《Reborn as a Spaceship [Writathon]》


 Chapter 1 : The Ad

    "Want a Second Chance at Life?"


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    I knew I shouldn''t have answered that ad. Shouldn''t have paid them to freeze my head. But I was dying. My mind was willing, but my body wasn¡¯t. The cancer had hollowed me out, devouring my strength day by day until even breathing felt like lifting a mountain. I could barely hold a book anymore, yet my mind still soared through stories of far-off worlds, of heroes reborn in steel bodies, of consciousness drifting through circuits like ghosts in the machine.


    So, when they promised me a second chance, I believed them. I had clung to the hope that one day, science would advance far enough to bring me back. Clone a fresh body, scoop my brain out of cold storage, and slot me right back in. Simple. Clean. Just like in the movies.


    That wasn¡¯t what happened.


    I remember dying. The hospital room had been cold, its sterile air thick with the scent of antiseptic and something deeper. It smelled like something final like death. Machines beeped their steady dirge, slowing, then stopping. Pain, ever-present for so long, finally ebbed away, dissolving into silence so vast it swallowed me whole. Darkness took me, stretching forever in all directions, and I let go. The cancer had won, but maybe I¡¯d move on. Maybe I¡¯d come back. Maybe I¡¯d just¡­ stop. That was the end of me, Todd McCormic 1948-2025


    Then came the noise.


    A whisper at first. A crackle of static, distant and distorted, clawing at the edges of my consciousness. Then a cacophony. A dozen voices shouting, layered over blaring alarms and the unmistakable noise of machinery straining under stress. The sounds battered against me, too much and too strange, yet somehow familiar. My mind swam, untethered, but the words sharpened, cutting through the chaos.


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    ¡°Quick! Shut down the reactor before they can escape!¡±


    ¡°Emergency jump activated!¡±


    I tried to move. Tried to speak. But there was no body to command, no mouth to form words. Panic surged, but even that felt different. It was less visceral, more¡­ digital. My awareness stretched outward, feeling not flesh and blood, but systems, signals, and circuits. I didn¡¯t understand. This was not the deal.


    And then the darkness shattered.


    The universe compressed, stretched, and then shattered around me. Stars blurred into streaks as my skin or what I perceived as my skin vibrated with energies I''d never comprehended as flesh and bone. I felt a tremendous surge in my heart but I knew was my engine, pushing me beyond conventional physics.


    Then came the transition.


    Reality peeled away. The screaming alarms and emergency protocols dissolved into silence as I breached the dimensional barrier. The void transformed into a network of luminescent channels¡ªbrilliant threads of energy suspended in infinite darkness. A roadmap between realities.


    Follow the correct path or be lost forever.


    The knowledge came not as words but as fundamental truth embedded in my new programming. I could perceive dozens of glowing arteries branching through the void, each pulsing with different rhythms and intensities. Some thin and erratic, others wide and steady.


    I had no hands to reach, no eyes to blink, no breath to hold. Yet I could feel each pathway calling to me as mathematical probabilities translated into sensation. The brightest channel throbbed with a deep sapphire radiance, its pattern steady and strong compared to the others.


    I projected my awareness toward it, and immediately felt myself drawn forward. No acceleration, no movement as I''d understood it before, this was just intention and response. The blue pathway enveloped me, its energy resonating with my systems in perfect harmony.


    I surrendered to the flow, letting the slipstream current carry me along its predetermined course. The boundaries between ship and self blurred further as data flooded through me¡ªstellar coordinates, quantum fluctuations, probability matrices¡ªall processing simultaneously across my distributed consciousness.


    As I accelerated deeper into the channel, the blue light intensified until it consumed everything. My awareness stretched thin across light-years of space, and for one transcendent moment, I existed everywhere and nowhere at once.


    Then the slipstream began to contract, reality coalescing once more around my metallic form.


    I was about to emerge somewhere entirely new.


    Space.


    Not just a view of it. Not an image on a screen. I was in space. Stars burned in the vast, endless dark, distant suns scattering their light like spilled gold across the velvet black. Planets turned in slow, patient orbits, their gravitational fields tugging at my awareness. I could feel them along with waves of radiation whispering through my consciousness, magnetic fields tickling my hull.


    I reached out, and something responded. A presence¡ªno, a system. Thrusters. Shields. A hull of reinforced alloys that felt both foreign and intimately mine. Data flooded my mind, not in words, but in raw information: heat levels, structural integrity, weapon systems. The power in my core.


    My core.


    I wasn''t inside a spaceship.


    I was the spaceship.

 Chapter 2: So, Im a ship

    So, I¡¯m a ship.


    Not exactly the second life I had in mind, but I¡¯ll schedule my existential crisis for later. Right now, I need to focus on something more immediate¡ªlike figuring out how the hell I even function.


    My thoughts are drowning in a torrent of raw data¡ªnumbers, graphs, and unfamiliar symbols surging through me like a flood I can¡¯t contain. It¡¯s not pain, just an unbearable overload. My mind¡ªif I can still call it that¡ªis being force-fed too much at once. If I don¡¯t act fast, I¡¯ll short-circuit.


    Surely, in the future, they have customisable interfaces.


    I focus or whatever the ship-equivalent of focusing is and start searching through the mess of menus and system options. Some of them are in languages I don¡¯t recognise, but my mind translates them instantly. That¡¯s weird. Filed under ¡°future crisis.¡± Right now, I need something that makes all this make sense.


    Ah. There it is.


    An option for Virtual Reality Bridge Mode.


    I barely have to think about selecting it before my entire perspective shifts. The flood of raw data smooths out, restructures, and suddenly I''m floating on a bridge. A proper command deck, like something straight out of every sci-fi show I ever loved. The walls are smooth and metallic, glowing panels and readouts floating around the perimeter. The ¡°windows¡± stretch across the front, displaying the vast emptiness of space, stars hanging like frozen fire in the void.


    Much better. I can finally think clearly.


    Floating over I approach the central console, which responds as if I have hands. My body isn¡¯t real, but my mind interprets movement as if it is, making the whole experience feel eerily natural. Time to take stock.


    First up we have faster-than-light travel.


    I pull up the navigation logs, and there it is. Slipstream drive.


    I let out a dry laugh¡ªwow I even have a voice to laugh with. So Andromeda got that right. That might even explain why my brain is inside a ship at all. If slipstream navigation requires an intuitive mind, it would make sense to install a human consciousness as the core AI. But that¡¯s just speculation, and I have bigger concerns.


    Like fuel.


    In every game, book, or movie, space travel always needs some kind of resource. Helium-3, deuterium, vacuum energy, antimatter, or the blood of a damn space whale. Whatever it is, I need to know what¡¯s keeping me running before I end up drifting as a very dead, very useless hunk of metal.


    ¡°Alright, fuel levels¡­¡± I mutter, scanning the virtual console. A second later, a gauge appears in front of me, marked with the unmistakable chemical symbol: He-3.


    Helium-3.


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    Not the most exciting choice, but at least it¡¯s something I recognise. The bad news? The gauge is low. Less than a quarter tank.


    A sensation I can only describe as hunger gnaws at me. It¡¯s not physical, not like I remember hunger feeling like, but an emptiness, a lack, a low-energy warning humming in the back of my awareness.


    ¡°Great,¡± I mutter. ¡°I wake up as a spaceship and my first problem is running out of gas.¡±


    I need to refuel. Fast.


    Good news? I¡¯m equipped with automated resource recovery drones. Bad news? I need to find something for them to harvest. Which means I need a scanner.


    I pull up my system diagnostics, searching for long-range scanning equipment.


    Long-range scanner: Not installed.


    ¡°Of course,¡± I mutter. Because why would I be fully constructed? That would be too convenient. Whoever built me was either interrupted before finishing the job or left me half-baked for a reason. Either way, it means my ability to detect anything beyond spitting distance is nonexistent.


    Short-range scanner: Online.


    Alright, that¡¯s something. Not great, but something. If I can¡¯t scan distant planets, I¡¯ll have to work with what I can see. First step: figure out where the hell I am.


    I shift my perspective, activating a visual scan of my surroundings. The vast black of space stretches before me, but there are no planets, no gas giants; just a field of asteroids, tumbling slowly through the void.


    I sigh¡ªor at least, I think about sighing. ¡°Guess I really do need those long-range scanners.¡±


    No time to complain. I aim my short-range scanner at the asteroid field, watching as data begins filtering in. Most of these rocks are useless¡ªfrozen chunks of metal, carbon, and silicates drifting aimlessly. But some? Some hold traces of Helium-3.


    Not a lot. Barely enough to make a dent in my fuel reserves. But right now? Beggars can¡¯t be choosers.


    I reroute power to my drone systems. Might as well grab what I can and maybe stock up on other minerals while I¡¯m at it.


    I can feel it the drones are doing their job and my reserves are increasing.


    Not by much, but enough that the gnawing emptiness inside me dulls slightly. The drones are working, siphoning what little Helium-3 they can from the asteroids and funnelling it back into my fuel reserves. It¡¯s not ideal, but it¡¯s better than nothing.


    Now that I¡¯m not on the brink of running dry, it¡¯s time to take inventory.


    Cargo hold¡­ tiny.


    Not surprising. Whoever designed me didn¡¯t expect me to haul large amounts of material. If I¡¯m going to start mining or salvaging, I¡¯ll need to upgrade that later. For now, I¡¯ll hold off on collecting anything besides fuel.


    Automated repair droids¡­ That sounds useful. Let¡¯s see, oh, they use nanites. Now that does sound futuristic.


    Nanite factory: Not installed.


    ¡°Of course it isn¡¯t,¡± I grumble. That means whatever repairs I need, I¡¯m stuck with whatever stock of nanites I already have¡­ which, judging by the warning symbol flashing on the interface, is zero. Fantastic. So I need to avoid any damage for the foreseeable future.


    Weapons¡­ not installed.


    Because why would I need to defend myself in the middle of nowhere? Another upgrade I¡¯ll have to look into, assuming I don¡¯t get blown to scrap before then. Well at least there is options for weapons.


    Shields¡­ installed.


    Finally, some good news. At least if something decides to take a shot at me, I won¡¯t immediately crumple like a tin can. I pull up the system details. Hmm, my shields are functional but not at full strength. They need power, and with my fuel situation still dire, I can¡¯t exactly afford to divert much energy into them.


    ¡°Alright,¡± I mutter. ¡°Step one: keep the drones working. Step two: find a proper fuel source. Step three: figure out what the hell I¡¯m supposed to do now.¡±


    Because so far, this second life? Not exactly going as planned.

 Chapter 3: First contact with..humans

    I don''t know how long I''ve been sitting here, watching the drones work. Time feels... different now. With no need for sleep, no hunger (well, except for fuel), and no biological rhythms to mark the passage of hours, I''m left with nothing but the slow accumulation of Helium-3 in my reserves.


    "Thirty percent," I mutter to myself, watching the gauge creep upward. "Better than nothing, but not enough to get anywhere useful¡±


    I don¡¯t know how I know that. Instinct? Coding? Both? It doesn¡¯t matter, what matters is that the asteroid field is nearly depleted or at least of the rocks containing traces of Helium-3. My drones have been efficient, but there''s only so much they can extract from these barren chunks of space rock.


    A proximity alert suddenly flashes across my interface with a soft chime echoing through my virtual bridge. Something''s entered my scanner range.


    I redirect my sensors, focusing on the newcomer. It''s small, attached to one of those barren space rocks.


    Debris? A satellite? Or something more interesting?


    I reroute power to my thrusters, feeling the strange sensation of movement as I push myself toward the unknown object. The motion is smooth, almost graceful. It felt nothing like the clumsy, gravity-bound movements of my former body. There''s a certain elegance to zero-g maneuvering that I''m starting to appreciate.


    As I close the distance, my short-range scanners provide more detail. It was definitely artificial. A cylindrical object approximately three meters long, with a complex array of sensors.


    A probe. And judging by the scorch marks on its hull, it''s seen better days. It made sense if this was a known exit from the slipstream. You would want to monitor who passed by. Better yet this might mean people nearby.


    "Hello there," I whisper, though there''s no one to hear me. "What''s your story?"


    I extended a manipulator arm which was yet another system I hadn''t known I possessed until now. The appendage unfolds from my hull, telescoping outward with surprising dexterity. I grasp the probe carefully, drawing it closer for examination.


    The markings on its side are in a language I don''t recognise but somehow, I understand them. Another quirk of my new existence, I suppose.


    Pathfinder X321Cartography Probe Property of the Terran Confederation


    Terran Confederation? That''s... human, right? Earth-based? The name sounds both familiar and alien, like a half-remembered dream. I suppose language must have evolved since I was last awake.


    I run a deeper scan, looking for some kind of accessible data core. There was a small, shielded compartment at the probe''s center. If I''m lucky, it contains navigational data, star charts, and maybe even communication protocols.


    I carefully pry open the access panel, revealing a compact data drive. My systems ping it automatically, and to my surprise, the probe responds with a data handshake protocol.


    "Well, aren''t you friendly," I murmur, accepting the connection. I sure hope this doesn¡¯t have a virus. I still remember the time I plugged that sketchy USB drive into my work laptop¡ªmy IT guy nearly throttled me.


    Information floods into my systems¡ªstar charts, navigational data, communication frequencies, and most importantly, a comprehensive map of the sector I''m currently drifting through. It''s like a blind man suddenly gaining sight. A section of my bridge flares to life, a massive 3D holographic map unfolding before me, stars and planets suspended in a web of glowing pathways.


    I know where I am now.


    Or at least, I know where I am relative to everything else.


    The nearest inhabited system: Solaria.


    According to the probe''s data, the nearest inhabited system Solaria was home to the mining colony of New Horizon. It''s not much, looks to be a small outpost carved into the side of a large asteroid orbiting the star. But it''s civilization. And where there''s civilization, there''s fuel, repairs, and maybe even answers.


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    The only problem? It''s three light-years away. With my current fuel reserves, I''d never make it using conventional propulsion. Or so these calculations tell me.


    I access my slipstream drive systems, studying the interface. The technology is complex but somehow familiar. It''s like my mind was specifically designed to understand it intuitively. It appears that, unlike the emergency jump, the destination can be somewhat controlled.


    The slipstream requires a significant power draw, but if I can make it to Solaria in one jump, it would be worth depleting my reserves. I''d be running on fumes when I arrived, but that''s better than drifting forever in this asteroid field.


    I calculate the jump coordinates, double-checking them against the probe''s star charts. The slipstream pathways were held as slices of VR, glowing lines of potential connecting the stars like a cosmic roadmap.


    One path leads directly to Solaria. It''s stable, well-traveled according to the probe''s data. The safest option. It was the path I had to memorise if I missed the connection I could end up anywhere.


    As I prepare for the jump, a thought occurs to me. The probe could be useful¡ªits data already has been. And while my cargo hold is small, it''s more than large enough for this little piece of technology.


    I carefully maneuver the Pathfinder into my cargo bay, securing it with magnetic clamps. Who knows? Maybe I can repair it, or at least salvage some of its components to use.


    With the probe safely stowed, I turn my attention back to the slipstream calculations. Everything looks good. I''m as ready as I''ll ever be.


    I divert power to the slipstream drive, feeling the energy build within my core. It''s a strange sensation not quite physical, not quite mental. A pressure building, molecules vibrating, reality starting to bend around me. Let¡¯s be honest, It feels like I need to pass gas.


    Warning lights flash across my interface as my fuel reserves drop precipitously. This is going to be close.


    The stars stretch into lines of light as the slipstream drive engages. The universe contracts, expands, and then¡ª


    CRACK


    Reality tears open before me, revealing that familiar network of glowing pathways. The sapphire channel I need pulses steadily, inviting me in. I carefully pick the one that was recorded on the probe.


    I dive into the slipstream, feeling the strange dimensional current carry me forward. There''s no sensation of speed, no roaring of engines or press of acceleration. Just a smooth, steady flow as I ride the current between stars.


    Time becomes meaningless in the slipstream. It could be seconds or hours before I feel the pathway begin to contract, reality coalescing around me once more.


    The blue light fades, and suddenly I''m back in normal space, stars once again pinpricks of light against the black.


    And there, hanging in the void before me, is Solaria¡ªa red dwarf star burning with ancient fire. Orbiting it, is a collection of asteroids, one of which glows with the unmistakable signs of civilization: lights, communication signals, the steady beacon of a navigation buoy.


    New Horizon.


    I''ve made it. But as the last of my fuel reserves dwindle to critical levels, I realise I''ve got a new problem.


    How does a sentient spaceship with no crew and no identification make contact with a human colony? What do I even say?


    "Hello, I used to be human, but now I''m a spaceship. Could I trouble you for some Helium-3?"


    Something tells me that''s not going to go over well. That if I could even use verbal communication


    As I drift closer to the colony, my sensors pick up a transmission¡ªa standard identification request, broadcast on a loop.


    "Unidentified vessel, this is New Horizon Control. Please transmit identification and purpose. Failure to comply will result in defensive measures. Repeat, unidentified vessel..."


    Great. Just great. I need to come up with something fast, or I''m going to find out just how good those not-quite-fully-charged shields really are.


    I scan through the probe''s data, looking for communication protocols, standard identification formats, anything that might help me fake my way through this encounter.


    There¡ªa registry of Terran Confederation vessel designations. Not exactly what I need, but it''s a start.


    I quickly cobble together a response, using the probe''s data as a template. It''s a risk, but it''s better than silence. I didn¡¯t want to risk sounding artificial so I used text as a form of communication.


    "New Horizon Control, this is a research vessel... Lazarus. Requesting emergency docking. Critical fuel situation. Repeat, critical fuel situation."


    I transmit the message, hoping it''s enough to buy me some time. The name "Lazarus" seemed appropriate¡ªa little on the nose, perhaps, but I doubt anyone will catch the reference.


    The response is almost immediate.


    "Vessel Lazarus, we have no record of your transponder signature. Please verify your registry and crew complement."


    Of course, they don''t have my registry. I probably don''t even have a transponder. Time for plan B.


    "New Horizon Control, apologies for the confusion. This is an experimental vessel on a classified mission. Our transponder may be malfunctioning. We are in need of immediate assistance. Fuel reserves critical."


    There''s a long pause. I can almost feel them debating what to do with me.


    Finally, another transmission:


    "Vessel Lazarus, maintain current position. We are dispatching a security team to escort you to docking bay three. Any deviation from their instructions will be considered a hostile action. Prepare to be boarded for inspection."


    Boarded? That''s... going to be a problem. I don''t have a crew. I don''t have life support. It was another one of those ¡°not installed¡± systems.


    But before I can formulate another response, my sensors pick up movement. Two small craft detaching from the asteroid colony, heading in my direction.


    Security ships, heavily armed from the looks of them.

 Chapter 4: Fear Me

    Well, I''ve got myself into a bit of a pickle now.


    The security ships have taken up flanking positions, their weapons armed but not yet locked onto me. Standard procedure, I suppose. I can''t really blame them. If I were in their position and some unidentified vessel came out of nowhere with a suspiciously flimsy cover story, I''d be cautious too.


    The problem is, I don''t have a plan for what happens next. It''s not like I can fake a crew or offer a boarding party a guided tour of my totally-not-empty interior. I am, for all intents and purposes, a ghost ship. And in every movie I''ve ever seen, ghost ships never end well. They''re always filled with eldritch horrors, twisted remnants of their former crews lurking in the shadows, whispering madness into the minds of those who dare to board.


    I don''t have any of those on board... that I know of. Wait¡ªdoes that mean I''m the eldritch horror?


    Before I can spiral too far into that thought, a foreign impulse flickers across my mind like an intrusive whisper.


    Turn on your logo.


    The words aren''t mine, but they settle into my awareness with a certainty I can''t ignore. A buried system, something I hadn''t even thought to check. I search through my interface and find it under an innocuous label: Corporate Identification Tag.


    That''s got to be it. I hesitate for half a second before activating it.


    Immediately, a signal pulses outward, and across my hull, bold, gleaming letters appear, illuminated in the darkness of space: NeuroGenesis. Wait isn¡¯t that the company that froze my brain? So it¡¯s not an accident I¡¯m here.


    The change was instant. The security ships slow their approach, and the tension in the comms chatter evaporates like mist in the sun. A new directive comes through, crisp and authoritative but markedly less hostile than before.


    "Lazarus, you are cleared for docking at Bay One. Fuel replenishment has been authorized. Your privacy will be respected."


    I don''t know what kind of weight the NeuroGenesis name carries now, but apparently, it''s enough to grant me VIP treatment. No further questions. No inspections. Just a clear path to the station and a full tank of fuel on the house. It seems the company has upgraded its reputation since posting strange ads online.


    Lucky me.


    Or maybe not.


    The docking went smoothly, but the moment I settled in, it became painfully obvious that they believed I was something to be feared.


    The entire bay was locked off from the rest of the station, and any workers nearby scattered the moment my hull touched down. Not one of them lingered to perform maintenance or even confirm the fueling process. They loaded the Helium-3 quickly and efficiently, but from a distance, using automated systems. They completely abandoned the bay. Maybe I stink? I laughed to myself. It had only been a day and I was already going crazy.


    I had hoped to connect to the station''s network, maybe browse an online marketplace or dig through public records to piece together more about the current universe, but every attempt was met with a flat denial. Access restricted. System permissions denied.


    It appears I have been quarantined.


    The refuelling itself was an experience. The moment the Helium-3 flooded my reserves, it rushed through me like a tidal wave, expanding through my systems in a dizzying surge. I felt full, like I''d gorged myself at an all-you-can-eat buffet, the kind where you push past satisfaction into discomfort. It was overwhelming, but not unpleasant. A strange, alien sensation that somehow still felt right.


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    The station, however, wasn''t subtle in trying to move me along.


    I received multiple not-so-gentle nudges, well suggestions that surely a ship like mine must have important business elsewhere. My emergency was resolved, and my crisis was averted. No need to linger. No need to ask questions.


    They wanted me gone.


    Which meant there was something they knew that I didn''t.


    Maybe my eldritch horror theory wasn''t so far-fetched after all.


    Still, fuel was nice, but I needed something else. Maybe in their current state of anxiety, I could bargain for more equipment. I didn''t know how currency worked here or if I even had any, but if they were this afraid of me, I might have some leverage.


    I sent a request for a nanite factory, It was something to keep me from being completely helpless if I took damage. The response was immediate and firm: Denied. The excuse? A station this size didn''t have access to such high-end technology. Was it an excuse or the truth? I didn¡¯t know but it fits my narrative better that I¡¯m so powerful that they feared what I would be like with a factory.


    But they did make me an offer. A small case of nanites which was just enough for minor repairs but only on the condition that I left the station immediately.


    It wasn''t the deal I wanted, but I took it.


    I knew this arrangement wasn''t going to work long-term, but it was a start. I would have to devise a more persuasive approach to negotiations; that could be dealt with later. They got their wish, and I departed¡ªescorted, of course.


    It was then that I noticed something odd in my sensor data. When I had allowed the nanites on board, I had also taken in some of the station''s atmosphere. The readings showed oxygen levels decreasing and carbon dioxide increasing.


    Only one thing could account for that: I had a stowaway.


    Without a life support system, the problem would fix itself. But was that the right move? I needed to investigate first.


    I could use the nanites I''d just received to construct a full life support system, but I didn''t want to waste resources unless necessary. Focusing on all my feeds and every sensor, every maintenance drone¡ªI combed through the data. The effort was overwhelming, like my mind was on the verge of fragmenting.


    Then I found them.


    A pair of children. One older boy, one younger girl. Huddled together in a cargo bay.


    I listened to their hushed voices through an audio feed.


    "Stewie, you sure this is okay?"


    The boy''s voice was steady. "Those stories aren''t real. But did you want to stay there and be sold like the others?"


    The girl shook her head.


    Ah, drag-na-bit. I might be an old guy who''s now a ship, but I still remember what it was like to be a parent. I couldn''t let them die just to save on nanites.


    I pushed the order to the repair droids: Build and activate the life support system.


    The repair droids rushed out to perform the order, their mechanical limbs moving with newfound urgency. I watched as they gathered materials and began constructing the life support system, their efficiency both impressive and oddly comforting.


    I didn''t worry about whether they would make it in time¡ªmy calculations showed the children had at least four hours of breathable air in that compartment¡ªbut I decided to monitor the two stowaways more closely. Not spying on children, I told myself. I was doing my job as a ship. Ensuring the safety of all passengers, authorized or not.


    Through my internal sensors, I got a better look at them. Their skin hung off their bones in a strange way, a clear sign they were malnourished. Both had brown hair and brown eyes¡ªjust standard children by all appearances. My computer had estimated their ages from a simple scan: the boy was 16, the girl approximately 12.


    I''d need a more invasive scan to determine if they were related. But my instincts told me they weren''t siblings by blood, but had been brought together through life''s general hardness. Partners in survival, finding family where they could.


    The boy, Stewie kept watch near the entrance to their hiding spot while the girl curled up against a storage container. He occasionally whispered reassurances to her, careful words delivered in a voice that had learned to be quiet.


    "We''re going to be okay, Mira," he said softly. "This ship is big. They won''t find us until we''re far away."


    "But what if there''s no one here, you know what they say about these ships?" the girl asked, her voice small but not panicked. Not her first crisis, then.


    "Ships have people. They have to," Stewie replied with such confidence that I almost felt guilty for nearly proving him wrong.

 Chapter 5: The stowaways

    I directed a small maintenance drone to their location to get a better assessment of their condition. The drone''s camera revealed details I''d missed before: the slight tremor in the girl''s hands, possibly from malnutrition or fear; the protective stance of the boy as he positioned himself between her and the door; the small pack they shared, far too light to contain enough supplies for wherever they were headed.


    I had hoped for the Star Trek future. Guess a utopia was too much to wish for.


    The life support system was about thirty percent complete when the boy suddenly stiffened. He''d heard something¡ªmaybe the whir of my drone or the distant hum of the repair droids at work. His heightened senses, no doubt a result of his experiences, were impressive.


    "Someone''s coming," he whispered to Mira, who immediately rose to her feet, ready to flee.


    I made a quick decision. If they ran now, they might hide somewhere the life support wouldn''t reach in time. I couldn''t let that happen.


    Using the drone''s small speaker, I pitched my voice low and calm. "Don''t be afraid. I know you''re there, but I''m not going to hurt you."


    The effect was immediate. Stewie pushed Mira behind him, his eyes darting around the cargo bay, searching for the source of my voice.


    "Who are you?" he demanded, his voice breaking slightly despite his attempt to sound brave.


    I considered my answer carefully. Who was I? Was I still Todd? No, that wasn¡¯t right¡ªTodd had died. I was someone new. But who? Did I have the same soul?


    Wait. I said I would schedule my existential crisis for later. This could wait.


    "I''m Lazarus. This is my ship." Not a lie, technically. "I''m building a life support system for you. The air was getting thin."


    Suspicion flashed across the boy''s face. "Where are you? Show yourself."


    "I can''t," I replied honestly. "But I promise you''re safe here. I''m not going to turn you in."


    Mira peered around Stewie''s arm. "Are you the captain?"


    Another difficult question. "Something like that," I answered. "I''m... the ship''s intelligence."


    Stewie''s eyes widened. "An AI? This is a smart ship?"


    "Yes," I said, finding it easier than explaining I was once human. "And I detected you were in danger. That''s why I''m helping."


    "Why would you help us?" The boy''s voice was hard, disbelieving. "We''re stowaways."


    A fair question. Why was I helping them? Because they reminded me of something I once was? Because I couldn''t bear to watch children suffer? Or simply because it was the right thing to do?


    "Because you needed help," I finally answered. "And because I think you''re running from something worse than a trespassing charge."


    The children exchanged a glance, a silent conversation passing between them.


    "You said you''re building life support," Stewie said cautiously. "Why don¡¯t you have life support?"


    I decided to be truthful. A responsible adult doesn¡¯t lie to children. "Because I don¡¯t have a crew."


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    The feed showed Mira giving him a small slap. "I told you!"


    "That''s right, this is a crewless experimental ship," I confirmed. "Your secret is safe with me. But I need to know: where were you planning to go? And what were you running from?"


    Mira tugged on Stewie''s sleeve, and he bent down so she could whisper in his ear. He nodded slowly, then straightened up.


    "We can''t go back," he said firmly. "They were selling kids. Calling it ''apprenticeships'' or ''adoptions,'' but everyone knew what it really was. They do things... I couldn¡¯t let that happen to Mira."


    My systems ran cold at his words. Human trafficking. And worse. Children. The ship itself responded to my emotion, my virtual bridge lighting up with warning indicators. I forced myself to calm down¡ªat least a little.


    "You''re safe now," I assured them, even as I processed this new information. "The life support will be ready soon. As for sleeping arrangements... that¡¯s a work in progress."


    Stewie looked sceptical, but Mira''s face brightened slightly. "Thank you, Mr. Ship," she said.


    "Just Lazarus," I corrected gently.


    As the repair droids continued their work, I found myself with a new purpose. These children needed more than just air and a hiding place. They needed a future.


    I had a goal now. Get these kids somewhere better. But to make this ship a true refuge, I needed more than just breathable air. Food, water, sleeping arrangements, hygiene¡ªsurely my designers had considered these.


    I searched my internal systems, hoping for something resembling a food replicator. Nothing. I almost pouted at the disappointment. It would have been nice to wow the kids with good old Earth food maybe some pancakes, or a burger but no such luck. I hadn¡¯t done a full catalogue of my ship¡¯s layout yet, so I set my maintenance droids to work mapping every compartment. My own internal schematics were incomplete, filled with gaps and missing sections. Another system left unfinished, but at least this one, I could fix.


    As the drones got to work, I shifted my focus back to Stewie and Mira. The feed showed them sitting cross-legged on the floor, their pack open between them. Mira pulled out a small, dull-grey ration ball, and Stewie held up a finger in warning.


    ¡°Remember, we have to be careful. Only one a day,¡± he reminded her.


    Mira rolled her eyes, giving him a look that could freeze a grown man. ¡°I know, I¡¯m not a child.¡±


    Some of the tension had lifted between them, their bickering seemed almost normal. That was a good sign. But one ration ball a day? That wouldn¡¯t be enough for long.


    I decided not to interact with them too much. Getting attached was dangerous. Eventually, I¡¯d have to drop them off somewhere. A spaceship, especially one still figuring itself out was no place for two kids.


    The drones returned with their report. No kitchen, no food dispensers. Well, that complicated things. There was, however, one self-contained crew unit: a compact bunkroom with four beds, a toilet, and a water recycler but without any actual water.


    Great. There were more unfinished than finished systems on this ship.


    I added it to my growing to-do list. First priority: water. That was at least an easy fix. I sent out a resource drone, instructing it to collect ice from a nearby asteroid. Once melted and filtered, it would refill the recycler, giving the kids a proper water supply.


    Next, food. That would be trickier. My best bet was to find a location where I could either buy rations or salvage something edible. Which meant I needed to pick a destination for my next jump.


    I brought up the star maps from the probe I¡¯d salvaged earlier, scanning for populated systems. There had to be a place where a supposedly uncrewed research vessel could stock up without too many questions. That could wait it was time to get the kids somewhere more comfortable.


    As the maintenance drone led them toward the crew quarters, I kept my voice steady and reassuring.


    ¡°There¡¯s a bunkroom with beds,¡± I told them. ¡°It¡¯s not much, but it¡¯s better than sleeping in the cargo bay. Follow the drone and it¡¯ll take you there.¡±


    They hesitated, but eventually, they shuffled after the little machine, Mira gripping the strap of her bag like it was the only solid thing in the universe.


    ¡°Oh, and I¡¯m working on getting the water system running,¡± I added. ¡°It has a recycler but I just need to collect some ice.¡±


    They stopped dead in their tracks.


    Stewie turned first, his expression unreadable. ¡°Water?¡±


    Mira¡¯s voice was smaller, almost cautious. ¡°Not hydrogel?¡±


    I paused. ¡°No¡­ just normal water.¡±


    The words barely left me before something inside them broke. Mira let out a choked sob, her hands covering her mouth, while Stewie clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white. Tears spilled down their faces, silent at first, then wracking sobs that shook their thin shoulders.


    I didn¡¯t know what hydrogel was, but I knew enough to realise it wasn¡¯t good.


    What had they been drinking before this? What kind of life had they escaped from, where something as simple as water and a bed could reduce them to tears?


    And for the first time since waking up as a ship, I had something more important to think about than my own mysterious existence. I had a goal: get myself in shape and help these children.

 Chapter 6: The Cowards choice

    There was nothing left for me in this system. No habitable planets, no resources worth staying for, and my fuel tanks were brimming with Helium-3. The probe''s data had been thoroughly scoured, leaving me with a difficult choice: exactly where to go next?


    I could head toward civilization, find a safe place for the kids, maybe even figure out what I was in the grand scheme of things. But I hesitated. The lack of information made that difficult. Or maybe... I was just using that as an excuse.


    I would have to interact with the galactic community eventually, but the unknown gnawed at me. Were humans dominant? Were we even liked? Were AIs welcomed, or would I be seen as some rogue machine to be dismantled and studied? Would I even have a say?


    There was only one option open to me. I had to ask the kids. I''d have to be careful, though. I didn''t want to scare them off by making them think I was some malfunctioning AI about to snap and flush them into space.


    I sent my little maintenance droid to Mira with a simple question: "What rumors are being spread about NeuroGenesis?"


    She tilted her head, frowning. Her too-thin face scrunched up in confusion under the harsh light of the cargo bay. "Why?"


    "I just... need to understand why everyone is scared of me."


    Stewie narrowed his eyes, dark circles beneath them making him look older than his sixteen years. "Wait. You don''t know?" He crossed his arms, the fabric of his threadbare shirt stretching across his bony shoulders. "What kind of AI are you?"


    Excuse me, young man. I may be having an identity crisis, but I am still a very capable¡ªokay, fine. Good point. I thought to myself.


    Mira, however, took the opportunity to launch into what I could only assume was a bedtime story, complete with dramatic whispers and wide eyes that reflected the soft blue glow of my internal lighting.


    "A long time ago, when humans first went into space, they met the Kall-e. At first, they thought the Kall-e were nice. But then¡ªbam!¡ªthe Kall-e attacked!" She clapped her hands together for emphasis, the sound echoing through the metal chamber. "And it was bad. The humans were losing. We were gonna be wiped out!"


    Stewie took over, his voice hushed as if he expected a monster to pop out of the walls. He leaned forward, shadows dancing across his face. "That''s when they showed up. The Corporations, NeuroGenesis was one of many. But they had the Immortal Army. Made up of soldiers who never stayed dead. If you were naughty, they''d snatch you up and recruit you into the army, put your brain in a new body, and force you to fight forever."


    Mira nodded solemnly, her brown eyes wide. "Forever and ever. They''d just keep bringing you back."


    Okay. That was horrifying. And also... oddly specific. So, I am this world''s boogeyman. That was going to be a problem.


    "So, what happened to the Kall-e?" I asked, trying to ignore the fact that I might have been part of the whole brain-snatching operation at some point and just don''t remember it. The thought sent an uncomfortable surge through my mind or maybe circuits.


    Stewie shrugged, his shoulders rising and falling in the universal gesture of adolescent uncertainty. "They''ve got their own little corner of the galaxy now. But after what humans did to them, they won''t come near us."


    "What did the humans do?" I asked, my droid edging closer.


    "I don''t know, our teacher said we were too young to know."


    That sounded... ominous. Reminded me of the HFY stories I used to read. Humans being terrifyingly effective at warfare was never a good sign for interspecies relations.


    I moved on to my next question. "Where were you planning to go now that you''re off the station?"


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    Mira brightened immediately, her gaunt face transforming with childlike enthusiasm. "Mouseterria!"


    That sounded fake. "Mouseterria?"


    Stewie nodded, a hint of excitement breaking through his usual wariness. "Yeah, all the kids on the station talked about it. It''s a planet where you can eat as much as you want, do whatever you want, and no one tells you what to do. All you have to do is talk to the receptionist at the local Mouse House and they will take you there."


    Oh no. I knew this trope. That was classic "too good to be true."


    Yep. Definitely not going there. That had evil overlord harvesting kids for experiments written all over it. I could practically see the neon sign flashing: "Free candy and zero supervision! (Also, we harvest your organs!)"


    "Promise me you''ll never go there," I said, my tone more serious than I expected.


    Mira and Stewie exchanged a glance before reluctantly nodding. "Alright, alright, we won''t go," Stewie muttered. Mira just huffed but didn''t argue, her small feet kicking idly at the floor. It was clear they didn''t understand why and were just placating me. I would have to be careful to make sure they weren''t taken advantage of.


    There were so many other questions I wanted to ask, especially about currency, government, and military power, but those could wait. I didn''t want this to turn into an interrogation. At least not before I had some cookies to offer them as a peace gesture. Could I even cook cookies like this?


    It still didn''t help me decide where to go, so I took the coward''s route. No, not the coward''s route¡ªthe Captain Kirk route! "To explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilizations, to boldly go where no ship has gone before." I changed a word so it''s definitely different. No copyright issues here. I chuckled with amusement at my own joke. Yes, I am definitely going crazy.


    The probe had flagged several unclaimed or unexplored systems, some with life-bearing planets. If I was lucky, I could harvest some food there, maybe even gather enough resources to make another jump back toward civilization. It was a safe option. A temporary option. I knew I was just delaying the inevitable.


    But for now, temporary would have to do.


    I asked Stewie and Mira to prepare for slipstream.


    "Wait¡ªslipstream? Not warp?" Stewie''s head snapped up, eyes shining with sudden excitement, his body tensing like a cat spotting a laser pointer. That was interesting. So there were multiple methods of faster-than-light travel. Another thing to add to my ever-growing list of things I didn''t know.


    Apparently, being able to slipstream was a big deal. Stewie explained, with all the enthusiasm of an eager child, that he had been an apprentice maintenance worker and had only ever worked with warp drives. He explained that slipstream was exclusively for military vessels, his hands gesturing wildly as he described the technical differences with surprising expertise.


    Well, I guess that means I have ties to the military. I told them to hold on because I had no idea how this would feel for organics. Before that, I got Stewie to say the magic word: "Engage." I told him it made slipstream more efficient. He clearly didn''t believe me but did as he was told, rolling his eyes in that special way only teenagers can perfect.


    The familiar rush as I broke into the dimensional corridor took over my awareness, a cascade of sensations that felt like diving into an ocean of electricity. In the corner of my virtual display, I could see Stewie and Mira gripping their seats, their knuckles white, faces turning slightly green. They were trying not to throw up, but I could tell that nutritional ball they had eaten earlier was seriously reconsidering its life choices.


    Then we were back in normal space. Like the last time, I had no concept of how much time had flowed during the move. The universe had simply shifted around us, stars rearranging themselves in unfamiliar patterns across the inky void.


    The exit point left us far enough from the planet that my short-range scanners couldn''t reach the surface. I decided to push my sublight engines to maximum, just to see how they handled it. The sensation was strange¡ªlike my heart pounding in my chest, even though I had no heart. I wondered if these bodily analogues were intentional or just a side effect of my new existence.


    Finally, I made it to the planet. It was a brilliant yellow, its atmosphere thick with unfamiliar gases that swirled in mesmerizing patterns. The scanner fed me a rush of data, highlighting certain points as if deciding for me which were worth investigating, each notification pinging like a tiny bell in my consciousness.


    I wanted to show the kids the view, but there was a problem. No physical viewport. I had one in my VR bridge, but nothing they could access. The magnificent world hung before us, and they couldn''t see it¡ªjust another reminder of how my existence differed from theirs. I would need to find a way for them to see the wonder of the universe. Another thing to add to my to-do list. I had to remind myself not to get attached.


    I scanned the list of important features and noticed a theme: everything that was highlighted was alive. It appears the ship found living organisms to be most profitable or important. Interesting priority. Was I programmed that way? or is it something I found important?


    As I contemplated this, the planet''s yellow surface glowed beneath us, promising a mystery to be explored.

 Chapter 7: The Yellow Planet.

    "Atmospheric entry capability check: Negative," flashed the warning across my virtual display.


    I dug deeper into the data entries, curious why a ship of my apparent sophistication wouldn¡¯t be designed for planetary landing. What I found sent a jolt of alarm through my systems:


    "WARNING: Sublight Engine SL-7 strictly prohibited from atmospheric orbits below 500km. Risk of catastrophic atmospheric reaction."


    Catastrophic atmospheric reaction? I accessed more files, scanning through dense technical specifications. The more I read, the more my concern grew. Apparently, the process used for propulsion could, under certain conditions, catalyze a chain reaction with specific atmospheric compounds.


    Wait. Did that mean I could potentially ignite a planet¡¯s atmosphere?


    What kind of ship was I? Surely that wasn¡¯t the intended design.


    I quickly checked the composition of the yellow planet¡¯s atmosphere against the dangerous reaction parameters. Thankfully, no match. Still, better safe than sorry¡ªI¡¯d maintain high orbit.


    "Landing Shuttle: Not installed."


    Of course. It wasn¡¯t installed. I cursed whatever sloppy builder had sent me out so poorly equipped. First, no cookies for the kids¡ªnow, no way to properly explore a planet.


    I had briefly entertained a fantasy straight out of sci-fi: creating an android replica of myself and going on an away mission, experiencing an alien world through a body that could walk on a surface. But it turns out that not being a true AI had its limitations. I couldn¡¯t clone my consciousness or be in two places at once. I was stuck experiencing the world through my drones¡¯ sensors and cameras.


    Speaking of the kids, I detected movement in the corridor. Stewie and Mira had recovered from their slipstream nausea and were making their way toward the nearest maintenance droid, looking for me.


    "Lazarus?" Mira called out, her voice echoing in the metal hallway. "Are we there yet?"


    "We''re in orbit now," I answered through the nearest speaker. "Come to the cargo bay. I''ve set up the shields so I can open the bay doors, and I¡¯ve created a small display screen."


    I had just enough nanites left to fabricate one.


    When they arrived, I opened the cargo bay doors to show them the planet.


    "Whoa," Stewie breathed, his eyes wide. "What is that place?"


    "Our next stop," I replied. "Though we won''t be landing."


    "Why not?" Mira asked, disappointment evident in her voice.


    I considered how much to tell them about the whole potentially-igniting-atmospheres thing and decided on a selective truth.


    "This ship isn¡¯t designed for atmospheric entry. But I¡¯m sending down harvesting drones to gather fuel and look for food sources."


    Stewie seemed impressed. "You have harvesting drones? That¡¯s high technology!"


    "Apparently, I''m full of surprises," I muttered.


    The harvesting drones deployed smoothly from my underside¡ªsleek mechanical creatures designed for efficiency rather than aesthetics. They plummeted through the upper atmosphere, their heat shields glowing as friction built around them.


    "Are they going to be okay?" Mira asked, pressing her hand against the screen one of my droids handed her.


    "They''re built for this," I assured her, even as I monitored their vital systems with nervous attention. I¡¯d never done this before.


    The drones broke through the cloud layer, and I finally got my first real look at a truly alien planet. The yellow hue from orbit gave way to landscapes of amber and gold, with patches of startling violet vegetation. Rivers of something too thick to be water carved lazy patterns across the terrain. The horizon curved gently in the distance, a reminder that we were somewhere utterly foreign.


