Riding the astral poetry bus

Following last week's pitiful attempt to board the Poetry Bus, in which I made three attempts to write a serious poem about a woman kneeling down in the water and begetting life (sorry Titus!) I am determined to purchase a viable ticket for this week's journey, being driven with great metaphorical skill by the lovely Weaver

Weaver's prompt is probably the shortest on record - STAR. Interpret how you will.

This is my offering...

Malfunction

Akureyri was awoken
by the one word, harshly spoken.
“Malfunction!” the robotic voice repeated.
She jumped up on all four legs,
like an Onkur smashing eggs,
her glist’ning brain cell nearly overheated.

She hit the button without thinking,
her great eyelid wildly blinking
and the siren echoed all throughout the station.
“Sector Five!” she called out tersely
as the red lights flashed perversely,
“An imminent escape of radiation!”

Through the door The Chief came tumbling,
half awake and loudly grumbling,
“What’s the damage?” she demanded, stern and prickly.
“Robot cargo ship,” responded
Akureyri. “Sector One did
all the checks before it left,” she went on quickly.

“Hyperspace has been suspended,”
said The Chief. “This can’t be mended.
There’s going to be a big explosion shortly.
That vesuvium consignment
must have shifted its alignment.”
Suddenly she looked quite old and portly.

There was nothing they could do
except sit back and watch the view,
and presently the monitor flashed brightly.
“That’s a Magnitude Fifteen,”
declared The Chief, her face quite green.
“Just like your brain?” quipped Akureyri lightly.

And they watched as that great ship
dimmed to just a giant blip,
continuing its journey through the sector.
“Better wait a week or two,”
said The Chief, “and then will you
arrange for a transporter to collect ‘er?”

On a planet with one moon,
in a desert, ‘pon a dune,
there sat a king, with wisdom long anointed.
And he watched that flash of light
burning brightly through the night,
and he called to his two fellow kings and pointed.