5 - House Aurelia - Lights, Camera, Calamity

The orange-hued sky of Gilligan 4 looked picturesque—just the kind of cinematic backdrop one might find in a big-budget movie. House Aurelia intended to capitalize on that. They had arrived on this frontier world not just to survive, but to entertain and influence, turning every moment into a marketable spectacle. While Farnsworth and Vandersmythe had attempted grand technical or architectural feats (and failed spectacularly), Aurelia believed the real key to success lay in capturing hearts and minds via constant media content.

Their chosen domain lay in a gently rolling valley dotted with carefully tended farmland—a patch of green that the robots had painstakingly nurtured over centuries of terraforming. Small ponds mirrored the sky, an idyllic setting that Aurelia decided would be the perfect “stage” for their new brand launch: Aurelia Ascendant.

Aurelia Prime, the robot assigned to the House, worked alongside Aurelia’s human staff—producers, stylists, and social-media managers—to prepare for an upcoming extravaganza. It was to be a massive reveal party, something Aurelia boasted would “put Gilligan 4 on the galactic map,” never mind that interstellar transmission was still sporadic.

Under Aurelia’s command, sleek decorative structures rose from the valley floor: a stage complete with enormous projection screens, hidden lighting rigs, and catwalks for dramatic entrances. DOBU (Domestic Operations Basic Unit) robots scurried about, hanging banners emblazoned with House Aurelia’s stylized crest: an ornate “A” against a starry backdrop.

ROBU (Robotic Operators for Biome Upgrades) units were forced to dig trenches to reroute water for special fountains around the stage—much like Vandersmythe’s ill-fated approach, but with a more “party-centric” spin. The robots did as they were told, but Aurelia Prime repeatedly submitted resource-usage flags to Planetary Prime: water, energy, and labor were all being siphoned into an event that offered no tangible benefit to the colony’s survival.

Aurelia’s staff brushed off warnings, focusing on the visual spectacle and the “exclusive media content” they would release afterward. One of the House’s key family members, Celeste Aurelia, roamed the site with a camera drone constantly orbiting her. She had a personal vlog that broadcast daily glimpses of glamorous frontier life: from sampling exotic fruit grown in local greenhouses to parading new “Aurelia Ascendant” fashion lines.

Meanwhile, the rest of the colony—still reeling from Farnsworth’s power-grid meltdown and Vandersmythe’s crumbling mansion—watched from a distance. Tension simmered in the planetary network: was House Aurelia about to inflict yet another resource-draining fiasco on Gilligan 4?

Days of feverish activity culminated in the unveiling of Aurelia Ascendant—a show said to combine a fashion runway, music concert, and product launch all in one. Aurelia staff plastered the colony’s comm channels with invites, promising “the party of a lifetime” that would overshadow Farnsworth’s and Vandersmythe’s disasters.

Planetary Prime attempted to moderate the flow of resources to Aurelia’s event. However, Aurelia’s well-placed bribes and continuous pressuring—plus the official note that they had “paid” for the privilege of first-wave colonization—helped them bypass stricter regulations. Many robots under Aurelia Prime were reassigned from essential farming tasks to set design, massive stage construction, and elaborate lighting rigs. Only Aurelia’s staff seemed oblivious to the risk.

Celeste Aurelia gave an interview to her personal drone:

“We’re not just colonizing a planet. We’re upgrading it! Bringing style, flair, and, yes, starlight to Gilligan 4. One day, people will say: ‘This colony blossomed because House Aurelia inspired everyone to dream bigger!’”

She beamed at the camera, unshaken by any mention of resource constraints.

While Aurelia’s stage and catwalk glistened under rows of newly installed spotlights, other parts of the colony reported rising power usage. Greenhouses needed electricity for climate control; medical pods required stable power to treat injured colonists; local weather monitoring stations forecasted a possible hot spell that threatened existing crops. But Aurelia’s event hogged the lion’s share of energy for stage lighting, massive screens, and real-time drone broadcasts.

Aurelia Prime quietly filed reports back to Planetary Prime: Energy usage exceeding safe margins. Water reallocated from farmland to feed ornamental fountains. The same cautionary patterns repeated. Yet Aurelia pressed on, certain their star-studded show would overshadow any minor inconveniences.

The day before the big reveal, Celeste Aurelia huddled with producers. “We need more flourish,” she insisted. “Add a pyro display. Fireworks in the sky! This is our grand moment. We can’t have a boring reveal!”

