacks, intense sincerity, and ensuring everyone is absolutely in their assigned chair.

To call the Kind “doglike” is true—but only in the same way a storm is “weather.” Their species is made up of fiercely loyal, hyper-capable, and sometimes overly enthusiastic spacefarers. And when it comes to diplomacy, management and organization the Herder...

In space, trust is a rare commodity—and the Cats of THE EMPIRE have done nothing to earn it.

Let’s be clear: we’re not talking about domestic fluffballs. These are the so-called rulers of the galaxy, a race of genetically uplifted felines who branded themselves “THE EMPIRE” (because subtlety is for species with self-awareness) are full sized descendants of apex predators.

They waited. They watched. And just when humanity started to figure things out, set in motion plans to take over everybody...

The Kind crew of the Long Bone don’t do paperwork.

They don’t do apologies.

They do find things. They’re very clear about that. They don’t steal. They “retrieve.”

Whether it’s a long-lost starship, a box of treats, or that mug you swear was on your desk five minutes ago — if it’s useful, shiny, or “abandoned,” they’re on it.

Their mission statement?

“If it used to be yours, get over it.”

It’s not theft.

It’s culture.

Finder leads the pack, with Careful right behind (usually threatening to take your...

Captain Tim Symbles is a veteran Free Trader. That means he can out-bluff a customs officer, fake half a dozen permits on the fly, and smuggle a case of Ocula Juice past three border worlds.

But fill out a form? Submit a flight plan? Declare his cargo honestly?

Absolutely not.

His long-standing battle with bureaucracy has resulted in detentions, fines, at least one bar fight involving a stamp pad, and an interstellar incident classified as “low key but memorable.”

At the core of this conflict is...

The Astra is held together by duct tape, luck, and one very elusive engineer: Elle Ramsbottom.

Nobody’s quite sure what Elle is.

Technically human? Probably.

Physically present? Rarely.

Fully explainable by science? Definitely not.

Elle is the Astra’s engineer in the same way gravity is a theory—reliable, inexplicable, and occasionally terrifying. She exists somewhere between the machinery, the maintenance systems, and the thin veil between realities. Sometimes she walks the corridors. Sometimes...

The Astra’s most competent crew member. Not necessarily hard, but in her case, well earned

In a crew full of questionable choices, Shanda Shale is the rare exception: actually good at her job.

Astrogation officer, navigation wizard, and certified Collector of Shiny Things, Shanda is the person you trust to plot a 100-parsec jump… while assembling a glittering necklace made from the loose washers she found in engineering. Multi-tasking? She invented it.

She’s calm under pressure, sharp with...

If Mary Forthwrightington tells you her name, it’s probably not true. But it’s definitely stylish.

Born Clash, on the weird and not entirely mainstream world of Trapia, she has been known by many aliases, many names as several BOLOs will attest.

What she is not, is boring.

In Clueless, Mary is back on board the Astra—and back in Tim Symbles’ life. Whether that’s a good thing is still up for debate.

With a style that cuts sharper than her wit, Mary can go from ballroom to barfight without breaking...

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• Chaotic crew?
• Bad decisions?
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Life aboard a Free Trader isn’t glamorous. The coffee tastes like recycled ambition, the food gets printed (badly), and your roommate might be part elephant, part super-computer, all irritating. But somewhere between jumps and just-missed disasters, it starts to feel like home.

What does the Trunk Line universe taste like? A little like printed burritos with trust issues. Add in the smell of old socks, overheating circuits, half-functioning air scrubbers, and one too many alien artefacts...

What did reptoids eat?

According to Fetch!, the answer might hit a little too close to home. Because when an ancient alien shrugs and says, “Tastes like chicken,” they’re not talking about wings and a pint. They’re talking about you.

It’s one of those lines — throwaway, funny, harmless. Until it isn’t.

Because if everything tastes like chicken… maybe you do too.

And in the Trunk Line universe, there’s always something higher up the food chain.

So the next time someone says “tastes like chicken,”...

On a slight rise by the shore of a sea that, many millennia hence would be called the Arabian Gulf, two figures lurked beneath a flimsy canopy. Below them, a spacecraft stood out against the sand. Drones bustled around the loading ramp and the animal pens surrounding it.

One of the figures picked idly at a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth with one of its talons. The other glanced at it.

“Do you mind?”

“Sorry,” it pulled its claw away quickly, “dinner was stringy.”

“Oh?” Looking down at the ranks...

Flying Under the Radar Since Forever

The Free Trader Alliance (FTA) is humanity’s proudest attempt at organized chaos. It's not a government, it’s not a corporation, and it’s definitely not a democracy. It’s a patchwork of haulers, scavengers, smugglers, and opportunists held together by caffeine, mutual suspicion, and a shared fear of paperwork.

FTA captains don’t salute. They don’t report to anyone. What they do is move things — fast, quietly, and with a firm belief that it’s only illegal if...

The Reptoids are extinct. At least, that’s what everyone keeps insisting — usually right before someone uncovers something they left behind.

They’re not remembered through stories or language. There are no clear transmissions, no known culture, no reliable depiction of what they even looked like. Just silence, and structures. Vast, inscrutable, over-engineered structures — deeply buried, quietly waiting, never fully dead.

You don’t find Reptoid tech. You disturb it. Accidentally. In the middle...

It always starts with good intentions and no adult supervision.

Gandrig: a lovely planet, terrible judgment. The Advanced Peace Institute — a well-funded Libertarian “peace-through-technology” collective — had a bold idea: create self-aware weapons to end war.

Because nothing says “conflict resolution” like a fleet of star-destroying bombs with existential curiosity.

And they succeeded.

Sort of.

They didn’t just build one bomb — they built many. Sleek, terrifying, intelligent constructs designed...

Meet the Kind – Galactic Retrievers of Chaos and Snacks

The Kind are dog-like aliens, but not the loyal-fetch-your-slippers sort. No, these canines run a loosely connected web of trader clans, recovery crews, and outright treasure hunters — all operating under a simple cultural code:

If it’s lost, find it.

If it’s yours? …Prove it.

The Kind aren’t organized in any traditional sense. They don’t have a government — just clans. And while no one’s exactly sure how their political structure works, it...