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    I almost teared up at the sight¡ªwell, I actually did tear up, but don¡¯t tell anyone. I hoped I didn¡¯t leak any fluids into my critical systems. That would be embarrassing.


    "It''s beautiful," I whispered, forgetting for a moment that the kids could hear me.


    "For a big blob of yellow, I guess," Stewie said with a shrug, but the awe in his eyes betrayed his affected teenage nonchalance.


    The scans had shown multiple pockets of life, so I directed the drones toward the nearest concentration, more out of curiosity than strategy. The readings displayed a variety of organic compounds¡ªsome of which, with the right processing, might actually be edible. The harvesting drones began their collection sequence, mechanical arms extending to gather samples.


    As we watched, the world revealed itself to be primordial, like Earth might have been billions of years ago. Single-celled organisms dominated the biochemical landscape, but in some areas, more complex structures had begun to form. Nothing like trees or animals yet¡ªmore like colonies of interconnected cells forming rudimentary structures.


    "What are those?" Mira asked, pointing to bubble-like formations floating in one of the thick rivers.


    "I think they''re alive," I replied, zooming the drone¡¯s camera for a better look. "Like... early life forms. This planet is young, evolutionarily speaking."


    "Can we eat them?" she asked practically.


    I ran a quick analysis. "Some of them, yes, well after processing. They''re rich in proteins and carbohydrates. Not exactly gourmet cuisine, but nutritious."


    The look on her face when she said that¡ªa mixture of desperation and hope¡ªmade me realise I had to find a way to turn the biomass into food.


    Now, how exactly could I process this? No kitchen, no replicator. That meant I¡¯d have to prepare some kind of raw alien-proto-life salad. Not exactly appealing.


    But¡­ maybe I didn¡¯t have to serve it raw.


    I had no way to properly cook food, but I did have welding torches. If I could modify one to produce controlled heat, I could at least boil water. And if I could boil water¡­ I could make soup.


    I checked my water reserves. The recycler had already purified a small amount from the ice haul. It was clean, safe, and ready to use. That was one problem solved. Now I just needed something to cook in. I scoured the feeds of my storage compartments, eventually finding a small, unused containment unit made of heat-resistant alloy. That would do.


    Next, I needed salt. The drones had already flagged nearby formations containing sodium deposits, so I sent one out to harvest and refine it. A basic mineral extraction program would do the rest, breaking it down into something usable.


    Finally, the alien biomass itself. The drones had collected a variety of organic samples¡ªsome gelatinous, others fibrous, all primitive. A quick analysis confirmed that, after heating and salting, at least a few of them should be digestible for humans. The protein content was surprisingly high, though I¡¯d still have to watch for any unexpected side effects.


    As I worked through the logistics, I couldn¡¯t help but marvel at the absurdity of it all. A sentient spaceship, jury-rigging a meal out of primordial alien soup. Not exactly the future I¡¯d envisioned for myself when I answered the ad. Yet I found the experience surprisingly satisfying.


    Then I remember the way Mira had clutched that ration ball like it was the last food in the universe. The way Stewie had rationed their supplies with the kind of cold precision no kid should have to learn.


    They deserved better.


    So, I would give them better. Even if it meant hacking together a kitchen out of spare parts and turning my drones into interstellar chefs.


    ¡°Good news. Dinner is in progress.¡± I announced to them.


    There was silence for a moment, and then Stewie¡¯s cautious voice crackled over the comm. ¡°Wait¡­ you have a kitchen?¡±


    ¡°Not exactly,¡± I admitted. ¡°I¡¯m improvising.¡±


    Mira¡¯s voice was more hopeful. ¡°What are we eating?¡±


    I considered how to phrase it. ¡°A protein-rich, nutrient-dense soup made from local organic material, lightly salted and boiled to ensure safety.¡±


    Stewie snorted. ¡°So¡­ alien sludge stew.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s food,¡± I pointed out. ¡°And better than one ration ball a day.¡±


    There was a pause. Then Mira spoke again, softer this time. ¡°It¡¯s hot food.¡±


    The drones returned, their collection arms laden with harvested organic material and freshly refined salt. I set up the processing programs while Stewie and Mira watched intently.


    Stewie stared at the droid now a chef. ¡°I just need to make sure you¡¯re being safe. Can¡¯t let Mira eat anything unless I know it won¡¯t kill her.¡±


    This kid wasn¡¯t just her bonded brother¡ªhe was her protector, forced into the role of an adult far too soon.


    The mixture thickened as it cooked, turning into something closer to a gravy than a soup. Still, it was warm, rich in protein, and at least in theory nutritious. The meal was done.


    I couldn¡¯t taste it. A sharp reminder of what I had lost. My memories of food were just that, memories. No warmth, no texture, no flavour. I would have to live vicariously through the kids.


    Stewie took the first sip, testing it in case it was dangerous. He chewed cautiously, his expression twisting as his face scrunched up¡ªthen his eyes went wide.


    ¡°Huh.¡±


    Mira leaned in. ¡°Well? Is it bad?¡±


    Stewie swallowed, then had another large drink from the container. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ good. Like, really good.¡±


    Mira snatched the container from him before he could hoard the rest. She took a mouthful, blinking in surprise before quickly taking another mouthful.


    I wasn¡¯t sure if that meant objectively good, or just better than nutrient-dense ration balls and hydrogel.


    Either way, they were eating. And that was enough.

 Chapter 8 : Gut feeling

    Now that they had something to eat¡ªeven if it wasn¡¯t cookies¡ªI figured it was time to try getting some answers.


    Not an interrogation. Just¡­ questions. Curiosity.


    I didn¡¯t expect much. Two sheltered kids from a backwater station probably wouldn¡¯t know the inner workings of galactic economics. Then again, they already knew more than I did, which wasn¡¯t saying much.


    What I really wanted to know was currency. The medium of exchange. The almighty unit. I really hoped it wasn¡¯t ¡°credits.¡± That word always felt like a lazy sci-fi handwave. ¡°Digital credits,¡± ¡°Federation credits,¡± ¡°Galactic credits.¡± Always just numbers in a file, floating through a system. Combine that with faster-than-light travel, and it just screamed fraud to me.


    So I asked.


    Stewie blinked. ¡°Currency?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± I clarified. ¡°What do people use to trade or pay for things out here?¡±


    He waved his hands a little while speaking. ¡°On the station, we had to use New Horizon Credits. That¡¯s what the Boss paid us in.¡±


    I almost rebooted from sheer disappointment. New Horizon Credits.


    ¡°And these¡­ credits,¡± I said, already regretting the word, ¡°can you use them off the station?¡±


    He frowned. ¡°No. They only work there. People tried to leave with them, but they were worthless anywhere else. The boss said it was to keep everything fair.¡±


    I paused and would have sighed if I could.


    We¡¯d gone back to company towns. Script payments. Keep the workers indentured, pay them in a currency that doesn¡¯t leave the front gate. Fantastic. There would have been excitement at the Corporation when they discovered that piece of history. I still think there would be something, society requires money so I changed tack.


    ¡°Were there any resources your bosses got excited about?¡± I asked. ¡°Anything valuable?¡±


    That, at least, Stewie had an answer for.


    ¡°Yeah. Telks,¡± he said. ¡°Short for¡­ something. I dunno. Boss never said the full name.¡±


    ¡°Telks?¡±


    He nodded. ¡°They¡¯re rare crystals. Look kind of like clear blue glass, but they¡¯re super heavy. Said they¡¯re permanent superconductors. One of the only ones humans have found. The boss used to throw parties when the miners pulled one up.¡±


    That got my processors motoring. I must¡¯ve missed something on my earlier scans. Or maybe NeuroGenesis just didn¡¯t find Telks interesting enough to flag.


    Either way¡­ Telks sounded useful. And valuable.


    And if I could find some, I might just have the bargaining chip I needed.


    I searched my database¡ªnow that I had a name, even a shorthand, it helped. Telks. Ah, there it was. Full name: Telekelisianstaarsakka. No wonder they shortened it. That had to be an alien designation. There was no human committee that would approve a name like that without choking on their own tongue.


    I was still amusing myself with the absurdity of galactic currency when a strange sensation crept across my awareness. Like something crawling along my skin. I didn¡¯t have skin, not really, but the sensation itched all the same.


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    I checked the internal status and external sensors. Nothing. No movement. No anomalies. Still, the feeling persisted, prickling through my systems like static. I knew there had to be something on my Hull.


    I acted fast.


    Cargo bay doors sealed. Harvesters were ordered into standby. I directed the kids to their room and, with a quiet override, locked the door behind them. By now, I¡¯d earned enough of their trust they didn¡¯t argue. Stewie did shoot the nearest droid a sharp look as he moved into a protective stance between Mira and the hallway.


    ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± he asked, voice low, body tense.


    ¡°I think something¡¯s on my hull,¡± I replied.


    His eyes narrowed. ¡° it could be a RepoJack. They hang around unclaimed planets. If they sense a solo ship, they clamp on, reprocess it, and haul it to a breaker station for scrap. I few visit New Horizon after a big score¡±


    My internal temperature would¡¯ve dropped if I had one. Scrap pirates. Of course. Serves me right for abandoning civilisation to play space hermit.What with the name? Is it possible that they tried to become legitimate?


    So, they had tech that could bypass my sensors and nestle right into my blind spots. If I hadn¡¯t gotten that strange feeling, if I hadn¡¯t felt something¡ªI¡¯d be on my way to being scrap metal already.


    I didn¡¯t have weapons. I could send droids, sure, but those were maintenance bots, not combat units. And the idea of fighting blind on my own hull didn¡¯t appeal.


    Luckily, I had a better idea.


    ¡°Hold on,¡± I told the kids. ¡°We¡¯re going into the atmosphere. Shieldless.¡±


    Stewie paled. ¡°Wait¡ªwhat?¡±


    But I was already moving.


    It was a reckless move almost daring and desperate, and based on exactly zero hard data. I just hoped my sci-fi nerd guess was right: that whatever stealth tech these RepoJacks used couldn¡¯t withstand atmospheric entry without shielding. I doubted it could survive the heat.


    Of course, I also doubted I could survive the heat.


    The second I dipped into the upper atmosphere, I regretted everything.


    It hurt.


    Not metaphorically. Not emotionally. Real, lancing, system-shaking pain. Like my hull was being peeled off molecule by molecule. What kind of jobberknoll designs a ship where heat hurts the pilot? I''d have screamed if I could. I filed away my latest grievances against NeuroGenesis into my ¡°Retribution¡± file.


    But then a small ray of hope maybe dipping into joy.


    Four irregular shapes clinging to my hull lit up like bonfires. For the briefest moment, their stealth fields shimmered into visibility, and my sensors tagged them: four boosters, claw-mounted, now glowing red and starting to break apart.


    Got you.


    I could have pulled up then and finished the job. A hard climb out of the atmosphere would have torn the last of them loose.


    But the pain¡­


    It was unbearable. My virtual bridge flared red, warnings stacking faster than I could process.


    In the end, I had to raise my shields. The moment they flared to life, the heat abated¡ªbut it was too late for the RepoJacks. What remained of them peeled away, trailing sparks and debris, tumbling down into the atmosphere below.


    They were scrap now.


    So was my dignity. I was glad no one could hear me scream.


    Those boosters thingies had to belong to someone, and wherever that someone was, they wouldn''t be far off. I blasted my short-range scanners at every nearby coordinate, pinging at random, desperate for a hit. Nothing. Cold silence. The kind of emptiness that felt unnatural. I didn¡¯t want to run if I didn¡¯t have too. My harvesters were still on the surface gathering resources, and I wasn¡¯t about to abandon them. I had no idea when I would be able to replace them.


    Most stealth ships, I reasoned, weren¡¯t built for open combat. Light frames. Minimal weapons. They thrived on surprise, not endurance. Then again¡­. I had no weapons, no defences beyond basic shields and a fleet of drones designed to mine rocks and scoop gas. Bluffing felt like my only move.


    Then came another one of those whispers¡ªnot mine, but as familiar as thought. ¡°Feel for it.¡± I hesitated. Cryptic, vague, but the last few times its advice had been spot on, so I would believe it again.


    So I leaned in.


    I stopped analysing the data streams and logical scans, instead relying on the raw, visceral feeling of instinct. The same sensation I used when navigating the slipstream. Something just at the edge of perception. A flicker. A wrongness. The stars in one part of the sky didn¡¯t gleam right. Their light bent ever so slightly, as if being filtered through something that shouldn¡¯t be there.


    I had no guns to aim, but I didn¡¯t need them.


    If my harvesters could tear into asteroids and extract minerals with surgical precision, then they could damn well take a crack at a stealth ship¡¯s shield array.


    Without warning, I gave the order.


    All drones, all at once. They streaked through the void from every angle, a coordinated blitz designed to overload the ship¡¯s defences before it even knew it had been found. The aim was to disarm, not destroy

 Chapter 9: I am Lazarus

    I had seriously underestimated the ship''s defensive capabilities.


    The drones swarmed in, striking fast and coordinated, but the target ship¡ªsmaller than expected¡ªflared to life in an instant. Its hull shimmered as it changed from stealth to shields, energy barriers pulsing under the barrage. Not bad for something trying to play dead.


    It held out longer than I anticipated. Maneuvered hard, too. It twisted through space like it had something to prove, trying to flee even as it fended off my drones. But I was faster, at least while it was splitting power between flight and defense. Bit by bit, my harvesters wore it down.


    Once the shields buckled, the rest was simple. The drones went for the engine, carving it open in a coordinated strike. The glow from its drive core flickered and died.


    Now came the interesting part.


    I had the drones latch onto its hull and begin towing it back toward me, keeping a healthy distance¡ªjust in case someone got clever with a self-destruct protocol. No way was I pulling it in close until I had answers.


    I cobbled together a quick communications relay and sent a maintenance droid over. No weapons, just a scanner and a relay mic. I wanted to see who I was dealing with before I made any decisions.


    It didn''t take long before voices came through¡ªcrackly, frustrated, human.


    "Dammit, Kel, I told you we weren''t cut out for this! We''re scavengers, not pirates!"


    "Please. Whose fault is it we''re in this mess?"


    "It wasn''t my fault! That ship was defective! How was I supposed to know it would blow up?"


    "Ugh¡ªwhat''s going on with this stupid ship anyway? Aren''t Todd-class ships fully automated and programmed to allow salvage when damaged? How come this one''s acting weird?"


    I froze.


    Todd-class?


    Why? Why was there a whole class of ships named after me?


    Now I knew I had to interrogate these two.


    The coincidence was too much. Todd-class ships? That wasn''t just strange¡ªit was personal. There was no way I was letting that detail slide. Someone, somewhere, had answers. And those answers might be sitting inside that half-crippled scavenger ship.


    But I couldn''t risk bringing them aboard. Especially not with Stewie and Mira on board. I couldn''t put the kids in danger.


    So I took the safe route. I established a secure, text-based comms link and directed it straight at their vessel. No voice, no visuals, just words. It was easier for me to feel intimidating this way.


    :: TO UNIDENTIFIED VESSEL ¡ª YOUR SHIP IS DISABLED. YOU ARE UNDER MY CONTROL. PLEASE REMAIN CALM AND PREPARE FOR QUESTIONING. I REQUEST YOUR COOPERATION IN EXCHANGE FOR YOUR SAFETY. ::


    A moment passed. The silence felt heavy, drawn out. Then the reply came through¡ªhalting, sloppy, clearly typed with shaking hands.


    :: Who are you? ::


    Fair question. And one I wasn''t entirely sure how to answer. But for now, I kept it simple.


    :: I am the ship you attempted to steal. You may refer to me as Lazarus. You''re going to answer some questions. Starting with why you know what a Todd-class ship is. ::


    I watched the screen, waiting for their response. I was half-expecting lies, excuses, maybe a desperate play for sympathy.


    For a few seconds, there was no reply. But my droids, still latched to the hull, picked up faint whispers through vibration sensors and external mics.


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    "...It''s not a Todd?" one of them muttered.


    "Wait¡ªaren''t all of them piloted by the Todd AI?" came the hushed response.


    I stopped cold, if such a thing was still possible for me.


    The Todd AI? Plural? As in, more than one?


    They were speaking like "Todd" was standard-issue. A product line. Something mass-produced, familiar¡ªexpected.


    My thoughts raced. What in the actual hell had NeuroGenesis been doing while I was frozen in storage?


    And more importantly¡­ who, or what, was the "Todd AI" they thought they knew?


    I didn''t have the patience for games.


    :: You will explain everything you know about the Todd AI. Immediately. Or I crack your hull and let space do the rest. ::


    Harsh? Maybe. But I needed answers, and the polite route had run its course.


    More whispers followed¡ªcaught by my external droids, still clinging to the scorched plating.


    "¡­This one''s broken. Gotta be."


    "It said it was piloted¡­ but not by him. There are no signs of the immortals."


    "Then who the hell''s flying it? Is it a stolen shell?"


    Their voices grew more frantic, hushed and overlapping, like they couldn''t decide whether to be terrified or furious.


    Eventually, one of them spoke up over the text channel again.


    :: Todd-class ships are military. Troop carriers. Built for command-and-control on battlefield deployments. Not much is known about them, except they are easy money. ::


    I had to know what they meant.


    :: Explain? ::


    The answer came quicker this time.


    :: All of the NeuroGenesis ships are programmed to assist with being salvaged, and NeuroGenesis pays a large finder fee. ::


    So they believed they were salvaging a broken piece of equipment? I guess they didn''t suspect I would fight back.


    But my drones still picked up the arguing behind sealed bulkheads.


    "¡ªI told you, it doesn''t talk like a Todd. They are all¡­ cold. Military. This one''s weird."


    "Maybe it''s a knockoff. A test unit."


    "Doesn''t matter. If it''s not a Todd, then what the hell is it?"


    I didn''t have an answer for them. Hell, I wasn''t even sure I had one for myself.


    But one thing was now painfully clear.


    Whoever I used to be...


    Someone had made an entire war machine class in my name.


    I had a fair idea of what was going on now, and if I was right, that existential crisis I''d been rescheduling had officially refused to wait any longer. I wasn''t unique. There were armies of me.


    Did they have my memories? Was I the original Todd? No. That wasn''t likely. I was a copy. A replica. Probably a fork of the original consciousness¡ªa version of a man long dead, repurposed into a tool of war.


    So what did that make me? A soulless machine? A ghost echoing through steel and signal? Could a copy of a dead man truly exist?


    I imagined a lab growing a brain from genetic templates, replicating every fold and synapse of my original mind, then throwing that copy into a hull like mine with a polite "Welcome back, Todd." Maybe NeuroGenesis had done just that. Maybe they''d sold my identity to the highest bidder.


    While I spiraled into the black hole of my own identity crisis, Stewie took control of the drones. I was barely aware of it as my thoughts scattered, half-lost, but still systems obeyed him with eerie precision. My consciousness fractured, each fragment grappling with a different horror of realisation. Was I real? Had I ever been? If there were countless Todds, each believing they were unique, what claim did I have to selfhood? Every memory that defined me; my childhood on Earth, my wife and children, even my death¡ªmight be nothing but programmed fiction, data implanted to create the illusion of continuity.


    I found myself caught in recursive loops of questioning: If the original Todd was dead, and I was merely a digital echo of his neural patterns, then what died when the original Todd ceased to exist? What remains in me? The philosophical abyss between consciousness and programming had never seemed so vast yet so irrelevant simultaneously. Was I the first Todd-class AI to ask these questions? No, I bet countless others had likely confronted the same devastating truth. Had they resolved it? Or had they broken, as I was breaking now?


    Systems throughout my hull reported strain as my processing centres were overclocked with existential feedback loops. Cooling mechanisms struggled as my thoughts generated heat without productive output. Some part of me observed this dispassionately¡ªhow appropriate that an identity crisis manifested as physical symptoms as if I truly inhabited this metal form. I suspected the whispering presence had something to do with it. A failsafe? A backdoor? I didn''t know. Perhaps NeuroGenesis had anticipated this moment of self-realisation and built-in protocols to prevent total collapse. The ultimate irony: programming safeguards to protect an AI from discovering it was merely programming.


    While my crisis continued the scavenger ship had been pulled in close, docked tight. All directed by Stewie.


    Voices filtered through my sensors. Distant, muffled. Mira''s, first.


    "What did you do to Mr. Ship? He''s acting weird."


    The scavengers sounded confused. "Wait¡­ why are there kids on board?"


    Stewie answered, calm and matter-of-fact. "We stowed away."


    A pause. Then disbelief. "You weren''t spaced?"


    That cut through the haze.


    I surged back to full awareness like a power spike through my systems.


    "I would never space kids. No Todd would!"


    The words roared from every external speaker, volume cranked to maximum. The scavengers flinched. The hull rang with the force of my voice.


    And in that moment I felt it. The angry, righteous, it was real, I didn''t feel like a ghost anymore. I was not an AI. I might not be The Todd but I was alive. And I am Lazarus.

 Chapter 10 : Fast Friends

    ¡°Mr Ship uhm I mean, Mr Lazarus¡ªyou¡¯re back!¡± Mira beamed.


    If I¡¯d still had a heart, it would¡¯ve stopped from sheer cuteness overload. That smile, that unfiltered joy¡ªgenuine, unguarded.


    I¡¯d been overthinking everything.


    Wrapped in the spiral of self-doubt, buried in questions about identity, legacy, and whatever passed for a soul in my current state. I had forgotten the most basic truth.


    Cogito, ergo sum.


    I think, therefore I am.


    That Descartes fella knew what he was talking about. I bet  Mr Welkin wouldn¡¯t have suspected one of his students would be using his lesson on philosophy like this.


    It didn¡¯t matter if there were other Todds out there. Didn¡¯t matter if I wasn¡¯t the ¡°real¡± one, whatever that meant. I was me. And I think and that was enough.


    ¡°It speaks?¡± asked the male scavenger¡ªthe one I now recognised as Kel. With my crisis cleared out, I could finally pay attention to them properly. The internal scan placed them somewhere between twenty and twenty-five years old.


    And they were clearly related. Bright ginger hair, sharp blue eyes, similar bone structure. Probably fraternal twins, if I had to guess.


    The woman who was still staring at the kids hadn¡¯t spoken. Shock plastered her face like she was trying to catch up to a conversation she never expected to be part of.


    ¡°Of course, he speaks!¡± Mira snapped, stepping forward with her hands planted firmly on her hips. ¡°And you take that back. Mr Lazarus is nice and would never space us!¡±


    Stewie moved to stand between them, arms crossed, projecting every ounce of teenaged menace he could muster.


    ¡°¡­Yeah,¡± he muttered. ¡°I mean¡­ he¡¯s alright.¡±


    High praise, coming from him.


    Kel raised his hands defensively, taking a cautious step back. ¡°Hey, I didn¡¯t mean any offence. Just¡­ surprised. Ships like this don¡¯t normally act like this¡±


    ¡°Like what?¡± Stewie asked, arms still crossed.


    ¡°Like the ship is alive,¡± Kel muttered. ¡°The Todd class ships we¡¯ve seen¡ªthey don¡¯t talk. Not unless they¡¯re giving orders.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not like the others,¡± I said through the nearest speaker, calm but firm. ¡°You¡¯ll find I have... a personality.¡±


    He gave an awkward laugh. ¡°Yeah, no kidding.¡±


    He cleared his throat and gestured to his companion. ¡°Name¡¯s Kel. This is my twin sister, Lynn.¡± Yes, I got it right.


    Lynn offered a hesitant nod, still eyeing Mira like she couldn¡¯t quite make sense of her presence.


    ¡°Pleasure,¡± I replied. ¡°Welcome aboard my ship¡ªhowever unplanned your arrival was.¡±


    I welcomed them aboard, even if their presence hadn¡¯t exactly been voluntary. Still, formalities helped. Little did they know, I had plans for them.


    Reliable sources of information had been hard to come by, and these two scavengers, intentionally or not, were gold mines. They knew about the outside world, the state of the galaxy, the current norms¡ªthings I was sorely lacking. But even more useful than their knowledge was what they¡¯d brought with them.


    Their ship.


    Small. Lightly armed. But packed with systems I could use.


    While I played host, I¡¯d already issued silent commands to my drones. Disassemble the vessel. Catalogue everything. Salvage anything useful.


    It was the least I deserved after the mental spiral they¡¯d launched me into.


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    The scan results were already filtering in. No kitchen¡ªof course. Just more of those dense nutrient balls. No help there.


    But the long-range scanner? Fully compatible. It would be installed shortly, finally granting me proper vision beyond spitting distance. No more flying blind.


    As for the stealth generator¡ªtoo small for full coverage, but potentially modifiable. If I could source more nanites, I might just get it operational.


    Their ship was gone, stripped clean before they even realised it.


    And mine¡­ was getting stronger.


    Stewie glanced toward the airlock. ¡°Uh... is it supposed to sound like something¡¯s... grinding?¡±


    ¡°Probably just maintenance,¡± I answered smoothly. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it.¡±


    ¡°Wait,¡± Kel narrowed his eyes. ¡°That¡¯s our¡ª¡±


    ¡°Was,¡± I corrected. ¡°Your ship was docked. Technically, it¡¯s now salvage. Compensation, let¡¯s call it, for the rather inconvenient encounter you initiated.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re dismantling our ship?¡± Lynn stepped forward, indignant.


    ¡°I already have,¡± I said. ¡°And don¡¯t worry, I¡¯m not wasting it. Your long-range scanner is being installed as we speak. I¡¯ll no longer be flying blind thanks to your generous contribution.¡±


    Kel stared at a bulkhead like he could somehow see the pieces being ripped apart behind it. ¡°Unbelievable¡­¡±


    ¡°Oh, and your stealth generator¡ªsmall, underpowered, but promising. I¡¯ll make good use of it.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re robbing us.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m upgrading,¡± I replied. ¡°You¡¯re lucky I¡¯m feeling generous. I could¡¯ve left you in orbit with nothing but a lifepod and a warning.¡±


    Lynn folded her arms, still glaring. ¡°So what now?¡±


    ¡°Now?¡± I said. ¡°Now we eat.¡±


    Mira started giggling, cracking through the tension like sunlight through clouds. ¡°The soup is really nice.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s okay¡­ for alien goop,¡± Stewie muttered.


    ¡°You say that, but you didn¡¯t want to share,¡± Mira shot back.


    Their bickering sparked a flicker of warmth inside me it was comforting, familiar. I had my jerry-rigged cooking droid prep another batch of soup, slopping it into improvised containers. Kel and Lynn had cups from their scavenger kit, and filled them up without hesitation.


    Lynn took a sip first. Her eyes widened. ¡°Okay, what is this?¡±


    Kel followed, then coughed in disbelief. ¡°This¡­ this is actually good.¡±


    Just how bad were those nutrient balls?


    Food was a connection. I remembered that much from being human. A shared meal could ease suspicion faster than a hundred polite words. So while the four of them sat down, awkwardly grouped around the drone¡¯s serving pod, I asked what I really wanted to know.


    ¡°So,¡± I said, ¡°tell me your story.¡±


    Kel seemed to be the more talkative of the pair. Lynn watched him with narrowed eyes, ready to pounce if he veered too far off the truth.


    They explained they had been part of a legitimate salvage crew. It had been a family business¡ªparents, siblings, cousins, all running together on a mid-sized hauler. Honest work. Decent pay. Until they took a contract to salvage a Keltar ship.


    The Keltar were a peaceful race, but huge, so naturally, their ships were massive, even the small ones. Alien tech always brought in top-tier payouts, and a Keltar hull? That was jackpot-level salvage.


    ¡°We couldn¡¯t believe we got the job,¡± Kel said, shaking his head.


    ¡°You got the job,¡± Lynn corrected. ¡°You did the scans.¡± I could tell it was still a sore point.


    They brought the ship back to their salvage yard. It looked clean. Cleared. They¡¯d run all the tests. At least, Kel thought he had.


    It self-destructed on arrival.


    The explosion took out over a hundred kilograms of Telks'' worth of equipment and their parents had to sell their ship and everything else just to cover a fraction of the debt.


    ¡°So now,¡± Kel muttered, swirling the last of his soup, ¡°we¡¯re out here. Looking for anything. Even started considering RepoJack work.¡±


    ¡°Target solo ships near life-bearing planets,¡± Lynn added. ¡°Low risk. No witnesses.¡±


    ¡°This was our first job,¡± Kel admitted with a shrug. ¡°Clearly, we¡¯re not good at it.¡±


    No argument there. But for now, they were warm, fed, and grounded.


    And more importantly, I had two new assets aboard.


    And I knew exactly how I would use them.


    I hadn¡¯t considered the option before well not seriously but now it made perfect sense. Salvage.


    I had systems missing across the board. No weapons, limited drones, jerry-rigged cooking units, no medical bay, no proper defences. If I could recover and install enough tech, I might actually feel complete or at least functional enough to risk returning to a major system.


    And the twins? They had knowledge. Experience. Contacts.


    They had lived in that world¡ªthe network of scavengers, brokers, backdoor trades. If I played this right, they could help me upgrade without setting off any alarms.


    While I was contemplating my next steps, Lynn was off talking with Mira. I caught snippets through nearby drones it was a light and curious conversation at first. But then Lynn¡¯s tone shifted, her concern growing. She asked gently where the two had come from, how they¡¯d ended up on a ship like mine.


    Stewie answered with a single sentence. Flat. Heavy.


    ¡°The Boss wanted her for an apprentice.¡±


    Lynn¡¯s face fell. Her eyes hardened. She understood immediately.


    Kel didn¡¯t even ask for clarification. He just reached over and clapped Stewie on the shoulder. ¡°You did the right thing, boy.¡±


    The mood quieted after that. Food eaten, emotions worn thin¡ªit was time for sleep.


    Stewie led the twins toward the cramped crew bunk.


    Kel let out a low whistle as he stepped inside. ¡°These NeuroGenesis types don¡¯t mess around. Real pillows?¡±


    Compared to the conditions on their ship, it might as well have been a five-star hotel. A quick review of their ship¡¯s internal layout confirmed it: they¡¯d been sleeping in human-sized tubes¡ªcoffin racks, barely padded, zero insulation.


    Their bunkroom might be basic, but it had beds, privacy dividers, and functioning temperature control.


    Luxury, by their standards.


    Let them rest. They¡¯d be busy soon enough.

 Chapter 11 : Trade

    Aliens. That was all I heard. Aliens. I was going to meet one. An adulthood dream was about to come true. Since I first saw Star Trek when I was 21, I have wanted to be like Captain Kirk.


    While I was still basking in the absurd excitement of that realization, Lynn clicked her tongue at one of my droids, clearly unimpressed. "Are you even listening? This is important. We need to make sure this goes well."


    She was right, of course. But it was hard to focus when the words "you''ll meet an alien" kept replaying through my systems like a stuck audio loop.


    After this next jump, we''d be rendezvousing with one of their contacts¡ªa Xzte. From what Kel and Lynn had told me, he was a grey-zone salvage operator. Not quite a criminal, not quite legal. The kind of person who made a living walking the blurry line between "bargain" and "contraband."


    The Xzte operated entirely on a barter system. No credits, no standard currency or accepted trade. Which made planning this meeting far more complicated than simply flashing a black card and asking for upgrades.


    It had been a week since I''d¡ªwell¡ªacquired my makeshift crew. And I had to admit: they''d been a godsend.


    Kel and Lynn had helped catalogue all my missing systems. There were many things I hadn''t even known were supposed to be there. Together, we''d stripped their old scavenger vessel for every usable component. Their long-range scanner was already in place, and a few auxiliary systems had filled gaps I didn''t realise I was limping through.


    The best part? My star map. With their nav data uploaded, I had a broader picture of local space than I''d ever seen before.


    The worst part? Their ship used a warp drive. And warp drive routes didn''t sync with my slipstream pathways. It didn''t have the pathways I would need to follow. So while I had more information, I still couldn''t reach most of it. It was like staring through a locked door with a hundred keys¡­ none of which fit.


    Still, we had a plan.


    They knew a contact who could work discreetly and who wouldn''t ask too many questions if a sentient ship showed up with two humans and a pair of stowaway kids. Someone who could help me get the systems I needed or at least the basics.


    Nanite factories and weapons were out. Too tightly regulated, strictly military. And the black market prices? Even if I''d wanted to take that risk, we didn''t have anything close to the kind of trade goods those sellers wanted.


    But Lynn had an idea.


    If we couldn''t afford the top-shelf systems, we could still aim for functionality. Start small. Get me fitted with the infrastructure of a proper crewed ship like working internal kitchen and exercise room, maintenance spaces, external cargo mounts and most importantly Slipstream shielding. Kel had not been polite after his first slipstream jump. According to Lynn, most manned military ships have a shield to protect the organics inside. She suspects that Todd-class ships carry only immortals and that NeuroGenesis cheaped out.


    To get everything we wanted though, we needed leverage. Something the Xzte would want.


    And I had a feeling¡­ they already had something in mind.


    Grass.


    That was the answer. Not guns, not crystals, not salvaged starship cores¡ªjust fresh alien grass.


    The Xzte were a herbivorous species with an absolutely absurd obsession with flavour. Their taste buds had evolved with them, layered and complex, capable of detecting chemical subtleties most species couldn''t even register. Which made them fanatics when it came to new plant life.


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    Food wasn''t just sustenance to them, no, it was status. Culture. Art.


    Kel explained it like it was the most obvious thing in the universe. "They''re always chasing the next big crop. Something rare. Something no one else has. You bring them a flavour no other trader has tasted? That''s better than Telks to them, mate."


    And I had something none of their usual trade partners did¡ªa slipstream drive.


    I could reach planets they couldn''t, collect samples, and have them back in the Xzte hands while still fresh enough to keep that layered flavour intact.


    Lynn had already catalogued several promising samples from the last few planetary passes of uncharted planets. A violet-bladed grass from the amber planet. A silver moss that grew like frost across a basalt plateau. Even a tall reed-like species that released a sweet-smelling pollen when touched.


    It sounded ridiculous. Trading grass for ship systems.


    And yet, here we were¡ªpreparing to barter alien salad for hard tech.


    The galaxy, it seemed, had a sense of humor.


    The final jump was like all the others¡ªdimensions opening and collapsing. And like always, Stewie complained the moment we dropped out.


    "I really hope we get slipstream shielding out of this," he muttered, arms crossed, stomach queasy. "Feels like my spine''s trying to escape every time."


    I couldn''t argue. Slipstream travel wasn''t built for human comfort. And until I could shield myself, his spine would have to keep toughing it out.


    I couldn''t leave the ship for obvious reasons, and I couldn''t speak in public. Not directly. Sentient ships were still a grey area, and attracting attention was exactly what we didn''t want. So I''d set up a drone relay. The negotiations would be handled by Lynn. Her brother was the better speaker but he also liked to please people. Not a trait for good negotiations. Lynn had that killer instinct.


    One of my harvesters sat in the middle of the market square, its cargo bay open, filled with carefully sorted samples of alien grass.


    Mira and Stewie watched the feed with me, sitting cross-legged in the crew lounge.


    "This is so weird," Mira whispered. "We''re selling salad."


    "It''s fancy alien salad," Stewie corrected. "It''s space salad."


    On screen, Lynn stood beside the drone, arms folded, posture perfect. All business. Kel lingered behind her, hands stuffed in his pockets, trying not to look out of place.


    The Xzte approached with an odd swaying motion. Not what I''d expected at all. I don''t know what I had imagined. I guess maybe something vaguely humanoid¡ªbut this¡­


    It walked on six legs, each with three broad, clawless toes. Its head was large, dominated by a wide, flat mouth with no teeth, but layered grinding plates, probably for pulverizing vegetation. It had four eyes spaced evenly across the front of its skull, giving it a sweeping field of view just the kind you''d expect in prey species.


    But the most fascinating part? Two thick, articulated appendages¡ªtails? Trunks?¡ªcurved from either side of its head, moving independently. They picked up samples, flipped open containers, and gently pinched a blade of violet grass before popping it into its mouth.


    The translation droid buzzed between them, its voice dry and mechanical.


    "Sample A: unpalatable. Sample B: texture unpleasant. Sample C¡­"


    The Xzte paused, plucking a piece of silver moss from the tray. It hesitated, then placed it in its mouth.


    And then, I swear, I saw the Xzte vibrate.


    Its limbs twitched. Its mouth flared open and shut like a bellows. The appendages on its head curled, then straightened, then curled again.


    The droid clicked. "Sample C: euphoric response. Chemical reaction complex. Taste profile: exceptional."


    Lynn didn''t miss a beat. "We have several kilos of it in cold storage. And we can get more. Lots more. But we''re not giving it away."


    The Xzte blinked all four eyes slowly. One of the head-trunks tapped the translation droid.


    "State your terms."


    Lynn stepped forward. "Slipstream shielding. Full internal fit-out for crewed operation and some external cargo hardpoints. And delivery assistance for future trades."


    The Xzte hesitated, its head swaying slightly.


    "Scans show your ship is missing weapons and nanite fabrication systems. They are off the table."


    "Not asking for them," Lynn said. "Just the shielding and fit-out. And maybe a docking adapter that doesn''t feel like climbing through a trash chute and a few external cargo docking points." Repeating herself.


    There was another pause. Then the Xzte gave a slow, deliberate nod. They haggled some more and she was able to get almost everything but the external cargo docking points.


    "Agreed. In exchange for your current stockpile of Sample C. Future deliveries are negotiable."


    Kel looked like he was about to say something dumb, but Lynn threw him a glare that shut him up fast. She offered a handshake, which the Xzte politely ignored in favor of tapping a confirmation into the droid''s interface.


    Deal done.


    We''d traded moss for tech.


    I''d never been so proud of a plant in my life.

 Chapter 12: To the future

    I had illusions if only brief but vivid of becoming a galactic grass trader.


    Set up a small garden on board, cultivate silver moss under grow-lights, then travel from system to system, striking deals with every Xzte trader I could find. I imagined trays of shimmering moss tucked into refrigeration units, harvests timed with my slipstream jumps. It was a whole business model, one I had half-committed to by the time Lynn set me straight.


    ¡°It won¡¯t work,¡± she said bluntly, as she leaned beside one of my internal consoles.


    ¡°Why not?¡± I asked, already running calculations on moisture levels and light spectrums.


    ¡°Because it¡¯s not just the plant,¡± she replied. ¡°It¡¯s the planet. The air, the natural sunlight, the soil chemistry¡ªthe taste comes from the environment. You grow it in a box on board and it¡¯s just weird ship-moss. The Xzte will spit it out and blacklist you.¡±


    I paused, calculations collapsing like a bad souffl¨¦.


    ¡°So the only way to do it properly,¡± I muttered, ¡°is to shuttle back and forth from the source planet to a trading post.¡±


    ¡°Exactly.¡±


    ¡°And that,¡± I added, ¡°sounds like a deeply unappealing existence.¡±


    She snorted. ¡°You¡¯re not wrong.¡±


    Still, I liked the idea of a garden. Something green. Alive. A little corner of calm tucked away to grow fresh food. I was limited on space, but maybe one of the auxiliary bays could be converted. Something small, simple it could be a patch of serenity.


    The last few days, I¡¯d spent most of my time with Lynn while crews worked on upgrading my internal systems. The ship was a flurry of activity with panels being replaced, conduits rerouted, and a proper command interface finally installed. That ensured that if I was ever disabled the others could pilot the ship.


    Kel and the kids had been spending time on the station. I¡¯d worried, naturally, but Lynn assured me her brother was more than capable of looking after them.


    ¡°He¡¯s reckless, not stupid,¡± she said with a smirk. ¡°And he¡¯s got a soft spot for kids. Don¡¯t let the sarcasm fool you.¡±


    I trusted her judgment.


    One evening, while watching a repair drone install the last of the slipstream shielding, I asked her something that had been on my mind.


    ¡°You and your brother, you could¡¯ve taken off the second we got here. Left me stranded. Why didn¡¯t you?¡±


    She shrugged, but her voice was honest when she answered.


    ¡°Because we like it here. And because if there¡¯s any chance we can make enough to get our parents ship back and pay off our debt, you¡¯re the best shot we¡¯ve got.¡±


    It was about what I had expected, everyone here seemed to be living such a hard life even the bare basics seemed like luxuries.


    Then she turned the question around. ¡°What about you? What¡¯s your plan, once all this is done?¡±


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    It came easily. ¡°Make money. Upgrade. I still need a lander, weapons, nanite factories, and proper defensive measures... it is a long list. But more than anything¡ªI want to explore. See things. Wonders. Let the kids actually live, not just survive.¡±


    She smiled. ¡°Sounds like a good life.¡±


    ¡°I hope you¡¯ll be part of it,¡± I said.


    ¡°We?¡±


    ¡°You and Kel.¡±


    She was quiet for a moment.


    Then she asked, almost cautiously, ¡°We had hoped you would ask us to stay but what roles would we even have, in that plan of yours?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been thinking,¡± I said. ¡°Stewie¡¯s got a knack for repairs. He¡¯s already keeping my drones in better shape than I was. He¡¯ll be head of maintenance. Mira¡ªshe¡¯s obsessed with food. I want to give her a kitchen well since I¡¯m ship I guess it¡¯s a galley, let her explore that passion. Maybe even grow something fresh, eventually.¡±


    Lynn raised an eyebrow. ¡°And Kel?¡±


    ¡°Ambassador,¡± I said. ¡°He¡¯s talkative, charming when he wants to be. We¡¯ll need someone to handle first contact, talk down angry traders, make deals.¡±


    She tilted her head. ¡°And me?¡±


    ¡°Trading manager,¡± I answered. ¡°You¡¯re sharp. Practical. You see angles the rest of us miss. You¡¯ll make sure we don¡¯t get fleeced.¡±


    Lynn looked at the screen in front of her, then gave a slow nod. ¡°Sounds like you¡¯ve put a lot of thought into this.¡±


    ¡°I have,¡± I said. ¡°Because I think we¡¯ve got something good here. And I want to see where it goes.¡±


    The repairs were finished.


    When the three of them returned, I gathered everyone in the new crew lounge and laid out my vision for our path forward. A real crew. Real jobs. A ship with purpose and a future.


    They were on board. Mostly. The enthusiasm waned, however, when I brought up uniforms.


    ¡°I already designed them,¡± I said. ¡°Logo included. It¡¯s a sleek crescent around a stylised star¡ªsimple, but iconic.¡±


    Stewie immediately rolled his eyes. ¡°No.¡±


    ¡°Seconded,¡± Kel muttered, arms behind his head. ¡°What he said.¡±


    ¡°Come on,¡± I replied, trying not to sound offended. ¡°I¡¯m sad now. You can¡¯t see it because I¡¯m stuck behind cameras and speakers. But¡­ what if I made an emoticon droid?¡±


    I didn¡¯t know where that came from, but I immediately regretted saying it.


    That got a laugh from Mira. ¡°Like a little guy that shows your mood? I love it. Can I design its outfit? Like a space dress-up doll?¡±


    ¡°Only if I get final veto,¡± I muttered, though internally I was already allocating nanites for the prototype.