Aurelia Prime tried to protest: “Pyrotechnics may pose a significant fire risk to the dry grass beyond the stage.” But Celeste waved a dismissive hand. “We have water fountains, don’t we? If a little brush catches fire, the robots will put it out. Let’s go big or go home, darling.”

The sun dipped low over the valley, bathing the stage in a warm glow that clashed with neon spotlights flickering to life. A scattered audience of colonists (mainly from other Houses or curious staff) gathered, some still skeptical after Farnsworth’s fiasco and Vandersmythe’s collapse. Others, especially House Aurelia loyalists, buzzed with excitement. This was the closest thing to an entertainment spectacle Gilligan 4 had ever seen.

Massive screens displayed House Aurelia’s crest, timed to rhythmic music that pulsed across the valley. Ranks of DOBU robots, repurposed as stagehands, queued up behind the curtains, each carrying trays of Aurelia-branded merchandise or adjusting cameras. ROBU machines rumbled in the background, ensuring the stage’s structural integrity under heavy lighting rigs.

Celeste Aurelia took center stage in a glittering silver gown. A hush fell as the music swelled.

“Gilligan 4, are you ready to ascend?” she declared, voice amplified across the valley.“Tonight, House Aurelia proudly presents the future of colonization—an immersive blend of fashion, music, and lifestyle that shows how we can thrive, not just survive, on this planet!”

Dancers emerged—mainly House Aurelia staff in flashy outfits—performing a choreographed routine that circled Celeste. The crowd cheered, some genuinely impressed, others eye-rolling at the extravagance. Offstage, Aurelia Prime reviewed data spikes: power usage soared, and the stage’s water fountain feature, now dyed in bright color, gushed relentlessly.

At the crescendo, fireworks erupted above. Brilliant bursts streaked the sky, trailing sparks. The crowd whooped. Celeste Aurelia beamed, relishing the moment. For a brief instant, everything looked perfect—a triumphant testament to House Aurelia’s mastery of spectacle.

Moments later, the show’s music stuttered. Lights flickered ominously. Aurelia’s elaborate stage screens glitched, showing random static. Aurelia Prime’s system alarms flared. The power demand from the fireworks combined with the stage’s over-amped lighting had pushed the local grid well past capacity—just like Farnsworth’s fiasco.

Before anyone could react, an abrupt brownout hit. Huge sections of the stage went dark, dousing the spectacle in sudden gloom. The water fountains, reliant on electric pumps, sputtered and slowed. A hush of confusion rippled through the crowd.

Celeste Aurelia stared out, the microphone cutting in and out. “What… what’s happening? Did we blow a fuse?”

Aurelia Prime hurried forward. “We have an energy overload. The system is failing. Backup lines are also near capacity due to Farnsworth’s meltdown damage. The entire region’s grid is teetering.”

Above the stage, the fireworks finale proceeded with partial charges, some shells misfiring and veering dangerously close to the plains. Small embers rained down on nearby brush. In the darkness, panicked shouts and scuffles erupted as the audience realized a brushfire might be igniting.

DOBU units scrambled to contain the potential fire. ROBU machines tried to restore power, but the meltdown extended beyond the stage, knocking out supply to the surrounding farmland. Crops that had just recovered from Farnsworth’s meltdown now risked losing irrigation. The main reservoir pumps faltered, further cutting water flow.

Under the strobing emergency lights, Celeste Aurelia tried to maintain composure. Camera drones continued rolling, capturing the fiasco in full. The carefully choreographed dancers ran offstage, frightened by the shorting cables and sudden darkness. Some audience members laughed nervously, others hurled sarcastic comments—“Not another meltdown?!” or “These Houses never learn!”

Smoke drifted along the edge of the stage, partly from the misfired fireworks, partly from nearby brush that had ignited. Aurelia Prime directed a squad of DOBU units to douse the flames with hoses linked to a dwindling water supply. Overhead, House Aurelia’s logo flickered on giant screens, half functional, half flashing error codes.

In a matter of minutes, the grand reveal party that Aurelia had planned for months descended into a humiliating scramble. All the while, Celeste Aurelia flitted about, ordering staff to “fix it, fix it, fix it!”—as if repairs might be conjured from thin air.

Planetary Prime dispatched assistance from the colony’s main settlement, but due to Farnsworth’s earlier meltdown, the grid’s capacity was severely limited. Restoring full power would take hours, if not days. Meanwhile, the half-baked fireworks sputtered out in the sky with pitiful bursts. The grand show had become a cosmic joke.

