Reality had indigestion.
Jack watched the colony experience the universe's first temporal traffic jam. Mrs. Patterson was simultaneously baking Monday's bread, attending Tuesday's book club, teaching Wednesday's school, shopping for Thursday's groceries, mourning at Friday's funeral, celebrating Saturday's wedding, and resting on Sunday. She looked very, very tired.
"ARIA, status report!"
"Status is we've broken causality!" Her voice came from seven different speakers in seven different tones. "I'm calculating solutions but I keep arriving at answers before I ask questions!"
The Chronophage floated at the center of the chaos, hiccupping universes. Each burp deleted something else—now nobody could remember the taste of vanilla, now the concept of "left" briefly ceased to exist, now everyone's middle names were retroactively "Danger."
Jack's shadow was having the time of its life, existing in all seven days simultaneously, playing temporal ping-pong with itself. Yuki sat cross-legged beneath the creature, somehow calm in the storm.
"It's scared," she announced. "Like when you eat too much candy and your tummy hurts, but with time instead of sugar."
"Can it stop eating?" Jack asked desperately.
"It doesn't know how! It's never been full before!"
Mayor Chen approached—all seven versions of her, each from a different day. Monday Chen was anxious, Friday Chen was relieved, Sunday Chen was still in pajamas. They spoke in unison: "Fix. This. Now."
"Working on it!" Jack turned to his shadow. "Any ideas?"
His shadow held up a sign that read: "TEMPORAL IPECAC?"
"Make it throw up time?" Jack considered. "That's either brilliant or—"
"Mister!" Yuki interrupted. "What if we teach it to burp properly?"
Everyone stopped. Even the seven versions of Mayor Chen looked intrigued.
"Explain," Jack said.
"When I eat too fast, Mama tells me to burp the alphabet. It makes the gas come out controlled-like." Yuki looked up at the Chronophage. "Maybe if it burps in order, it can put the days back right?"
Dr. Vega, who was simultaneously writing Monday's research notes and Friday's conclusions, gasped. "Controlled temporal regurgitation! If we can make it expel the days in sequence..."
"Worth a shot," Jack decided. "Yuki, you're up."
The ten-year-old stood, addressing the creature that existed outside time. "Okay, big guy. We're gonna burp the days of the week. Ready? Start with Monday!"
The Chronophage shuddered. Reality held its breath.
BURP
Monday exploded back into its proper place. Across the colony, anxiety and fresh starts reasserted themselves in their correct temporal position. Mrs. Patterson's bread returned to Monday where it belonged.
"Good! Now Tuesday!"
BURP
Tuesday restored itself, bringing with it the peculiar feeling of being neither beginning nor ending. The book club snapped back to its proper day.
"Keep going!"
One by one, the Chronophage burped days back into sequence. Thursday's anticipation, Friday's relief, Saturday's celebration, Sunday's rest—all returning to where they belonged. With each controlled expulsion, the creature looked less distressed, more... satisfied?
Finally, only Wednesday remained, but it was Wednesday—properly singular, correctly sequential, beautifully boring in its temporal normalcy.
The Chronophage floated peacefully, no longer hiccupping. It had learned to digest time properly—small, sustainable sips of truly redundant moments. Loading screens only. No more eating entire days.
"It says thank you," Yuki translated. "And sorry about everyone's middle names being Danger now. That one's stuck."
Jack "Danger" Castellan looked around at the exhausted but temporally stable colonists. His shadow gave him a thumbs up. ARIA was running diagnostics, confirming reality had mostly reasserted itself.
"So," Mayor Chen said, back to being singular, "we're keeping the time-eating alien?"
"It'll be the colony's temporal garbage disposal," Dr. Vega suggested. "Eating moments nobody wants. Meetings that could have been emails. The extended warranty calls."
"The DMV waiting room experience," someone added hopefully.
The Chronophage perked up at that. Apparently, bureaucratic inefficiency was a delicacy.
Jack's communicator beeped. A message from Ranger Command: "Castellan, finish up there. Pattern Eaters just robbed the First Galactic Bank of something that never existed. They're demanding a Ranger who 'thinks sideways.' You're up."
"Duty calls," Jack announced. "Think you can handle one pet chronovore?"
Yuki hugged the creature, which existed just solid enough to hug back. "We'll take good care of it! Right, Chrono?"
"You named it already?"
"Chronophage is too long. Chrono for short!"
Jack looked at his shadow, which was already packing their temporal equations. Another impossible situation resolved through controlled burping. He'd have to update his report to make this sound professional.
"Try to keep it away from the really good moments," he advised. "And maybe set up a feeding schedule. Regular meal times."
"Wednesdays only," Mayor Chen said firmly. "We're not risking another temporal food coma."
As Jack headed back to the Prometheus, he heard Yuki teaching Chrono to identify the flavor difference between awkward silence and comfortable silence. The colony had a new pet, Wednesday had its proper 24 hours, and somewhere in the galaxy, Pattern Eaters were stealing nonexistence itself.
Just another Wednesday in the life of a Stellar Ranger.
Well, technically, it was only Wednesday here.
But still.