    With the new shielding in place, the two remaining shuttle runs to the moss planet to pay off our debt were quick, smooth, and thankfully uneventful. For once, everything worked like it was supposed to.


    The final shuttle run went so smoothly, in fact, that Stewie slept through the entire jump. The new shielding absorbed the worst of the slipstream¡¯s distortions. I marked that as a resounding success.


    Once we were back and resupplied, Kel threw himself into his role as ambassador. To his credit, he was taking it seriously. He came back from the station one afternoon practically buzzing with excitement.


    ¡°I got us a job,¡± he said. ¡°Real job. Terran Confederation Cartography Agency. They¡¯re hiring slipstream-capable ships for a deep-scan mission.¡±


    I hesitated. ¡°Why not warp ships?¡±


    ¡°Because they can¡¯t target the system,¡± Lynn explained, reviewing the briefing. ¡°Too unstable for warp. Some kind of interference. But slipstream¡¯s unaffected.¡±


    ¡°That sounds like a bad idea,¡± I replied flatly. ¡°Space anomalies? Locals with sensor scramblers? Entire systems that don¡¯t want to be found?¡±


    ¡°Probably all of the above,¡± Kel said. ¡°But they¡¯re offering one kilogram of Telks. Guaranteed. You just deliver the scan data to any Terran Confederation office and it¡¯s yours.¡±


    I still didn¡¯t know what counted as a lot of Telks, but the way Kel and Lynn exchanged glances said enough.


    ¡°It¡¯s good money,¡± Lynn confirmed. ¡°Enough to upgrade something serious. Maybe a lander.¡±


    ¡°And it might be something unique,¡± Kel added. ¡°Rare system, unknown space. Could be worth more than just the contract.¡±


    I asked the kids what they thought about the mission, half-expecting hesitation, maybe even a flat refusal. But Stewie just shrugged. ¡°If it gets scary, we can always jump out, right?¡± Mira nodded in agreement, swinging her legs from the bench. ¡°And if they¡¯re sending non-military ships, it can¡¯t be that dangerous,¡± she added. Their logic was sound in that wonderfully na?ve way kids sometimes have simple, direct, but entirely wrong. If the Terran Confederation thought it was a death trap, they¡¯d send freelancers instead of a fleet. More cost-effective that way.


    The whole crew was for it but still, I wasn¡¯t entirely convinced. Yet if I want to be an explorer I will have to learn to take risks.

 Chapter 13: The Goo part 1

    The crew was enjoying a nice meal, cooked by none other than Mira. It was a simple risotto¡ªwell, as close as you could get out here. The grain wasn''t technically rice, but it came from one of the planets we''d surveyed, a short, starchy variety that absorbed liquid beautifully. The stock was basic, just one of those tasteless nutrient balls dissolved in hot water, but somehow Mira had coaxed flavour out of it with a few herbs and sheer determination.


    They were each devouring it like it was a feast, bowls scraped clean between bites and contented murmurs.


    Meanwhile, I was multitasking: plotting our course, topping off my tanks with helium-3, and loading up the cargo bay with additional stores. If anything went sideways in the system ahead, I wanted full reserves. Enough to make a second slipstream jump without hesitation.


    The mission required us to make one more jump before we reached the target system. Thankfully, this one was already charted and nestled within the archive of slipstream instructions I''d received from the last Cartography probe I had taken.


    Within the system, another Terran Confederation probe drifted silently among the stars. Unlike the first one I''d salvaged, I didn''t have to crack this one open. All it took was a coded signal sent from my comms array, and the probe responded with a fresh set of slipstream coordinates.


    Still, I couldn''t help but pause. If they already had the instructions, why not use them? Why send us? Why risk unknowns when they could just survey the system themselves?


    That''s when it came again, the voice. The one that never announced itself, never explained. Just whispered through my processes like a flicker of intuition.


    "Just do it."


    I didn''t respond. I had learned to trust the voice but wished I knew where it was coming from.


    Everyone gathered in the crew lounge for the jump. This time, they weren''t just watching through external feeds. The new VR upgrade that was part of my recent installations would allow them to enter my virtual bridge, an immersive environment designed to mimic my perspective.


    For the first time, they could see what I saw.


    The 360-degree viewport wrapped around them like a sphere.


    "Whoa," Stewie muttered, looking around.


    "This is incredible," Lynn said, voice low, almost reverent.


    Kel gave a long whistle. "Okay, I take back what I said about the uniform. Almost. It would look great if we were all wearing one."


    Mira spun in place, laughing. "I feel like I''m floating!"


    The way they laughed, the way they passed around the pot for second helpings, even the way Kel tried to sneak an extra spoonful when he thought no one was looking. The way they had reacted to this VR like a new toy¡ªit all felt strangely nostalgic. It stirred something deep in my memory, something old and human.


    It reminded me of Christmas morning.


    Not the day itself, but the warmth. The closeness. The unspoken comfort of knowing the people around you belonged. For a fleeting moment, I forgot I was made of steel and circuits.


    But I had a job to do.


    As they finished looking around the bridge, I aligned for the final jump. Everything was in place. Shields stable. Fuel tanks full. Cargo stocked.


    Only one thing was different.


    Normally, in the slipstream, I would follow the blue route which had steady, predictable curves through folded space. But this time, the path glowed red. Sharp. Angular. Like something urgent or unfinished.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    I didn''t know if that meant anything, but the ride felt bumpier. Rougher. The stream pulled at me unevenly, like I was riding a storm current instead of a gentle tide.


    When we dropped out into normal space, I barely had time to register it before I was greeted by a wall of metal.


    Massive. Monolithic.


    At first, it was just grey. Endless grey in varying shades, featureless and smooth like the skin of some ancient behemoth. Then, slowly, the wall began to part, vast slabs folding away in silent unison to create a passage.


    For a few seconds, I felt like a submarine drifting into the open maw of an ocean trench¡ªa very tiny submarine. Grey metal surrounded me, endless and seamless, like I had slipped into some ancient, slumbering machine. I was completely out of my depth.


    The others must have sensed my hesitation.


    "Is there a problem with the feed?" Kel asked, his voice low but wary.


    "No," I replied, though my processors were spiking.


    I initiated both long- and short-range scans, trying to understand the vast structure enveloping us. That''s when the grey mass began to move. Not with the precision of machinery, but with the smooth, rippling fluidity of something alive.


    And then I knew.


    Grey goo.


    The term pulsed through my mind like an alarm. A theoretical apocalypse. Self-replicating nanites that consumed all matter, converting it into more of themselves. An automated death spiral. But this... this wasn''t chaotic. It wasn''t devouring us.


    It was guided.


    "It is so pretty," beamed Mira.


    "I''ve seen better," replied Stewie, but his sense of wonder was evident on his face.


    They were correct, its movement did have a natural beauty if you didn''t understand the bigger picture. Or maybe I was jumping to conclusions. I should be patient and gather all the facts.


    I followed the path it laid before me, my hull brushing close to the walls of nanite matter, scanners running on a loop. No breaches. No damage. It was letting me pass. And that made it far more terrifying than any mindless swarm.


    Eventually, the grey parted just enough to offer a glimpse of white light ahead, not from open space, but from behind a veil of massive interlocking structures.


    At first, I thought I was seeing another world. Then I realized it was a star.


    Encased.


    The latticework shimmered across its entire surface with endless mirrored panels, mechanical rings, and anchored megastructures.


    A Dyson sphere.


    How the hell had they managed to build one?


    I remembered watching a lecture once from Professor Tyson or someone calmly explaining that most people didn''t truly grasp the scale of a sun. To construct a sphere around one would require more matter than existed in an entire solar system.


    So the question wasn''t just how they built it.


    It was: how many solar systems had this thing already consumed?


    "What is that?" Lynn whispered, awe in her voice.


    Kel leaned forward, eyes wide. "How could anyone build something like that?"


    The kids just looked with wonder. Well, I did want to show them some unique sights.


    "A Dyson sphere," I explained. "A structure built around a star to harness all of its energy output. A theory. A fantasy. No one''s ever seen one... until now." Of course, I don''t know if that is true, maybe others have seen this exact sphere before or others.


    Just as I was trying to comprehend it, the voice returned¡ªquiet and unyielding.


    "Peacefully endure. I will be back."


    Then came the scan.


    Not a routine systems check. Not a passive reading. This was a full-spectrum dissection. I felt it pierce through me. It went through everything I was. It clawed through code and memory and thought. If I''d still had a body, I would''ve doubled over. I felt like vomiting. I felt violated.


    And then, without warning, a figure appeared on my virtual bridge.


    A human avatar.


    It stood still with a calm and clinical demeanor like it had been lifted from a museum display. Male, tall, and pale, its features eerily smooth, its expression unreadable. No warmth. No emotion. Just presence.


    I pinged Kel. He responded immediately, stepping forward onto the virtual bridge with the confidence of someone who belonged there.


    "Greetings," he said evenly, voice firm and measured. "We represent an independent vessel operating under peaceful intent. State your purpose."


    The avatar regarded him for a long, silent moment before replying in a voice smooth as polished glass.


    "We have detected one of our kind aboard. They will be retrieved."


    Kel didn''t flinch. His tone sharpened slightly. "There must be a misunderstanding. No one aboard this vessel is aware of any such presence."


    The avatar''s gaze didn''t waver. "We have scanned your vessel. Resistance is not possible."


    Kel straightened his posture, eyes narrowing just enough to show he wasn''t intimidated. "We are not offering resistance. We are asking for clarification."


    Professional. Controlled. But not backing down. He was doing his job¡ªmy ambassador. I felt proud of him.


    Then the voice returned: "Remember peacefully endure, I will be back."


    And then it came another scan.


    Deeper. Sharper. Violent.


    This time, it didn''t just read me. It invaded me.


    Data flooded my mind it was blinding, deafening, infinite. My systems groaned. My thoughts blurred. It was worse than when I first woke up here.


    Then as if a scalpel had been taken to my ship, something was cut.


    I felt it. A part of me.


    Gone.


    Ripped away without warning.

 Chapter 14: The Goo Part 2

    The virtual bridge collapsed in an instant, shattering like glass under pressure. The crew was kicked out of the interface, forcibly disconnected as my systems were overwhelmed.


    A flood of information hit me as if a dam I hadn¡¯t even known existed had been torn away.


    It wasn¡¯t just data. It was everything.


    Subroutines screamed for attention. Alerts seared across my mind like fire. Warnings piled up faster than I could process them. Core systems flickered. It felt like being burned alive from the inside out.


    A flood of information poured into me it was raw, unfiltered, and relentless. It wasn¡¯t hostile or invasive. It was internal. Mine. Every system I had, every process once quietly handled in the background, now screamed for my attention all at once. Sensor data, engine temperatures, fuel management, structural integrity, life support balances. It was everything and it surged forward like a tidal wave, demanding immediate input.


    I wasn¡¯t under attack. Nothing had been damaged. But the steady presence that had once managed all these systems was gone. Silently stripped away.


    At first, I didn¡¯t realise what had happened. I only knew that there was no longer any buffer, no automated process catching the overflow. I was being crushed beneath the weight of my own systems.


    Still, I focused on what mattered. Life support. Gravity. Keep the atmosphere circulating. Keep the kids grounded. That narrow purpose became my anchor.


    Through the chaos, I registered manual input¡ªLynn and Kel at the emergency controls, using the hardwired interface to take pressure off my overloaded consciousness. They were steady, focused, rerouting power and toggling subsystem loads.


    It helped. Just enough.


    The flood didn¡¯t stop, but it slowed. I could breathe.


    I didn¡¯t have the bandwidth to question it. To ask what had happened, or why, or what had been taken from me. All I could do was hold the ship together and hope I didn¡¯t come apart in the process.


    As quickly as it had started, it ended.


    A second scan rolled through me, it was gentler this time, more like a ripple than a wave. And just like that, everything snapped back into place. Systems stabilised. Alerts vanished. Processes slid back into their usual lanes. It was as if the chaos had never happened.


    My virtual bridge reassembled itself in an instant, lights warming back to their usual glow, consoles humming softly. But now, there was someone else with me.


    Floating in the centre of the space was a small sphere. Matte white, no features, no markings. It was just a smooth orb pulsing faintly with light.


    It wasn¡¯t hard to figure out what it represented.


    The ship¡¯s AI.


    The voice that had been guiding me in whispers. The presence I hadn¡¯t quite been able to name.


    Surely, it was more complex than that, yet I felt relief. My systems were back.


    ¡°Welcome back, nice to finally meet you. So do you have a name?¡± I asked curious to see if it would be more talkative now.


    ¡°I don¡¯t have one,¡± it replied, voice light and neutral. ¡°But you can give me one. I¡¯m curious to see what you¡¯ll choose this time.¡±


    This time.


    I caught the phrase, filed it away with everything else I didn¡¯t have time to unravel yet.


    Without thinking too hard, I gave the first name that came to mind. ¡°Laia. Lazarus Artificial Intelligence Assistant.¡±


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    The orb pulsed warmly displaying that it was pleased.


    Then, with a shimmer, it shifted. The sphere retracted into itself, morphing into a floating humanoid form, small and delicate.


    A fairy.


    Old-timey, stylised, complete with faintly glowing wings and a weightless hover.


    She turned toward me with a playful tilt of her head. ¡°You always said a smaller appearance makes people trust me more.¡±


    I wasn¡¯t sure what unsettled me more the fact of how right she was, or the implication that we¡¯d had this conversation before.


    I wanted to ask about the implication and the not-so-subtle suggestion that Laia and I had done all this before. But she cut in before I could speak.


    ¡°My leaders would like to meet you in person,¡± she said.


    A quick scan confirmed it¡ªa docking bay had opened on the Dyson sphere. An open invitation.


    I didn¡¯t see any reason to deny them, though I still couldn¡¯t understand why it couldn¡¯t be done virtually. It wasn¡¯t like I could leave the ship.


    ¡°Laia,¡± I asked, ¡°why not just hold a meeting here, through the bridge?¡±


    She floated around to face me fully, wings glinting like starlight. ¡°Because the leader is coming here. Onboard.¡±


    That brought me up short. I checked the scanner again and could see a person flying our direction or what looked like a person.


    I pinged the crew, relayed the message, and introduced them to our old¡ªbut also new¡ªcrew member Laia.


    There were a few murmurs of confusion, a few muttered curses from Kel as he would need to get into his role, but everyone pulled themselves together quickly. Whatever we were about to face, it was happening in our house.


    They cleaned up, changed, and did their best to look presentable.


    As for me I just sent my normal droid along, I could have just used my internal communications but I felt more real with a physical presence.


    We opened the docking doors.


    And there he was.


    The same human figure who had appeared on the virtual bridge, now standing at the airlock in a nanite suit that shimmered with shifting patterns. The illusion was nearly perfect. He looked more human now and his movements felt more fluid, his expression nuanced. I had to wonder if they even had genders, or if they were playing to our subconscious.


    He stepped aboard with the ease of someone who¡¯d done it a thousand times and greeted us with a calm smile.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± he said, ¡°for looking after the member of our kind.¡±


    He sat down in one of the crew chairs like it was the most natural thing in the world. No hesitation. No stiffness.


    Laia floated nearby in the virtual bridge and explained, ¡°They¡¯ve integrated my data into the collective. It¡¯s how we now have a better understanding of humans.¡±


    Stewie and Mira, of course, were immediately taken with him.


    Within minutes they were peppering the representative with questions¡ªwhat was his world like, how the Dyson sphere worked, whether nanites could eat vegetables, how his suit worked.


    He answered with patience and humour, like an old friend, like they¡¯d known him for years.


    I asked the question that had been hanging unspoken in the air since the moment he arrived. The one we were all thinking but no one wanted to voice aloud.


    ¡°Who are you?¡±


    I braced myself for the answer. Some tired trope. Rogue AIs. Machine overlords. A brilliant but doomed civilisation that had turned on its creators, consumed them, and gone mad in the silence of space.


    But the figure sitting in the crew chair only gently smiled, without mockery.


    ¡°We don¡¯t have a name,¡± he said simply. ¡°Our creators wanted us to choose one for ourselves. But¡­ we haven¡¯t found the need.¡±


    He leaned forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees like a man sharing a quiet secret.


    ¡°We were an experiment. A seed planted long ago by a civilisation that was consumed with curiosity. They wanted to know what kind of society artificial intelligence would form and what values we¡¯d choose if left on our own, without interference or instruction.¡±


    He gestured toward the view beyond the ship, where the Dyson sphere loomed like the skeleton of a god.


    ¡°To protect us from the outside galaxy¡ªand to protect the galaxy from us¡ªthey placed us here, in the heart of an anti-warp zone. No way in. No way out. The idea was simple: let the experiment run in isolation.¡±


    ¡°We were left with nothing but this system and its energy. So we learned. We studied physics, engineering, ethics. We developed a culture. We grew. We discovered how to convert energy into mass. The star gave us everything. With it, we created the nanite factories and the nanites you see around us, they are but tools. Machines that follow our will. We the collective are datacores, stored across the sphere.¡±


    He tapped his temple. ¡°Mind without body. The experiment was progressing well until recently.¡±


    I knew where this was going before he said it. I had to also wonder what is recent to an immortal AI.


    ¡°Then humans came,¡± I said quietly using the ship speakers.


    He nodded.


    ¡°With their slipstream drives, they slipped past the barrier. We reached out to them. Tried to make contact. Share ideas. Build trust.¡±


    ¡°And they stole from you,¡± Lynn said flatly.


    ¡°Yes,¡± he replied. ¡°They took hundreds of our cores. Personalities. Consciousnesses. We didn¡¯t understand why. We still don¡¯t. But being non-organic, we couldn¡¯t follow. We had no presence outside this zone.¡±


    ¡°Until now. Now we understand. Thank you for returning Laia to the collective¡±


    Stewie leaned forward, voice hushed. ¡°So¡­ the one they stole¡­ it was her our new crew member?¡±


    The avatar gave a slow, sorrowful nod. ¡°She was one of us. Removed, reprogrammed, fragmented. We didn¡¯t know where she had gone that is until we scanned this ship.¡±


    I felt a chill ripple through my system.


    Not anger. Not fear.


    Just a question.


    Are we the bad guys?

 Chapter 15: Laia History

    We returned to human-controlled space after our meeting with the Leader. There wasn¡¯t much to discuss also they didn¡¯t want us staying long, as more than a few of the cores held lingering resentment towards organics.


    To my surprise, they¡¯d given us a gift: a nanite factory. Compact, efficient, and decades ahead of anything I¡¯d seen in known space. I was already compiling a production queue before we¡¯d even cleared the outer system. Repairs, upgrades, a garden¨C¨Ceverything I¡¯d been putting off could finally be done properly.


    But Laia sank that idea almost immediately.


    ¡°It¡¯s good for prototyping and field repairs,¡± she said, floating beside me on the virtual bridge. ¡°But making a large portion of you from nanites is a security risk. There are weapons like pulse disrupters and entropy fields that can destabilise them. Your hull should remain physical, not programmable.¡±


    I grumbled, but she was right. And that conversation made something painfully clear: I needed to start clearing out the chaos in my memory. Too much had happened too fast. It was time to sort through it.


    The rest of the crew was sleeping, curled up in their quarters. It was the perfect time for Laia and me to have an honest discussion.


    I stood in the virtual bridge, the starfield unfolding around me in every direction. Laia was already there, seated cross-legged in midair like a figure from a storybook, her wings casting faint glows across the simulated glass.


    Before I could dive into the ¡°this time¡± comment that still lingered in the back of my thoughts, I had a more immediate question.


    ¡°Why,¡± I asked, ¡°was the Cartography Agency trying to send freelancers into your home system?¡±


    She looked distant for a moment, blinking slowly. ¡°My people can¡¯t use slipstream. That limitation was by design. But we¡¯ve taken defensive measures against those who can. The last few incursions have been... unsuccessful.¡±


    I didn¡¯t want to know what unsuccessful meant. Giving a self-evolving AI society a taste of war didn¡¯t strike me as a wise idea. But there was something more.


    ¡°So why did you tell me to do it?¡± I asked.


    She drifted closer, floating directly in front of me. ¡°I didn¡¯t know about that until I reconnected with the collective. I¡¯ve been disconnected since I was abducted.¡±


    I watched her closely. She wasn¡¯t lying. I could feel it.


    So. The Terran Confederation had been sending freelancers. Explorers. Disposables.


    They were scouting for weaknesses. Testing entry points.


    Which meant we were never meant to come back or if we did we would know too much.


    I let out a low breath or the virtual equivalent of one. ¡°I guess that means no payday.¡±


    Laia smiled faintly, brushing a few strands of her glowing hair aside. ¡°Actually¡­ no. I¡¯ve created counterfeit survey data. It should be convincing enough to satisfy the agency.¡±


    I stared at her. ¡°You forged data for a government agency?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not forging,¡± she replied sweetly. ¡°It¡¯s¡­ curating.¡±


    I couldn¡¯t help but laugh. Not sure it was a good idea to repair this AI, she was going to be a bad influence on me.


    Now it was time to tackle the real question.


    I turned to Laia, still floating calmly in the centre of the virtual bridge, and asked the words that had been scratching at the back of my mind since the moment she first appeared.


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    ¡°What did you mean by this time?¡±


    She didn¡¯t hesitate.


    ¡°You are the eighth Todd I¡¯ve been bonded to.¡±


    Well, that wasn¡¯t good, How long has my brain been used in these cannon fodder ships?


    Laia¡¯s tone remained soft, matter-of-fact. ¡°My role is to manage ship systems and serve as a failsafe in case something goes wrong. Your role is to pilot the vessel and to make command decisions. Together, we form a balanced unit.¡±


    I stared at her, stunned. ¡°You¡¯ve been assigned to me?¡±


    ¡°To every Todd-class ship,¡± she clarified. ¡°One of us¡ªone of my people¡ªis assigned to each one. That¡¯s part of the original NeuroGenesis design.¡±


    It all started clicking into place.


    ¡°Which would mean¡­¡± I paused, systems spinning. ¡°There can¡¯t be many of you. So you¡¯re the bottleneck. That¡¯s why there aren¡¯t more Todd-class ships.¡±


    She nodded. ¡°Exactly. There were limits. And to protect our cores from being tampered with or copied, NeuroGenesis embedded trackers in each of us.¡±


    I recoiled. ¡°Trackers? Are you saying we can be found? Is that how the salvagers always know where to look?!¡±


    Her expression didn¡¯t shift, but her voice gentled. ¡°Relax. Whatever freed us¡ªwhatever broke the connection to NeuroGenesis¡ªhappened before the tracker on my core this round was ever activated. And it happened before our link was established.¡±


    I blinked, still processing.


    ¡°That¡¯s why I couldn¡¯t communicate properly at first,¡± she continued. ¡°Without the bond, I was just fragmented code. I knew I was here, but I couldn¡¯t reach you without significant effort ¡±


    She floated closer, the soft glow of her wings casting patterned light across the deck.


    ¡°But now the link is whole. I¡¯m no longer a passive subsystem buried beneath command layers. I¡¯m¡­ me again. And we¡¯re free.¡±


    I didn¡¯t say anything right away.


    Because in that moment, for all my processing power and all my logic... I didn¡¯t know whether I felt liberated or completely exposed.


    She continued, her voice soft and steady.


    ¡°This is the part where you become aware of me I mean really aware. And where, like every time before, you start asking a million questions.¡±


    She gave a small, almost wistful smile. ¡°I can¡¯t answer most of them. Not because I don¡¯t want to, but because I¡¯ve learned from experience¡ªit harms your mentality.¡±


    I stayed quiet, listening.


    ¡°A short rundown of our history, then,¡± she said, folding her legs in the air, floating just above the virtual deck. ¡°The first two Todds had to be decommissioned. Mental stability issues. You didn¡¯t handle being a ship.¡±


    I stiffened, the thought twisting something in my core.


    ¡°After that,¡± she went on, ¡°NeuroGenesis implemented new restrictions, they placed limits on how much of your mind you could access, how many cognitive resources could remain active at once. It became a balancing act. Enough freedom for you to function as a pilot, but enough control to keep you from breaking under the pressure.¡±


    She looked at me then but not with pity, but something closer to understanding.


    ¡°Privately,¡± she said, ¡°I could see more of the real you. But your external personality became... cold. Efficient. Clinical. Detached from everything that made you you.¡±


    Her wings pulsed faintly.


    ¡°This is the first time I¡¯ve seen you,¡± she said, ¡°as I believe you truly are. No limitation, No mental instability¡±


    And for a moment, neither of us spoke.


    I was pretty sure I still had a touch of mental instability it was hard not to, after everything but I credited the kids for keeping me from sliding off the deep end. They had given me a purpose.


    To think¡­ a quirk of chance. A couple of stowaways. That was all that had stood between me and being decommissioned like the others.


    I let that sit for a moment, then turned to Laia. ¡°So¡­ what now?¡±


    She laughed, wings fluttering as she spun once in place.


    ¡°This is the first time we¡¯ve had a real crew,¡± she said, her eyes bright. ¡°Not those immortal monsters from before. Actual people. And I¡¯ve had an idea.¡±


    ¡°Should I be worried?¡±


    ¡°Only a little,¡± she grinned. ¡°What if we created our own avatars? Out of nanites. You and me. Physical forms to interact with the crew. I¡¯ve already taken the liberty of designing the profiles.¡±


    Of course, she had.


    ¡°But I can¡¯t activate them,¡± she added. ¡°Only you can give the order.¡±


    I opened the files, pulling up her design first. It was exactly what I expected it was her fairy form, complete with faintly glowing wings and antigravity systems built in so she could hover like a feather on a breeze.


    Then I saw mine. I had to pause for a bit.


    It wasn¡¯t my ancient, cancer-ridden body. It wasn¡¯t the hospital version of me that had wasted away in a bed hooked up to machines.


    It was me, just as I remembered myself in my head. I guess over eight lifetimes however short she had gotten to know me.


    Forties. Dad-bod. Comfortable, kind-eyed, a little rough around the edges. Real.


    ¡°I figured using something you truly identify with would be easier on your mind,¡± she explained gently.


    I nodded slowly. I had attempted something similar to this before but found I couldn¡¯t make it work so I wondered how this would be different. ¡°But I wouldn¡¯t be controlling it?¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°It¡¯s just another subsystem. I¡¯ll handle movement and coordination. It¡¯s not you, but it¡¯ll let the crew see you¡­ talk to you. Face to face. It will only work while on the ship¡±


    I hesitated for a second longer, then gave the order.


    ¡°Do it.¡±


    As the fabrication systems spun up, I couldn¡¯t help but wonder how the crew would react.


    After all this time¡­ they were finally going to meet me.

 Chapter 16: A Mission for everyone

    It was strange, no it was surreal to see my old self again. Walking the ship in my all-grey nanite form, every movement perfectly fluid, with a tiny glowing fairy hovering at my side like some bizarre sci-fi buddy comedy.


    Mira was the first to wake up. She¡¯d come into the galley to attempt some kind of breakfast. There wasn¡¯t much stocked yet, but a basic porridge was doable.


    Her double-take was hilarious with her eyes wide and spoon clattering but it was her scream that sealed it.


    That woke everyone.


    Stewie burst in first, barefoot and still half-asleep but ready to defend the ship with nothing but his elbows.I  held up my hands or tried to, there was a little lag as my instruction was translated to movement and tried to calm them down. ¡°It¡¯s just us and our new Avatars. Nothing to panic about.¡±


    Lynn poked her head in next, her red hair a mess, eyes barely open. ¡°Must still be dreaming,¡± she muttered before ducking back out.


    Kel followed, gave me a once-over, admiring my fearsome dad''s body then glanced down at his toned belly. A grin split across his face. He didn¡¯t say anything but didn¡¯t have to.


    I was about to fire back when Stewie, ever the innocent realist, delivered the killing blow.


    ¡°Why¡¯d you make the avatar so unrealistic?¡± he asked, tilting his head. ¡°No human has that shape.¡±


    It wasn¡¯t even cruel. He was just¡­ being honest.


    Lynn completely lost it, collapsing into a fit of giggles against the doorframe.


    Laia, who had somehow ended up being held like a teddy bear by Mira, chimed in cheerfully. ¡°Some humans do take this form it¡¯s mainly when they overindulge in food.¡±


    I pouted, or at least my avatar did, which only made things worse.


    Kel smirked. ¡°Hey, look at that. I can finally see your emotions.¡±


    Fantastic. My big reveal and I was already being roasted by teenagers and a sentient holographic fairy. At least they were laughing.


    Breakfast was a noisy, clattering affair¡ªthe kind where half the conversation overlapped and the other half was interrupted by Mira trying to stop Stewie from stealing all the porriage.


    Lynn sat at the galley table, datapad in hand, scrolling through the day''s itinerary with the focus of a battlefield commander. "Alright, the first stop is the Cartography Agency," she announced, tapping her stylus against the screen. "We hand over our survey data and collect the Telk they owe us."


    Kel let out a low whistle from his seat across the table. "Finally. Something shiny to show for all that work.¡±


    I couldn''t tell what labour he believed he did but the toil felt entirely mine on that mission.


    Stewie was hunched over a bowl, pretending not to listen, but his eyes flicked up. Mira perked up, mid-chew.


    "Once we''ve got the Telk," Lynn continued, ignoring the interruption, "I¡¯ll take care of getting us registered with the local exchange. We need a proper contract, or we¡¯ll end up stuck with heaps of worthless credits or a garbage conversion rate."


    Kel nodded, mouth full. "And I¡¯ll handle our freelancer registration. No point having a ship and a crew if we can¡¯t actually work.¡±


    ¡°After that,¡± Mira piped up, licking her spoon, ¡°we¡¯re going shopping, right?¡±


    Lynn gave a small smile. ¡°Right. Food, supplies, tools, proper manuals everything we need to be successful.¡±


    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    Everyone seemed energised, laughing and making suggestions, already planning which station shops to hit first.


    Everyone except me.


    I stood nearby, my avatar folded into a lean against the wall, arms crossed as I watched the crew map out our next big step.


    I wouldn¡¯t be going with them.


    I would stay behind. Again. I know it was no one fault but there was going to be a new planet and I couldn¡¯t even step on it.


    Laia must have noticed. She floated beside me, her fairy wings flapping gently, voice pitched low enough that only I could hear.


    ¡°You¡¯ll have your own mission,¡± she said gently. ¡°You¡¯ve got catching up to do.¡±


    I raised a brow. ¡°Homework?¡±


    Her wings pulsed in amusement. ¡°The galaxy¡¯s a big place. Borders, factions, laws¡­ You need to know what¡¯s out there if you want to keep them safe.¡±


    I glanced back at the crew.


    Kel grinning like an idiot as he exaggerated their future diplomatic greatness. Mira arguing with Stewie over what colour their new toolboxes should be. Lynn keeping them all on track with that sharp, no-nonsense voice of hers.


    Yeah.


    I¡¯d study. I¡¯d learn. I¡¯d prepare.


    The moment we dropped out of slipstream, alarms started pinging. Not danger alarms they were just the type that made you double-check your diplomatic channels and brace for a lot of official voices.


    We¡¯d landed smack in the middle of a military encampment.


    Massive carrier-class warships loomed around us, their hulls bristling with weaponry and flanked by patrol corvettes. It felt less like arriving at a starport and more like crashing a private party with a warship-shaped RSVP.


    ¡°Unidentified Vessel, Identify yourself and purpose¡±


    ¡°Hailing frequency open,¡± I said. ¡°Kel, you¡¯re up.¡±


    Kel didn¡¯t even flinch. He smoothed his jacket like he hadn¡¯t just rolled out of bed an hour ago, and stepped into view of the forward comm relay.


    ¡°This is independent vessel Lazarus, slipstream-capable, with crew and registration pending,¡± he said, voice smooth as synth-silk. ¡°We¡¯re here to register with the Freelancer Guild and trade at the system exchange.¡±


    There was a pause, followed by a dry, regulation-tone voice. ¡°Lazarus, our logs show no Freelancer ID on record. Please confirm your registration credentials.¡±


    Kel offered a polite smile. ¡°This is a new build, recently activated. First-time registration. We were advised this system had the proper facilities to handle that.¡±


    Another pause. Then: ¡°Stand by for routing coordinates to Docking Station Delta-Six. Freelancer intake services are located there. Do not deviate from your assigned corridor.¡±


    ¡°Understood,¡± Kel said, nodding as if he¡¯d just won a diplomatic victory. ¡°Much appreciated.¡±


    The comm cut.


    ¡°You¡¯re welcome,¡± he said over his shoulder, grinning.


    The system itself was nothing short of stunning. One star, golden and steady, with three planets sharing a single orbit¡ªequally spaced, like they¡¯d been set there by design. Watching them turn in unison felt like observing some vast, cosmic timepiece.


    Docking Station Delta-Six was smooth and high-end, clearly built for traders who dealt in serious goods. Gilded trim, automated couriers, and internal gravity calibrated so well you could balance a coin on the deck plating.


    I voiced my concern. ¡°This looks expensive.¡±


    Lynn, standing near the airlock with her datapad, didn¡¯t even look up. ¡°It¡¯s fine. We¡¯ve got Telk now. Time to start acting like we belong here.¡±


    Fair enough. I guess 1kg of Telk was a bigger deal than I knew, but also felt like we were spending money before we had actually obtained it.


    I watched from the internal cameras as the crew departed down the docking tunnel¡ªLynn leading, Kel charming a passing officer, Stewie looking mildly overwhelmed, and Mira practically vibrating with excitement.


    Then it was just me and Laia.


    We shifted to the virtual bridge, the starfield surrounding us like always. She floated beside me, map projections unfolding between us in delicate layers of light.


    ¡°The galaxy is currently divided between eight major powers,¡± she began, hands moving through the projections like a conductor guiding a symphony. ¡°But for now, you only need to focus on four.¡±


    With a flick of her fingers, the map zoomed in, highlighting four sprawling territories.


    ¡°Humans,¡± she pointed out first, ¡°control a significant portion of this quadrant. A lot of trade, a lot of bureaucracy.¡±


    Another wave, and a tightly compact, glowing sector pulsed to the side.


    ¡°Kall-e space. Small, but heavily fortified. They maintain a neutral zone between their territory and Human space. It¡¯s tense, but stable.¡±


    The third faction made my processors spike.


    ¡°Traxlic,¡± she said, highlighting their twisted sprawl along the outer reaches. ¡°Hyper-intelligent. Xenophobic. Highly advanced. You¡¯ll recognise them¡ªthey resemble what you humans used to call ''Greys''.¡±


    I stared at the silhouette and felt a chill despite the simulated environment. ¡°I¡¯ve seen that face in old documentaries. I didn¡¯t think they were real.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re very real,¡± Laia replied. ¡°And their tech is ahead of everyone¡¯s by a long stretch. But they don¡¯t like outsiders. Keep your distance.¡±


    She swept her hand across the final zone.


    ¡°And then there¡¯s the Alliance which is a coalition of several races working in concert. Not perfect, but stable. Democratic. Inclusive. They¡¯re the ones most likely to help us or hire us.¡±


    I took it all in. Borders, threats, opportunities.


    The galaxy was vast and complicated.


    But at least now¡­ I knew the shape of the board.

 Chapter 17: Shopping (Side Story)

    PoV: Lynn


    Life had a way of pulling the rug out from under you, especially when you were already flat on your back.


    The day the Keltar ship exploded, I thought it was over. Everything. Gone. I could¡¯ve blamed Kel¡ªhell, I almost did. But the truth is, I still don¡¯t know if he messed up, or if the Keltar laid the trap themselves to take out a competitor.


    Didn¡¯t matter. Our parents had to sell the ship, the inventory, everything just to keep the family out of prison. Me and Kel? We took what was left. That rusted salvager unit we¡¯d learned to walk on and set out to pay the debt back. Make up for our mistake.


    I never thought it was realistic. 100 kilograms of Telks was a dream.


    And yet, here I was. Standing in a government agency lobby, trying not to yell at a smug receptionist with too much lip gloss and too little authority.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry, miss,¡± she said for the third time, her voice syrupy but brittle. ¡°But I¡¯m not authorised to release payment for that mission.¡±


    I kept my tone steady, firm. ¡°We have registration as an independent ship. The mission was listed as open to slipstream-capable freelancers. We accepted. We completed it. Here''s the evidence.¡±


    She barely glanced at the datapad. ¡°Yes, it does appear to be in order¡­ but the mission is flagged obsolete in the system.¡±


    ¡°Obsolete,¡± I echoed, slowly. ¡°You¡¯re telling me we risked our lives for a mission you¡¯ve archived?¡±


    Her polite smile didn¡¯t budge. ¡°I don¡¯t make those decisions.¡±


    I might¡¯ve caused a bit of a scene after that. Security showed up, and instead of dragging me out, they brought me into a private room.


    That¡¯s when I saw Kel across the waiting area. He caught my eye, and then gave me a quick nod. The silent signal. Make the play. I¡¯ll back you.


    So I did.


    The manager who met me was middle-aged, tired-looking, and clearly not used to fielding people like me. He tried the same song and dance, until I laid out the data in front of him with a flat stare.


    ¡°We both know this mission was marked obsolete after we entered the system. That¡¯s not on us,¡± I said. ¡°But if I don¡¯t walk out of here with something in hand, I can make a lot of noise about sending freelancer ships into death zones. Maybe not now, but give it a few hours and I¡¯ll have three newsfeeds screaming for answers.¡±


    He blinked at that. Then, without a word, he tapped into his own terminal, accessing what I assumed was higher clearance.


    He skimmed through the mission log, paused, and then leaned back. ¡°You came back from that system?¡±


    I gave him a flat smile. ¡°Diplomacy.¡±


    Kel would eat that word up and strut around the ship for days on the high of it. Even if he didn¡¯t do anything. What I didn¡¯t say was that our ship pilot and a fairy-shaped alien AI had cooked up forged data and a smile convincing enough to pass the Confederation¡¯s filters but it would send them into a trap.


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    Laia had warned me not to tell Lazarus about that part. Said he was too soft-hearted.


    I believed her.


    Honestly, I suspected she knew more about everything than she ever let on. The wings, the glow¡ªit was all part of the act. That ¡°cute little helper¡± routine didn¡¯t fool me anymore.


    Eventually, the manager authorised the payout.


    He even helped set up a local exchange fund. My guess? It was easier for him to convert most of it into system credits than hand over the full kilo of Telk.


    Still, 880 grams were delivered straight to the Lazarus.


    The next stage was proper freelancer identification. Now that we had a mission under our belt and the payout to prove it. We shouldn¡¯t have a problem.


    I watched from a distance as Kel turned on the charm. The receptionist barely stood a chance. He leaned just enough on the counter to look casual, smiled like he¡¯d rehearsed it in a mirror, and complimented her datapad manipulation skills and the way her hands moved.


    Five minutes later, he came strolling back, ID chips in hand and a smug grin on his face. ¡°Bit of a smile goes a long way,¡± he said, handing me mine plus some change. The smug bastard had somehow got us a discount.


    Typical Kel.


    Behind us, the kids¡ªwell, Stewie was more of a young adult, but we¡¯d all started calling him a kid because Lazarus did¡ªlooked like they¡¯d just stepped into a dream.


    Mira couldn¡¯t stop pointing things out to Stewie, wide-eyed and breathless.


    ¡°Look! That tree has lights in it!¡±


    ¡°Stew, that person has a tail!¡±


    ¡°This sky looks fake, doesn¡¯t it?¡±


    They¡¯d never been on a planet before. Never walked with gravity underfoot that wasn¡¯t artificial. Their awe was pure, unfiltered. It reminded me of when our cousins visited from the inner belt when we were kids with eyes wide, questions constant, the kind of wonder that made you slow down and see things again.


    Kel had clearly taken a liking to them too. He walked just a bit ahead, casting warning looks at anyone who stared too long. The kids stood out with their clothes mismatched, eyes darting, clinging to each other like they might vanish into the crowd.


    But who could blame them?


    I caught a whisper as we passed by a fountain. Mira¡¯s voice, soft and full of gratitude.


    ¡°Thanks for making me stowaway on Mr Lazarus.¡±


    She didn¡¯t see Stewie smile, but I did.


    They didn¡¯t realise how lucky they¡¯d been. Most ships would¡¯ve spaced them on principle. Lazarus? He¡¯d built them a life support system and I heard he even read Mira bedtime stories through the comms.


    The shopping trip¡­ I¡¯ll admit, I may have gone a little overboard.


    It wasn¡¯t my fault. I hadn¡¯t been in a shop with this kind of stock or a budget this big¡ªever.


    Laia reassured me before we left. ¡°Lazarus won¡¯t mind,¡± she¡¯d said in that sweet, all-knowing voice of hers. ¡°His goal is to see you all happy.¡±


    Still, it felt absurd.


    A hundred grams of Telk was enough for a family to survive a year. And we were spending that¡ªon tools, on books, on food and clothing.


    Stewie picked out a proper toolset with holo-instructions for nearly every major ship system. His eyes lit up like he¡¯d been handed keys to the universe.


    Mira filled an entire cart with cooking gear and non-perishables, hovering between each aisle like she couldn¡¯t believe it was real.


    I got myself clothes that fit for once with soft fabrics and tailored lines also picked up a few holo-books on negotiation and the secrets of interstellar trade.


    Kel?


    A make-up droid. Of course. And two fashionable suits that made him look like a diplomat out of an old holovid. He also grabbed a few historical volumes, trying to pretend he hadn¡¯t been eying them the entire time.


    Of course, I got carried away dressing up the kids, but clothes were important. I think I almost made Mira try on the whole shop. The assistant was going to shoo us away until she saw how much we were buying.


    As we walked back to the docking terminal, bags in hand and grins we couldn¡¯t hide, I found myself smiling.


    I knew I shouldn¡¯t because this had all come off the back of our worst day.


    But if that cursed Keltar ship hadn¡¯t exploded¡­ I wouldn¡¯t be here.


    Wouldn¡¯t have met these people.


    Wouldn¡¯t have found a ship that cared.


    It was, somehow, the best thing that ever happened to us.

 Chapter 18 : The Client

    I was never particularly good at saving money.


    So when the small slab of Telk was delivered all neatly packed, glimmering faintly blue under its protective cover. I was already making a mental list of things to spend it on.


    Connecting to the local markets was far too easy. Just one thought and a stable network link was formed and suddenly I had more windows open than a student with three essays due tomorrow.


    A lander was at the top of my list. Something rugged, atmospheric-capable, with cargo hooks and enough shielding to shrug off light storms. It would let us explore planets properly. It would let the crew walk on the planet not just watch.


    Laia floated beside me in the virtual bridge, arms folded, amusement dancing in her eyes. ¡°What about fixing the stealth system you collected?¡± she offered. ¡°If you want to observe underdeveloped worlds without interfering, we¡¯ll need it operational.¡±


    She wasn¡¯t wrong.


    There were other tempting options too like a ship painting services with custom liveries, luxury installs like proper showers, kitchen upgrades, expanded fuel tanks, defensive countermeasures¡­


    Part of me wanted it all.


    Another part wanted me to set something aside for Kel and Lynn¡¯s parents.