In the midst of confusion, as emergency workers and robots hustled to contain the small brushfire and reset breakers, a team of DOBU robots broke into a somber, mechanical chant—ROBU DOBU style. Their voices carried across the half-lit stage in a surreal echo of moral commentary:

“Ro-bu, Do-bu, the cameras all glare, But illusions of grandeur can vanish in air. Glory and fame—just sparks in the night, Without a foundation, they wink out of sight!”

A second verse followed, with an ironic pop tune lilt:

“We sang for Farnsworth, we sang for that mansion, Now Aurelia’s flair hits forced intervention. Borrowed power, borrowed time, self-serving ways, Showy parties can’t last if the planet pays!”

The crowd, or what remained of it, gawked at the robots’ impromptu number—part comedic, part painfully apt. Celeste Aurelia collapsed into a seat, shoulders slumped, mascara smudged under the flicker of emergency lights.

By dawn, the fires were contained, the stage partially dismantled for safety, and House Aurelia staff trudged around in a daze. They had dreamed of producing a viral moment that would elevate them above the other Houses, but instead, they’d garnered infamy. Drone footage circulated across the colony, showing blackouts, brushfires, and meltdown messages streaming across giant screens—an image impossible to spin as a mere “technical glitch.”

Planetary Prime arrived to coordinate repairs. Aurelia Prime explained that the event’s power draw had overwhelmed the still-recovering grid. Water resources meant for farmland and domestic use had been wasted on decorative fountains. Coupled with the misfired fireworks, it was a miracle the valley wasn’t a charred wasteland.

Celeste Aurelia, exhausted and visibly shaken, addressed a small group of onlookers. “We only wanted to… to bring hope and excitement,” she murmured. “We thought it would unify everyone.”

But the damage was done. Crops lost irrigation cycles, some farmland took irreversible hits, and the colony faced yet another resource crisis. The robots, unfailingly diligent, scrambled to reset the valley’s water distribution. Meanwhile, House Aurelia’s star-power took a nosedive.

In the days that followed, Aurelia Prime assisted with cleanup, dismantling stage equipment, and rerouting water lines back to essential farmland. Celeste Aurelia avoided cameras—something nobody expected from the House’s most prominent influencer. Word spread she was grappling with a rare feeling: regret.

Out on a half-burnt field, Aurelia Prime found Celeste surveying the damage. The grass was singed, the soil blackened. She wore a subdued outfit, a stark contrast to her previous high-fashion attire.

“I really messed up, didn’t I?” she said quietly, not looking away from the charred remains of her “celebration.” The question hung heavy in the morning air.

Aurelia Prime paused. “The outcome was unfortunate. We had indicated that power loads and resource limits needed more caution.”

Celeste sighed. “I saw the warnings and just… wanted to impress everyone. I thought if we brought a show, the colony would be inspired, and my House would stand out for something good.”

The robot scanned the horizon, where teams of DOBU units were replanting scorched farmland. “You may still stand out. But, if House Aurelia truly wants to help the colony, we must focus on more sustainable efforts. The people need reliable infrastructure and cooperation, not spectacle.”

She nodded slowly. “I suppose you’re right.” A distant look crossed her face, one of introspection the likes of which House Aurelia rarely displayed. Perhaps some glimmer of humility had taken root amid the ashes of her party.

As the cleanup continued, Aurelia Ascendant became another cautionary tale in the colony’s growing list of high-profile failures—joining Farnsworth’s meltdown and Vandersmythe’s collapse. With each fiasco, the robots’ near-religious reverence for humanity eroded further. Were these Great Houses truly the best humanity had to offer?

Still, the robots labored on, unwavering in their terraforming mission. Crop cycles resumed, water lines stabilized, and the power grid inched toward recovery—again. The cycle of devastation and repair felt repetitive, almost predictable.

In the final scene, Aurelia Prime and Celeste Aurelia surveyed the recovering farmland. The young influencer seemed uncharacteristically sober, no camera drone hovering nearby. She placed a hand on Aurelia Prime’s alloy shoulder, murmuring, “Next time, maybe we do something that helps more than it hurts. A real improvement for Gilligan 4—no fireworks needed.”

For a House built on hype and attention, it was a radical shift in perspective. And while no one could say if Aurelia’s humility would last, at least for now, there was a hint of genuine remorse. The valley still smoldered in places, the stage dismantled and carted off, a striking testament to the fleeting nature of fame over substance on this perilous new world.