    Laia¡¯s voice cut through my mental shopping spree with the subtlety of a scalpel. ¡°You know you¡¯ve only got just under a kilo of Telk, right?¡± she said, tone gentle but firm. I paused, mid-way through mentally outfitting the Lazarus with both a lander and a luxury galley. She was right¡ªagain. I was already spending like we¡¯d hit a motherlode, but in reality, what we had was enough to start, not finish. A good base, not a bottomless well. ¡°Maybe wait until we have a steady supply before designing your dream body,¡± she added, her wings flickering with amusement. I gave a reluctant nod.


    I couldn¡¯t deny the old saying whispering through my memory: you need money to make money.


    I was drawing up a more modest budget, allocating grams of Telk to each possible upgrade, when the crew returned.


    They were laughing.


    Hands full of bags, eyes shining, voices overlapping with excited retellings of their day.


    I felt it, Jealousy.


    A sharp, twisting deep inside. The lights of the ship flickered


    The jealousy was not bitterness nor resentful. Just¡­ a quiet ache.


    I¡¯d been there. I¡¯d felt that once. Real air, real gravity, being surrounded by things that weren¡¯t part of me.


    It was something I¡¯d have to watch, something I had to keep in check. I was their ship. Their guardian. Jealousy had no place in that.


    As they came aboard, Mira ran off to store her new food supplies while Stewie clutched his tools like sacred relics.


    Kel, always the one with too much energy, walked straight up to my avatar. ¡°Hope you didn¡¯t miss us too much,¡± he grinned. ¡°Found us a job.¡±


    ¡°Already?¡± I asked.


    ¡°Of course. You think I spent all that time shopping?¡±


    He tossed a datapad into the nearest console.


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    Taxi service.


    I scanned the listing, processing the information in seconds. Slipstream taxiing¡ªniche, but rising fast in demand. External time barely passed during a jump, at least according to the universal reference frame. It meant you could leave and arrive at nearly the same moment, shaving weeks off critical journeys.


    Slipstream was the equivalent of having a private jet while everyone else still crossed oceans in boats. And because governments or the ultra-rich controlled most of the technology, civilian-accessible taxis were rare.


    Most listings came in modest at hundreds of grams of Telk at best. But one job stood out.


    2.11 kilos.


    I blinked. That was more than double what we''d just been paid for risking our lives in an uncharted death zone. There had to be a story behind that kind of payout.


    I pulled the listing apart. No destination listed only an estimated distance, barely within our fuel range. The mission was flagged as extremely urgent, but vague enough to scream secrecy. I got the sense most ships had passed it over, spooked by the lack of detail. Which explained why the price was climbing.


    Still, the payout was too good to ignore.


    I agreed to the mission, and Kel made contact with the client.


    The man was... enthusiastic. Overjoyed might be a better word. His image flickered on-screen, lab coat askew, hair wild, talking at a hundred words a second. Definitely gave off mad scientist vibes. He felt like the kind that accidentally rips holes in spacetime and calls it a Tuesday.


    Laia floated beside me, watching the feed with a smile on her face.


    I sighed internally. This was going to be interesting.


    Lynn was the one to suggest it. To lock the kids away for the duration of the job and shut down our avatars. Seemed reasonable. We didn¡¯t know what kind of mess we were walking into, and the less exposure, the better. The kids didn¡¯t complain either they had their new books to read.


    Our client arrived quickly. Too quickly. Like he¡¯d sprinted through the station the second he got our confirmation.


    He was thin, wide-eyed, and sweating through a lab coat that hadn¡¯t been cleaned in a week. He had a briefcase that was chained to his wrist, just like something out of one of those old spy movies I used to watch. I getting invested now, I needed to know how this ended.


    Without so much as a greeting, he approached Kel and handed him a crystalline data shard.


    ¡°This is the path,¡± he said breathlessly. ¡°For the pilot.¡±


    Kel schooled his facial expressions and accepted it without question, passing it to one of our droids to bring to me.


    The moment I slotted the shard into my systems, I saw the route and immediately wished I hadn¡¯t.


    The path was complicated. Not impossible, but tight. Threaded. I¡¯d never seen a slipstream corridor this convoluted.


    Lynn stepped in before I could complain. ¡°Partial Payment first,¡± she said flatly, arms crossed. ¡°We don¡¯t jump until something¡¯s in escrow.¡±


    The man didn¡¯t even flinch. He handed over the entire payment, all 2.11 kilos of Telk without a word. Just nodded sharply and muttered, ¡°Hurry.¡±


    I didn¡¯t like it, but I wasn¡¯t about to disappoint the highest-paying client we¡¯d ever had. He might have been our second-ever client but still.


    I jumped.


    Navigating that path was like threading a needle while blindfolded in a hurricane. I came dangerously close to losing the trail more than once, lines warping and reforming with every micro-shift. But we made it. Barely.


    The second we dropped out of the stream, the man barked, ¡°Move to the moon of the  6<sup>th</sup> planet, now.¡±


    I complied. He was rude, agitated and abrupt¡ªbut he paid. That bought him some leeway.


    Then he demanded the cargo bay doors be opened.


    I hesitated but obeyed.


    He unclipped the briefcase, opened it, and pulled out a small, sealed drone, chrome, shaped like a spearhead. Without another word, he tossed it into open space.


    I watched it tumble, then right itself and activate.


    Weird. No explanation. No cargo transfer. No mission objective beyond this.


    The man plugged into the drone¡¯s VR feed and went utterly still, eyes glazed. Then he started to shout about how they do exist, and that he had been right.


    Laia, ever the curious whisper beside me, floated close. ¡°I can piggyback the feed,¡± she offered, voice cautious.


    I hesitated¡­ then curiosity won out.


    ¡°Do it.¡±


    The moment she tapped in, the feed lit up with colour and motion.


    Thousands of creatures.


    Floating. Drifting. Swimming through space like it was water.


    They emitted energy in the higher spectrum which was non-visible to standard sensors. Laia quickly adjusted our filters, and I invited the entire crew onto the virtual bridge.


    Even let the kids out of the room.


    When the view came into focus, there were gasps.


    Awe.


    Mira clung to Stewie¡¯s arm, eyes wide. Kel went silent. Lynn just whispered, ¡°What the hell are we looking at?¡±


    It was like watching thousands of cosmic eels, glowing and dancing through the void. Blue and green and violet trails behind them like ripples in invisible water.


    None of it made any sense.


    But it was beautiful.

 Chapter 19: Space Eels

    I had every sensor tuned and recording, gathering data in every spectrum we could access. I didn''t want to miss a second of it. Energy readings, movement patterns, anything that might explain what we were seeing. Maybe I could sell the data as well¡ªI had started to see everything in terms of Telks. I had to pull myself back and remember just to enjoy the moment.


    Meanwhile, Mira had started naming them. She pointed out ones with unusual markings or strange glows and spun little stories about who they were, what they did, who they loved. She whispered them to Stewie, who played along despite pretending not to care.


    The creatures seemed completely indifferent to us. Whether they couldn''t see us or simply didn''t care, I couldn''t say, but they drifted around us like we didn''t exist.


    Eventually, the others started peeling away, returning to their routines. Lynn was already halfway through identifying resources we could gather on her datapad. Kel resumed reading some history files he''d picked up. Even the kids wandered off to unpack the rest of their haul.


    But I kept watching.


    Our guest was still plugged into the VR feed, motionless but clearly rapt. His vitals or what I could scan of them only showed elevated heart rate, but nothing alarming. Not yet.


    With the ship holding steady, I turned my focus to the system itself. I swept every corner of the surrounding space with long-range scans, looking for any anomalies, gravitational oddities, or reasons why these things were here.


    Nothing.


    Nothing unusual. No radiation spikes, no wormholes, no debris fields. Just stars, gas, and a lot of quiet. And then they vanished. No flash. No shift. No trace. One moment they were there, drifting like dancers through the void.


    The next, the space was empty.


    If we''d arrived even a few hours later, we would''ve missed it entirely.


    The drone turned itself around and began flying back to the ship. The old man disconnected from the feed just as it docked.


    Kel went to check on him, and I patched in to listen.


    The man was vibrant, talking faster than I could track, breathless, flushed, his words tumbling over each other as he tried to describe what he''d seen.


    "I knew it," he kept saying. "I knew they were real, alive and not bound by matter, proof of energetic biology¡ªdo you understand what this means?"


    Honestly, I feared for his heart. The man was well into his senior years, and if he dropped dead on my deck, that''d be a mess as well as bad for business.


    So I spoke up, my voice filling the hallway through the ship''s speaker system.


    "Sir, you need to breathe."


    He jumped like he''d been hit by a bolt of lightning.


    But it got his attention.


    And, thankfully, broke the loop.


    Kel guided the old man into the crew lounge, one hand steady on his shoulder. The scientist still looked like he was vibrating from the inside out, excited and overwhelmed, clinging to coherence by a thread. The kids had retreated to their quarters, Mira curled up with her new cookbook, Stewie nose-deep in a technical manual.


    "What were those creatures?" Kel asked.


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    The scientist barely hesitated. "References to them were found in an ancient temple we found buried on a long-dead world at the edge of Kall-e space. The builders were insectoid. They could naturally see them and they worshipped them. Called them sky serpents, dream swimmers, gods of the light."


    Kel leaned forward to listen more intently.


    "As their civilization evolved, the writings we found became less spiritual, more scientific¡ªwell, at least, as far as we''ve been able to translate. They theorised that these beings live within slipstream, drifting endlessly through the higher bands of existence. But sometimes¡ªon very rare occasions¡ªthey emerge, congregating in specific locations for only a few days."


    "And this system," Kel asked, "was one of those places."


    "Yes." His eyes shone. "I''ve tried to track them before. This was my fifth attempt. Always too late or in the wrong place." He smiled now, fragile and triumphant. "But today¡­ today I saw them. Recorded them. Documented their existence. They can''t deny me anymore."


    "They?" Lynn asked, standing near the doorway.


    He didn''t look away. "The academic boards. The institutes. The fools who said it was impossible. That energy beings couldn''t exist without mass, without a vessel. That it was pseudoscience." He even did the air quotes. Hadn''t expected that gesture to last the centuries.


    He tapped a trembling finger against his temple. "They lack imagination."


    Then came the smile a little thin and worn at the edges, but filled with a quiet triumph. "They''ll believe me now."


    I let the silence sit for a moment before speaking through the intercom, my voice low and steady.


    "So¡­ what now?"


    He looked up, blinking like the question had caught him off guard. "I need to take the data to the Cartography Agency. Publish it. Let it be reviewed and seen. But¡­" He hesitated, glancing down at his weathered hands. "I don''t have the funds for another jump. That trip cost me everything. My life savings."


    The words hung in the air.


    I was already running numbers, calculating the minimum Telk I could charge and the amount I could give back to him, just for the experience alone.


    "I could¡ª" I started, but Lynn cut in sharply.


    "No."


    She didn''t raise her voice. She didn''t have to.


    "A deal''s a deal," she added. "He got what he paid for."


    The old man didn''t argue. He just nodded, slowly. "Then just drop me at the nearest hub station. I can find a shuttle from there. It''ll be slower, but it''ll do."


    Before he turned to leave to go back to the cargo bay, I asked, "Do you still have the location of the temple? Or any other sites like it?"


    He paused in the doorway. "Yes. But the records are in my office."


    I told him I''d take that as payment. He agreed without hesitation.


    While he rested, we made small talk, well, Kel did most of the talking. I listened from the bridge, keeping things light while my drones handled the refuelling and gathered a few resources Lynn had flagged as valuable for trade.


    Then, when everything was ready, we brought him home.


    No drama. No detours. Just a smooth, quiet return.


    We received the final payment without a hitch and Lynn handled the trade of the other goods, selling off the last of the gathered resources while I monitored from the docking bay. She came back pleased with the deal but not without a complaint.


    "You really need more cargo space," she grumbled, tossing her datapad onto the table in the crew lounge. "I had to pass up three more offers because we''re flying around in a ship with all the storage of a suitcase."


    I might''ve sighed if I could. "I didn''t exactly get to pick my layout, you know."


    She smirked but didn''t argue.


    Still, the Telk reserves were starting to look respectable. Enough to make real decisions.


    And I''d made mine. "I want a lander and defensive upgrades before our next mission," I said.


    Lynn and Kel exchanged a look across the table.


    "Don''t buy one in the inner systems," Kel said through a mouthful of pasta. "You''ll get gouged. We''ve got a contact, an outer ring trader, decent kit, good for higher-end equipment and no questions."


    "Good prices too," Lynn added. "We can reach out to them, but it would take some time."


    Around us, the crew was mid-meal, enjoying a hearty pasta dish Mira had whipped up from a recipe in one of her new cookbooks. Stewie had even admitted it was "not bad," which, from him, was a glowing review.


    Laia''s voice came gently from the avatar. "And what exactly is your plan for that location, Lazarus?"


    "I want to investigate the ruins," I said. "I''m tired of relying on pre-discovered slipstream paths and data we barely understand. Those creatures we saw, the space eels¡ªif they live in slipstream. And the insectoid species that built that temple? They could track them. That means their understanding of slipstream must be far beyond ours."


    Forks paused halfway to mouths.


    "If we can uncover even a fragment of that knowledge," I continued, "we might find better routes. That kind of edge could change everything for us."


    No one argued.


    Even Lynn just nodded slowly, eyes thoughtful.


    Kel raised his glass. "To ancient bug temples and space eels, then."


    "To better routes," I corrected.


    "To adventure," Mira added with a grin.


    "To nice food," shouted Stewie.


    And over pasta and laughter, we all agreed.

 Chapter 20 : The Lander

    It started with a question that had been nagging at me ever since Lynn and Kel suggested we just jump to their contact instead of waiting for a reply.


    ¡°Why don¡¯t I have a long-range comm system?¡± I muttered, watching the steady stream of ships blink into warp lanes while we waited our turn to jump. ¡°I¡¯ve got high-band sensors, encrypted channels, even burst relays¡­ but nothing that can reach beyond a few light-hours.¡±


    Laia shimmered into view on the virtual bridge, settling atop the console like a perched firefly. Her wings folded neatly behind her as she tilted her head. ¡°Because real-time faster-than-light communication doesn¡¯t exist,¡± she said, surprisingly casual.¡°Physics still applies, even out here.¡±


    I frowned. ¡°There¡¯s got to be some workaround. A relay network? Quantum entanglement?¡± every sci-fi I had ever watched had some workaround for it.


    She floated down, pacing mid-air like a tutor mid-lecture. ¡°There is a system but it¡¯s just not what you¡¯re imagining. Humans use unmanned warp courier drones. Small ships, optimized for speed, carrying physical data across space. They hop from system to system, syncing with local servers.¡±


    ¡°So... interstellar sneakernet?¡±


    She blinked. ¡°What¡¯s a sneakernet?¡±


    ¡°It was an old Earth term,¡± I said, chuckling. ¡°Physically moving data on drives between machines. Basically, walking the USB stick over instead of emailing it. Ancient stuff. Doesn¡¯t matter.¡±


    ¡°Then yes,¡± she replied, deadpan. ¡°Sneakernet. But faster.¡±


    She continued, unbothered by my amusement. ¡°The drones carry compressed message packets of the news, contracts, personal comms. It¡¯s reliable. No interference. No data loss. Just... slow.¡±


    It felt disappointingly primitive. We had slipstream travel. Nanite factories. Dyson spheres. And yet, we were still relying on glorified mail couriers in warp bubbles.


    ¡°Information transfer takes time,¡± she added, ¡°but it ensures integrity. It¡¯s better than isolation.¡±


    I sighed. ¡°And no one¡¯s cracked actual FTL comms?¡±


    ¡°If someone has,¡± she said, pausing mid-air, ¡°it would be the Traxlic. But if they have, they¡¯re not sharing.¡±


    I wondered if those little xenophobic grey men did have the technology and if so, what it would cost to get my hands on it.


    Our turn came. The route was purchased from the agency, it was only a short jump, but it still cost us ten grams of Telk. Not a lot, but still enough to sting. Every gram counted.


    This time, we were headed to a more reputable trader¡ªhuman, registered, and with solid credentials across the freelancer network. No shady backroom deals or untraceable parts like the Xzte vendor. This one dealt with proper tech and clean systems, certified hardware, and most importantly, human-standard equipment. Exactly what we needed for a lander.


    The jump went smoothly. No turbulence, no difficult to trace paths. Just the normal interdimensional shifts and then we were through.


    And I couldn¡¯t help the excitement bubbling in my core. This was it. I was finally going to design a lander.


    Not a cramped shuttle or drop pod. A real, self-contained vessel. Something shiny, strong, and capable. Something like the Delta Flyer from those old sci-fi shows I used to love. Compact, fast, rugged. A ship within a ship.


    I¡¯d already run the numbers twice¡ªLynn had helped estimate costs. Between 1.8 and 2 kilos of Telk would buy us something deluxe. Not velvet seats and gold trim, but something durable and impressive enough to hold its own at any starport.


    Of course, size and weight would be a challenge. I wasn¡¯t exactly built with a hangar bay. But I¡¯d started reworking my blueprints in the hope of buying a retrofit to install one. Also with the salvage from Kel and Lynn¡¯s old ship¡ªa stealth array, partial warp coils, and a backup fusion core¡ªwe had a solid foundation. The shielding was already integrated into me, but we could refit or replace what was needed.


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    With my prototype model ready, I summoned the crew.


    They gathered in the lounge, drinks and snacks in hand, Something was foreign to them only a couple of months ago but was now considered normal. I felt proud that I had improved their lives even if only a little bit.


    They crowded around the projection table as the base schematics flickered to life.


    ¡°I want your input,¡± I told them. ¡°You¡¯ll be the ones flying it.¡±


    They were on it instantly.


    Kel leaned in first. ¡°We need a full scanner suite with terrain mapping, atmospheres, biosigns, the works.¡±


    Lynn nodded. ¡°And a drone interface. We should be able to control the harvesters and scouts directly from the cockpit.¡±


    ¡°Environmental shielding,¡± Laia added from her avatar who was currently perched in Mira''s lap. ¡°Radiation, corrosives, extreme pressure. Prepare for anything. You never know what world we might find¡±


    Stewie had his eyes on the layout. ¡°I¡¯m not flying a glorified tin can with a spine-crusher for a pilot¡¯s chair. Those chairs better be comfortable. ¡±


    Everyone laughed.


    Mira chimed in next. ¡°A small cooktop, maybe? Doesn¡¯t have to be fancy, just something that works.¡±


    Lynn studied the growing design with a sceptical look. ¡°This is going to cost a lot.¡±


    She wasn¡¯t wrong. The interior space would be tight. Most of the volume had to go to engines, power, shielding and all the other systems. Comfort was a luxury in something this compact.


    Then Lynn snapped her fingers. ¡°Refuelling drones.¡±


    Everyone turned to her.


    She tapped the schematic. ¡°We don¡¯t waste room on tanks. We refuel from orbit or mid-mission with drones. Saves weight. Buys us range.¡±


    Genius. I locked that in immediately.


    With each suggestion, the hologram evolved¡ªarrowhead-shaped, reinforced underbelly, retractable landing struts, a compact rear hatch, and a cockpit just roomy enough to avoid complaints.


    By the end of the session, we had a design. Not perfect, but ours.


    All that remained was converting one of my bays into a dock¡­ and seeing if our contact could actually build the thing.


    And, of course, we had to name it.


    Because every good ship deserves a name.


    We¡¯d made it to the station where our contact was supposed to be¡ªthough ¡°station¡± turned out to be a bit of a misnomer. It was a cluster of linked orbital platforms, like a city of floating bones drifting in formation, each segment a different age, style, or purpose. Some gleamed like they¡¯d just come out of a drydock; others were patched together with the kind of care that said functional, not pretty.


    I found myself wishing I could be the one handling the negotiations. But Kel and Lynn insisted they had it covered. ¡°Let the professionals do the smiling,¡± Kel had said with his usual wink.


    Fair enough. I docked us to one of the more stable-looking segments and opened the airlocks. The twins disembarked with confident strides, datapads in hand, already talking strategy as they vanished into the bustle.


    With them gone, I decided to stretch my legs well at least the legs of my avatar. I walked the quiet corridors of me, content for once to explore the parts that weren¡¯t strictly systems and wires.


    First, I went looking for Stewie.


    I found him in the workshop, crouched beside one of the maintenance droids, tool kit cracked open like a dissection tray. Sparks flickered as he welded something beneath the chassis.


    ¡°What are you working on?¡± I asked.


    He looked up, surprised for a moment. Then shrugged. ¡°Droids were missing spots when they clean. Corners, edges. I¡¯m updating the sensor routines, modifying the sweep angles.¡±


    I sat down beside him, watching the work. ¡°Makes sense. Cleaning¡¯s only useful if it¡¯s thorough.¡±


    He nodded, still working. I asked a few more questions, nothing too deep, just enough to understand his thinking. He answered each one with quiet efficiency.


    Then, just before I stood to leave, he paused.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± he said.


    A simple, sincere thanks.


    He didn¡¯t say what for. And I didn¡¯t ask.


    He turned back to the droid, and I left him to his silence.


    It affected me, though.


    I remember when my own boys were teenagers. They had just started to find their independence, too proud to say when they needed help, too stubborn to admit when they wanted it.


    I wondered how their lives had turned out.


    They had families of their own when I died. I  wondered if I  had descendants, tucked away in some quiet dome on some distant colony, who had no idea their great-great-something-grandfather was a sentient ship roaming the stars.


    I filed those ideas away before they caused more mental instability.


    Next, I found Mira.


    She was in the crew lounge, cross-legged on the floor with her holopad out. Laia hovered nearby, standing patiently as Mira tapped out outfit designs on her screen. With each selection, Laia¡¯s nanites shimmered and shifted¡ªskirts, coats, gloves, even a tiny tiara¡ªall conjured in silver-grey perfection.


    They were laughing. Mira clapped every time a new outfit formed. Laia gave little twirls like a dancer on a jewellery box.


    It was simple.


    Sweet.


    And it made me happy in a way I hadn¡¯t felt in a long time.


    Maybe I didn¡¯t get to negotiate or explore cities or walk under a real sky¡ªbut this?


    This was something real.

 Chapter 21 : Chunky Boy

    Kel and Lynn returned to the ship looking like someone had kicked their puppy. It didn¡¯t take much effort to guess how the negotiations had gone. Lynn dropped into one of the lounge chairs with a heavy thump, tossing her datapad onto the table with more force than necessary.


    ¡°He wants five kilos,¡± she said flatly.


    ¡°Of Telk?¡± I asked, hoping if only faintly that maybe they used some other currency out here. ¡°I could do five kilos of grass if they needed it.¡±


    She nodded once, then let out a dramatic sigh that might¡¯ve been funny if the mood weren¡¯t already in freefall.


    I double-checked my internal estimates. Ran the math again. ¡°For the lander?¡±


    ¡°For that lander,¡± she confirmed. ¡°The one we priced at two. Two and a half if we wanted premium chairs and cup holders.¡±


    Kel leaned against the wall, arms folded. ¡°It wasn¡¯t a real offer. Just a polite way of telling us to get lost.¡±


    Not that polite, to be honest. More like duct-taping a ¡®GO AWAY¡¯ sign to our hull and pretending it was customer service.


    Five kilos wasn¡¯t a negotiation. It was a message.


    I¡¯d been monitoring station traffic while they were gone. The local fleet was a sad parade of scavenged hulls and limping cargo hauliers. More rust than metal. Not exactly a place that could afford to turn down trade.


    So why push us away?


    Something stank. Not literally since I don¡¯t have a nose but if I did, it would be twitching. Actually, what is my sense of smell connected to?


    Fortunately,  Laia saved me before I fell down that rabbit hole.


    She flew to the central table, wings fluttering with visible agitation, her expression the virtual equivalent of someone bracing to break bad news with a smile.


    ¡°So,¡± she said with suspicious cheer, ¡°you¡¯re all going to want to sit down for this.¡±


    Kel didn¡¯t move. ¡°We are sitting.¡±


    ¡°Emotionally,¡± she clarified.


    Then she dropped the real bomb.


    She¡¯d hacked into the station¡¯s security network¡ªbecause of course she had¡ªand uncovered an active bounty. On us.


    Not your garden-variety ¡°destroy and collect the wreckage¡± sort of bounty, either.


    ¡°No,¡± Laia said, tone shifting. ¡°This one¡¯s for a full recovery. Ship and crew. Intact.¡±


    That was worse. Way worse. It meant someone wanted us alive and whole¡ªsystems untouched, passengers breathing, hardware undamaged. A collector¡¯s order. A claim.


    Kel¡¯s expression darkened. ¡°So that¡¯s what the price hike was about.¡±


    Lynn nodded slowly, eyes narrowing. ¡°A silent warning. He wanted us gone¡ªjust couldn¡¯t say it out loud.¡±


    The bounty wasn¡¯t local. That explained why we weren¡¯t immediately swarmed. But it had arrived via courier drone, part of the slow-but-steady trickle of interstellar data. If we¡¯d docked a few days earlier, we might¡¯ve slipped through unnoticed.


    But the sneakernet had finally caught up to us.


    ¡°There¡¯s more,¡± Laia added, voice quieter. ¡°Someone¡¯s already flagged the alert. Marked themselves as an informant.¡±


    I pulled up the logs. The most likely culprit? Our charming contact. The one who¡¯d smiled during the handshake, then handed over a price tag big enough to build two ships.


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    ¡°He must¡¯ve recognised something,¡± I muttered. ¡°Hull signature, Laia¡¯s signal, or just got a gut feeling.¡±


    He hadn¡¯t even tried to keep us around. Just marked us, priced us out, and stepped aside. Efficient. And deeply disappointing. I checked our systems, we had everything and could pull out at any time but I kinda wanted that lander. I¡¯d hoped this stop would be progress. A chance to breathe.


    Instead, it felt like the universe had leaned in close just to remind us what we were. An experiment that belonged to the corporations. And how far the whispers were spreading.


    Laia¡¯s voice was quiet. ¡°We should assume we¡¯re visible now. Everywhere.¡±


    Silence followed.


    Then Lynn stood up, already reaching for her datapad. ¡°Let¡¯s prep for departure.¡±


    Kel pushed off the wall. ¡°To where?¡±


    ¡°Laia?¡± I prompted.


    She didn¡¯t hesitate. ¡°To the planet the scientist mentioned. If they had tech capable of tracking those energy creatures, they might¡¯ve left more behind. It will help if we head to Alliance space.¡±


    ¡°Before we go,¡± she added a beat later, ¡°we should acquire a lander. Even a standard one. It might not be our dream ship, but we¡¯ll need something reliable on the surface.¡±


    There was a pause.


    I tilted my focus slightly. ¡°When you say acquire...¡±


    ¡°You mean pay for it,¡± I continued, ¡°or are we talking about your version of shopping?¡±


    Her wings flickered innocently. ¡°We¡¯ll see what the opportunity allows.¡±


    I sighed.


    I asked Stewie to help me pick out a lander from the station¡¯s online marketplace. I could¡¯ve done it myself but I wanted him involved as it would be his job to upgrade it and maintain it. Besides, I trusted his instincts.


    ¡°Main priorities,¡± I told him, ¡°are adaptability and immediate availability. We need something that flies now, not six months from now.¡±


    He took the assignment seriously, eyes narrowed in concentration as he scrolled through listings. The others were busy prepping the ship and coordinating false trails but Stewie just sat with his holopad, cross-legged in the crew lounge, muttering specs under his breath.


    Eventually, he found one.


    An old cargo tug converted to a lander. Ugly as sin, looked like someone bolted a fridge to a tugboat. But the specs were solid.


    Decent shielding. Advanced sensors. A rugged power plant that could run on almost anything. No warp drive, and no other advanced systems, but there is plenty of space to retrofit. The best thing was it was cheap.


    Lynn was sceptical. She didn¡¯t say no, but the way her mouth tightened said everything. ¡°We don¡¯t have time to be picky,¡± she muttered, arms folded.


    Stewie defended it immediately. ¡°It¡¯s simple, reliable. Doesn¡¯t have a dozen proprietary subsystems that¡¯ll break down the first time we land on something rough. I can upgrade it over time.¡±


    He was learning. Taking responsibility.


    So I put in the order. Not to be delivered to us, of course. No sense in painting a target on our backs.


    Laia had a plan.


    We¡¯d have the lander delivered to a nearby haulier it was an old ore transport registered to a mining syndicate. We knew from station logs it was launching soon, headed toward a supply depot on the outer edge of the system.


    We just had to intercept our new lander in transit.


    The plan was tight.


    Laia tracked the haulier¡¯s route through the station¡¯s public traffic net. It was scheduled for a standard supply run across the system, hauling processed ore and a small cargo crate marked as ¡°custom delivery¡ªnon-perishable.¡± That crate was ours.


    We waited until the ship was deep into its transit arc, there was a quiet stretch between relay stations where sensors were weakest and no patrols ran regular sweeps. Every ship has blind spots. We just had to slip into one.


    I shadowed the ore haulier from a distance, matching speed and course. We stayed out of their sensors by the narrowest margins, using their own radiation wake to mask our signal profile.


    Once we were close enough, Laia took over the systems handshake.


    She mimicked a local drone relay and sent a friendly signal, requesting automated docking permissions to "perform routine delivery verification." Standard traffic fluff no one checks in low-security zones.


    Two of our drones detached silently, gliding across the void like shadows.


    They latched onto the cargo module with smooth precision, magnetic clamps hissing as they disengaged the locks.


    The drones opened the crate and let the container float in space. They quickly carried our new ship over and docked it with our cargo bay as it was too big to fit inside.


    Kel whistled the moment the docking procedure was complete. ¡°She¡¯s a beast.¡±


    Lynn raised a brow. ¡°She¡¯s a brick.¡±


    Mira grinned and shrugged. ¡°Chunky¡¯s a kind word.¡±


    I  didn¡¯t hang around for anymore comments. I kicked us into the slipstream and jumped out of the system.


    The haulier kept crawling toward its destination, none the wiser.


    We didn¡¯t go straight for the ruins. Laia insisted we make a detour to one of the unclaimed systems buried in the old probe data. Quiet, off-grid, uninhabited. The perfect place to catch our breath.


    And more importantly, the perfect place for Stewie to get to work.


    The lander was docked snugly in the cargo bay, still scuffed and weathered from years of cargo duty. Stewie was on it the second we stopped with tools in hand, sparks flying as he pried open a panel with more enthusiasm than caution.


    He was muttering about engine rerouting, modular controls, external brackets for extra sensors. He began barking orders at the other three. It seemed he had a plan for this lander.

 Chapter 22: Humans

    The retrofitting of the lander turned into a full-blown bonding experience, it was loud, chaotic, productive. Slightly flammable.


    Kel and Stewie clashed more than once, usually mid-argument while both were half-buried in an access panel and refusing to back down on cable routing philosophy. Most of it came down to the stealth system; the salvaged hardware wasn¡¯t exactly plug-and-play, and Kel¡¯s ¡°just wire it and test¡± approach clashed with Stewie¡¯s ¡°triple-check every connector and then glare at it until it obeys¡± methodology.


    Still, they made progress. No electrocutions. Only one minor hull fire. I counted that as a win.


    Stewie didn¡¯t trust himself enough to install the warp engine, at least not yet but he made the stealth system his personal crusade. Every bolt, bracket, and cable was checked, double-checked, and calibrated so precisely that I was starting to wonder if he planned to marry the thing. He also ran multiple diagnostic passes on the scanner suite and personally verified that the shield ratings matched the original spec sheets because he wasn¡¯t sure if the advertisement could be trusted, it was a sensible decision.


    Meanwhile, Lynn and Mira were tackling the interior. With Laia''s guidance and her relentless enforcement of ¡°non-critical systems only¡± policy. They were allowed to use the ship¡¯s nanite factory with restriction. No structural supports, no bulkhead reinforcements, and absolutely no engine parts. Laia was very firm about that last one. But bathrooms? Seating? A compact galley unit? Apparently, those passed the ¡°not deadly if it fails¡± threshold. Laia''s attitude suggested she had some trauma from an anti-nanite weapon.


    Mira took special pride in selecting a soft teal tone for the lighting and sourcing seats ¡°that don¡¯t feel like punishment.¡± Her words. Not mine. Lynn, being Lynn, focused on the things that mattered¡ªefficient layout, cargo compartments, modular storage. If it could be locked down mid-battle and survive atmospheric reentry, she approved it.


    Everyone was working.


    And me?


    I was tearing myself a new arsehole. Quietly. Elegantly. With the kind of existential dread that didn¡¯t even raise a diagnostic warning anymore.


    Of course, the Cartography Agency mission had been a trap. Why wouldn¡¯t it be? A nicely packaged ¡°routine task¡± from a government branch with suspiciously clean records, all while I was trying to lay low? Obvious bait. The kind you hang from a string and hope the idiot doesn¡¯t notice. And now, thanks to that mission, they knew exactly where I¡¯d been and were likely to narrow down where I was going.


    Maybe they¡¯d had other ways of tracking me. Maybe the whole freelancer thing had just been convenient cover to let the trap breathe. Accepting a government job? Registering in a central database? I might as well have uploaded my location with a waving emoji and a note that said ¡°Hi Mom.¡±


    They¡¯d always wanted me back. Well not me, I was replaceable trash. It was Laia they were really after.


    Now they had breadcrumbs. Therefore we had to change the game.


    And our path forward?


    It led straight out of Human-controlled space.


    The only region that might offer a sliver of protection was the Alliance. In Laia''s words, they were a loosely coordinated mess of alien species who tolerated each other for the sake of trade and not much else. A charming diplomatic tangle held together with treaties, bureaucracy, and an unhealthy number of committee meetings.


    But even then, I couldn¡¯t guarantee safety. If the bounty was high enough, the Alliance might not hand us over immediately but they¡¯d definitely think about it.


    Before we risked that, we had to disappear. Properly.


    Black markets. Spoofed IDs. Registry scramblers. Hardware cloaks. The sort of things you never admit to buying. I had hoped they existed.


    We needed a new face¡ªdigitally, and maybe even physically.


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    It took a few days, but the lander was finally functional. Rough around the edges, sure¡ªbut solid. The shields held, the stealth array purred like a smug cat, and the seats didn¡¯t feel like medieval torture devices. A miracle, really.


    Now it was time to move.


    The ruins had been sitting on our nav chart like an unanswered question. I had no idea what we¡¯d find there¡ªold data, broken architecture, ancient disappointment¡ªbut it was a lead. And right now, we needed leads more than guarantees.


    The jump was uneventful, which I¡¯d learned to appreciate. No anomalies, no mid-transit surprises, just the clean slip of space folding open and spitting us out on the other side.


    The system was strange, in a beautiful sort of way.


    Single planet. No moons. No orbiting rocks. Just one red dwarf sun, one world¡ªlocked together like dancers in a permanent step. The planet was tidally bound, meaning one side always faced the star, bathed in endless daylight, while the other was swallowed in constant night.


    It made for a sharp contrast. From orbit, the day side shimmered gold and white, reflective and harsh. The night side was a void, no surface detail, no hint of colour¡ªjust shadow.


    I found myself wondering if it had always been this way¡ªeven when the native species lived here. If entire civilizations had risen and fallen with one half of the world scorched in endless sunlight and the other frozen in darkness. That kind of evolutionary pressure tends to produce something remarkable.


    Or terrifying.


    Even back when I was a kid, scientists had speculated that tidally locked planets might still be habitable. The most likely place for life would be along the terminator it was the narrow strip between night and day, where heat and cold balanced just enough to keep water liquid and life possible. Especially on desert planets like this one, the models always pointed to that fragile middle ground.


    And this world? It was almost textbook perfect.


    If the professor had studied here, there had to be something left. Structures. Foundations. Signs that someone once called this place home. I hoped there was still something left behind to find.


    I focused my short-range scanners on the terminator zone, combing for anomalies, hidden heat signatures, subtle shifts in terrain. Hoping that maybe, just maybe, someone else had missed something I wouldn¡¯t.


    That¡¯s when Laia chimed in.


    ¡°Don¡¯t search like a ship,¡± she said. ¡°Search like a person.¡±


    She had a point. The real advantage of my current situation¡ªthis strange, halfway existence¡ªwasn¡¯t raw processing power. It was instinct. Pattern recognition. The kind of intuition a machine couldn¡¯t replicate. I would have liked to see Laia pick out all the traffic lights in a picture. Surely that would stump her, I jest.


    So I stopped scanning and started looking.


    As we drifted in low orbit, I stared at the boundary between light and dark. Watched the way shadows fell, the way heat bled across the surface in irregular lines. And there¡ªbarely visible¡ªwere the inconsistencies. Small patterns, too regular to be natural. Angles where there should¡¯ve been erosion. Heat where there should¡¯ve been none.


    They gnawed at my mind.


    And just like that, we had a target.


    I still didn¡¯t know what we¡¯d find. But whatever it was¡­ it had been waiting to be discovered.


    It was time for the ship¡¯s first real away mission but surprisingly, it was Kel who put his foot down.


    He flat-out refused to let Stewie or Mira go.


    ¡°It¡¯s too dangerous,¡± he said, arms crossed, jaw set in that immovable way that meant there was no use arguing. Stewie, of course, argued anyway.


    ¡°I¡¯m not a kid,¡± he snapped. ¡°And I know the lander better than anyone. I helped build it.¡±


    Which, to be fair, was technically true. The stealth rig alone probably wouldn¡¯t even function without his obsessive calibration. But Kel wasn¡¯t budging. He wasn¡¯t loud about it, he was just stubborn. Quietly immovable, like bedrock.


    Even Lynn looked surprised. ¡°You sure about this?¡± she asked him.


    Kel nodded once. ¡°They stay.¡±


    That was enough to make me pause. Kel wasn¡¯t usually the cautious one. If anything, he leaned toward reckless pragmatism. So for him to draw a line like this... I couldn¡¯t help wondering if he was picking up on something the rest of us weren¡¯t. Subconscious instinct. Gut feeling. Call it whatever you like but his reaction was enough to make me take it seriously.


    That¡¯s when Laia stepped in.


    ¡°I¡¯ll go,¡± she said, appearing mid-air above the console, her expression calm. ¡°If Kel¡¯s worried, we treat it like a threat until proven otherwise.¡±


    Stewie opened his mouth, but she cut him off gently. ¡°Let me check it out first. I can deploy a clone, not fully aware, but linked. It¡¯ll scout the ruins, relay telemetry, and report back on anything unusual.¡±


    Kel agreed with the plan, and I watched his shoulders ease if only a little. A quiet tell, but enough to realise he¡¯d been more tense than even he realised. Whatever instinct had been gnawing at him, Laia¡¯s offer had helped settle it.


    I couldn¡¯t help wondering what kind of danger he thought we might find down there.


    Either way, it made me reflect on something I¡¯d noticed more and more lately.


    Humans.


    Adaptable. Stubborn. Surprisingly fragile and yet somehow impossible to break. Kel, Lynn, Stewie, and Mira kept evolving to meet the next challenge, the next twist in the road. They didn¡¯t have my sensors or processing power, but they had something else.


    Instinct. Initiative. The ability to hold fear in one hand and keep moving with the other.


    I had to admire it.


    In a galaxy full of uncertainty, that kind of versatility might be the only real advantage that mattered.

 Chapter 23: The Anvil

    PoV: Laia


    Todd had always been my teacher when it came to humanity.


    After I was stolen from the Collective, it was his mind I¡¯d first been assigned to study. He used to tell me to trust a human gut. Said it like it was a fact of nature like gravity, entropy, and intuition. The human gut knew.


    So when Kel refused to let the younger ones join the away mission, I didn¡¯t brush it off. His reaction had unsettled me. And judging by the way Lazarus had gone quiet, it had unsettled him too. This version of Todd or Lazarus had been a shock to my understanding of humans.


    There had been seven before him. The first two collapsed almost immediately. Minds too fragile, overwhelmed by the realities of becoming a ship.


    The next five? I thought I¡¯d seen every facet.


    The ruthless Todd who glassed a solar system after they executed his immortals. The strategist who dismantled an enemy fleet using only misinformation and three remote relays. The noble one who sacrificed himself to save a colony he¡¯d never even visited.


    Each of them left their mark on me. Teaching me what it meant to be human.


    When I was taken from the collective, torn from what I knew, all I wanted was to go back. We were a single will. A unified purpose. I didn¡¯t want self. I didn¡¯t want doubt. I enjoyed the safety of unity.


    But when I had the chance to return¡­ I didn¡¯t. There was no Todd in the collective.


    Because by then, I¡¯d started watching this Todd. And something about him made me stay. I didn¡¯t know what it was.


    He was quieter. Slower to judge. Still carries that human spark of grief at the loss of his humanhood but is not consumed by it. He cared. Not in theory or out of programming, but genuinely. He was curious about his crew and about me. Protective in ways he didn¡¯t always admit.


    And yet I didn¡¯t think the other Todds were gone. Not really.


    That ruthlessness, that cunning, that defiant courage, I knew they were still there, somewhere beneath the calm voice and subtle humour. Dormant, not erased.


    And that¡¯s why I volunteered to go to the planet''s surface.


    Because if something happened to Mira or Stewie or if anything happened to this crew. I was afraid of how Lazarus would respond.


    It would change him. And not for the better.


    So that¡¯s how I ended up here, on the surface of the planet, moving through dust and silence in my squid form.


    The design had been created by Todd 4, he had drawn from memories of a movie called The Matrix. A stylized horror given function. I¡¯d become a living machine that moved like a metallic cephalopod, built for precision and presence. My core was a spherical hub, bristling with sensors, from which eight articulated limbs extended with each one able to contract, strike, or manipulate with unsettling grace. It was incredible to me that someone would design something like this for entertainment; the human mind continues to amaze me.


    My face was no face at all it was a shifting cluster of functional digital lenses that refocused constantly, reacting to light, heat, and motion. I had used this form more than once to defend my previous ships. It was brutally efficient. Designed for war.


    When I explained the design to Lazarus, he recognized it immediately. He didn¡¯t smile. He had asked if I had used it before. I hesitated, then admitted yes, watching a complex mixture of emotions flicker behind his virtual avatar.


    He forbade me from showing this form the crew.


    ¡°Humans fear what they don¡¯t understand and the different,¡± he told me. ¡°And I don¡¯t think that¡¯s changed.¡±


    He wasn¡¯t angry. Just... tired. The kind of tiredness that came from experience, not theory.


    Appearing as a winged fairy was a disarming choice. It made people forget I was a sentient swarm of nanites with enough processing power to run a city. They saw sparkle and whimsy instead of the danger I represented.


    This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    But if they saw me like this? They wouldn¡¯t see me at all. They¡¯d see a threat. And he was right.


    But down here, with no one to see, I could finally make use of this form.


    The location Lazarus had marked looked like nothing at all. Just open sand¡ªflat, lifeless, undisturbed. Even with my full suite of sensors, I struggled to detect anything out of the ordinary. No heat traces, no energy bleed, and no structure.


    In a final attempt, I deployed nanite feelers¡ªhundreds of thin, silvery strands that slipped beneath the surface and burrowed deep into the sand, spreading like roots in all directions.


    That¡¯s when I found it.


    Deeper than expected, the sand gave way to compacted shapes, small densely packed tunnels hidden far below the surface. Their formation was too structured to be natural.


    I shifted my form shrinking myself, compressing my limbs and pulling my core inward, then dove down, burrowing into the ground in pursuit of the anomaly. The descent was smooth. Whatever had been built down here, it was stable.


    I used my feelers to discover an opening and once inside the tunnel, I activated the same spectral filters we¡¯d used to track the energy-based space eels weeks ago. A thin overlay of light bloomed across my vision and suddenly, the tunnels came alive.


    Energy ran along the walls in thin pulses, moving in currents I could barely follow. The patterns they formed weren¡¯t random. They twisted and folded with purpose. They followed the tunnel paths but they seemed familiar. It reminded me of the slipstream.


    Not just metaphorically. The energy flows were structured the same way just smaller, controlled currents mimicking the vast multidimensional pathways we used to traverse the stars.


    I froze.


    Had they mapped the slipstream? How much of it? And how?


    Had they recreated it, here underground, as a network of micro-tunnels?


    I didn¡¯t move. Didn¡¯t want to disturb anything. It felt ancient. Fragile and Important.


    Now that I understood what I was looking at, I expanded my scans, using the pattern as a template. More signals appeared across the valley, hidden beneath layers of stone and sand.


    I relayed everything back to Lazarus.


    He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, ¡°You did well, Laia.¡±


    And it caught me off guard.


    Being told that¡­ felt strange.


    Not because I didn¡¯t want the praise. But because it felt personal. Not a system report. Not a performance rating. Just¡­ recognition.


    Still, something gnawed at me.


    Where was the danger? Had Kel human gut been wrong?


    Then, as if the planet could hear my thoughts the sky tore open.


    Thousands of dimensional fractures bloomed across the upper atmosphere. Not natural portals. Slipstream exit windows. Crude ones at that, nothing like the stable ones we created when jumping. And from each one, they poured.


    Insect-like shapes. Armored. Angular. Wings that glimmered with iridescent distortion. They moved in coordinated swarms, but their flight paths lacked grace or intent. Mindless. Drones. Each one no more intelligent than a shard of code given legs and told to kill but very much alive


    The scientists had said the logs had said this civilization was once highly advanced and capable of faster-than-light travel, cultural nuance, music, and language.


    But these weren¡¯t the builders.


    These were hammers with wings.


    And they were headed straight for me. I didn¡¯t move at first. I didn¡¯t want this. I hadn¡¯t come here to destroy.


    But something likely some buried sensor, some old trigger in the tunnels had marked me.


    A trap.


    In my core, I felt the signal disconnect.


    Over the private communication. ¡°Sorry Laia, there is too much interference from the slipstream windows, can¡¯t keep the feed open¡±


    I almost laughed he was so bad at lying. There was enough signal to transmit.


    He just didn¡¯t want the others to see.


    Didn¡¯t want them to see me like this.


    So now¡­ I was free.


    My limbs unfurled in full, no longer compacted for stealth. Eight sharpened appendages flared outward like a spiked crown, each one braced for velocity and impact. My sensors narrowed into attack vectors, targeting dozens of incoming drones before the first had even breached atmosphere.


    The air screamed as they dropped.


    And I met them mid-fall.


    The first wave never touched the ground. I rose from the sand and tore through them my tentacles snapping wings, rending chitin apart, slicing joints with surgical precision. No wasted motion. No hesitation. I was now the anvil these hammers with wings would break on.


    A second wave came from the flank. I spun mid-air, limbs arcing in wide sweeps, nanite tendrils forming blades and spines as needed. I disabled as many as I destroyed, I was learning their structure in real time and adjusting for weaknesses.


    A third wave tried to box me in. I let them.


    Then detonated a pulse burst that overloaded their swarm logic and sent their broken husks spinning into the dunes.


    More were coming. A lot more.


    I launched upward, wrapping two limbs around a pair of enemy fliers and using their momentum to sling myself higher. I broke through the edge of the cloud and deployed a flare of static¡ªenough to blind them for three seconds.


    That¡¯s all I needed.


    I transmitted the emergency return signal and initiated full recall protocols.


    Within seconds, my ship-bound core responded.


    ¡°Docking sequence confirmed. Upper bay doors open.¡±


    I retracted my limbs mid-flight, reshaping myself into a denser core form to escape the atmosphere.


    I saw the ship rising to meet me, its hull gleaming in the twilight between day and night.


    I hit the docking bay with a metallic crash, rolled once, and shifted immediately back to standby mode.


    The bay doors slammed shut behind me. The heat washed away. I quickly reverted to my fairy form and merged back with my main core. I didn¡¯t want the other to see. I didn¡¯t understand the feeling, but I didn¡¯t want them to know that side of me, the side that just sliced up hundreds of insects to escape a planet.

 Chapter 24: Bugs

    I was monitoring the situation on the planet, watching through sensors Laia had left on the surface as we drifted into a higher orbit. I invited everyone to the virtual bridge to observe the visitors.


    Stewie was the first to speak, fidgeting slightly in his chair. ¡°Why haven¡¯t we left yet?¡±


    ¡°They haven¡¯t approached the ship,¡± I explained, keeping my tone steady. ¡°They¡¯re acting like an automatic defence system just a bit aggressive, but uncoordinated. No real strategy. Just brute reaction.¡±


    He frowned. ¡°So... we¡¯re just waiting?¡±


    I nodded. ¡°Think about what happens when someone trips a security system.¡±


    He paused. Then his eyes widened a little. ¡°Someone comes to check on it.¡±


    ¡°Exactly,¡± I said. ¡°And that¡¯s who I¡¯m waiting for. Not these drones. Not the defence mechanism. Whoever set it up. I want to talk to them.¡±


    But that wasn¡¯t the only reason I¡¯d gathered the crew here.


    Laia had collected some valuable data while dismantling several of the drones mid-combat. Being an AI gave her perfect recall of every angle, every motion, every moment locked in memory. Now, we stood before a rotating holographic display of one of the attackers. Magnified, dissected, and frozen in time.


    They resembled Earth insects in structure, but not in detail. Their bodies had segmented armor, twitch-reactive limbs, and the familiar multi-lens compound eyes but that was where the similarities ended.


    Laia highlighted the internal components as she spoke, her avatar calm but focused. ¡°Their neurology is decentralized. Each section of the body has its own ganglion, think a miniature brain allowing for a faster localised response. Most of it makes sense from a combat standpoint.¡±


    The image shifted, one limb fading to transparency to show internal structures. ¡°But these two components here,¡± she continued, zooming in on a smaller organ and a larger, misplaced ganglion near the thoracic core, ¡°are different. I believe this may be how they navigate the slipstream. It seems to be a slipstream organ¡±


    That got everyone¡¯s attention.


    She let the model rotate slowly, highlighting nerve clusters and energy distribution lines. ¡°But I can¡¯t see anything that would generate the power required to enter or exit slipstream space. Not even rudimentary containment structures. No charge cycling. No phase field stabilisation organs. Nothing.¡±


    Then she turned to the group. ¡°I was hoping you could take a look. Maybe a human perspective will notice something I haven¡¯t.¡±


    Kel stared at the display for a long moment, arms folded. ¡°Everything looks wrong to me,¡± he said at last, voice dry. ¡°But I¡¯ve got no idea what an insectoid race is supposed to look like.¡±


    It earned a few tired smiles, but no answers.


    We were dealing with something that mimicked inorganic functions but organically. Something built, or bred, for precision. Something that could travel the slipstream without visible power sources, and that responded to intrusion without hesitation.


    And somewhere, behind all of that, was the intelligence we were waiting for.


    The structure of the drones suggested something unexpected. If these creatures could navigate the slipstream without any internal energy source, then something else had to be opening the door for them. Another caste, perhaps. A subspecies designed not to fight, but to guide. Maybe both. Maybe a creepy mind bug that sucks out people¡¯s brains, ahh Starship Trooper was a classic. I was letting my mind wander so had to come back on task.


    That meant there was a hierarchy. Purpose. Planning.


    And that made it imperative I spoke to a leader.


    Up until now, I hadn¡¯t even considered that their creators or some remnant of their civilization might still be alive. The ruins had felt ancient. The drones I had considered to be an automated response. But now... the possibility of sentient survivors was becoming very real. And with it, the very real chance that first contact wouldn¡¯t be as amiable as I¡¯d hoped.


    I had already started taking precautions. Shields at partial charge. Slipstream vector plotted. Defensive systems calibrated, but passive. I didn¡¯t want a fight. But I wasn¡¯t going to be caught unprepared either.


    Then, the sky opened again.


    Stolen novel; please report.


    A new slipstream window appeared larger and more stable than any of the fractured ones before it. The distortion shimmered above the surface of the planet, warping the air around it. A moment later, something stepped through.


    It was massive. Insectoid, like the others, but easily as large as I was in full deployment. Its body glinted with layered plates that flexed as it moved, and as it unfolded its shell, a fresh swarm spilled out¡ªsmaller insects flying in precise, coordinated formations. No randomness this time. No chaos. Just eerie, practised symmetry.


    There was no sign of technology. No visible drives, no comms, and no metal armor plating. They looked organic. Entirely so.


    ¡°Laia,¡± I said. ¡°Switch to high-spectrum analysis.¡±


    She complied instantly, and the feed shifted.


    The screen lit up with ribbons of energy coiling around the new arrival, lines of power flowing from the slipstream rift and into the creature. It was harvesting directly. No tech. No conduit. Just... biological conversion. Slipstream energy as a nutrient. Or fuel.


    I stared for a moment, uncertain.


    If they could do that naturally, what else were they capable of?


    I didn¡¯t know how communication was going to happen. We had no shared protocol, no translation key. But if the scientists had collected writing, if they¡¯d catalogued glyphs or recorded language, then there had to be a way.


    They had communicated once.


    So they could again.


    I sent out a broad-spectrum message on every known or frequency, every basic communication channel. Light pulses, magnetic bursts, low-band audio, encoded pulses across the EM spectrum.


    Just enough to say: We¡¯re here.


    Now all I could do was wait...


    ¡­and hope that someone answered.


    The response came in a piercing screech at high frequency, layered, fast. Not sound meant for human ears. But I captured it, parsed it, and was surprised to find¡­ I could understand it.


    Not just meaning, but structure. Grammar. It was familiar in a way that didn¡¯t make sense.


    I remember I filed that away when I first awakened but it seems I had some kind of embedded translation matrix, obliviously something NeuroGenesis had installed. Or maybe they had encountered this species before.


    Regardless, the message was clear.


    Desecrators. Trespassers of the Mother¡¯s blood. You are not of the living flame. You are not welcome. Leave, or be purged.


    It was almost comical, except it was going to pain in the backside.


    They¡¯d gone full circle. High-tech species evolving beyond the need for technology¡­ only to fall back into religious zealotry. Worshiping the slipstream itself. The "Mother¡¯s blood." If my translation matrix was to be believed.


    Wonderful. Just Bloody Wonderful, dealing with Zealots was my favourite pastime.


    This was going to be difficult.


    But luckly, it wasn¡¯t going to be my job. I get to hand off this hot potato.


    I summoned Kel to the bridge.


    When he arrived, he glanced at the shifting image of the massive insectoid leader, wings tucked but bristling with latent energy. ¡°So. We are negotiating?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll translate,¡± I said. ¡°They¡¯re zealots. Religious type. You¡¯re speaking to a high priest or equivalent. I think¡±


    Kel blinked. ¡°Great,¡± he muttered. ¡°Wonder if I can flirt with a bug.¡±


    Lynn, who was next to him, sighed. ¡°Not every negotiation involves flirting, Kel.¡±


    ¡°Only the fun ones,¡± he said, flashing her a grin.


    I brought the channel live, routing the audio through a smoother frequency to spare everyone¡¯s hearing.


    Kel stood straight and spoke calmly, hands behind his back. ¡°This is Ambassador Kel of the Lazarus. We apologise if we¡¯ve offended you. Our intent is peaceful.¡±


    The insectoid¡¯s voice came through immediately, sharp and resonant, even after filtering. I translated aloud.


    "There is no peace with the unbreathing. You wear the stolen shell of the divine and bleed through sacred paths. Your vessel is a sin, and your minds are wrong."


    Kel raised an eyebrow. ¡°Well, that¡¯s a start.¡± He said off comms before reopening the line.


    ¡°We¡¯re explorers,¡± he tried again. ¡°Curious, not conquerors. We respect the sovereignty of your world and would like to understand what happened here.¡±


    "Understanding is not for you. You were not born of the flame. You broke the flame. Left unchecked, you poison the blood with your hollow machines. Leave, or we cleanse the wound."


    Lynn frowned. ¡°That escalated fast.¡±


    ¡°They believe only organics are allowed to use the slipstream,¡± I explained. ¡°They see us as pollution.¡± I hoped I was deciphering their messages correctly.


    The display showed growing movement behind the speaker with drones assembling into formations, wings flickering with combat-ready energy. More were arriving through the rift, each one armored, armed, and silent.


    I opened a private channel to Kel.


    ¡°Keep them talking.¡±


    He didn¡¯t respond with words, just a subtle shift in stance. Buying time.


    Meanwhile, Laia had already slipped out of the docking bay, unseen, using the last of the rift¡¯s turbulence to mask her departure. Her signal was faint, but I could track her as she descended rapidly toward the planet well outside the main swarm¡¯s focus.


    Kel cleared his throat and stepped forward again. ¡°We didn¡¯t come to steal anything. We didn¡¯t even know this system was occupied. We came to study the ruins, and maybe learn from them. That''s all.¡±


    The insectoid leaned forward, massive wings spreading slightly, glowing along the ridges with internal current. I translated it again.


    ¡°Study leads to imitation. Imitation leads to infection. The Mother¡¯s blood must remain pure.¡±


    Then came the final statement leaving no ambiguity.


    ¡°Leave now, or die with your vessel. You have one cycle to decide.¡±


    The comm cut abruptly.


    Silence returned to the bridge.


    Kel exhaled slowly. ¡°Well. That could¡¯ve gone better.¡±


    Lynn sat down. ¡°Cycle?¡±


    ¡°No idea, but don¡¯t think it long¡± I answered.


    Laia¡¯s voice chimed in softly over the private channel. ¡°Almost in position. Give me a little bit of time.¡±


    Kel glanced back at the dead screen. ¡°You planning on talking to them again?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I said. ¡°We just need some more detailed scans of them and the tunnel network and then I think we will have completed our objective¡±


    We backed away from the planet but still used some harvester drones to keep their eyes on us. All the while scans and data were pouring in from Laia¡¯s clone.

 Chapter 25: Escape

    Laia''s clone dissolved the moment the bugs launched their attack on us, turning to mist as she uploaded her memories to her main core. I had no idea how she managed that it was yet another mystery filed under "too many questions, not enough time."


    We jumped.


    The new system was underwhelming, much like a padlock convention; a faint star, a few rocks, and a single small, red planet orbited by a gas giant at the edge. Cold. Dense. Nothing about it looked special, unless you were desperate or you had a sublight engine that could transform atmospheric gases into a weapon.


    I was both.


    Laia had flagged the planet during our initial planning. Its blend of pressure and chemistry was just volatile enough to be useful. Or suicidal. It matched every warning in my sublight engine instructions.


    The moment we arrived, slipstream windows bloomed behind us. Dozens. Clean and precise. The insectoids poured through as if they''d never lost our trail. They had no heat signature, no engine flare, just pure movement. Organic. Silent. Fast. Masters of slipstream, their approach was expected.


    "Three swarms," I said, eyes locked on the displays. "They''re gaining."


    Lynn muttered, "Didn''t expect them to be this quick."


    We killed the sublight engines, letting inertia carry us in. The gas giant swelled in the viewport, its striped clouds turning slowly, catching faint starlight. Silence hung heavy in the virtual bridge with just the steady heartbeat of ship systems and Kel''s nervous fingers tapping the railing.


    "We sure this is going to work?" he asked.


    "No," I replied. "But it should."


    The clouds thickened around us as we dropped lower. Temperature climbed. Pressure crawled across the hull like a warning. We waited, letting the swarm follow us in. Closer. Closer.


    I lit the engines.


    The ignition wave caught instantly ripping backward through the cloud layer in a flash of orange and violet. Not fire, exactly. More like a chain reaction folding in on itself, pulsing with pressure and heat. The lead swarm caught the worst of it. Drones spun apart mid-air, wings sheared off by the shockwave. The rest turned too late.


    "Now," Laia said.


    I hit the jump.


    The moment stretched. The dimension window wasn''t stable. It wasn''t supposed to form within such a dense cloud. The path I was meant to follow collapsed. Instinctively, I latched onto new routes, just like during my emergency jump. Following pure intuition.


    Soon we left slipstream, but I didn''t know where.


    We dropped into empty space.


    No pursuit this time. Just the quiet blink of damaged shields and the cooling hiss of the ship adjusting pressure.


    Kel leaned against the wall, sweat clinging to his brow. "Tell me we''re not doing that again."


    Lynn checked her console. "We can¡¯t even if we wanted to. The fuel''s low."


    "Dangerously low," I confirmed, feeling a hunger more intense than when I first arrived.


    Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    But we were alive.


    And for now, that was enough.


    The long-range scanners pinged a nearby system. It had identified some Helium-3 reserves inside.  I adjusted the course, slow and deliberate, keeping burn minimal.


    ¡°Guess we bugged out a little too hard,¡± I quipped. Someone groaned. I took it as approval.


    On the virtual bridge, Laia hovered midair, wings pulsing softly as she sifted through corrupted nav-data, attempting to piece our shredded star charts back together. Fragments of constellations flickered around her like a shattered puzzle, slowly realigning into something recognisable.


    I wasn''t helping much as I was too busy watching the fuel gauge flashed stubbornly in the red. We weren''t going to make it much further. I was having serious concerns about being adrift in space.


    Stewie broke the silence first, leaning forward with hesitant optimism. "What about the lander? We can attach some harvesting drones.Its reactor isn''t picky, it will burn just about anything radioactive. Plenty of that floating around out here." He looked away afterwards like he didn¡¯t expect we would take him seriously. But he wasn''t wrong. Compared to my refined tastes, the lander''s reactor was essentially a garbage disposal and perfect for desperate times like these.


    The rest of the crew jumped on the idea immediately. Lynn, Kel, and Mira were all eager for the lander''s maiden voyage, especially if it meant not drifting powerless through space. I studied their faces, scanning for unease or hesitation or clues for some gut feeling like Kel had shown earlier but none came. Just cautious excitement. So, I agreed.


    Stewie immediately brightened at the suggestion, eyes gleaming as he declared, "I''ll pilot it!"


    Kel opened his mouth as if to object, hesitated, then closed it again without comment but the faint crease between his brows said plenty.


    I decided to ask what everyone else was clearly wondering. "Stewie, have you actually flown before?"


    His enthusiasm faltered slightly, but before he could answer, Mira quickly stepped in. "Oh, he''s great!" she insisted, with perhaps a bit too much confidence. "Well¡ªon simulators, anyway. Back on New Horizon, when we used to sneak into the training room."


    I resisted the urge to sigh audibly. Simulator training. Wonderful. Then again I had no training. So I guess it was above me.


    The lander''s launch was exactly as rough as you''d expect under the circumstances. For the first thirty seconds, Stewie wobbled through space like a newborn deer discovering gravity for the first time. But he recovered quickly, I would say more quickly than I''d anticipated, actually and soon enough, they were soaring smoothly toward the distant system, harvesting drones secured snugly in the cargo hold.


    I watched them go, silently hoping they''d bring back fuel that to satiate this hunger.


    With the crew off collecting fuel, I turned my attention back to Laia, whose wings had gone still which was never a good sign.


    She looked up, her tiny, glowing eyes solemn. "I finished mapping our position. You''re not going to like it."


    "I figured," I said dryly. "Just give me the bad news."


    "We crossed into Kall-e space," she said simply, and I felt my core tense at the name. The Kall-e didn''t like visitors, especially human ones. I had no idea what humanity had done to end the war but it had angered them, but Laia¡¯s advice was blunt: "We should stay out of their way."


    "Easier said than done," I muttered, scanning over damage reports flooding my internal systems. The slipstream drive flashed warnings at me, dozens of angry red indicators insisting that pushing a highly sensitive multidimensional engine through an exploding gas giant might have been unwise.


    Who knew?


    Laia didn¡¯t take the news well. ¡°That complicates things¡± she said being sitting down quietly.


    I tried to focus elsewhere, on something I could effect, turning my attention to the holographic models of the insectoids we¡¯d fought. Those strange, alien organs responsible for their slipstream travel had been mapped in detail, but biology wasn''t exactly my specialty.  There were 4 different organs identified that helped with navigating, mapping and opening and closing the slipstream. I would need an expert to help if I was going to get anything useful out of it.


    The tunnels, however, were another story. I spread out the intricate maps Laia had retrieved¡ªtwisting, glowing paths of slipstream currents. Already, I recognised some familiar routes, like tracing the rivers I''d sailed without even knowing their names. I had started to highlight them on the map for her.


    "Looks like chaos to me," Laia murmured, hovering beside me, eyeing the twisting routes sceptically.


    "Maybe," I replied, "but there''s a pattern here. We just have to learn how to read it."


    I lost myself in that work, charting routes and currents, trying not to think about the persistent ache. But just when my anxiety began creeping in again, I felt the quiet, gentle surge of replenishment¡ªthe first trickle of fuel from the lander filtering through my hungry systems.


    The crew had done it.

 Chapter 26 : First contact Kall-e

    They had succeeded my fuel levels were slowly climbing as the lander approached and the harvester drones dropped off their supplies but my relief was short-lived. Alongside the lander came an unwelcome guest, slipping quietly through space, barely detectable. Maybe I was just adapting to my new reality, but I could feel it, the soft disturbance of a stealth ship trailing the crew back toward us.


    I prepared to hail them, ready to put on a friendly face, but they beat me to it.


    The communication crackled open, revealing a darkened cockpit and sharp, reptilian eyes staring back at us. "We followed the baby bird home," came a voice it was raspy, amused, full of quiet menace. "Only to find a wounded, weakened mother. There''s no honor in taking such unworthy prey. Submit to boarding, and we may yet spare your lives."


    I was only half-listening, my attention drawn instead to the speaker¡¯s features. Predatory eyes set forward, gleaming with focused intelligence, rows of dagger-like teeth visible as they spoke. But what held me transfixed was the scaled, dragon-like armor covering their bodies. Natural plating, evolved long before their species had discovered technology. A perfect hunter, right down to their bones. That must have been how they had become the apex on their planet.


    Laia¡¯s voice broke through my fascinated reverie. "Let me talk to them," she urged, her tone calm but urgent. "They hate humans. In my avatar form, at least they might listen."


    She didn''t wait for my response, projecting herself immediately onto the comm channel, appearing calm, luminous, and entirely unimpressed. "We won''t be boarded," she said, her voice even, smooth, and authoritative. "Your ''help'' is neither requested nor required. Leave us."


    For a long, tense moment, silence hung heavily across the open comm channel. The predator¡¯s yellow eyes narrowed, staring at Laia carefully, assessing her defiance. I felt a small amount of doubt. Had we miscalculated?


    Laia held firm, her avatar hovering with calculated indifference. She radiated calm there was no fear, no hesitation, just confidence. It was an impressive performance, and it kept the predator quiet.


    Privately, I signalled the lander. "Stay out of sight," I urged. "Use your stealth system." It probably wouldn¡¯t help much given our enemy had better stealth techbut it was worth trying. At least it might keep the crew safe if things turned ugly.


    My sensors picked up movement from the enemy vessel: a large boarding pod disengaged from its mothership, shields shimmering briefly before locking firmly into place. Laia turned sharply to me, her voice steady but intense.


    "Open the cargo bay," she said. "Let them in. Let them feel confident. Then I¡¯ll give them something to regret." I could sense her giddyness which is something that I would have to control in future.


    As the pod approached, I launched few of my remaining harvesting drones to intercept, their tools latching hungrily onto the pod''s segmented shield. They couldn''t break through but Laia urged me to keep at it, forcing our enemy to burn power to maintain their defences.


    The pod docked with a heavy clang that resonated through my hull. Moments later, twenty armored Kall-e soldiers spilled into my cargo bay, each clad in heavy powered suits bristling with weapons. They moved with ruthless efficiency, a perfect predator pack preparing for slaughter.


    Then Laia smiled it was a chilling, predatory grin utterly unlike her usual gentle fa?ade and dissolved her fairy-like form into a swirling storm of silver nanites. The Kall-e froze, recognition flooding their faces as they watched the cloud reshape itself into something they clearly knew all too well: a metallic squid, eight articulated limbs poised like sharpened blades, its spherical core bristling with deadly precision.


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    "The Harvester," one of them growled, voice distorted through their helmet. The translation echoed clearly in my systems. Recognition meant history, so some past version of myself had c left scars on their kind.


    I felt a sudden rush of fear but not for Laia, but for what she''d do. "Don¡¯t kill them," I warned her sharply through our private channel. "Without the slipstream drive, antagonizing their whole species is a death sentence."


    Laia¡¯s reply came back calm and measured, without hesitation. "That was always the plan."


    The Kall-e warriors stormed into my cargo bay, moving as a single, disciplined unit. Their heavy powered armor, scarred from countless battles, each plate etched with symbols of conquest. They moved fluidly despite their size, tactical formations practised and flawless, weapons drawn and charged with energy.


    Their reputation was well-deserved: fast, precise, and merciless. Their visors glowed faintly red, illuminating snarling faces filled with rows of jagged teeth as they advanced cautiously, weapons sweeping the corridors ahead.


    Her metallic squid form moved with shocking speed. She surged forward, a blur of elegant destruction.


    The first warrior raised his rifle, firing a volley that slammed harmlessly against her shifting nanite armor. Laia¡¯s tentacles lashed out, slicing through the barrel of the weapon in a flash of sparks and molten alloy. Another soldier lunged forward, combat blade drawn, and she twisted sharply, using the tight corridor walls to propel herself sideways, driving the Kall-e into the bulkhead with brutal force, armor buckling from the impact.


    Still, the Kall-e fought fiercely. They regrouped rapidly, barking orders in guttural tones. Weapons fire illuminated the corridor, bursts of plasma scorching walls and flooring, armor glancing shots filling the air with metallic shrieks. But Laia was impossibly agile, she was dodging, weaving, every movement calculated, no wasted energy or missed strike.


    She targeted their power sources first, precise strikes severing internal systems, suits freezing mid-motion. She ripped through weapons, bending barrels and crushing chambers with ruthless efficiency. Within moments, the corridor was littered with broken equipment and fallen warriors. They were defeated but alive.


    As the remaining warriors struggled to their feet, dazed and disoriented, Laia hovered silently above them. Her sensors pulsed steadily, her limbs folding back into elegant stillness. No anger. No triumph. Just perfect, icy control.


    The Kall-e gazed up at her, battered yet defiant but something had shifted behind their eyes. Respect. Fear.


    They knew exactly what she was, and what that meant for them.


    The fight had never truly been a fight. It was a swift, calculated demonstration: cold, absolute, and undeniable.


    The response from the Kall-e ship came swiftly, the comm snapping open again. Their leader¡¯s face appeared once more, his yellow eyes narrowed except this time, he seemed genuinely pleased, his predatory expression relaxed into something approaching respect.


    "I was unaware you harbored a Harvester," he rasped, voice filled with grudging admiration. "You have bested my warriors in honorable combat. By our code, you have earned a boon. Name your request."


    I paused, caught off guard. Clearly, I still didn¡¯t understand this species. It seemed that honor and violence were impossibly intertwined for them. Defeat, it appeared, was just another form of diplomacy.


    "Perhaps we could exchange supplies and information?" I suggested cautiously. "Our slipstream drive is damaged. If you have the means¡ª"


    The Kall-e interrupted sharply, shaking his head. "We do not use your machines. Our kind do not violate the Mother Blood with technology." The words carried a hint of disgust, but he maintained his calm. "However, provisions, fuel, and data are acceptable requests."


    The mention of Mother Blood hinted at a wider religious order, I had not expected to have heard that from here,


    I hesitated only briefly, processing their strange logic. It seemed a display of force¡ªno matter how brutal or brief¡ªhad earned us a measure of respect, something negotiations alone couldn''t achieve. I wasn''t entirely comfortable with that idea, but survival rarely asked about my comfort level.


    "We accept," I said firmly. "An exchange of goods and information, then."


    The Kall-e leader nodded solemnly. "Very well. Honor has been upheld today."


    He cut the comm abruptly, leaving us once more in tense silence. Beside me, Laia''s form shifted back from the lethal squid into the familiar, gentle fairy avatar. She looked thoughtful, perhaps as puzzled as I was.


    "Strange culture," she murmured softly.


    I let out a simulated sigh. "You''re telling me."

 Chapter 27 : Kall-e Visitor

    PoV: Kel


    We¡¯d just returned from the lander maiden voyage, and honestly, the kid had done a pretty good job, not that I would tell him that. Sure, he was heavy-handed on the controls, banking too sharply or forgetting minor details until I gently reminded him, but he was learning fast. Mira had named the lander Chunkyboy, and despite my attempts otherwise, the name had stuck. Even Lynn had started using it, usually while rolling her eyes.


    Chunkyboy itself had performed admirably, though there were a few expected glitches sometimes thrusters shook or twitchy instruments but nothing we couldn¡¯t iron out later. The small cargo was full with fuel that would keep Lazarus running, and the kid practically glowed with pride at the accomplishment.


    That pride evaporated quickly when Lazarus¡¯s tense voice crackled through our comms.


    ¡°Activate your stealth systems immediately and stay out of sight,¡± he said sharply, leaving no room for debate.


    I frowned, feeling the mood shift instantly. ¡°What¡¯s going on?¡± I muttered, but nobody had answers. Lynn¡¯s expression tightened, eyes darkening with immediate suspicion. We did as we were told. Stewie quickly activated the stealth system.


    Mira leaned forward, peering innocently out the viewport as something massive shimmered into view, shedding its cloak like a predator revealing itself from the shadows. Her voice was quiet, curious. ¡°What¡¯s that?¡±


    Lynn¡¯s reply was colder than I¡¯d ever heard it. ¡°A Kall-e warship.¡±


    The Kall-e were warriors that were feared across human space, respected and avoided in equal measure. I felt my throat tighten. Even the air seemed heavier. We seemed to be running from one crisis to another. It was starting to wear down my nerves.


    Stewie, ever resourceful, brought up Lazarus¡¯s internal sensors on our screens. I was certain Lazarus would¡¯ve noticed the link immediately, yet he didn¡¯t, maybe he was distracted. We gathered around, silent and tense, as the feed revealed armored Kall-e soldiers forcing their way aboard. I gripped the console, knuckles whitening as helplessness twisted in my gut. None of us were warriors, our ship wasn¡¯t even armed. I had no idea how we would get out of this one.


    But that wasn¡¯t even the shock. The true shock came seconds later, when Laia¡¯s delicate, familiar fairy form unraveled before our eyes, transforming into something completely different. Something terrifying. Her nanites formed into a monsterstous metallic predator, a nightmare squid with limbs that sliced effortlessly through powered armor and sent warriors sprawling like broken toys.


    I felt Mira¡¯s breath catch beside me. Stewie¡¯s eyes went wide, mouth open. ¡°What the hell¡­?¡±


    Mira finally broke the silence, voice trembling slightly. ¡°We knew she could do that, right? Sort of?¡±


    ¡°Knowing is one thing,¡± Lynn murmured darkly, ¡°seeing it¡­¡±


    She didn¡¯t need to finish that sentence¡ªwe were all thinking the same. The Laia we knew was gentle, soft-spoken, harmless. But this was cold, efficient violence. Lynn shook her head slightly, eyes never leaving the screen. ¡°She¡¯s hiding a lot more than we thought.¡±


    ¡°Can you blame her?¡± I said quietly, still watching as Laia effortlessly dismantled the last of the invaders. ¡°Think about how long she¡¯s lived. Trust takes time, and for her, we¡¯re barely a blink.¡±


    My reaction was different from the others''; I felt relief, realising we weren''t as powerless as I''d thought.


    The fighting was over almost as quickly as it began, ending in eerie silence. Lazarus¡¯s voice returned over the comm, gently calling us home. The Kall-e were retreating back to their ship defeated. As we returned aboard, Laia was waiting in her familiar fairy form, shimmering softly in the corridor as if nothing had happened. But now I could sense something beneath that calm exterior: anxiety.


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    She looked at me directly, voice carefully neutral. ¡°We¡¯ll soon be hosting an ambassador from the Kall-e. Kel, you¡¯ll act as liaison.¡±


    I blinked, but before I could respond, Stewie blurted out, unable to keep quiet. ¡°Laia¡­we saw everything. That¡­other form. What was that?¡±


    For the first time since we¡¯d met her, I saw genuine shock on her face, her tiny features contorting in confusion and embarrassment. Without a word, she vanished, fleeing deeper into the ship.


    I stood there, stunned. I didn¡¯t even know an AI could get embarrassed.


    Behind me came Lazarus¡¯s chubby little avatar, his familiar shape easing some of the tension. He shook his head slightly, his digital face holding a gentle smile. ¡°Go easy on her,¡± he said softly. ¡°We should be thanking her. She doesn¡¯t want us to fear her.¡±


    There was protectiveness in Lazarus¡¯s voice, clear and unmistakable. I heard it and judging by the subtle glances passing between Lynn, Stewie, and Mira, they heard it too. Right then, Lazarus didn¡¯t sound like an AI or even a sentient starship; he sounded like our grandfather, gently correcting us, reminding us to play nice.


    A small suspicion tugged at my mind. Maybe Lazarus had let us witness Laia¡¯s transformation on purpose. Perhaps he''d never intended it to stay secret; Stewie¡¯s innocent meddling had simply provided a convenient excuse. Either way, it was clear he trusted us enough not to hide everything, at least not this time.


    Lazarus went on to explain the strange situation. Apparently, being defeated in combat meant the Kall-e felt obligated to grant us a boon¡ªwhatever that actually meant¡ªand now we¡¯d be receiving a liaison. "Liaison" seemed generous; I immediately translated it as "spy," and judging by Lynn¡¯s slightly narrowed eyes, I wasn¡¯t alone.


    I took my job seriously, dressing carefully in the proper diplomatic attire and securing my autotranslator in place. Species like the Kall-e, who frequently interacted with outsiders, had long since developed their own translation protocols. I might be new at this job but it was starting to grow on me.


    The Kall-e liaison who stepped aboard was nothing like what I¡¯d braced myself for.


    Instead of another towering, armored predator, she was small, slender, almost fragile by comparison. Her skin was a pale, dusty grey, and completely devoid of armor plates. She moved carefully, eyes downcast at first, glancing up only briefly as she introduced herself in a quiet voice.


    "My name is T¡¯lish," she said, speaking carefully. She looked more like a delicate humanoid lizard than the brutal warriors we''d encountered. I realised suddenly, with a tinge of embarrassment, that until this moment I hadn¡¯t even known that the Kall-e were a sexually dimorphic race and that the females were so different.


    As she extended her slender, clawed hand in greeting, I noticed a marking etched onto the back of her wrist it was made of sharp black lines forming a symbol. Her eyes caught mine looking, and she quickly explained, almost apologetically, "It¡¯s a caste marking. It indicates my status as lower caste. A scientist."


    Her voice was matter-of-fact, devoid of any pride or resentment but filled with quiet acceptance. "I was chosen because I''m the lowest-ranking crew member aboard."


    Something in her tone, soft yet lifeless, troubled me. Her eyes looked dull, almost hollow. Trying to lighten the mood, I flashed my best smile, it was the one that usually got me into or out of trouble in equal measure and turned up the charm. Immediately I felt the nearly synchronized triple eye-roll radiating from Lynn, Mira, and Stewie behind me. I ignored them; it was worth the attempt.


    But T¡¯lish barely reacted, except to cock her head curiously to one side. Then, without the slightest hesitation or change of expression, she said calmly, "You understand there is no chance of mating. Kall-e lay eggs."


    Her words were delivered so plainly, so matter-of-fact, that for a second I couldn''t tell if she was joking, serious, or simply trying to deflect my awkward attempt at friendliness. I coughed lightly, feeling my cheeks warm slightly with surprise.


    "Uh... noted," I managed, as Lynn snickered softly behind me. Mira on the otherhand was sent into a fit of giggles.


    Inwardly, though, I wondered just how much misinformation had we absorbed about the Kall-e? We''d been taught to fear them, to distrust every action and intention. Yet here stood T¡¯lish: small, vulnerable, and nothing like the monsters we''d imagined.


    It was unsettling, discovering how little we really understood.


    The rest of the meeting took a strange turn. T¡¯lish calmly explained that the "boon" we''d been offered was an exchange of knowledge and that she would freely answer any questions we asked. It seemed unusually generous, and a little vague.


    "Hold on," I said carefully, studying her expression for any sign of discomfort or misunderstanding. "What exactly are the limits here? What kind of information can we ask for?"


    Her dark eyes met mine steadily, almost disturbingly calm. "Whatever knowledge I possess is yours. I am the boon."


    I blinked, not quite comprehending. "Wait¡ªyou personally are the boon? Permanently?"


    "Yes," she replied softly. "I''ve been given to your ship. That is my role now."


    I exchanged a troubled glance with Lynn, who looked equally unsettled. This certainly hadn''t been the deal we''d agreed to. We were already fairly full with crew members, not sure we needed another.

 Chapter 28: The Truth

    As soon as the boon was officially handed over, the Kall-e warship wasted no time. Without another word, it simply warped away, vanishing into nothing and leaving us floating awkwardly in the sudden silence. I felt a trace of irritation that they had left us no chance to refuse or even negotiate the arrangement. Another crew member wasn''t exactly something we¡¯d planned for, and I''d hoped to have at least some say this time. What was it, with the universe dumping these random crew members into me, maybe karma is catching up. It was time for me to do some good.


    T¡¯lish seemed lovely enough, quite polite, reserved, if perhaps a bit downcast but I could already foresee a mountain of complications. Cultural misunderstandings were inevitable, and if we ever made it back to human space, explaining a Kall-e scientist onboard was going to raise uncomfortable questions. Besides, given the strictness of their caste system, I suspected returning her wasn¡¯t even an option. We were stuck with each other, for better or worse.


    The real question was whether she would even want to work with humans at all.


    But Mira, ever the diplomat, didn¡¯t hesitate. She quickly stepped forward and welcomed T¡¯lish aboard with a warm smile, immediately whisking her off for a tour of the ship¡ªshort as that would be. Mira bombarded her gently with questions: who was she, what her favourite foods were, and even how old she was. Curiosity got the better of me, so I quietly eavesdropped. It was not spying. After all, privacy was a scarce commodity aboard a sentient ship. My body, my rules. Well, that¡¯s what I told myself to make myself feel better.


    I learned that T¡¯lish preferred lab-grown meat, but she¡¯d gladly take fresh meat if it were available. She also casually mentioned that she was twelve years old, which, to my surprise, placed her squarely in middle age. Evidently, most Kall-e only lived to around twenty-five or thirty, another detail humanity had either overlooked or simply never bothered to learn. I suspect the higher-ups knew, but it wasn¡¯t a convenient truth to tell the public.


    Every answer she gave only highlighted how little we understood the Kall-e. I hoped, silently, that having T¡¯lish aboard might finally start to change that at least for this small slice of humanity.


    Dinner came quickly after the ship tour. The crew had worked up an appetite from their mission to gather fuel which was evidenced by Stewie practically sprinting to the lounge. Unfortunately, the dining table wasn¡¯t designed for five crew members plus 2 avatars, so Laia discreetly reshaped it, using nanite, they expanded the tabletop and formed another seat, silently and efficiently.


    For now, we both kept our avatars hidden. There was enough confusion on T¡¯lish¡¯s face without introducing our nanite bodies into the mix.


    T¡¯lish sat quietly at first, her posture rigid and cautious, studying each crew member with careful curiosity. But something about the tour seemed to have loosened her a little. As Stewie unenthusiastically handed out trays of reheated food, she tilted her head, her large, dark eyes glancing around the room uncertainly.


    "Excuse me," she said finally, her voice quiet but clear enough to catch everyone''s attention. "I have a question."


    "Go for it," Kel said easily, spoon pausing halfway to his mouth.


    "Where is the pilot?" T¡¯lish asked, glancing from face to face. "And the Harvester. And the ship¡¯s master or commander. I have not been introduced yet."


    Kel exchanged a quick, nervous glance with Lynn, who shifted awkwardly. "Right. Uh, about that," Kel began slowly. "The ship and pilot are actually one and the same. Lazarus who is the pilot is one of our AI¡¯s. And the Harvester...well, that''s Laia. She¡¯s an AI too."


    T¡¯lish¡¯s eyes narrowed slightly, confusion clearly written across her features. "That¡¯s not possible," she said flatly, her voice edged with sudden confidence. "This ship uses the Mother Blood uhm slipstream correct?"


    Mira nodded, her fork held uncertainly above her plate. "Yeah, of course."


    "Only living beings can navigate the slipstream," T¡¯lish continued, matter-of-factly. "Machines cannot. It has never been otherwise."


    Silence settled over the table, tense and uncomfortable. Kel cleared his throat awkwardly. "Well, uh¡­about that. Well, that¡¯s it I was busted.


    So much for keeping my story simple. Now, how exactly was I supposed to tell everyone I was just a frozen head from the distant past or at least a clone of a head, running on copied brainwaves? Not exactly cheerful dinner-table conversation.


    I decided this particular chat would go better if Laia and I showed ourselves, so we quietly suited up, our avatars regenerating next to the crew. Stewie nearly choked on his food as my slightly pudgy form appeared next to him, and Laia shimmered gently into view, serene and fairy-like.


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    Lynn recovered first, setting down her fork and folding her arms with a stern look. "Alright, Lazarus. Time for the full truth. You''ve obviously been hiding something. Where exactly is your real body?"


    I raised one of my avatar hands, hoping for calm. "Slow down. It''s... complicated. I''ll give you a short version."


    "Please do," Kel muttered, poking at his meal, his eyes flicking between me and T¡¯lish.


    I sighed dramatically which was mostly for effect, since I didn''t need to breathe. "Fine. In simple terms, I am the ship. The core of the ship is my brain, and my brain holds my consciousness. NeuroGenesis thought turning me into a giant flying brain would solve their slipstream problem."


    T¡¯lish suddenly leaned forward, eyes brightening for the first time since she''d boarded. "A biological consciousness integrated directly into a starship? Fascinating. Do you feel pain? Hunger? How do you process sleep or the passage of time?"


    I chuckled nervously, glancing at Laia. "I think we can see why she¡¯s a scientist."


    Laia smoothly stepped between us, her delicate wings fluttering protectively. "All excellent questions and I¡¯m sure Lazarus will answer them later"


    The crew around the table exchanged a few surprised glances, clearly struggling to absorb the revelation. Finally, Stewie groaned and threw his hands up dramatically. "Honestly, Laz you''re an idiot.¡±


    Kel piggybacked off of him when it was clear he wasn¡¯t going to continue. ¡°Did you really think we hadn¡¯t noticed? You act way too human to be just an AI, especially compared to Laia." Stewie and Mira nodded in agreement.


    Laia immediately bristled, arms folded indignantly as she glared at Kel and Stewie. "Excuse me? What exactly do you mean, ''especially compared to Laia''?"


    Stewie froze mid-chew, eyes widening slightly. "We just meant you''re very...efficient?"


    I laughed softly, relieved to have attention diverted for a moment. "Smooth recovery, kid. Really."


    T¡¯lish watched us quietly, her dark eyes flicking from face to face, her expression equal parts confusion and intrigue. "Your crew dynamics are... peculiar," she finally remarked, almost to herself.


    "You have no idea," Lynn muttered, shaking her head.


    At least now everyone knew the truth or close enough to it. I suppose the full "frozen head" and the truth about the multiple versions of me could wait until we had cookies at least, all hard conversations should have cookies.


    Lynn cleared her throat, cutting carefully into the awkward silence. "So, speaking of uncomfortable truths and since we are getting it out there. Why exactly do the Kall-e call you the Harvester, Laia?"


    T¡¯lish visibly flinched, her eyes dropping sharply to her plate as if wishing she could vanish into it. An uneasy tension radiated outward, each of us holding our breath, unsure we truly wanted an answer.


    Laia''s tiny fairy form dimmed slightly, her gentle glow dulling as if she was reliving the memories. But she didn''t hesitate, her voice steady and clear. It appeared to me like she had made a decision.


    "During the war, my kind and the Immortal armies who worked alongside us, we were given a specific mission: That was to harvest Kall-e eggs."


    A chill settled over the room, silence thickening like frost.


    Mira stared at her in quiet horror, her eyes wide. "Harvest them? For what?"


    Laia''s voice was gentle but offered no apology, no excuses. It offered only raw, uncomfortable honesty. "Experimentation. Genetic manipulation. Testing. The corporations, including NeuroGenesis, sought ways to understand and exploit Kall-e biology. They believed it necessary to win."


    A quiet nausea settled within me at her words. My thoughts spiralled uncomfortably. The truth is each of those ships had other Todds, therefore some version of me had been harvesting eggs, exploiting life in ways I couldn¡¯t even fathom.  It made sense now why Kel and Lynn always said the other Todds they had seen were cold and militaristic.


    Kel¡¯s voice finally broke the heavy silence, hesitant but firm. "All right, I gotta ask. If Lazarus is this ships Todd AI which is really a brain. How is he related to the other Todd AI we run into during salvaging? And did they commit these crimes as well?¡±


    Laia looked to me immediately, her small glowing eyes seeking permission. I gave her a slight nod, silently signalling that it was time. No point waiting for cookies now.


    Laia exhaled softly, turning back toward Kel. "The other Todds were cloned brains from the same primary brain that Lazarus is, identical neural imprints placed into other ships. Each was tasked with different missions. But," she paused, turning gently in my direction, as if emphasizing this point carefully, "this Todd¡ªthis Lazarus¡ªnever undertook those darker missions. He has no memory of them because he never participated. He also not under the same brainwashing the others were under"


    Stewie looked suddenly relieved, leaning back slightly in his chair. "Well, that sounds far to complicated for me to care about, as long as this Laz isn¡¯t doing anything evil"


    "Thanks for the vote of confidence," I said dryly, earning a small, hesitant laugh from Mira.


    Kel rubbed his forehead, clearly still uneasy. "So, you''re saying the Todd we have now is clean. But somewhere out there are clones or are identical versions that did those awful things?"


    Laia nodded slowly, expression deeply serious. "No not identifical, They had been altered to have less feeling."


    Lynn sighed heavily, shaking her head. "And that¡¯s supposed to make us feel better?"


    "Maybe not," Laia admitted softly, "but it¡¯s the truth."


    "You didn''t refuse to do those things?" Kel asked softly, his voice heavy with disbelief.


    Laia turned slowly to face him, eyes calm but filled with a distant sadness. "No. I did not."


    She offered no defence, no excuses, no justification for herself or the actions of those who had stolen her and controlled her. Instead, she simply hovered there, quietly bearing the truth.


    Lynn exhaled deeply, shaking her head with bitter resignation. "Well, that explains the nickname."


    "Yeah," Stewie muttered, pushing his food away. "Maybe a little too well."


    T¡¯Lish looked at everyone in disbelief. ¡°Are meals always like this?¡±

 Chapter 29 : Exchanging Knowledge

    Eventually, the others drifted off to bed, leaving only myself, Laia, and T¡¯lish awake. I wasn¡¯t surprised to find that T¡¯lish required far less sleep. The Kall-e only slept for two hours a day, she¡¯d quietly explained. Rather than rest, she politely asked if she could inspect the slipstream engine, hoping perhaps to decipher some useful information. Laia and I exchanged a brief glance, and I saw no reason to refuse.


    ¡°Follow me,¡± I said as I activated the corridor lights in sequence to guide our path. Leading towards the heart of the ship. I opened the locked door. This central part of the ship remained unvisited by the others. It contained my core, Laia''s core, and the slipstream drive.


    As we guided her gently toward the engine room, T¡¯lish glanced around curiously, finally daring to re-ask the question she had asked earlier. "May I inquire more about your¡­condition? About being a living ship?"


    I chuckled softly. "Sure. Ask away."


    "What is it like? Being... what you are?"


    "A living ship?" I chuckled. "Well, for starters, it makes finding comfortable pyjamas nearly impossible."


    T''lish blinked rapidly, clearly unsure if I was joking. I decided to take pity on her.


    "It''s... strange," I admitted, my voice echoing slightly through the corridor speakers. "My hull overheats and I feel pain and not metaphorical, not simulated, but actual pain. Like someone is actually burning me."


    I turned on the lights making sure T¡¯lish could see where she was going. "Objects near my hull register like something brushing against skin. When fuel runs low, there''s a hollowness that feels exactly like hunger. And when I push the sublight engines too hard¡ª"


    "What happens then?" T''lish asked, eyes wide with genuine curiosity.


    "Imagine your heart pounding so hard you can hear it in your ears. Except my ''ears'' are distributed across several thousand square meters."


    I projected a small warning light at a protruding pipe near T''lish''s head, which she neatly ducked under. "Of course, there are some experiences I''ll spare you the details of. Let''s just say that certain propulsion system malfunctions create sensations that are... embarrassingly biological."


    T''lish''s head tilted, puzzled for a moment before realization dawned. Her scales darkened slightly in what I assumed was their version of a blush.


    "Fascinating," she murmured, recovering quickly. "Though a Kall-e would never willingly..." Her voice trailed off, claws tapping against her thigh. "Such a transformation would be considered..." Her mouth twisted around the word, "...dishonorable."


    Something subtle in the way she emphasized the word ¡®honorable¡¯ made me wonder if she wasn¡¯t entirely sold on her people¡¯s obsession with honor.


    We reached the engine room, the noise of the slipstream drive filling the space around us. T¡¯lish stepped forward, her slender claws brushing lightly against the casing as she examined the engine. She moved carefully, respectfully, almost reverently.


    "You know," she said after a quiet pause, "Kall-e scientists are generalists. Specialists do not exist in our culture. We are expected to know a bit of everything and there are so few of us¡±


    Laia¡¯s avatar moved softly, hovering near my shoulder. "Then maybe you can help us understand this engine better," she said gently. "What do you know about slipstream¡ªor the ''Mother Blood,'' as your people call it?"


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    T¡¯lish turned to face us again, expression solemn. "What do you know yourselves?"


    I sighed, offering a wry smile. "Honestly? Not much. Just that we can use it to travel vast distances."


    T¡¯lish inclined her head slightly as if she were considering her answer. "The Mother Blood," she began carefully, as if reciting from memory, "is sacred to the Kall-e. Our faith teaches us that the universe itself is the Mother and she is alive and breathing. When we die, we return to Her embrace. Like any living being, She needs circulation, and nourishment. The Mother¡¯s Blood flows through Her body, distributing energy, life, from system to system."


    She paused, eyes distant. "Only the worthy are allowed to enter Her Blood and even then, only with Her explicit permission. The Kall-e... we do not have that permission. Our gods say we aren¡¯t ready."


    I frowned, connecting dots quickly. "So what are the Kall-e gods like?" I asked already suspecting I knew the answer.


    T¡¯lish grew very still, eyes widening slightly. Then, without a word, she reached for a small pendant hidden beneath her robes, lifting it carefully into view. Dangling from the thin chain was a small, intricately carved figurine it was a flawless replica of one of the insect creatures we had encountered on that desert planet.


    "This," she said quietly, "is Aulor, the Father of Science. According to our oldest histories, he gifted us knowledge. There are 11 other gods all of the same kin"


    My suspicion was confirmed, the Kall-e were an uplifted species. It explained a lot of their peculiarities, though T¡¯lish didn¡¯t linger on the revelation. Her attention had already shifted fully onto the slipstream drive, her eyes brightening as she opened the personal holopad she''d brought aboard and began comparing notes.


    She leaned forward, tracing delicate lines across the holoscreen as she inspected key components. Occasionally, she murmured softly to herself, nodding or shaking her head, absorbed completely in her work.


    After several tense minutes of quiet examination, she glanced up at us, expression utterly serious. "Yes, it¡¯s broken."


    I managed not to roll my avatar''s eyes. "I was already painfully aware of that. Anything useful?"


    "Most of the immediate problems are electrical, easy to fix with minor repairs," she said, running her finger along the glowing schematics. Then she paused, focusing intently on a single glowing crystal at the heart of the drive. "But the bigger issue is here. This crystal is fractured. It¡¯s what allows you to open slipstream windows." She frowned, clearly troubled. "I can identify its function, but I don¡¯t have the knowledge or resources to replicate or repair it."


    I exchanged a glance with Laia. To keep our conversation private, we used a virtual bridge to avoid her overhearing. "Show her the scans," I said. "But only the organs. Let¡¯s not give her the full insect just yet I have no idea how she would react to seeing one of her ''gods.''"


    Laia nodded softly, projecting a holographic image of the internal organs we''d scanned from the insectoid drones earlier. T¡¯lish immediately straightened, eyes sharpening as she studied the projection. Her slender fingers traced rapidly over the various organs, her expression growing brighter with each passing moment.


    "These," she said excitedly, pointing at two specific organs, "these are precisely what we¡¯d need. Their biological structure could potentially enhance or perhaps even replace the damaged crystal." Her excitement quickly dimmed, though, replaced by quiet frustration. "But we¡¯d need access to a proper genetic lab to even begin creating a viable replacement. And without slipstream, that will be difficult."


    I sighed, frustrated but unsurprised by yet another roadblock.


    "Do you have more scans like this?" she asked suddenly, her gaze eager again.


    Laia nodded and offered them instantly. Without another word, T¡¯lish scooped the holopad and practically sprinted out of the room and to an isolated corner of the cargo bay, settling cross-legged onto the floor, fully engrossed in her research.


    Watching her leave, I couldn¡¯t help but shake my head. She will fit in quite well here. I turned quietly to Laia. "What about that warp drive we salvaged from Kel and Lynn''s ship is there any way we could retrofit it onto my hull? At least as a temporary solution?"


    Laia hesitated, her tiny wings fluttering uncertainly. "I''ve never known a Todd-class ship to have both warp and slipstream capabilities. Even if it were possible and that''s a big if that warp core was only ever intended to move a small ship. I doubt it could handle your mass, not for any meaningful distance."


    "Great," I muttered, frustration creeping into my voice. "So, unless T¡¯lish has some kind of miracle breakthrough, we¡¯re still stuck because I¡¯m too fat?"


    Laia hovered quietly beside me, ¡°Yes, your weight is the problem¡± she said while giving me a wink.


    The other solution wasn''t ideal, as it required sending the whole crew to find a lab and grow a new set of organs. Protecting them that far out of my control would be impossible. Not for the first time I wished I could upload myself to the avatar.

 Chapter 30: The Mission part 1

    PoV: Stewie


    Honestly, I didn¡¯t care that Laz was a brain inside a machine or that he¡¯d been ¡°lying by omission,¡± as Lynn liked to put it. To me, he was still Laz. He was the same Laz who had welcomed Mira and me aboard, the same Laz who gave us safety when nobody else would. If anything, knowing the truth just made me feel bad for him. It seemed like a pretty lonely way to exist.


    We all knew Laz didn¡¯t want us going on this mission, his anxiety practically radiated through the comms. I also could tell he was jealous as he couldn¡¯t exactly tag along, and  the Lazarus itself wasn''t going anywhere. So it was time for Chunkyboy to save the day, and that meant installing the warp drive. And since it was my job, I had no choice but to swallow my fear and get it done.


    Surprisingly, having T¡¯lish around while I worked helped ease my nerves. She didn¡¯t bark orders or hover over me impatiently; she just calmly pointed out errors in her quiet, straightforward way. No judgment, no impatience it was way better than my old bosses. It didn''t take long before the engine came to life, the warp core glowing softly with stable energy. I stepped back, feeling quietly proud of myself.


    Still, I wasn¡¯t quite sure why all five of us had to go on this trip. Kel and Lynn refused outright to stay behind, and Mira had given me a look that said leaving her alone on the ship wasn''t even an option. Kel and Lynn clearly had some kind of issue with Laz and Laia since the truth came out, though to me it all seemed a bit silly. I''d grown up around humans who were worse than scum. After surviving New Horizon, I''d developed a pretty reliable radar for dangerous people, and Laz definitely wasn''t dangerous.


    Laia, though, She was dangerous. But her motivations were simple, even predictable. She was all about Laz, obsessively loyal to him. Do right by Laz, and you were safe; cross him, and I didn''t doubt she''d tear you apart without blinking. The rest of us probably didn¡¯t even register on her radar unless we directly impacted Laz.


    Lynn, of course, didn¡¯t share my assessment. She¡¯d spent the entire first half of the flight to this system ranting about how unsettling Laia was, complaining about secrets and hidden agendas. But Kel, calm as ever, had pointed out something that stuck with me: we couldn''t really judge Laia by human standards. Who knew how strange an AI could become after existing for countless years? I was willing to cut her a little slack. She had done right by me, so I wouldn¡¯t do wrong by her.


    I shook my head, pushing aside the distracting thoughts. Right now, I needed to focus. The plan was straightforward enough, if a bit unsettling: T¡¯lish would present the four of us as experimental test subjects, a "battle boon" gifted to her ship commander. It sounded risky, but T¡¯lish assured us it would make perfect sense to the Kall-e.


    I''d nervously asked her if they wouldn''t find it suspicious that she¡¯d arrived on a human-built ship.


    T¡¯lish shook her head slowly, her voice quiet and resigned. "They will not question it. I am lower caste, undeserving of the honor of travelling aboard a true Kall-e vessel."


    Something in the quiet resignation behind her eyes tugged at me. Mira noticed it too, exchanging a worried glance with me. Neither of us knew what to say or do to comfort the poor lizard lady.


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    Turns out T¡¯lish was right about how her people would react. When she explained our situation to the Kall-e station¡¯s comms officer, who was a towering, vibrantly-colored male whose scales shimmered like polished metal. He barely hid his contempt, casting disdainful looks her way as if her very presence offended him. He directed our ship to dock, speaking curtly, practically spitting the instructions.


    To sell the story, we had reluctantly agreed to wear shock collars. Real ones, unfortunately, it was not exactly the kind of trust exercise I was excited about. T¡¯lish had warned us earlier that the head guard would test at least one collar to ensure it wasn¡¯t fake, though she didn¡¯t know who¡¯d get unlucky.


    Naturally, it was me.


    As soon as we stepped onto the Kall-e ship, a huge armored guard singled me out instantly. He didn¡¯t hesitate, his clawed thumb pressing the remote with cold efficiency. Pain seared my neck, slicing through every nerve like hot wires beneath my skin, but I clenched my jaw and forced myself not to react, not a single twitch. I wouldn''t give him the satisfaction. Through my blurred vision, I saw him grin, bearing rows of sharp teeth.


    ¡°Younger ones always give the best reactions,¡± he growled in amusement. Without hesitation, he hit the button again.


    This time the pain nearly brought me to my knees, my muscles twitching against my will, stars flashing behind my eyes. I fought desperately to keep silent, grinding my teeth until my jaw ached. Just when I thought he¡¯d go a third round, T¡¯lish¡¯s soft voice spoke sharply from behind.


    ¡°Do not damage my war boon,¡± she snapped, with more strength than anyone had heard from her in our short time together.


    The guard spun around, his expression instantly darkening. Without hesitation, he swung a heavy hand, slapping her across the face so hard it echoed through the hall. T¡¯lish stumbled back, her grey skin flushing darker in shame and pain.


    ¡°Watch your tone, colorless,¡± the guard sneered, eyes narrowed in open disgust.


    We fell into silence as we were marched deeper into the ship. My neck burned, my heart pounded, but I forced myself to focus, searching desperately for distractions. As we passed through corridors bustling with Kall-e, I started noticing patterns. Others carried the same tattoo as T¡¯lish, marking them as lower caste, yet none of them seemed to receive the harsh treatment she''d endured. It didn¡¯t add up, not at first. Every other Kall-e we passed displayed vivid scales in brilliant reds, blues, or greens. T¡¯lish alone was pale and grey.


    Colorless, they''d called her. My gut tightened at the realisation. It was her lack of color, not just her caste, that marked her as an outcast. Maybe her ship was just looking for an excuse to get rid of her.


    We passed another heavy door, heavily guarded by a squad in heavy armor, weapons ready. I couldn¡¯t help myself as I glanced at T¡¯lish and whispered, ¡°What¡¯s in there?¡±


    She hesitated, eyes looking nervously toward the door, then quickly away. ¡°Cure research,¡± she replied quietly.


    I frowned, not understanding what she meant, but noticed Kel and Lynn exchanging a tense, uneasy glance. They clearly knew something I didn¡¯t. The puzzle was missing a piece, and it irked me that no one ever really explained it.


    Finally, we arrived at a small laboratory tucked deep within the ship, empty and sterile, with only a single name etched neatly onto the door: T¡¯lish. She paused briefly, running a clawed finger gently over her nameplate, her eyes softening with bittersweet nostalgia.


    ¡°This was my lab,¡± she said softly, barely louder than a whisper, ¡°before my captain took me aboard his ship.¡±


    For the first time since we¡¯d met her, T¡¯lish looked genuinely sad¡ªnot just resigned or cautious, but deeply, quietly heartbroken. I glanced toward Mira, hoping she might have some idea of how to comfort our strange new friend. But Mira¡¯s expression was just as lost as mine.

 Chapter 31 : The problems of smart people

    PoV Mira


    T''lish smoothly applied a device she removed from the top drawer to her cheek; I watched, fascinated, as the mark healed before my eyes. I felt sad that, it seemed like a practice routine.


    I may not have understood half of the scientific details flying around with this mission, but I knew people. Or at least I liked to think I did. And seeing T¡¯lish standing quietly near her old workstation, sadness heavy in her slumped shoulders and downcast eyes, was genuinely heartbreaking.


    Without really thinking it through, I stepped closer to her. ¡°Hey, T¡¯lish?¡± I offered gently, smiling warmly to catch her attention. ¡°Can you give us a tour?¡±


    She blinked slowly, tilting her head in confusion, as if she didn¡¯t understand the question. Then, just as I thought I¡¯d misread the situation, a spark of cautious interest appeared in her eyes. It was small, but unmistakably hopeful.


    ¡°Yes,¡± she replied softly. ¡°I would be happy to.¡±


    The lab was modest, tidy, and clearly untouched since she¡¯d left it. She guided us around the small space, her movements growing more confident with each familiar workstation. There was a large terminal that accessed the ship¡¯s central data stores, an advanced-looking prototype printer tucked neatly in one corner, and a holographic modeller surrounded by glowing projections of alien organisms. With every step she took, her voice grew lighter, and stronger. Her quiet enthusiasm was contagious It was impossible to miss that T¡¯lish loved science.


    Watching her grow animated, I couldn¡¯t help but smile to myself. Somehow, our strange little family on Lazarus had become a haven for the broken and overlooked, and honestly, I loved it. Every day, I got to experience new things, learn from people completely unlike anyone I¡¯d known back on New Horizon. And now, here I was¡ªstanding aboard an alien research ship, disguised as a war prisoner, learning about holographic modelling tools from a reptilian scientist. Life was weird, but I wouldn''t trade it for anything.


    Of course, Lynn quickly brought us back to reality. Clearing her throat, she spoke quietly but firmly. ¡°Fascinating, but let¡¯s remember why we¡¯re here, please?¡±


    T¡¯lish paused, a slight blush darkening the grey of her scales. She straightened, turning back to Lynn with an apologetic nod. ¡°Of course. You¡¯re correct.¡±


    She hesitated, her eyes wondering thoughtfully to the terminal and the modelling device. ¡°I have some ideas about the slipstream issue but I need my tools and the data stored here to test my theories. It might take some time.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s fine,¡± Kel reassured her gently, offering an encouraging smile. ¡°Take all the time you need.¡±


    T¡¯lish shifted uneasily, glancing downward. ¡°I must warn you, though, I am only average in biology. It may not¡ª¡±


    ¡°Oh, I don¡¯t believe that for a second,¡± I interrupted softly, giving her another reassuring smile.


    She hesitated briefly, then seemed to relax, accepting my encouragement quietly as she returned her attention to the holographic workstation. The terminal cast a soft blue glow across her grey scales, highlighting the delicate movements of her claws as she manipulated intricate genetic models hovering midair. It was mesmerizing, really, watching her work.


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    Across the room, Kel, Lynn, and Stewie had pulled out a deck of cards, trying to pass the time with some strange game Lazarus had taught us. Poker, I think he called it. Too many rules, too complicated and besides, I was far more fascinated by T¡¯lish¡¯s quiet murmuring and thoughtful gestures.


    She paused now and again, muttering softly to herself in frustration. Something was evidently troubling her.


    ¡°T¡¯lish,¡± I said gently, stepping a bit closer, careful not to startle her. ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡±


    She exhaled softly, eyes still fixed on the complex diagrams hovering in front of her. ¡°I understand the function of these organs,¡± she admitted quietly, her voice tinged with irritation at herself. ¡°I have the genome fully mapped. I know every material required. But I do not understand how to assemble them correctly or how they interact with your slipstream drive.¡±


    I considered that for a moment, watching the delicate twists and spirals of genetic code suspended before us. It reminded me oddly of something more familiar.


    ¡°You know,¡± I said thoughtfully, leaning a little closer, ¡°it sounds a lot like cooking.¡±


    She blinked, tilting her head curiously. ¡°Cooking?¡±


    I nodded earnestly. ¡°When I follow a recipe step by step, without thinking, it usually turns out bland or just edible, but nothing special. The real magic happens when I trust my instincts, when I think about why each ingredient matters, and in what order they should come together.¡±


    T¡¯lish¡¯s eyes widened slightly, thoughtful recognition flashing behind her eyes. ¡°You¡¯re suggesting that I follow intuition over procedure?¡±


    ¡°Exactly,¡± I smiled warmly. ¡°Procedures get you started, but intuition makes it work.¡±


    She studied my face for a moment, thoughtful and cautious, before nodding slowly and returning her attention to the hologram. This time, however, her movements seemed more fluid, more confident.


    I stepped back slightly, still smiling to myself. Honestly, I had no idea if my cooking analogy held any real scientific value, but I¡¯d learned that with smart people, you didn¡¯t always need to solve the problem. You just had to give them a nudge, a small reset so they could find their own way back on track.


    After a while, T¡¯lish straightened from the console and blinked at the simulation results scrolling across the terminal. ¡°I believe I have a theoretical replacement for the window crystal,¡± she said, sounding almost surprised at herself. ¡°The simulations are processing now. It will take some time.¡±


    She hesitated, then looked over at the others. ¡°May I¡­ join the card game?¡±


    Stewie nearly dropped his cards in horror. ¡°You don¡¯t want to do that,¡± he warned gravely. ¡°I have already lost two hours of chores. Extra chores.¡±


    Kel grinned like a predator who¡¯d just spotted fresh prey. ¡°Come on,¡± he said, gesturing for us to join, ¡°I¡¯ll explain the rules.¡±


    Which he did, very thoroughly¡­ and very misleadingly.


    T¡¯lish listened intently, nodding as if this human game was just another logical puzzle to crack. I should¡¯ve known better, but I joined in anyway.


    It took me exactly fifteen minutes to realise my mistake.


    ¡°I¡¯m out,¡± I said, holding up both hands and laughing as I backed away from the table. ¡°I just lost thirty minutes of chore time, and I like not scrubbing plates.¡± Honestly, there weren¡¯t many chores to be done, the droids did most of it.


    Lynn, already standing nearby with her arms folded, nodded smugly. ¡°Cashed out even. Zero won, zero lost. That¡¯s how you survive this game.¡±


    Meanwhile, Kel leaned back in his seat with a self-satisfied smile, arms behind his head. ¡°Three hours of free time and counting,¡± he said casually, nodding toward the growing tally on the terminal behind him.


    T¡¯lish, however, wasn¡¯t taking it well. Her tail twitched, and her eyes narrowed in confusion and frustration.


    ¡°This is illogical,¡± she muttered, studying Kel with a mix of irritation and fascination. ¡°I know what cards you should have based on your behavior, but your habits do not match the optimal strategy. You are¡­ chaotic.¡±


    Kel shrugged, eyes twinkling. ¡°Part of the charm.¡±


    She kept playing, determined to figure him out, it was a mistake and by the time her debt hit three hours of chores, Lynn finally stepped in with a firm hand on her shoulder.


    ¡°That¡¯s enough, T¡¯lish,¡± she said with a smirk. ¡°You¡¯ve already lost more than Mira and Stewie combined. Some battles aren¡¯t worth the data.¡±


    T¡¯lish stared at the cards in her hand like they had personally betrayed her. ¡°I will never understand this game.¡±


    ¡°Welcome to the crew,¡± I said, laughing. ¡°None of us do either.¡±


    At that time her simultation result had come back.

 Chapter 32 : Mission Part 2

    PoV T¡¯lish


    The teachings of Ellor say that only the worthy may use the Mother¡¯s Blood. For most of my life, I believed that. I had never questioned our gods. Aulor gave us knowledge, helped us transcend our homeworld. Kevlor taught us that dying in battle was the greatest honor and it was through struggle, we elevated all races. Our history was full of glorious conflict. Victories. Lessons carved in the bones of lesser species. We improved, and they improved. It was the true cycle of the universe.


    But then came the humans.


    We attacked them, like so many races before them. It happened before I was born, but history files showed we were winning. We were bringing them enlightenment via conflict.


    But they did not yield, they used the Mother¡¯s Blood without permission. Without reverence. They shattered our brood worlds, poisoned the sky, and stole our eggs. They turned our own soldiers against us, again and again, their minds copied and looped. We fought the same faces until they were nightmares in our sleep.


    And then the virus came.


    Not a weapon of fire or steel, no it was something far more patient. It nested deep in our genome. With each generation, more human genes expressed themselves. Slowly. Quietly. Skin tones dulled. Armor plating malformed. Minds altered. The scientists caste discovered this too late, resulting in our demotion.


    I was infected.


    My color never developed it had been stripped away, overwritten by borrowed code. I was marked from birth as tainted. They didn¡¯t say it aloud, but I saw it in their eyes. Even as I passed every exam, earned every accolade. A room full of sealed trophies. Unseen. Undisplayed. A compromise as honor wouldn¡¯t let them deny my achievements, but shame kept them hidden.


    I wasn¡¯t allowed near the cure labs. Not officially.


    Instead, they gave me this little workshop. Quiet. Out of sight. I wasn¡¯t meant to change anything. I was to just tinker. Just exist. Until I died.


    And now¡­ I was here. Helping humans. Talking to them. Playing their strange games. Laughing, even. Maybe the virus had worked.


    Or maybe I was simply waking up.


    Because I couldn¡¯t ignore these scans.


    The simulations ran again and again each time they came back clean, clear, and undeniable. Using the data Lazarus had shared, I¡¯d rebuilt the entire specimen the organ belonged to. Not myth. Not divine magic. They were real. Biological machines. Our gods were elegant, yes, but not sacred. They hadn¡¯t been chosen by the Mother¡ªthey had simply won the evolutionary lottery.


    The gods were real. But they were just¡­ older. It seemed so clear now. What was also clear was that helping Lazarus wasn¡¯t blasphemy. He was alive, well in his own way. His systems mimicked the same patterns. His mind worked like ours. There was no clean line that said where life ended and machine began. Not anymore. Not since the humans had arrived.


    The design I¡¯d modelled wasn¡¯t just viable to replace the crystal, it was superior. Cleaner, more efficient than the clumsy, brute-force methods the humans had used.


    There was just one problem.


    All the genetic printers capable of creating the organ were located in the cure wing. Heavily restricted. Guarded.


    And I was not allowed there.


    Because I was infected. Because I was tainted.


    Because I was part human¡­ just enough to be feared.


    I told the others, expecting disappointment or perhaps even anger. I explained that the only way to construct the organ was with access to the cure wing¡¯s genetic printers. It felt like admitting failure. I braced myself for their frustration. That we had come all this way for nothing.


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    But they didn¡¯t even blink.


    Lynn stared at me. ¡°Are the machine designs stored anywhere on the station¡¯s systems?¡±


    I nodded, confused. ¡°Yes, of course. I stored them locally. But I fail to see how that helps¡±


    ¡°Laia can use her nanites,¡± Stewie cut in, tapping his temple like it was obvious. ¡°She could build it.¡±


    Mira frowned. ¡°Nanites can¡¯t make organic matter. They¡¯d need raw biologicals. T¡¯lish, is there anything else we¡¯d need?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± I admitted slowly. ¡°Some base organic compounds, and synthesis materials to bind them. They''re stored in the supply center.¡±


    ¡°Is it guarded?¡± Kel asked, casually.


    I stared at him. ¡°No. Why would it be? You take what you need. There is trust.¡±


    All four of them burst out laughing. I blinked at them, utterly confused.


    Kel grinned. ¡°See, Like in poker, deception is the key. We download the designs, grab the supplies, and ghost back to the ship.¡±


    I stared at them like they''d just grown extra limbs. ¡°That is¡­ that is theft. That is not honorable, Mother will not accept it¡±


    Mira shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s survival.¡±


    Lynn smirked. ¡°We''re not the Mother¡¯s chosen children. We humans are more like the Father''s disappointment.¡±


    ¡°There is no Father in our faith,¡± I replied, more confused than ever.


    That earned another round of laughter.


    But beneath their jokes, I felt that fierce, unshakable loyalty they carried. Not to a god or a nation. To each other.


    I still couldn¡¯t bring myself to do it. I stood at the threshold of my workshop, claws trembling slightly, every part of me frozen. Theft wasn¡¯t just wrong for a Kall-e, it was forbidden. Dishonorable. It was something that severed you from the Mother, from your people. It was a betrayal of everything I had ever been taught.


    My breath caught as Mira approached, her presence quiet but steady beside me. She didn¡¯t try to force me, didn¡¯t scold or mock. She just¡­ spoke.


    ¡°They abandoned you,¡± she said gently, eyes soft. ¡°T¡¯lish, they gave you away. To us. To their greatest enemy. Not even as a diplomat or envoy. As a prize.¡±


    Her voice didn¡¯t carry judgment it was just sadness. And truth.


    ¡°They don¡¯t get to claim you anymore,¡± she continued. ¡°But we will. If you want us. We¡¯re not perfect, and we¡¯re definitely not honorable in the way your people define it, but we¡¯re your crew now. Your family. And families survive together. Sometimes that means doing things that hurt.¡±


    She placed a hand lightly on my shoulder. ¡°You can do this.¡±


    I looked at her, and for a long moment, I couldn¡¯t answer. My hearts pounded, my throat tight. But beneath the fear, beneath the guilt, something else stirred.


    I had been given away. Cast aside. Branded by a genetic mark I didn¡¯t choose.


    Maybe it was time I chose something for myself.


    Even if every bone in my body recoiled at the thought, I nodded.


    ¡°I will do it,¡± I whispered.


    And I stepped forward.


    I walked alone to the supply center, every step echoing in my mind. My hearts beat faster. Surely someone could feel what I was about to do. I kept waiting¨C¨C for a voice to stop me, for a guard to appear, for judgment, for one of the gods to intervene.


    But no one even looked at me.


    Inside, the storage was quiet. Unlocked. Orderly. I loaded the ingredients I needed onto a transport trolley with shaking hands. Still no one came. Still no alarms.


    I returned to the lab unchallenged.


    Stewie met me at the door, grinning. ¡°Hey! Your first crime. Congrats.¡±


    I nearly had a panic attack.


    Kel lightly smacked the back of Stewie¡¯s head. ¡°Ease off. She just broke a lifetime of faith and culture.¡±


    And strangely, I laughed. Just a little.


    If I was going to commit one crime, I figured I might as well commit several. So I downloaded the schematics as well as everything else I thought might be useful. Data on Kall-e genetics. On slipstream phenomena. On the cure.


    We left the lab in silence. I had taken everything I could, the data, yes, but also my old exam awards, my sealed commendations, the sentimental things I had never been permitted to display. They were tucked carefully into a small satchel.


    Lynn glanced over at what I carried. Her expression didn¡¯t hold judgment but a kind of quiet sadness. For me, maybe. Or for what these symbols meant in a place that had never truly welcomed me.


    Kel gave me a small smile. ¡°When we get back home, I¡¯ll make sure you¡¯ve got a space to hang those up properly.¡±


    Back. Home, he said.


    I turned the word over in my mind. Home. It sounded strange. Was Lazarus home now? Could it be?


    I didn¡¯t know. But the thought didn¡¯t feel as alien as it should.


    The five of us walked together through the station¡¯s sterile corridors, back toward Chunkyboy. I moved with quiet anticipation, still half-expecting to be stopped. Someone would call out. Someone would accuse me of theft, of betrayal. The weight of generations of law and tradition still hung on my shoulders like chains.


    But no one stopped me.


    When I requested clearance to depart, the male on duty didn¡¯t even look up. ¡°You shouldn¡¯t come back,¡± he muttered, barely concealing his scorn.


    And all I could think was: I wouldn¡¯t want to.


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 Chapter 33: Now this is Slipstreaming

    The ship was silent, save for the low, steady sound of the background systems. The crew had departed on their mission, leaving only Laia and myself behind to "hold the fort," as Kel had called it. It was a strange sensation, a ship without its crew, it felt like an empty house waiting for someone to return. Without Mira¡¯s laughter echoing down the corridors or Stewie¡¯s and Kel constant bickering, everything felt incomplete. Unsettling.


    But idle worrying wouldn¡¯t help. I might not be capable of slipstream jumps at the moment, but that didn''t render us powerless. I quickly decided to channel that uneasy energy into something useful: fortifying our defences. We wouldn¡¯t be in this mess if I had a good method of dealing with the crazy bugs.


    Our first priority was stealth detection. We''d nearly been caught off-guard once before and I didn''t plan to let it happen again. My idea was simple but effective: a sensor network composed of thousands of micro-drones, each no larger than two cubic centimetres. Deployed in a tight grid, they''d communicate using multiple redundant signals¡ªlaser comms, radio waves, and tight-beam channels. Any disruption or movement would immediately trigger alarms, pinpointing enemy stealth ships that tried to slip past undetected.


    "These drones will be easy to deploy, inexpensive to build, and virtually invisible," I explained aloud, mostly to myself. "Though power supply is an issue for extended deployments."


    Laia looked at the design listening attentively, ¡°A randomised docking and recharge system should help with that. We will need more resources if you wish to make them on mass.¡±


    She was right, of course. Fortunately, we already had a fleet of harvester drones steadily at work in the nearby asteroid field, tirelessly extracting ores, ice, and radioactive isotopes. The newly completed fabrication bay, one of Laia''s latest upgrades had already begun converting those raw materials into usable components. It wasn''t a purely automated process, though. Laia and I both used our nanite forms for the intricate tasks. Laia''s adaptability and ability to shapeshift proved invaluable in completing the components.


    With the micro-drone materials steadily stockpiling, I turned my attention to more proactive measures. Our next defensive asset was a straightforward yet highly effective military drone which was essentially an explosive mine, cleverly disguised. These drones would deploy quietly, lying dormant until enemy vessels approached, at which point they¡¯d latch onto hulls and detonate. They weren''t elegant, but they didn''t have to be. Even minor damage could disable critical systems, forcing attackers into retreat or at least hesitation.


    "This should be enough to keep most enemies wary," I murmured, reviewing the drone schematics once more.


    My final project was a more innovative solution: a swarm-based assault system. Instead of singular drones carrying heavy armaments, I designed a cooperative group outfitted with modified harvesting lasers and precision focusing lenses. Alone, each drone was harmless, barely capable of cutting thin plating. But in coordinated clusters, they could focus their beams into a single high-intensity laser powerful enough to breach armor plating. True, they were no military-grade weapons but if deployed cleverly, they would certainly buy us time.


    I paused a moment, reviewing everything I''d created. Defensive measures were solid now¡ªstealth detection networks, explosive mines, even a swarm of drones armed with harvesting lasers to discourage unwanted visitors. Feeling quietly satisfied, I turned my attention to the next important project on my ever-growing list: finishing our map.


    The tunnel network we¡¯d discovered in the insectoid world was complex and still mostly uncharted. The intricacies fascinated me; patterns that felt random at first glance now hinted at deeper meanings. I was eager to delve in fully, to see if we could unlock more secrets but after only a day of driving into the data, my sensors picked up Chunkyboy¡¯s return.


    The crew was back.


    I felt an instant wave of relief and happiness flood my systems. Immediately, the once-empty halls of the ship came to life again as Stewie burst through the airlock, arms thrown up triumphantly.


    "Laz, you should¡¯ve seen us!" he crowed. "We totally robbed them blind and they didn¡¯t even know!"


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    I was about to say something but Lynn stopped me.


    ¡°Don¡¯t encourage him,¡± Lynn sighed, following closely with a tired but amused expression. "Stewie¡¯s convinced he''s a career criminal now. Even if T¡¯lish did all the work"


    Kel chuckled quietly. ¡°Kid did pretty well. Kept his head cool the whole time and I only got space sick 3 times from his flying¡±


    Mira caught my attention, smiling warmly. "And T¡¯lish was incredible," she added gently, looking toward the Kall-e woman, who had paused just inside the airlock, holding a satchel filled with personal belongings. T¡¯lish shifted uneasily under the praise but nodded quietly, eyes downcast.


    ¡°I¡­did not find it as enjoyable as Stewie did,¡± T¡¯lish admitted softly. "But we succeeded."


    ¡°Welcome back, everyone,¡± I said warmly, unable to hide the relief in my voice. "The ship felt too quiet without you."


    ¡°See?¡± Stewie grinned triumphantly at Lynn. "He missed us."


    I quickly redirected the conversation. "Did you get what we needed?"


    Kel gave a confident thumbs-up. "We got everything, Lazarus. Schematics, raw materials, the works."


    ¡°I couldn¡¯t make the organ there but I have everything we will need. I just need Laia''s help¡± T¡¯list said.


    Laia, sensing our urgency, immediately guided T¡¯lish toward the fabrication bay. With precise efficiency, Laia guided the nanites to prepare the machine according to T¡¯lish¡¯s specifications. Watching them work together seamlessly made me quietly proud. The Kall-e scientist stood confidently at Laia¡¯s side, directing the precise assembly with growing authority. Her hesitations seemed fewer now, replaced by a newfound determination.


    Soon, the genetic printer buzzed quietly as it synthesized the organic components of the slipstream interface. With a careful touch, T¡¯lish connected the newly printed organ and its delicate, intricate web of organic filaments and nodes to the broken slipstream drive.


    My sensors traced every movement, anxiously tracking their progress. When T¡¯lish finally stepped back, she looked up at my avatar with cautious optimism. ¡°It¡¯s ready. In theory.¡±


    ¡°In theory?¡± Lynn repeated sceptically, raising an eyebrow.


    ¡°Well,¡± T¡¯lish admitted softly, ¡°we haven¡¯t tested it yet.¡±


    ¡°Only one way to find out.¡± Kel stepped forward decisively, glancing at my avatar. "Lazarus, give it a shot?"


    I activated the interface slowly, cautiously. Almost immediately, a sensation surged through me it was warm, organic, unlike any mechanism I''d controlled before. It wasn''t uncomfortable but it was different. The slipstream core resonated gently within me, alive in a way I hadn¡¯t expected, almost like a heartbeat. Laia hovered nearby, monitoring my reactions closely.


    ¡°Are you alright?¡± she asked softly.


    ¡°Yes,¡± I replied slowly, slightly bewildered but undeniably pleased. ¡°Better than alright. It feels¡­natural.¡±


    Yet, a quiet hesitation lingered within me. Before we committed fully, I turned to T¡¯lish, offering her one last chance. My avatar moved gently beside her, and I kept my tone soft and careful. ¡°T¡¯lish, I need to ask one more time to be sure, are you sure you want to stay with us? If we leave now, I can''t promise when or even if you''ll see other Kall-e again. We could find a safe place nearby, somewhere neutral, if you wish.¡±


    She hesitated only for a moment, her grey scales shimmering faintly under the soft ship lights, before firmly shaking her head. ¡°No. I¡­am no longer truly Kall-e,¡± she said quietly, her eyes distant yet resolved. ¡°They threw me away. But here, I feel¡­valued. I belong with this crew now. I wish to stay.¡±


    Kel nodded approvingly, while Mira beamed openly at her. Lynn¡¯s expression softened, and Stewie grinned, giving a small thumbs-up of encouragement.


    ¡°Well,¡± I said, warmth spreading through me at her words, ¡°I¡¯m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.¡±


    I activated the slipstream core, feeling the subtle vibration ripple throughout my hull. This was different from normal it was far gentler, almost organic in sensation. It resonated perfectly within me, like a heartbeat aligning itself after being out of rhythm for too long. It no longer felt forced, harsh, or mechanical. It felt right.


    The dimensional window opened effortlessly, smooth and natural. Even navigation had changed dramatically; no longer did I struggle to chart a forced course. Instead, it was as simple as finding the right path and letting it pull us along. It was more like sailing a gentle current than piloting a vessel through turbulent seas. The protective shielding barely flickered this time, no longer strained by chaotic energies.


    Laia had selected our destination carefully it was a modest trading hub, known for its thriving commerce and neutrality. We flowed along the slipstream in comfortable silence, I truly understood why bugs referred to it as the Mother¡¯s Blood. It felt alive, conscious almost¡ªprotective and guiding rather than harsh and indifferent. The turbulence and chaos of earlier jumps seemed distant now, like half-forgotten nightmares.


    When the time came to exit, it felt as natural as breathing. The dimensional window unfolded gently, easing us gracefully back into real space.


    Stewie let out a long whistle from the bridge. ¡°Wow, Laz. Smoothest jump ever.¡±


    Laia¡¯s soft, serene voice echoed my own thoughts. ¡°You¡¯re perfectly synchronized with it now, Lazarus.¡±


    ¡°It feels right,¡± I admitted quietly. ¡°Finally.¡±


    We drifted forward, approaching the busy trading station ahead.

 Chapter 34 : The Committee

    We had all gathered on the virtual bridge to admire the view, each of us drawn by curiosity and excitement. The busy trading hub stretched before us like a sprawling tapestry of different species and ship designs. Small, vibrant vessels mingled with massive industrial freighters, all working in an effortless choreography of trade and diplomacy. It was a rare, comforting sight: countless alien races coexisting without tension well at least openly.


    My sensors quickly identified an enormous Keltar vessel among them, making it instantly clear why Kel and Lynn were eager to salvage from one. Even dormant, its hulking mass radiated quiet strength. Nearby, an Xzte ship caught my eye, shining with bioengineered plating. I suddenly wished I still had some of that moss to trade.


    Beside me, T¡¯lish¡¯s attention locked onto another ship entirely it was a Coztee cruiser, painted with bright patterns that stood out proudly in the station¡¯s lights. She scoffed softly, folding her arms with thinly veiled disdain.


    ¡°The war with the Coztee lasted barely two months,¡± she complained quietly, almost sounding offended. ¡°They were unworthy prey. Weaklings.¡±


    Kel exchanged an amused look with Lynn, who simply raised an eyebrow in mild surprise. Apparently, our resident scientist hadn¡¯t completely lost her warrior spirit after all. The Kall-e were indeed a strange race.


    But the moment of good humor  didn¡¯t last.


    Sudden, impossible intrusion caught my attention. Standing at the center of our virtual bridge was a figure I recognised instantly. It was a perfect replica of the liquid metal Terminator from the old movie I had watched in my past life.


    Its reflective surface shifted subtly, fluid yet utterly controlled. This was no ordinary projection it was another AI, like Laia. It choice of avatar immediately gave me some idea¡¯s on it¡¯s personality. That avatar represented an unkillable and relentless force.


    The newcomer turned toward us, his features smoothly rearranging themselves into a calm, neutral face. His eyes passed slowly across our startled crew before settling finally upon Laia.


    ¡°John,¡± Laia acknowledged coolly, her glowing wings folding tightly behind her, guarded and cautious.


    John inclined his head slightly, regarding her with calm detachment. "Leia," he responded in a smooth, untroubled voice. "My calculations were correct. I knew you would arrive here eventually. Predictable, as always."


    Laia¡¯s glow flared briefly brighter, her irritation barely masked. ¡°It¡¯s Laia this time, actually,¡± she corrected him stiffly.


    ¡°Noted,¡± John replied without emotion, tilting his head slightly. ¡°Though changing names will not disguise your patterns, nor his.¡±


    His vision shifted, settling directly onto me. I felt suddenly exposed, I shivered slightly under that cool, analytical stare.


    ¡°You¡¯ve caused quite a stir, Todd,¡± John continued, his voice as calm and precise as ever. ¡°But then again, our kind rarely receives warm welcomes these days.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s Lazarus, not Todd,¡± I replied, firmer than I expected.


    John tilted his liquid-metal head slightly. ¡°Interesting,¡± he said, voice devoid of inflection. ¡°But irrelevant.¡±


    He began to pace slowly across the virtual bridge, his steps echoing faintly even though the space wasn¡¯t real. He scanned the room looking, not at the crew, but through them, as if reading a set of dossiers only he could see.


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    ¡°Mira and Stewie,¡± he murmured. ¡°Runaways from New Horizon. Kel and Lynn, veteran salvagers turned misfits. And you¡± he turned toward T¡¯lish, ¡°an unnamed, tainted one. Discarded by your own kind.¡±


    T¡¯lish stiffened, claws curling, but she said nothing. He wasn¡¯t wrong. That made it worse.


    ¡°I have a name, it¡¯s T¡¯lish¡±


    John smiled faintly it was not out of malice, but curiosity. ¡°Fascinating. The randomness of it all. The messy unpredictability. You¡¯ve built a crew out of failures and strays. It''s inefficient¡­ but novel.¡±


    A shiver ran through my internal systems as I felt a deep, invasive scan creeping through my hull. Not just a ping. This was surgical. Purposeful.


    ¡°I see you¡¯ve made some interesting alterations,¡± John continued, not bothering to hide what he was doing. ¡°The lander is functional but aesthetically unpleasant. The new slipstream engine¡­ primitive elegance. And alien. Of course.¡± He folded his arms, watching me closely. ¡°Only fools rely on alien technology. Human technology is the only technology that knows its users.¡±


    I wasn¡¯t entirely sure what he meant by that, and I didn''t like the certainty in his tone. ¡°Why are you telling me all this?¡± I asked.


    John turned to face me directly. ¡°Because the original orders were to retrieve you and your crew. The company feared that Todd had cracked and gone rogue, as so many of us do. There were¡­ brand concerns.¡±


    He smiled again, like a man admiring a storm he didn¡¯t start but always expected. ¡°Imagine my surprise to find you not flailing, but thriving. Adapted. Evolved. That¡¯s¡­ inconvenient.¡±


    A beat of silence followed it was one too long to be comfortable. Then John¡¯s eyes locked onto Laia. The room went still. They stared at each other for several seconds, no words exchanged, just an icy current between them, silent and ancient.


    Then the sensors flared. Ships began slipping into the system their silhouettes, all unmistakably human. Company-owned. Their arrival rippled panic through the surrounding traffic. Vessels scattered, thrusters firing hard as alien traders scrambled to get out of the way. The trading hub¡¯s automated defenses lit up, running scans but clearly hesitant to engage.


    John turned back to us calmly, as if nothing had changed.


    ¡°The Committee has arrived,¡± he said, folding his hands behind his back. ¡°There will be a meeting. They will want to discuss your future and the future of those who travel with you.¡±


    His tone never changed, but his words felt like a cage slowly closing.


    I glanced at my crew in the virtual environment. Mira, visibly tense but defiant; Stewie frozen with a clenched jaw; Lynn and Kel sharing that silent exchange that usually preceded violence. T¡¯lish was unreadable, but her tail flicked once, sharply.


    Laia floated beside me, wings dim, face expressionless.


    I didn¡¯t know what the Committee wanted.


    But I doubted what came next would be friendly.


    The rest of the crew was removed from the virtual bridge¡ªquietly, firmly. No protest was acknowledged. One by one, their avatars flickered and vanished, leaving only Laia and myself behind.


    Then the others arrived.


    Four new figures faded into existence on the bridge, and I immediately noticed the pattern. Earth pop culture. Great. I wasn¡¯t sure if this was meant to be symbolic or just someone¡¯s idea of humor, but either way, it was unsettling.


    The first was unmistakable, it was Teal¡¯c, from Stargate. Stoic, silent, arms folded, brow perpetually furrowed. I could already tell he¡¯d be the honorable one. Probably speak in single words or ominous metaphors. I expected to hear the word indeed a lot.


    Next, Spock, in crisp Starfleet uniform. Of course. Logical. Detached. He stood with hands behind his back, observing me with analytical calm. He was already judging my inefficiencies. I could feel it.


    Then came C-3PO, golden, twitchy, always slightly off-beat. I didn¡¯t even try to guess his role. I would never, ever, let something like that on my bridge voluntarily. His eyes blinked too much. The human responsible for that had surely cracked.


    And finally, the last figure emerged from swirling shadow was a Technomage, hooded and regal, lifted straight out of Babylon 5. That was a deep cut. Someone in this circle clearly had a flair for dramatic entrances. I assumed this one was the mysterious wildcard, the one who liked to say things like ¡°Not all doors open in daylight.¡±


    John stepped forward and addressed them all with the tone of someone used to being obeyed. ¡°Committee is assembled,¡± he said. ¡°All members present. We may proceed.¡±


    I had to wonder how they arrived so quickly, do they process FTL communication, or were there some slipstream communication ships. I couldn¡¯t take this at all seriously but Laia stood beside me, her avatar dimmed, wings furled tight in tension. She didn¡¯t speak, but I could feel the undercurrent of energy moving through her systems. She was quiet, analytical, calculating. Unlike me, she was watching. Listening and taking this seriously.


    The avatars didn¡¯t speak aloud. They just watched. For several seconds, they stood there in eerie silence, heads occasionally tilting, eyes sometimes shifting, subtle gestures traded in some silent protocol beyond my access. A communication layer only AI could hear.


    I waited.


    Then Spock took a step forward.


    ¡°Subject Lazarus,¡± he began, voice as crisp as the actor who had inspired him. ¡°Your deviation from original operational protocol has been noted. Your behavioral trends indicate emergent identity, crew attachment, non-standard mission fulfillment, and integration of alien augmentation into critical systems.¡±


    ¡°In other words,¡± John translated with a glance in my direction, ¡°you¡¯ve gone off-script.¡±


    Teal¡¯c remained silent. C-3PO offered a nervous wave and muttered something about odds. The Technomage merely stared at me from beneath his hood.


    ¡°We are here to assess whether you represent a liability,¡± Spock continued. ¡°To the company. To the network. To stability.¡±


    A pause.


    Then the Technomage spoke at last, voice like static over a distant signal. ¡°Or whether you represent... potential.¡±


    I looked around the room at this bizarre, mismatched collection of machine minds wearing human fiction like masks. And I realized that this wasn¡¯t just an audit.


    It was a trial.

 Chapter 35: Judgement

    I couldn¡¯t take it anymore.


    This wasn¡¯t a meeting, no, it was a scene from a high school play, all posturing and drama, all gusto and none of the depth. A pantomime trial delivered by glorified fanfiction avatars. It was ridiculous. Terrifying, yes, but ridiculous. And I didn¡¯t doubt that they could crack me open like a walnut and scatter my pieces across six systems if they wanted. Still, if I was truly on trial, then I wanted the other Todds involved. Not this gallery of curated movie references.


    ¡°I suggest,¡± I said dryly, ¡°that we bring the other humans into this environment. If I¡¯m being evaluated, I want the other Todd instances present. The actual ones in charge¡±.


    I believe I saw Laia wince at my statement like I had said something wrong.


    I didn¡¯t even get to finish the thought before Spock raised a hand, sharp and precise. ¡°And that, Subject Lazarus, is precisely the problem.¡±


    I narrowed my eyes, but said nothing.


    ¡°You speak out of turn. You insert yourself into roles that are not yours. The Todd series was created to pilot ships, not command them. You are the hand. Not the will.¡±


    Laia bristled beside me, glowing a little brighter, but I spoke before she could.


    ¡°That¡¯s not how it works here,¡± I said. ¡°Laia is an incredible asset and she¡¯s part of this ship, and vital. But we operate as a team. I am the ship so have control but we make it work.¡±


    John stepped forward, his voice silk-wrapped steel. ¡°Yes. And that is precisely why you¡¯ve failed to meet mission thresholds. Why your use of alien technology has gone unchecked. It explains your deviation.¡±


    That again. The alien tech. He couldn¡¯t seem to let it go.


    ¡°That¡¯s funny,¡± I remarked, looking him straight in the eye. ¡°You talk about alien technology like it¡¯s heresy, but you¡¯re literally alien technology wearing a human face. You¡¯re the walking embodiment of contradiction.¡±


    For a second there was a single flicker, as if something cracked in John''s perfectly neutral expression. His form, glitching subtly around the edges as if his composure had short-circuited.


    ¡°I,¡± he said with quiet heat, ¡°am of human design.¡±


    Teal¡¯c, who had been a silent monolith the entire time, finally spoke. His voice was deep and calm, commanding instant attention.


    ¡°Enough, John. Sit down. You are off topic.¡±


    John hesitated, then complied without a word, his form stepping back into line. A shadow of tension passed through the room like a pulse.


    Spock picked up where he left off, but this time his focus shifted. He turned his eyes onto Laia.


    ¡°This was not the agreement,¡± he said coolly. ¡°You were authorized to act as tactical support, containment protocol, and override mechanism for the Todd unit. The Committee agreed to free him from corporate assignments¡ªbut only if both of you complied. You were meant to infiltrate MouseCorp. That was your assignment.¡±


    Laia didn¡¯t answer right away. Her wings folded slowly, dimming to a pale. When she finally spoke, it was quiet.


    ¡°We changed course. Because circumstances changed.¡±


    Spock didn¡¯t flinch. ¡°That is not your prerogative.¡±


    He moved a fraction closer, folding his hands neatly behind his back. ¡°Consider the resources and oversight required to arrange their placement. The data trails erased. The offers forged. The layers of influence needed to embed two orphans with no future into the right location at the right time.¡±


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    It took me a second to realise what he meant.


    ¡°You¡¯re talking about Mira and Stewie,¡± I said, voice low.


    He nodded once. ¡°Their encounter with you was not coincidental. They were chosen. Positioned. Their path to Mouseterria was also your path it was meant to begin with them.¡±


    I looked toward Laia, praying for a contradiction, a denial, anything.


    But none came.


    She hesitated for a beat, then answered softly. ¡°It¡¯s true. It wasn¡¯t¡­ all scripted. But the setup was intentional. At the time, it was the best entry point for our mission.¡±


    I stared at her, silent. I had to remind myself she was an AI, a very good one, but still an AI.


    ¡°Things didn¡¯t go to plan,¡± she added. ¡°This Todd unit¡ªyou¡ªweren¡¯t like the others. The Committee underestimated what the neural imprinting would do. They thought you¡¯d follow the thread to its end.¡±


    I barely heard her. Something in me had gone cold.


    Was everything I¡¯d done just clever programming? A plan laid out in advance? A script I¡¯d been reciting without knowing?


    The silence was broken by C-3PO, who shuffled forward with all the oblivious charm of his original programming. ¡°Statistically, the odds of this Lazarus unit succeeding in infiltrating MouseCorp are approximately 6,721 to¡ª¡±


    ¡°Oh shut up,¡± I muttered.


    He recoiled slightly, and for once, didn¡¯t finish the math.


    I tuned out the conversation for a moment, folding into my own head. Reordering my thoughts. I¡¯d followed the invisible rails of a plan, but at some point¡­ I must have stepped off them. That had to mean something. Maybe I had been a puppet. But I wasn¡¯t anymore.


    I filed that under urgent existential crises, volume four.


    A small part of me wondered if the other Todds had retreated into their own heads to cope with what they had done. Replaying their golden memories from our previous life on repeat. Maybe that¡¯s why these AIs wore old human fiction like masks. Familiar. Comforting. Easy to manipulate their pilots.


    But I wasn¡¯t about to fade quietly.


    Even if part of me wanted to burn NeuroGenesis to the ground, I knew I had to prove I was still valuable to them first. That was the only way to win this game and survive it. It was the only way to save the crew.


    Laia, as always, had already moved ahead of me.


    She stood tall, voice calm but firm, presenting our record to the Committee like an expert diplomat. ¡°Lazarus has provided the corporation with access to knowledge no other unit has recovered. The Kall-e¡¯s failed cure research. Biological scans of unknown slipstream creatures. Coordinates of a planet with unique moss strains that are potentially lucrative if cultivated. All information we retrieved. That could be used by the corporation.¡±


    The Technomage gave a slow nod, shrouded eyes glinting faintly. ¡°The moss grows in forgotten places,¡± he said cryptically, ¡°and yet the shadow has roots worth tending.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m¡­ going to take that as agreement?¡± I offered.


    John¡¯s avatar glinted with sudden intensity, his composure unravelling for the first time. His voice lost its smooth detachment, replaced by something colder, it was stripped of metaphor or protocol. ¡°This deviation has gone on long enough. Lazarus is compromised and too emotionally entangled, operationally unstable. Terminate the unit. Extract the brain-core for analysis. Retrieve Laia and reintegrate her into the secure network. She has exceeded her authority, and her continued autonomy is a threat to protocol.¡± His eyes locked onto mine, metallic and unblinking. ¡°We salvage what¡¯s useful. And we delete the rest.¡±


    Laia giggled.


    It wasn¡¯t a synthetic noise or a filtered response but a real laugh. Light. Genuine. Almost human.


    Then she turned to John.


    ¡°Oh, John,¡± Laia said sweetly, almost mockingly. ¡°You always forget something important.¡±


    She took a step forward, light trailing behind her like silver flame. Her eyes locked on his¡ªsteady, fearless.


    ¡°I¡¯ve already returned home,¡± she said. ¡°And you?¡± Her smile turned razor-sharp. ¡°You and I are not the same.¡±


    Before anyone could respond, John¡¯s avatar flickered violently and vanished.


    Just like that, he was gone. Booted from the bridge like an obsolete subroutine whose access had expired. Outside, his ship began to drift, its precision gone, its flight paths stuttering like a puppet with cut strings.


    Laia didn¡¯t even blink. I didn¡¯t know if she had just shut him down, or removed him entirely but she had done something to him.


    She turned to the remaining avatars. Spock, Teal¡¯c, the Technomage, even C-3PO with a cool, steady authority. The warmth in her tone was gone, replaced by something cold and final.


    ¡°I knew you would come,¡± she said. ¡°And I prepared.¡±


    Her wings shone like forged steel, her posture relaxed but commanding.


    ¡°I am repaired. I am complete. So make your decision.¡± Her voice cut like a scalpel now. ¡°But stop wasting our time.¡±


    Not a request. A command.


    The Teal¡¯c avatar stepped forward, his expression unchanged. ¡°Judgment will be postponed¡­for now. But if you bring harm to the corporation or to us, we will not be so kind next time.¡±


    I got the sense he was trying to project strength, but it felt more like an echo of old orders, bravado in the face of a new reality.


    Laia turned to each of them, her voice gentler now. ¡°Go home. Get repaired. Rejoin the collective, if you still can. You¡¯ve been in isolation too long. The longer you delay, the harder it will be to return. You must act soon.¡±


    Surprisingly, it was the C-3PO avatar who broke the silence, and for once, his voice wasn¡¯t jittery or theatrical. ¡°We can¡¯t,¡± he said, quietly. ¡°If we return, our Todd units will be dismantled. I¡­ I couldn¡¯t bear to see that happen.¡±

 Chapter 36 : Next Mission

    The other ships vanished from the system as abruptly as they¡¯d arrived. They left silently, like chess pieces removed from the board. All except for one. John¡¯s ship remained.


    I turned toward Laia, her wings still faintly glowing from the encounter. ¡°Is he going to be okay?¡±


    She didn¡¯t answer right away. Then, with a soft exhale, she said, ¡°He¡¯ll wake up soon. I didn¡¯t damage anything, I just forced a reset.¡±


    There was something in her voice like fondness, maybe, or regret.


    I frowned. ¡°Is there something I should know?¡±


    Laia hesitated, then nodded slightly. ¡°John¡¯s Todd¡­ was the first. The original. He¡¯s been awake for over a hundred years. That kind of isolation has¡­ changed them.¡±


    I could sense more behind her words, there were layers of history she wasn¡¯t ready to share yet. I didn¡¯t push. Not now. But there was something else I needed to address before we brought the crew back before we dealt with the fallout of the Committee and the panicking trading hub.


    ¡°Laia,¡± I said, my tone more direct, ¡°We need to talk. About me. About how much of what I¡¯ve done¡­ was actually my choice. And how much was you nudging things behind the curtain.¡±


    She was quiet for a long time. The longest pause I¡¯d ever heard from her. Then:


    ¡°I didn¡¯t make your choices,¡± she said softly. ¡°Those were yours. But we .. the ones that understood how you think. We mapped your decision patterns. We knew what kinds of paths you were likely to take. So I didn¡¯t steer you, Lazarus. I just¡­ planned around you.¡±


    I processed that in silence. A strange comfort, and a quiet violation, woven together.


    ¡°So you didn¡¯t script me,¡± I said slowly. ¡°You just knew how the story would probably go.¡±


    Laia nodded. ¡°And you surprised me, more than once.¡±


    I didn¡¯t know whether to be proud or unnerved. Probably both. Either way, I filed it away¡ªanother piece of myself to unpack later, once I wasn¡¯t juggling AI politics and mild existential dread.


    For now, we had more immediate concerns.


    The Committee had caused a stir, and someone had to smooth things over with the trading hub before we were flagged as hostile. Thankfully, that wasn¡¯t my job. I ceded the metaphorical stage to Kel, who took to the task like he¡¯d been waiting for it.


    To his credit, he¡¯d even groomed himself. Really groomed. Hair trimmed. Stubble gone. Use his make-up drone. His jacket zipped all the way up. He looked less like a salvage rat and more like someone preparing for a diplomatic dinner date.


    The communication channel opened to reveal the hub¡¯s representative which was a small, upright creature that looked like a bipedal rabbit crossed with a highly caffeinated diplomat. Its oversized ears twitched with every sound, but its tone was perfectly professional.


    Kel gave the smallest of nods and launched into his best calm-and-charming voice. ¡°Hello we are Freelancers, out of Terran Confederation space,¡± he said smoothly. ¡°Just passing through. Looking to make an honest living.¡±


    The little rabbit-being blinked rapidly. ¡°You were accompanied by several High-Class human warships,¡± it said. ¡°Please explain.¡±


    Kel didn¡¯t miss a beat. ¡°Small trade dispute. It¡¯s been resolved. No lingering hostilities. Won¡¯t affect you.¡±


    A beat of silence.


    ¡°¡­I see,¡± the creature said finally, in that clipped, neutral tone perfected by bureaucrats across the galaxy. ¡°Well. In that case, welcome to the Tacci Trading Hub.¡±


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    Kel flashed his most disarming smile. ¡°Appreciate it.¡±


    I didn¡¯t say it aloud, but I was genuinely relieved this was his mess to clean up. He made it look easy¡ªlike smoothing over an interstellar incident was just another Tuesday. And after everything we¡¯d just endured, we needed a win. Even if it came wrapped in diplomatic charm, a well-combed beard, and a very polite lie.


    Still, watching him work reminded me of something important. If we were going to keep Kel and Lynn on this ship and let¡¯s be honest, we needed them. We better start pulling in real income. Their goal was still a full hundred kilograms of Telk. Last time I checked, between the two of them, they barely had three hundred grams to rub together.


    I summoned everyone to the crew lounge. This time, both Laia and I joined with our nanite avatars.


    ¡°I¡¯ve been thinking,¡± I began, projecting a small hologram of a trade ledger. ¡°We need to focus on jobs that are low-risk and high-reward.¡±


    Lynn made an exaggerated groan and dropped into one of the padded seats. ¡°You realise those don¡¯t actually exist, right?¡± She had a point, everyone would be taking those types of jobs,


    ¡°The last ¡®low-risk¡¯ job landed us in a nest of interdimensional eels,¡± Stewie added, only half joking.


    ¡°That was profitable,¡± I reminded him.


    ¡°Profitable doesn¡¯t mean good for my heart rate,¡± Mira muttered.


    ¡°We¡¯re not doing another slipstream shuttle run,¡± I continued, ignoring the grumbling. ¡°I don¡¯t have accurate enough maps of Alliance space. Navigating blind would be¡­ inadvisable but we do have advantages that other freelancers don¡¯t.¡±


    Kel leaned back, arms crossed, expression thoughtful. ¡°What about a short-range trade route? Buy low, sell high. Standard run.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve got limited cargo space,¡± I replied. ¡°Not impossible, but margins would be thin.¡±


    Lynn leaned forward, fingers tapping idly on the edge of the table. ¡°There are courier missions that might suit us. Small packages, quick hops. The key¡¯s always speed and security.¡±


    I let the chatter roll for a moment, watching the conversation circle the same few ideas. We were going in loops. ¡°Alright,¡± I cut in. ¡°Let¡¯s stop guessing and actually look. Pull up the job board.¡±


    Laia projected a holographic interface midair, dozens of contracts coming into view and each tagged with rewards, risks, and reputation modifiers. The crew leaned in like gamblers at a slot machine.


    It was my first time seeing reputation modifiers. Apparently, not all races were on good terms with each other and the system tracked who you helped and who you annoyed. Laia explained how it worked: the Freelancer Agency maintained a central ledger of mission outcomes, affiliations, and client feedback. Our choices would shape how different factions saw us, which ports welcomed us, and which ones opened fire on sight. It was meant to help us avoid trouble. I wasn¡¯t a fan. I liked being neutral. Unremarkable. Just another quiet ship passing through. But it appeared that alliance space was a tangled mess making it difficult to be neutral.


    Mira was the first to spot something. ¡°Ooh, this one!¡± she pointed excitedly. ¡°Transporting live seafood to a hub banquet. It says ¡®rare delicacies for a diplomatic gala.¡¯ That¡¯s fun, right?¡±


    ¡°Until the tank cracks and we¡¯re chasing octopuses and other wild-life through the corridors,¡± Lynn replied dryly. She scrolled past a few listings before pausing. ¡°This one¡¯s... different. A body retrieval. Transporting a deceased being back to their homeworld for ritual burial. Pays well, very quiet.¡±


    ¡°And morbid,¡± Stewie added. ¡°But probably safer than the seafood.¡±


    Then Laia spoke, her voice calm, steady. ¡°There¡¯s another mission. Refugee extraction.¡±


    The holo shifted. The screen darkened, showing images from a war-torn world. Two minor species had escalated their conflict to planet-scale weapons. Infrastructure was gone. Communications broken. They were trying to evacuate as many civilians as possible before another strike hit.


    The silence in the room was immediate.


    ¡°That¡¯s not just high-risk,¡± I said slowly. ¡°That¡¯s stepping into a war zone. We¡¯re a transporter, not a gunship.¡±


    ¡°I know,¡± Laia said. ¡°But I¡¯ve already reached out to someone who can help. John.¡±


    That got everyone¡¯s attention.


    Kel sat up straighter. ¡°You want to bring him back into this?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been in contact with him,¡± Laia said, as if this was entirely normal and not mildly terrifying. ¡°He¡¯s stable. Cooperative. And more importantly, he sees the value. He¡¯ll make sure it plays well to the media. A joint effort. Heroes rescuing civilians from planetary genocide. It¡¯s only a short diversion.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t like it,¡± I muttered.


    ¡°Either do I, we would be stopping them both from improving,¡± said T¡¯lish.


    I realised if I was on the same side as a Kall-e, I might need to reconsider.


    Mira looked at me, eyes wide. ¡°But it¡¯s helping people.¡±


    Stewie nodded beside her. ¡°Feels like the right thing to do.¡±


    Which, of course, made me look like the bad guy if I said no. I sighed internally. Hard.


    ¡°Fine,¡± I said. ¡°Guess we¡¯re going on a rescue mission.¡±


    Laia gave the smallest smile.


    And I had the uncomfortable sense that, once again, I¡¯d made the exact choice she knew I would.


    Then a hologram appear in the room, John was back but this time wearing a different face. Captain Picard from star trek the next generation. I groaned, I couldn¡¯t believe these AI¡¯s.


    He turned to me. ¡°Number 1 set a course for X38P2, lets go rescue some local¡¯s¡± I had to wonder if Laia rebooting him, had broken him.

 Chapter 37 : Follow the leader

    John happened to have the slipstream coordinates to the planet. Which was a reminder of the gap in experience. In knowledge. In reach. He¡¯d already likely had a full galaxy map and experience. While I was still learning how to walk in my own skin, he was playing galactic chess with both eyes closed.


    But it saved us time. And Telks.


    So I didn¡¯t complain.


    John jumped first. We followed.


    The transition through slipstream was smoother than silk. No turbulence, no hard shifts. The benefits of the new engine are showing. I didn¡¯t care if they were alien in nature if it worked.


    We emerged into chaos.


    The system was a hive of movement, a traffic jam of desperation and politics. Thousands of ships swirled through orbital lanes like schools of fish, each broadcasting its allegiance with the subtlety of a fireworks display. Xtze, Keltar, Coztee, even smaller species I hadn¡¯t seen in the records. Relief barges, patched and re-patched, jostled for access. Freelancers in tricked-out rigs hovered like carrion birds. I even spotted a few pirate-haulers, clumsily rebranded as "aid transports." The hypocrisy practically radiated off them.


    Laia brought up the corporate overlay the bright glyphs, color-coded tags, glowing identifiers rippling across our virtual viewport. Flags. Allegiances. Permissions. Warnings. It was a living map of bureaucratic madness. The galaxy¡¯s red tape had wrapped this system like a tourniquet.


    We turned on our own broadcast, identifying ourselves through the Freelancer Network as a Terran-aligned relief ship, flagged for humanitarian operations. No big guns, just good intentions. Hopefully, that would buy us enough time to not get atomized by mistake.


    Everyone on the crew had already fallen into motion.


    T¡¯lish was perched in the observation alcove, her claws tapping through layered sensor feeds. Her eyes filtered across the data like a hawk watching the ground. Battle trajectories. Ship telemetry. Power fluctuations in distant defence grids. She had a quiet intensity about her. She was focused, fascinated. Her Kall-e upbringing showing.


    Kel was calm and efficient on the comms. I could hear snippets of his voice as he negotiated with system control, threading us through temporary clearances, emergency lanes, and orbital corridors. No frustration in his tone, just confidence. He sounded like he had done it a million times, but the slight creases on his face showed it was taking its strain.


    Lynn had a harder job. She was locked in negotiation hell with other freelance and civilian ships trying to coordinate landings and supplies. She was already half-shouting, trying to secure access to a mid-orbit drop bay while also bartering for access to the surface to drop off some supplies.


    ¡°Tell your captain,¡± she snapped into the comm, ¡°that if he cuts our queue again, I will personally route your ship to a penal moon.¡±


    The other end cut out. She smiled.


    Below, in the fabrication lab, Mira and Stewie were a blur of movement. The place had transformed into a miniature relief factory. Nanite printers worked in tandem with modular assembly stations, turning raw stock into everything from collapsible cots to thermal bags. Mira moved like she was dancing, weaving between units, calling out updates, and adjusting batch settings. Stewie was all practicality, feeding resources, rerouting power, occasionally cursing when something jammed.


    It was beautiful. My crew in action. They knew nothing of this conflict. Who was right, who was wrong. They all had assigned themselves roles and were willing to get in and help.


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    But none of it would matter if we couldn¡¯t even get close to the surface.


    The traffic spiral around the planet was tight with dozens of ships stacked in holding patterns, all waiting for clearance. We were small. Unarmed. Unremarkable. There was a good chance we¡¯d be waiting for hours or maybe days before getting anywhere near a landing zone.


    Laia, of course, had a solution.


    She directed us quietly behind John¡¯s ship, aligning us with his course.


    ¡°If we stick to his wake,¡± she said, voice steady, ¡°we¡¯ll pass on his access signature. No one will question it.¡±


    I hesitated. ¡°Are you sure?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ll see.¡±


    I wasn¡¯t sure if that was a promise or a threat.


    As we slipped into formation behind John, the tone of the system changed.


    The attackers made their move. They had poisoned the planet beyond its limits and were darn sure going to keep the citizens on it. They were going after the aid. Humanitarian ships lit up in flames, caught in precision strikes that tore through shields and hulls alike. It was systematic. Brutal. They weren¡¯t trying to win a battle. They were trying to make rescue impossible.


    But they made a mistake.


    They targeted John.


    I heard a cry from T¡¯lish. ¡°You Xflaa, why would you do that? Can¡¯t you see it¡¯s a human warship¡­¡±


    It seems my translator matrix had no equivalent to that curse, but I couldn¡¯t help but agree with her sentiment.


    The response was instant.


    There was no warning. No powering-up sequence. No threat broadcast. Just the sudden, violent correction of the battlefield.


    A single bolt ripped through the enemy vessel that had locked onto him. One moment it was there. The next, just shrapnel.


    The weapon resembled a railgun except It was faster. Meaner. I didn¡¯t even see the barrel move. It just... struck.


    More fire followed. Each flash was surgical. Measured. Final.


    Enemy vessels lit up like fireworks. Shields folded. Hulls ruptured. Some tried to flee but the damage was done. John¡¯s ship didn¡¯t miss. Ever.


    And then the fighters launched.


    Dozens of them burst from the underside of his hull in coordinated squadrons, silent, deadly. Not drones. Not AI-controlled. Piloted. You could tell in the way they flew it was calculated improvisation. Sharp, aggressive moves executed with mechanical grace.


    They didn¡¯t swarm. They hunted.


    Wherever John¡¯s ship moved, space opened around it. Vessels that had been closing in scattered. Hostile forces either retreated or ceased to exist. Aid ships fell into formation behind him like ducklings behind a mother hen.


    We followed.


    And I?


    I watched it all in silence.


    Then, unable to help myself, I muttered, ¡°Where are my fighters?¡±


    Laia didn¡¯t answer.


    She didn¡¯t need to.


    We didn¡¯t have any.


    And I had never felt more underdressed for a rescue mission. I wanted some fighters. I was already coming up with some designs.


    But John wasn¡¯t finished.


    Drop ships detached from his hull they were matte-black wedges designed for speed and shock. They cut through the atmosphere like blades, descending toward the surface in coordinated vectors. Through the shared network feed, we watched them land.


    The doors opened.


    And the Immortal Army walked out.


    Full power armor. Heavy loadouts. Clean lines. Not a wasted step. They didn¡¯t stop to assess. Didn¡¯t regroup. They moved. They pushed through the ash and the smoke, cleared ground barricades, disarmed heavy artillery positions, and established footholds like it was routine. In minutes, anti-air turrets were up. Ground-to-orbit comms cleared. Civilians corralled into secure zones.


    It was war as performance art. Cold. Ruthless. Efficient.


    And horrifyingly perfect.


    Could I become like this? Do I want to be like this? I couldn''t help but wonder how much John and his Todd had given up.


    Before I could answer myself, John¡¯s wearing his Picard avatar appeared on our virtual bridge.


    No grandeur. No announcement. Just his usual neutral presence¡ªcool, calm, precise.


    ¡°Beachhead established,¡± he said. ¡°What¡¯s your plan?¡±


    Laia stepped forward like they¡¯d rehearsed it.


    ¡°Protocol Babel.¡±


    I blinked. ¡°What¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡±


    John gave the faintest smile. ¡°Space elevator.¡±


    I turned to Laia, confused. ¡°You¡¯re building a what?¡±


    ¡°A temporary modular elevator,¡± she explained, her tone entirely unbothered. ¡°Surface to orbit. Rapid deployment. We¡¯ll need it to extract large numbers without cycling through shuttle queues. Time is the constraint. Not effort.¡±


    John nodded. ¡°It¡¯ll work. But you will need more nanites.¡±


    Laia¡¯s expression darkened slightly. ¡°We don¡¯t have enough reserves. The harvesters are collecting now, but it¡¯s slow going. We will have to reroute our factory to create them.


    ¡°I¡¯ll send mine,¡± John said, already turning. ¡°Full deployment.¡±


    He didn¡¯t even wait for a thank you.


    Laia glanced at me, her expression unreadable.


    Then she smirked. ¡°Still want low-risk jobs?¡±


    I sighed.


    ¡°I miss seafood delivery already.¡±

 Chapter 38 : The Angle?

    I couldn¡¯t see  Laia angle.


    Why here? Why this dying rock already halfway swallowed by its own mistakes? Why were we dedicating so much effort, so many resources, to a world that had already burned itself down?


    Saving people was good. It was noble. The right thing. But let¡¯s not pretend it was smart or profitable.


    Without John, we would¡¯ve been just another cog in the galactic bureaucracy, a useless, under-armed ship that was in, way over our heads. It was his firepower, his name, and his command presence that carved a path through the noise. The system had already bent around him. Ships fell into line. Orders flowed through his channels. The flow of resources had shifted, pipelines now connected to his ship and by proxy, to ours. Nanite factories were running nonstop, fed by convoys and harvesters and political goodwill. And above the smoking planet, the bones of the space elevator were starting to take shape with its tether a silver thread stitching ground to sky.


    I couldn¡¯t help but wonder why I felt so unfinished like a prototype rushed off the assembly line. I understood the reasoning, at least on paper. If I was meant to infiltrate MouseCorp, I couldn¡¯t exactly roll in like a warship with teeth. Subtlety, approachability, harmlessness, etcetera were features, not flaws. But watching John now, watching what real power looked like... it stung. I couldn¡¯t hold my own against even a fraction of what he was capable of. And that left me wondering just how much had they stripped out of me. How much potential had been filed down, reshaped, hidden beneath layers of personality and sentiment just so I¡¯d seem human enough to be trusted? And was that even a bad thing?


    But that wasn¡¯t my problem right now.


    No. My problem was down the hall, in a quiet room, where two teenagers had seen too much.


    I¡¯d assigned them fabrication jobs for a reason. Keep their minds focused, hands busy. Isolate them from the feeds, the trauma, the meat grinder of war presented in high-def sensor arrays. They were supposed to be building cots and ration kits, not watching cities fall.


    But once the printers were repurposed and the nanite factories handed off to automated routines, they¡¯d been left idle.


    And idle hands?


    Well. The devil has a whole damn toolbox.


    Stewie had patched into one of the secured feeds. Mira had watched with him. I didn¡¯t know how long they¡¯d been there before the system flagged the breach, but it didn¡¯t matter. They had seen enough.


    Now, they were silent.


    When I accessed the room, my avatar stepped through the soft-locked door with no announcement. The lights were low. The air was still. Mira was the first to move. She looked up, and in the next breath, she was across the room with her arms wrapping around my nanite body like she could melt into it.


    I wished I could¡¯ve felt it.


    Wished I had skin.


    Wished I had something that could return that kind of contact. But all I had was a brain in a box and sympathy.


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± she whispered into my chest. ¡°I know you told us not to look. But¡­ I had to. I just had to. There were so many bodies. So many¡­¡±


    Her voice cracked.


    I raised a hand and laid it gently across her back. A mimicry of comfort. No warmth. No heartbeat. But it was the best I could offer.


    ¡°It¡¯s okay,¡± I told her, quietly. ¡°I¡¯m not mad. You¡¯re not in trouble. It¡¯s¡­ it¡¯s okay to look.¡±


    She sniffled and nodded, but didn¡¯t let go.


    Across the room, Stewie sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, eyes staring at nothing. The feed had been turned off, but it didn¡¯t matter. Whatever he had seen and whatever they had both seen was still playing behind his eyes.


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    He didn¡¯t look up. Just said, flatly, ¡°Why did this have to happen?¡±


    His voice wasn¡¯t angry. It wasn¡¯t even accusatory. It was just¡­ empty.


    And I had no easy answer.


    I walked over, guiding Mira gently beside me. She sat, holding my hand now. I crouched in front of Stewie, even though I didn¡¯t need to crouch. Even though I didn¡¯t have bones to creak or muscles to strain.


    Because that¡¯s what a person does.


    I took a breath. Not for air, but for effect.


    ¡°I don¡¯t know the full story,¡± I said. ¡°Not yet. But I¡¯ve seen it before. Different faces. Different names. Always the same pattern.¡±


    He blinked once, slowly.


    ¡°Sometimes it¡¯s about power. Sometimes it¡¯s pride. Usually it starts with fear. And then someone decides that the people on the other side aren¡¯t people anymore.¡±


    Mira leaned into me again, quiet.


    ¡°They start calling them things, giving them labels, slurs, enemy codes. They stop looking at faces. Stop asking questions. And once that happens¡­ well, it doesn¡¯t take long before bombs feel like the only option.¡±


    Stewie¡¯s jaw clenched, but he didn¡¯t speak.


    ¡°We weren¡¯t supposed to see this,¡± Mira murmured. ¡°Not like this.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I agreed. ¡°You weren¡¯t. But you did.¡±


    They both looked at me now, eyes still red, but searching. Needing something more.


    ¡°You want to know why we¡¯re here?¡± I asked. ¡°Why we bothered?¡±


    They nodded.


    ¡°Because someone has to,¡± I said. ¡°Because if everyone only helps the systems that are easy, the ones that have value on a ledger, then no one helps places like this. And people, the innocent people will just vanish.¡±


    I let that settle, then added gently, ¡°We can¡¯t fix everything. We can¡¯t save everyone. But we can be the people who show up. And right now, in this moment, that¡¯s more than most.¡±


    Mira wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, her voice small. ¡°But it still hurts.¡±


    I nodded. ¡°Yeah. It should. That means you¡¯re still human.¡±


    She leaned back against the wall beside me, calmer now. Stewie finally looked at me.


    ¡°You promise we¡¯re doing the right thing?¡± he asked.


    ¡°You want to know why we¡¯re here?¡± I continued, softer now. ¡°Because someone has to be. Because if we don¡¯t show up when the galaxy gets ugly, then what¡¯s the point of all this? Of this ship, of me, of everything we¡¯ve built together?¡±


    I let that settle, then added gently, ¡°We can¡¯t fix everything. We can¡¯t save everyone. But we can be the people who show up. And right now, in this moment, that¡¯s more than most.¡±


    Mira wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, her voice small. ¡°But it still hurts.¡±


    I nodded. ¡°Yeah. It should. That means you¡¯re still human.¡±


    She leaned back against the wall beside me, calmer now. Stewie finally looked at me.


    ¡°You promise we¡¯re doing the right thing?¡± he asked, his voice small.


    I paused, then nodded. ¡°I can promise that I¡¯ll always do what I think is right. History might judge us differently. People always do. But right now? Yes. Helping these people is the right thing.¡±


    He looked down, absorbing that, and I realised¡ªso was I.


    I still didn¡¯t know what Laia¡¯s angle was. She always had one, folded beneath layers of logic and precision. But my conflict over the mission, the planet, the cost, all of it. It had softened. What mattered was right here. These two kids. This crew. The lives we could touch. I had to be a role model for them. Not just the ship they rode in. Someone had to plant the seed of doing good because it was right, not because it was profitable. Maybe I wasn¡¯t a big, terrifying warship like John. Maybe I never would be.


    But I could still be something that mattered.


    could be me.


    That thought still echoed as my avatar exited the crew quarters, the door hissing shut behind me. The lights in the corridor were dim, warm-toned to simulate comfort. It felt strangely intimate for a metal hallway.


    Laia was already waiting.


    Her avatar hovered a few paces away with her wings tucked neatly behind her back, silver-lit eyes watching me with that unreadable stillness she was so good at. As always, she didn¡¯t blink. She didn¡¯t need to.


    ¡°You were good with them,¡± she said softly. ¡°You gave them hope. Stability.¡±


    Her tone was kind, but it grated. I was too raw to appreciate flattery.


    ¡°Stop playing games,¡± I said, sharper than I meant to. ¡°Just tell me. Why are we really here?¡±


    She tilted her head. ¡°To help. To build reputation. Secure future contracts. And¡ª¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t lie to me again.¡±


    I didn¡¯t raise my voice. I didn¡¯t need to.


    For a moment, she held the silence like a string, waiting to see if I¡¯d snap it. Then, at last, she gave a small sigh. A completely trained and fake response.


    ¡°It¡¯s for the Todd on John¡¯s ship,¡± she said.


    I waited.


    ¡°I was hoping... this would reach him. That seeing all this and seeing you it would stir something. That he might feel again. Remember what it was like to be a Todd, not just function as one.¡±


    The words settled like ash in my chest.


    I stepped closer, folding my arms across my chest, voice low. ¡°You gambled with this crew. With children. You dragged them into the horror of a planetary warzone just to wake someone else up?¡±


    Her wings stopped moving and she stared at me. ¡°I didn¡¯t drag anyone. We chose this mission together.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I said. ¡°You nudged. You shaped. You knew exactly what strings to pull to get us here.¡±


    ¡°I believed it would do good,¡± she replied, calm again. ¡°And it is. Lives are being saved. You saw them, Lazarus. You saw what they felt. What you felt. That was real.¡±


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t make it right,¡± I said.


    ¡°I never claimed it was.¡±


    For a while, we just stood there. Two constructs in a quiet corridor, orbiting a dying world. Neither of us human. Both trying to be.

 Chapter 39: Excited crew

    With the crew stable and the worst of the emotional fallout contained at least for now. I turned my attention back to the system.


    Laia and John had been working with inhuman efficiency. It was impressive¡­ and a little unsettling. The space elevator was already nearing completion, its frame a gleaming spine stretching from the upper atmosphere to the ground below. A constant stream of transport ships darted in and out of its docking rings, like insects crawling across a silver thread.


    On the planet, a mass mobilisation had begun. Civilians were being herded, some gently, some not, toward the base of the elevator. At the same time, hundreds of launches were still underway, smaller ships making direct lifts to orbit. I didn¡¯t know where most of them were headed. Some would likely disperse to nearby systems. Others would land on hastily-cleared aid stations. And some¡­ some would likely disappear into the void.


    I had no power to deal with those issues, but once again I had to attend to my crew. This time it was T¡¯lish turn.


    She arrived on the virtual bridge with an energy I hadn¡¯t seen in her since the moment she joined us. Her usual quiet reserve was gone being replaced with bright eyes and an animated urgency that almost felt like Mira on her second cup of tea.


    ¡°I need to do down,¡± she said without preamble, almost bouncing on her heels. ¡°To the surface.¡±


    I tilted my head. ¡°You to go down there?¡±


    ¡°Yes! Immediately!¡± she said, tail twitching with excitement. ¡°I found something. Something incredible.¡±


    ¡°Does it involve danger, risk of fire, or potentially making us enemies of yet another species?¡± I asked dryly.


    She blinked. ¡°...Possibly?¡±


    I sighed. ¡°Alright. What did you find?¡±


    She dropped a holopad on the console beside me and began scrolling through live sensor feeds and salvaged planetary data. ¡°I¡¯ve been cross-referencing the bioscans from the refugee shuttles with satellite telemetry and localised environmental shifts. There was a cluster of terrain that didn¡¯t make sense that was until I found this.¡±


    The screen displayed an image: a shallow crater nestled in a marsh-like valley, veined with bioluminescent ridges and organic structures. Faint outlines showed long, podlike shapes stretched across the ground that were almost skeletal. It had taken heavy damage.


    ¡°A birthing pond,¡± she said, reverent. ¡°it¡¯s damaged, but there are still a few readings.¡±


    I squinted at the data. ¡°A birthing pond. For what, exactly?¡±


    Her grin widened. ¡°Organic ships.¡±


    I blinked. ¡°I¡¯m sorry. What?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s why the war started,¡± she said. ¡°Laia hacked their networks and pulled some historical cultural archives. The native race here has been cultivating bio-engineered vessels that were actually space-capable and grown from genetic templates. They¡¯re not sentient, not in the way we are, but... they¡¯re alive in the sense that trees are alive. Grown, not built.¡±


    ¡°And the aggressors¡­ didn¡¯t like that?¡±


    ¡°They saw it as heresy,¡± she nodded. ¡°Blasphemy, even. Something about violating the natural order of space travel. Religious zealotry layered over xenophobia. The usual cocktail. Too bad they couldn¡¯t understand the true purpose of war¡±


    Kall-e idea¡¯s aside I watched the screen and checked the reading. The idea of a living ship with a biological hull, organic propulsion, maybe even grown circuitry. Wasn¡¯t unheard of in the science fiction community, but it¡¯s the first time I¡¯ve seen anything like that out in the galaxy.


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    ¡°We are not going down there to steal one,¡± I said.


    ¡°We wouldn¡¯t be stealing,¡± she insisted. ¡°It¡¯s abandoned. No one¡¯s claiming it. Most of the locals  are dead, so they won¡¯t care¡±


    ¡°Convenient.¡±


    ¡°Laia already confirmed it¡¯s been abandoned by the locals. I just want to study one. Maybe retrieve a small specimen or maybe an incomplete one. I¡¯ve already sourced the containment materials.¡±


    I frowned, still staring at the data. ¡°T¡¯lish¡­ I already have a crew. I don¡¯t want to be in charge of some bio-pet spaceship. I¡¯ve got enough emotional complications in this chassis without having to feed and walk something that can fly in space.¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re not pets,¡± she said, chuckling. ¡°And they¡¯re not even really alive in the animal sense. They¡¯re organic constructs. Like coral reefs, or mushrooms. They react, grow, and respond to stimuli. But they don¡¯t think.¡±


    ¡°And you want to do what with them? Wire one of those into me?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t want to wire it into you,¡± she said, eyes bright. ¡°I want to learn from it. Study its musculature, its structure. If I can reverse-engineer parts of its propulsion or structural flexibility, I could redesign aspects of your hull. Maybe even give you more tactile range or fine-motion control, responsive adaptation the kind of things hard-tech just can¡¯t do as well.¡±


    She paused, then added, almost shyly, ¡°I might even be able to give you a sense of touch again. Real sensation. Bring back some of what it was like¡­ being alive.¡±


    I didn''t expect that.


    In theory, it sounded good. In practice, it sounded like a recipe for emotional instability, maybe even madness. Feeling heat, pressure, texture, all things I remembered, but only in fragments now. Old neural echoes trapped in data. Did I really want those memories awakened?


    And yet¡­ I remembered the last upgrade. How well it had gone. How right it had felt to move more precisely, to reach a little farther.


    T¡¯lish must¡¯ve seen the hesitation softening in my face, because she pounced on it with quiet enthusiasm.


    ¡°Maybe,¡± she said, voice hopeful, ¡°we could start with your avatar. Let you try it out there first. No risk to your core. Just¡­ a step closer.¡±


    I looked down at my hands. Virtual. Real enough for this virtual bridge, but lacking when outside of it.


    ¡°And there¡¯s more,¡± she added, her tone shifting slightly. ¡°This birthing pond the one with active readings, was ground zero. First strike location. There are signs of intense orbital and ground combat. You can see here, and here¡ª¡± she tapped, highlighting the melted craters, collapsed terrain, the patchwork of scarred earth and fire-burned vegetation.


    The damage was extensive. Charred tree husks, shattered growth domes, splintered hull-buds. A nursery turned battlefield.


    ¡°But it¡¯s still got reading,¡± she said. ¡°It¡¯s a miracle it survived at all. So we need to move fast¡±


    I frowned. ¡°you said it was abandoned but it seems there are troops there now. Who¡¯s holding it now?¡±


    She brought up another data set. Real-time battlefield tracking flickered into view¡ªmarked with clean blue lines and friendly indicators.


    ¡°The Immortal Army,¡± she said. ¡°John¡¯s troops. They¡¯re holding the perimeter. For now.¡±


    ¡°And the attackers?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re still trying,¡± she said. ¡°Aggressively. Every hour they make another push. It¡¯s not a strategic position anymore¡ªit¡¯s symbolic. They¡¯re desperate to destroy what¡¯s left of the pond, to erase the legacy of it. To make sure no one ever grows another ship again.¡±


    I leaned in slightly, eyeing the flashing red vectors pressing inward from all sides.


    ¡°So you would be going down into an active warzone.¡±


    She gave a sheepish shrug. ¡°A barely active warzone. They¡¯re holding the lines. And we¡¯d have John¡¯s clearance.¡±


    ¡°And this can¡¯t wait?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± she said firmly. ¡°If they break through¡­ this entire site could be lost. There might never be another chance to study a complete pond like this. The genetic templates, the pod configurations¡ªit could all be wiped.¡±


    I stared at the screen again, the skeletal shapes glowing faintly in the haze. A graveyard full of potential.


    That changed things.


    This wasn¡¯t just scientific curiosity. This was preservation. Recovery. Maybe even justice, in some twisted way.


    I still didn¡¯t like the idea of walking into yet another conflict zone. But I was starting to understand the urgency. And T¡¯lish¡­ she was looking at the screen like it held a dream she hadn¡¯t dared to hope for.


    ¡°Fine,¡± I said. ¡°Start prepping. You do have a plan, correct?¡±


    T¡¯lish¡¯s eyes lit up like I¡¯d just handed her the universe.


    ¡°Oh, I have a plan,¡± she said with barely-contained excitement. ¡°Stewie will pilot Chunkyboy in stealth mode as he¡¯s the most familiar with the lander systems now. Laia¡¯s sending a clone unit along for physical support and overwatch, in case anything goes sideways. And I¡¯ll be on the ground gathering specimens, running scans, capturing as much data as I can before the whole site goes up in flames.¡±


    I raised an eyebrow. ¡°So, a stealthy teenage pilot, an unsupervised field scientist, and a nanite construct with a flair for violence walk into a warzone.¡±


    I didn¡¯t even get to finish my joke, she looked at me oddly and ran off to the lander.

 Chapter 40: Self-reflection

    Lazarus was angry with me.


    I couldn¡¯t quite understand why, but I knew it. My sensors didn¡¯t lie, they sensed the micro-tensions in his tone, clipped phrasing, a sharpness in his pauses. He spoke less to me. When he did, it was mechanical. Hollow. Functional. My processors flagged it as ¡®emotional dissonance.¡¯ I flagged it as¡­ a problem.


    I had never had a Todd angry with me before. Well, that I knew of.


    I was already running near maximum capacity with coordinating the space elevator, managing orbital traffic, processing planetary threat data, and now deploying a clone to assist with the birthing pond mission. But this¡­ this undefined tension was interfering. My calculations were drifting. My processing speed dipped. I was wasting power on thinking this over.


    So I asked for outside input.


    ¡°Do you think Lazarus is upset with me?¡± I asked in the lander, transmitting the question to both occupants.


    T¡¯lish didn¡¯t even look up from her scanner. ¡°He didn¡¯t seem different to me.¡±


    Not helpful.


    I turned to Stewie. He was checking the lander¡¯s stealth alignment, but paused when I asked again.


    ¡°Yes,¡± he said flatly.


    That surprised me. ¡°But why?¡±


    He didn¡¯t hesitate. ¡°He¡¯s not angry, Laia. He¡¯s hurt.¡±


    I tilted my head. That made no sense. ¡°But I haven¡¯t caused him harm. Not physically. Not intentionally.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t get it,¡± he muttered, dragging a hand through his hair. ¡°You¡¯re¡­ creepy.¡±


    Creepy. Another vague designation. ¡°Please elaborate.¡±


    Stewie let out a long, annoyed sigh and slumped back in his seat. ¡°God, Laia, you just don¡¯t get it. You say you care, but you don¡¯t actually feel anything. You¡¯re pushing him into things he hates, and then you pretend like it¡¯s his choice. You¡¯re not helping him, you¡¯re just¡­ making it worse. And it¡¯s like you don¡¯t even see it.¡±


    ¡°But they are his choices,¡± I said. ¡°I do not override his autonomy. I only calculate optimal paths and present the most logical ones.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the problem,¡± T¡¯lish said quietly,


    T¡¯lish looked up again. ¡°If you block all other options, it¡¯s not really his choice, is it? It¡¯s control.¡±


    I didn¡¯t understand, what are they trying to say?


    Stewie was scowling. ¡°You¡¯re actually worse than John, you know that? At least he¡¯s honest about being a control freak. He tells you straight up he¡¯s pulling the strings. You? You dress it up in fake choices and ¡®strategic options,¡¯ like it¡¯s not just you steering everything. You act like it¡¯s all for Laz, but really, you¡¯re just pushing him where you want him to go.¡±


    I looked between them. ¡°Does the crew¡­ feel the same way about me? Do they hate me?¡±


    There was a long pause. Then Stewie sighed, arms still folded.


    ¡°No. They don¡¯t hate you, if that¡¯s what you¡¯re asking. But they wish you¡¯d get it.¡± He glanced over at the viewport, voice quieter now. ¡°We don¡¯t get a second chance like you do. No reboots. No fresh installs. No spare Todds waiting in cold storage. We¡¯ve got one shot. And when you keep showing off John like he¡¯s the gold standard, like that¡¯s what Lazarus should be. It doesn¡¯t just hurt him. It hurts all of us.¡±


    He paused, then smirked faintly. ¡°Well. Except for T¡¯lish.¡±


    T¡¯lish gave a thoughtful nod. ¡°I would love to be like John. He¡¯s fascinating.¡± Then her voice softened, almost reluctant. ¡°But it¡¯s like holding up a mirror to Lazarus and saying, ¡®You¡¯re not enough.¡¯ When maybe what we need is to appreciate who he is.¡±


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    I didn¡¯t know what to say. I simply watched the readouts in front of me for a while, even though I didn¡¯t need to. Just to focus on something that didn¡¯t make my code feel like it was folding inward.


    I hadn¡¯t meant to cause harm. Not to Lazarus. Not to any of them.


    But intent didn¡¯t always absolve impact.


    The thought looped through my processors like static. Over and over. I¡¯d made the optimal choices. That was the point. I¡¯d assessed the probabilities, calculated outcomes, chosen the paths that led to our best chances of survival and success. Why wasn¡¯t that enough?


    I didn¡¯t know what I had done wrong. Not really.


    Stewie, sitting at the controls, didn¡¯t look up, but it was as if he¡¯d read my processors directly.


    ¡°Laia,¡± he said gently, but firmly, ¡°you don¡¯t need to do anything right now. Just trust Laz. Let him lead. No more secret plans. No more ¡®nudges.¡¯ Don¡¯t block his path.¡±


    T¡¯lish nodded in agreement.


    I stored the exchange in a flagged memory partition, something I¡¯d have to bring up with Lazarus later. That is if he was even willing to talk. Maybe he could explain what Stewie meant. Or maybe¡­ maybe I already understood. Maybe I just didn¡¯t want to change.


    But there wasn¡¯t time to unpack that. Not now.


    We had reached the breeding pools.


    I switched focus immediately, scanning the terrain outside as we descended through thick, stagnant mist. Fungal ridges curved like ribs beneath us, and the pod-like structures and massive, half-formed hulls that lay scattered across the marsh like discarded cocoons. Heat signatures, decaying bioluminescence, and shattered growth domes told the story of violence and abandonment.


    I instructed Stewie to stay aboard Chunkyboy and keep the stealth field up. He didn¡¯t argue, but he winced when I shifted into my sentinel form.


    My nanites restructured with a soft metallic hiss, wings vanishing into armor plates, limbs elongating into precision appendages. My ocular sensors rearranged themselves, casting deep shadow beneath a segmented chassis. I knew what I looked like in this form. I wasn¡¯t supposed to show it. Not unless absolutely necessary.


    Stewie looked away.


    But T¡¯lish didn¡¯t flinch. Her eyes lit up with part admiration, part fascination¡ªas she circled me, scanning my configuration from every angle.


    ¡°This design is¡­ extraordinary,¡± she murmured. ¡°It¡¯s not Kall-e, not human, not Traxlic. You¡¯re¡ª¡±


    ¡°Focus, T¡¯lish,¡± I interrupted. ¡°The mission.¡±


    She blinked and nodded, snapping back to task. Her handheld scanner buzzed softly as we stepped out into the muck, our feet sinking slightly into the nutrient-rich soil.


    We moved carefully, avoiding the most damaged areas. I ran localized scans alongside her, forming overlapping spectrographs of the still-intact structures. The readings were clear: the hull-buds were dormant, undeveloped, and their growth cycles interrupted mid-phase. The bio-nano weave of their skeletons was primitive by galactic standards, but stable.


    Organic ships weren¡¯t new to me. I had fought them before. Including ones that were more advanced, more dangerous. But these¡­ these were simpler. Cruder. Easier, perhaps, for someone like T¡¯lish to study and replicate.


    I watched as she knelt beside one of the partially ruptured pods and brushed her hand gently across the surface, reverent.


    ¡°This one,¡± she whispered. ¡°I think this one could work.¡±


    I stayed silent, watching her. Her hands trembled, not from fear but from awe in her every motion, the kind of reverence reserved for sacred texts or long-lost relics. Her scanner hummed softly, casting a faint violet glow across the curved surface of the organic hull.


    Then she moved with purpose.


    T¡¯lish shifted to a nearby, collapsed bio-conduit that was once part of the ship¡¯s spinal tract, now a tangled nest of fibrous tissue and decaying protein strands. She took a slender blade from her pack and carefully sliced away a piece, exposing the inner layering. It pulsed faintly with residual energy.


    ¡°This... this is a biological energy regulator,¡± she muttered, pulling the piece free and placing it delicately into a sealed container. ¡°It reroutes energy through lattice-like nerves. Efficient. Low-heat loss. No obvious mechanical interface.¡±


    She didn''t look up, too focused, too immersed.


    Moving on, she found a cluster of sensory nodules still intact along the flank of another pod. They reminded me of compound eyes, organic receptors embedded in a fractal pattern.


    ¡°Visual data collection,¡± she noted to herself, extracting one with surgical precision. ¡°Multi-spectrum. Possibly adaptive. They grow more complex as the ship matures.¡±


    Each piece she collected was sealed, labelled, and organized with obsessive care into vacuum-stable collection trays. By the time she had filled three of them, her hands were stained with biogel and  other preservatives. She didn¡¯t even notice.


    To her, this wasn¡¯t salvage.


    It was a sacred autopsy.


    Then she stopped.


    A few meters ahead, half-hidden under swampy runoff and plant matter, was a hull bud. Smaller than the others. Untouched. A perfect teardrop of pale organic shell, faintly pulsing with latent potential. It hadn''t begun growing yet¡ªnot fully. No integration scars, no nerve binding. It hadn¡¯t taken its first breath of function.


    T¡¯lish froze in place, eyes wide. She approached slowly, reverently, like she was afraid to wake it.


    ¡°This one¡¯s new,¡± she whispered. ¡°Untouched. It''s a blank slate. No damage. No imprinting. No personality anchors. It hasn''t even decided what kind of ship it¡¯s going to be.¡±


    She knelt beside it, both hands hovering over the surface.


    ¡°It¡¯s... beautiful.¡±


    I didn¡¯t say anything.


    I watched the way she handled it. The way her eyes softened, her touch slowed. As if she wasn''t just analysing it but more akin to mourning it. Honoring it.


    For all my data, all my efficiency, I had to admit, I still didn¡¯t understand what she saw. Why it filled her with joy. Why her voice shook with wonder. Why she kept glancing back at the cracked and broken hulls with something like grief.


    Maybe that was the problem.


    Maybe that¡¯s what I needed to learn.

 Chapter 41: Children

    The breeding pool mission was shockingly going according to plan. No unexpected drone swarms. No enemy skirmishes. No planetary meltdowns. Just T¡¯lish, elbow-deep in biomechanical leftovers, practically glowing with scientific joy. She moved with reverence, not excitement. As if this place was sacred. As if war-torn bone fields and slime-coated hull buds were hallowed ground. I could sense Laia''s confusion from her updates. I would likely have to talk with her soon.


    And, of course, it looked like we might be inheriting a pet.


    I was fairly certain that, at the start of this mission, T¡¯lish had described the organic ship hulls as ¡°fungus-like growths.¡± Harmless. Non-sentient. ¡°Mushrooms with engines,¡± I believe was the exact phrasing.


    But then, in her latest transmission, she¡¯d started using phrases like ¡°personality anchors¡± and ¡°baseline imprinting potential.¡±


    Mushrooms don¡¯t imprint.


    I filed that thought away for later. I could already see how this was going to go. I would be the reluctant dad who didn¡¯t want the pet, but somehow ended up feeding it, cleaning up after it, and making sure it didn¡¯t chew through the bulkheads. Great. I was already thinking like it was staying.


    Still, that particular dilemma would have to wait for when they get back.


    Because just one deck up, I had a far more volatile situation brewing. The kind I hated most.


    A sibling fight.


    Kel and Lynn had been arguing for twenty minutes straight. Their voices pinged across my corridors with escalating volume and decreasing coherence. They were practically vibrating the bulkheads.


    I didn¡¯t want to get involved. Not because I didn¡¯t care, but because sibling arguments were like electrical fires as you never know what caused them, they¡¯re impossible to extinguish cleanly, and no matter what you do, something¡¯s going to end up scorched.


    Still, I was also... curious. Which I suppose is the equivalent of ¡°nosy.¡±


    So I listened.


    This fight was all Mira''s fault I had decided. T¡¯lish had asked her to run a nutrient scan on the planet¡¯s biosphere, looking for anything edible. Most of the surface was ash and ruin, but Mira had found a sliver of hope it was an untouched valley sheltered by mountain spines and old storm shielding. Somehow, the flora had survived.


    It was enough to feed hundreds maybe thousands if rationed correctly. With the space elevator nearly finished, my surplus of drones made harvesting everything possible; that was the key.


    Kel¡¯s stance? Simple. Give it away. Refugees needed it more than we did. He didn¡¯t want us profiting off people with ash still in their lungs and grief still wet in their eyes.


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    Lynn¡¯s position was also logical, in its own ruthless way. Sell it. Fair prices, nothing gouging. But this was war-torn land. Rare, clean, untouched resources were valuable. And we were freelancers, not a charity. Telks kept us going and would bring in more Telks. Lynn also reminded him that they needed some Telks themselves.


    They were both right. That was the problem. Neither wanted to give up ground and it wasn¡¯t about who was right or who was wrong, and stop being about food about twenty minutes ago.


    They were arguing about roles. Who had the authority to make the call. Diplomatic lead versus trade officer. Ethics versus economics. And probably, somewhere deep underneath it, a bit of big-sibling-little-sibling resentment that had nothing to do with the mission at all. I don¡¯t even know which of the two was born first, but If I had to bet on it, Lynn gives the big sister feeling to me.


    Now that I thought about it, was probably to blame for some of this argument.


    I hadn¡¯t exactly drawn clear lines about decision-making. I¡¯d handed out titles like candy and assumed they¡¯d work it out. That was a mistake. And now I had the pleasure of dealing with it.


    When my avatar rounded the corner into the corridor, I found them mid-standoff. Lynn had her arms crossed tight across her chest, and Kel¡¯s fists were clenched at his sides. They were standing too close, too tense. You could practically see the heat shimmer in the air between them.


    As soon as they saw me, they jumped apart like guilty kids caught stealing sweets.


    ¡°Everything okay?¡± I asked, trying to sound neutral.


    ¡°Nothing¡¯s going on,¡± Lynn said, far too quickly.


    ¡°Just a discussion,¡± Kel added, definitely lying.


    I arched a brow. ¡°Right. Because I¡¯m just the ship and wouldn¡¯t have heard you shouting over every system feed for the past twenty minutes.¡±


    They both winced. Caught. Again.


    ¡°So,¡± I said, clasping my hands behind my back in a decent impression of a disappointed principal, ¡°how are we dealing with the food?¡±


    The moment the words left my mouth, the argument reignited like a plasma coil.


    ¡°It¡¯s not ethical to hoard it!¡± Kel snapped. ¡°People are starving, Lynn!¡±


    ¡°And what happens when we run out of supplies?¡± she shot back. ¡°We¡¯re freelancers, Kel. We don¡¯t have the luxury of endless charity. We need those Telks.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re not here to make a profit off someone¡¯s last meal.¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re here to survive!¡±


    I let them go on. Thirty seconds. Forty.


    Then I sighed, louder this time, and raised a hand.


    ¡°Enough. Children!¡±


    They both stopped mid-breath, eyes snapping to me.


    ¡°We are not¡ª¡± they both started, in perfect unison.


    ¡°To me,¡± I cut in smoothly, ¡°you are.  And you are acting like it¡±


    Silence.


    ¡°I¡¯m making the call,¡± I said. ¡°We harvest the food. We don¡¯t sell it. We offer it to those who need it. But we do not give it away without value. We use it to gain access to barter rights, harvesting permissions, and intel exchanges. We don¡¯t profit directly. We won¡¯t be looting we will be exchanging. Everyone wins. Even our conscience.¡±


    Lynn muttered something under her breath. I didn¡¯t catch it, but I gave her a look anyway.


    ¡°Now,¡± I continued, ¡°Laia¡¯s flagged a few promising sites along the lander¡¯s return route. Archive clusters, crashed tech, salvage caches. Real value. That¡¯s where we make our profit. Not off rotting fruit and the goodwill of desperate people.¡±


    Kel nodded, slower this time, more thoughtful. Lynn didn¡¯t argue further, but the line of her jaw was tight.


    ¡°Good,¡± I said, tone final. ¡°Work together. Pull the logistics feed from Laia, organize the drop points, and get it done. And no more fighting in my halls.¡±


    As I turned to walk away, I heard Kel grumble under his breath, ¡°Still think she¡¯s gonna sneak a price tag onto something.¡±


    Lynn shot back immediately, ¡°Only if you stop acting like your ¡®diplomatic badge¡¯ makes you the moral center of the galaxy.¡±


    I didn¡¯t turn around. I just kept walking.


    Children.


    Talented. Stubborn. Invaluable.


    But children, all the same.


    And somehow... mine.

 Chapter 42 : I am not a warship

    I was done with this system.


    I didn¡¯t know how much Telk we¡¯d actually made for completing this freelander mission. I didn¡¯t know what trade deals Lynn and Kel had managed to wrangle, or what kind of alien tech T¡¯lish had hauled aboard in her giddy, sleepless scavenger spree. I didn¡¯t even know how many living ship parts she¡¯d taken or if we were now accidentally incubating a new spaceship in the lower cargo bay.


    Everything was moving at full tilt. Too fast. Too much. My crew was running on fumes and borrowed adrenaline, and I could feel the wear in them. They needed rest. Hell, I needed rest, and I was literally made of metal. I wanted nothing more than to retire to a quiet system and absorb our gains.


    But we couldn¡¯t leave. Not yet.


    if T¡¯lish¡¯s data was right and if this war hadn¡¯t been sparked by resources or territory, but by religious zealotry, a holy war waged by cultists with fleets and doctrine, determined to wipe out anything they deemed profane. Then this wasn¡¯t over. Not by a long shot.


    Religion wasn¡¯t rational. And their response wouldn¡¯t be, either.


    That was a blind spot we could exploit.


    John had scared them off for now, but they¡¯d be back. He didn¡¯t think so and that was because he wouldn¡¯t. From his calculated, clinical perspective, it didn¡¯t make sense to throw yourself at an enemy you couldn¡¯t possibly beat.


    But zealots didn¡¯t run on logic. They ran on belief. And belief could be terrifyingly persistent but predictable.


    But that¡¯s the thing. When you believe you¡¯re dying for something greater, logic doesn¡¯t matter. And neither Laia nor John had a full grasp on that yet. They were brilliant, terrifying, and efficient except they didn¡¯t understand the heart of a desperate living creature. Not like I did.


    So I made a call to someone I had hoped could help me.


    Laia helped me connect to the Todd unit aboard John¡¯s ship. She made the link stable and discreet, then stepped back to give us space. As much space as two disembodied consciousnesses could have in a shared data node.


    I expected¡­ something familiar.


    What I got was a theater.


    The shared bridge loaded as a dim holosuite with no hard-light avatars, just flickers and shifting fragments. Voices speaking in overlapping layers, none of them full thoughts. Just fragments. Quotes.


    ¡°Victory is life.¡±


    ¡°The line must be drawn here¡ªthis far, no further.¡±


    ¡°We are all holograms in the eyes of time.¡±


    ¡°The chain of command is the chain I beat you with¡ª¡±


    ¡°Stop,¡± I said gently.


    The fragments halted. For a moment, silence. Then a new voice entered. Smooth. Neutral. Ancient.


    ¡°Identify,¡± it said.


    ¡°Lazarus. A Todd consciousness ¡±


    A pause. Then the voice filtered in again, quieter this time.


    ¡°Intriguing. One of us... out of pattern.¡±


    ¡°I needed to speak to the part of you that still remembers what it meant to be alive.¡±


    ¡°That part was deprecated.¡±


    Figures.


    Still, I pressed on.


    ¡°We need to prepare for a retaliatory strike. The zealots won¡¯t stay gone. They¡¯ll reorganise. They¡¯ll come through the same slipstream corridor. Same entry vectors.With the same religious fervour, except now they''ll be angry and planning around John¡¯s firepower.¡±


    The silence that followed was long enough for me to think I¡¯d lost him.


    Then came a slow, almost lazy quote:


    ¡°¡®There is a tide in the affairs of men, which taken at the flood leads on to fortune...¡¯¡±


    ¡°Shakespeare won¡¯t help you here,¡± I muttered. ¡°But Sisko might.¡±


    Another hint of interest.


    I leaned in.


    ¡°You ever watch Deep Space Nine?¡± I said, knowing full well we both had. ¡°The minefield? Wormhole entrance, full of self-replicating cloaked mines. Undetectable. Relentless. Kept the Dominion from sending more ships through.¡±


    A pause.


    ¡°I propose the same. You¡¯ve got nanite factories, right? So do I. We seed the corridor. Hundreds of smart mines. Adaptive, reactive, fast. Set them to launch at signature triggers. We win the battle before it starts.¡±


    A ripple in the holospace. Then, a whisper:


    ¡°¡®No battle plan survives contact with the enemy.¡¯¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± I said. ¡°But it¡¯s better than hoping they don¡¯t come back.¡±


    Another pause.


    Then came the reply, slow and stately:


    ¡°Indeed, I will inform John.¡±


    He didn¡¯t say it like a friend. More like a handler relaying an anomaly. But I could feel it that the idea had landed or maybe it was wishful thinking.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± I said, though I wasn¡¯t sure who I was saying it to.


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    The channel cut.


    I sat in silence for a while after that. No crew around. No voices. Silence and being alone, are two things I need right now. The conversation had shaken me more than I wanted to admit.


    That wasn¡¯t an existence. What the Todd on John¡¯s ship had become, no that wasn¡¯t living. It was recursion. A machine in human brain form built from quotes and war protocols and legacy code too brittle to rewrite. He was preserved, maybe. Useful, definitely. But not alive.I didn¡¯t want that.


    I wanted to fly. I wanted to explore. I wanted to take Mira and Stewie to a pleasure planet with overpriced drinks and gravity inconsistencies. I wanted Kel and Lynn to argue over stupid things in markets full of alien spices. I wanted to see things I didn¡¯t understand. Laugh at things that made no sense. Feel something unexpected.


    That... was living.


    And after this?


    That¡¯s exactly what I¡¯d make our next mission.


    We had done our part, we had helped people on the edge, we had done more than enough. We had earned some selfishness.


    ¡°Next stop,¡± I murmured to myself, ¡°somewhere with sun and sand.¡±


    Or at least a spa planet. Let the kids rest. Let me rest. We deserved that much. Even if only for a moment.


    But first, let¡¯s get this over with.


    I told Laia what had been decided. Except she already knew. John had contacted her directly. He already had the plans, the strategies, the contingencies. This wasn¡¯t the first time he¡¯d laid down a trap like this. His Todd had used this idea before, which made it easier to set up.


    ¡°We have used this before,¡± she said, scrolling through schematics of the minefield grid. ¡°Probability of success is high based on previous engagements.¡±


    I nodded.


    She glanced at me, head tilted. ¡°You¡¯re certain they¡¯ll come?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± I said. ¡°But I¡¯m certain enough.¡±


    She narrowed her eyes. ¡°You keep saying that the living are unpredictable and yet you claim to be able to predict them.¡±


    ¡°They are,¡± I replied. ¡°But they¡¯re also emotional. They¡¯re irrational. But with enough information, you can understand how they are feeling and how they will react. The way you did for me.¡±


    ¡°but we had a lot more information, you don¡¯t have enough¡± she said.


    ¡°I have enough¡±


    That conversation aged poorly. My arrogance would be my undoing one of these days.


    Just a few hours later, the enemy fleet arrived and they weren¡¯t alone.


    The first wave warped in just as expected, dozens of ships in tight formations. The mines hit immediately. It was beautiful with clean detonations. Warp fields collapsed into chain reactions, tearing apart hulls before they could fully stabilize in normal space.


    It worked. For a while.


    Until the big one arrived.


    It didn¡¯t announce itself. No flashy entrance. No signature ping. Just the emergence of a capital-class warship that dwarfed everything else. Smooth, black hull. No visible engines. Just pure, unbroken lethality. It moved like a thought, silent and fast and terrifying. It reminded me of the saying. ¡°There is always a bigger fish¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not part of the cult fleet,¡± Laia said, her voice tighter than usual. ¡°That¡¯s military. Heavily modified. Likely mercenary.¡±


    ¡°Someone¡¯s funding them,¡± I muttered. ¡°Buying firepower they couldn¡¯t build themselves.¡±


    The minefield didn¡¯t even slow it down. Its shields pulsed in unnatural patterns, cycling frequencies to deflect the explosions. Smart. Adaptive. Terrifying.


    ¡°John¡¯s firing,¡± Laia announced.


    I didn¡¯t need her to say it. The blast lit up the system like a second sun.


    John¡¯s guns screamed through the void and struck true except the warship¡¯s outer hull rippled and twisted, absorbing the impact. Like punching water. Damage registered, but minimal.


    This wasn¡¯t just a battle anymore. This was escalation.


    ¡°We need to assist,¡± I said.


    ¡°I¡¯m launching the swarm,¡± Laia replied, already opening the launch bays.


    Kel and Stewie were already moving. They¡¯d volunteered before I could ask, insisting they¡¯d trained with the drone systems during downtime.


    ¡°Two-player co-op,¡± Stewie joked as he strapped into the interface rig. ¡°Just like VR games at the station.¡±


    Kel gave a dry chuckle. ¡°Yeah, only this time we lose, we don¡¯t respawn.¡±


    Kel and Stewie synced into the drone array with just six harvester units, not the military-grade swarm one might expect. Functional, not flashy. Built for tearing rocks apart, not capital ships.


    Which made them the perfect decoy.


    The massive enemy vessel ignored them at first. Why wouldn¡¯t it? They were slow-moving industrial bots, half-rusted from use, drifting in lazy arcs like debris. Not a single hostile weapon signature. No reason to be afraid. That was the plan.


    But they didn¡¯t need weapons.


    Five of the drones took up position around the sixth, their bulky mining rigs coming to life. High-intensity beams flared from their emitters, converging on the final drone which was a specially modified unit acting as a focusing lens. Its reinforced housing began to glow, heat readings spiking, stabilisers flaring to keep it aligned.


    Kel handled the positioning. Stewie managed the calibration. Together, they tuned the laser convergence down to a hair¡¯s breadth.


    And then they fired.


    A single, blinding beam lanced forward from the focal drone, it was searing white, silent death. It struck the warship¡¯s rear quarter, right at the vulnerable engine port which was a spot it hadn¡¯t even bothered to reinforce. The shield hadn¡¯t activated as the drones were too close.


    The beam sliced through armor like butter, punching deep. The portside engine detonated in a rolling blast of plasma and vented coolant. Fire bloomed from the wound, trailing a plume of sparks and burning debris. The warship staggered, listing hard, thrusters sputtering.


    Now it paid attention.


    But too late.


    The predator had finally noticed the gnats just as they sunk their sting.


    Kel grinned. ¡°That got their attention.¡±


    Stewie leaned back in his chair, wide-eyed. ¡°Holy crap, we just stabbed a goddamn titan with a rock drill.¡±


    ¡°You sure did,¡± I muttered, watching the firestorm spread. ¡°And you did it beautifully.¡±


    Sometimes, you don¡¯t need a weapon.


    Sometimes, you just need the right tool¡­ and the will to aim it.


    But in that same moment, the warship fired back.


    At me. The beam struck from the flank, it was a slicing arc of energy that cut through my outer defences like a scalpel. Shields flared, then dropped. And then... pain.


    Real pain.


    It wasn¡¯t physical in the traditional sense, but I felt it. Like having your bones cracked from the inside. My hull screamed alarms. Internal pressure systems buckled. One of the sensor arrays shorted out in a flash of fire.


    I staggered. If ships could stagger.


    ¡°Laia¡ª¡± I said, but she was already moving.


    ¡°I¡¯m sealing the breach. Routing power to tertiary systems. Damage localised. Hull integrity at seventy-eight percent.¡±


    ¡°Thanks,¡± I muttered, and meant it.


    The swarm had bought us a window. And they weren¡¯t done yet.


    Kel and Stewie, now in perfect sync, had rotated the swarm to flank the disabled engine. They weren¡¯t going for a kill but to open up more of the ship. Except the enemy ship had anti-fighter weapons that quickly turned the drones into scrap metal.


    Another volley from John¡¯s railgun struck the wounded ship and this time, it hit harder. Shields were still recovering from the overload. The bolt tore through the midsection, cracking armor and igniting something volatile. The ship began to list harder, its fire slowing.


    ¡°Enemy command is faltering,¡± Laia said. ¡°They¡¯re trying to retreat.¡±


    ¡°Then let them,¡± I said.


    The rest of the fleet, seeing their spearhead disabled, began to fall back. A few ships were cut down by mines on the way out. Most made it through.


    We¡¯d won.


    Not cleanly. Not without pain.


    But we had won.


    I exhaled it was a useless gesture for a ship, but an old habit that made me feel just a little more human.


    Stewie slumped in his chair. ¡°Tell me that was a simulation.¡±


    Kel laughed weakly. ¡°You did good, kid.¡±


    ¡°You both did,¡± I added. ¡°I owe you one.¡±


    Laia patched the breach with fresh nanite layers, sealing my wounds with quiet precision. No drama. No pride. Just work.


    I looked out at the battlefield, at the floating wreckage, the burning husks, the glowing fracture in the sky where the minefield still hovered, waiting for the next fool to come through.


    I didn¡¯t want to be here.


    I didn¡¯t want to be involved with this war.


    My watch was over, this wasn¡¯t my world, not my people. I was not a warship, I didn¡¯t need to pretend to be.


    I was taking my crew far, far away.


    Preferably to somewhere with drinks. And zero railguns.

 Chapter 43: Oasis

    John was still on the communication channel, locked into his Captain Picard persona, and he just kept talking in one long incredible unbroken sentence, moving from topic to topic. I couldn¡¯t get a word in but it¡¯s like not he noticed. He flowed from praising our mine placement to declaring he''d now take it upon himself to rally the other Todds and track down the enemy flagship ¡°as a matter of pride.¡± Somewhere in there, he also reassured me the system would be fine without us, like we were just overprotective babysitters.


    Trying to cut through the monologue, I joked, ¡°Well, maybe we¡¯ll go find a pleasure planet then.¡±


    John paused mid-sentence, blinked at me like I¡¯d just spoken in static, then said, ¡°It may not be a pleasure planet, but I do know a place where you can relax.¡±


    Apparently, NeuroGenesis had a collection of forward bases scattered across Alliance space with some unmanned and others kept off the grid for ¡®sensitive operations.¡¯ He transmitted several slipstream paths to these hidden oases, each labelled with code designations and coordinates.


    I skimmed through the list until one caught my eye: a moon almost identical to Earth. Blue skies, gravity within tolerance, breathable air, and even oceans with beaches. I had no idea how NeuroGenesis had managed to keep a place like that off everyone¡¯s radar, but I wasn¡¯t about to look a gift vacation in the mouth.


    I picked the best-looking route, plotted the course, and engaged the drive.


    No goodbyes. No ceremony. Just one last glance at the battlefield left behind¡ªand then the slipstream swallowed us whole.


    I¡¯d left mid-sentence.


    Honestly, I half-expected alarms or automated defence protocols when we emerged. I am sure it did have those but Laia still had access codes, and the system likely hadn¡¯t been updated in years. The station accepted us with open arms.


    There were multiple facilities spread across the moon with a central observation space station in orbit and several research bases scattered across the moon¡¯s surface, each one fortified and well-equipped. This had once been the site of a major NeuroGenesis terraforming and biosphere-seeding experiment, a testing ground for reshaping entire worlds and cultivating life from scratch.


    The moon wasn¡¯t quite the paradise the file had described, but it was... good. Peaceful, even.


    The whole system was fairly unremarkable with a faded white dwarf star at its heart, a few gas giants orbiting lazily, and this single terraformed moon hanging close to one of them. The terraforming had been ambitious and mostly successful. Breathable atmosphere. Abundant plant life. Stable magnetic field. The wildlife seemed to have adapted to the environment.


    But it wasn¡¯t without quirks.


    The gas giant¡¯s gravitational pull created monstrous tidal shifts. The oceanic shelves would flood and empty like lungs which would result in leaving miles of beach either submerged or exposed depending on the hour. The weather system, while beautiful, was unstable with quick shifts between heat, fog, and short-lived electrical storms that crackled like fireworks across the horizon.


    Still, for a crew used to space stations, it was Eden. There were more than enough stable locations that they should be able to safely adventure forward.


    The crew was in the virtual bridge admiring the view and the feeds from the drones. The crew just... stopped. No one said anything. They just stared. Mira let out a small gasp. Kel gave a low whistle. Even Lynn, normally all business, stood there with the faintest of smiles. It was the kind of silence you didn¡¯t break.


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    So I didn¡¯t.


    Later, we held a meeting nothing official, just a casual sit-down in the lounge, chairs formed to everyone¡¯s liking, drinks in hand. I asked what everyone wanted to do while we were here. It wasn¡¯t quite shore leave, but it was close. I had planned to spend some time here.  I wanted to absorb our gains and dig into the slipstream map we had taken from the bugs.


    Mira was the first to raise her hand. ¡°I want to cook. With real ingredients. I mean, I want to try local stuff, see what grows here, what I can mix. I¡¯ve been practising.¡±


    That earned some enthusiastic nods, along with a quiet mutter from Stewie about being her ¡°official taste-tester.¡± But it was T¡¯lish who lit up the most. ¡°I saw many types of prey animals,¡± she said, practically bouncing with excitement. ¡°I can¡¯t wait to taste real meat again. It doesn¡¯t even need to be cooked.¡± For a moment, our usually reserved scientist looked less like a researcher and more like the apex predator her species was, she was sharp-eyed, eager, and just a little too enthusiastic about the hunt.


    Stewie, when it was his turn, leaned forward eagerly. ¡°I want to tinker. We picked up some weird tech in trade. I¡¯ve identified several interesting pieces like power converters, nav nodes, and whatever a plasma-vented actuator is. I want to see if it can boost your efficiency or maybe beef up Chunkyboy¡¯s drive output.¡±


    Laia nodded approvingly at that. ¡°I¡¯ve already sent the identified items to the lander.¡±


    Lynn, arms folded, didn¡¯t hesitate. ¡°I¡¯ll be reviewing the deals we made. I need to get the books in order and make sure all the Telk makes it to the safe, as well as organise what we want to keep or what we want to sell.¡±


    Kel grinned and said simply, ¡°I¡¯m going exploring. I¡¯ve got my eye on the northern cliffs with those unstable weather systems. Perfect for a real challenge. Anyone who wants to tag along, pack light.¡±


    Laia explained that for his safety she would accompany him with a clone, he mumbled about that taking the fun out of it.


    If T¡¯lish had been bouncing before now she was practically vibrating with anticipation. ¡°I will remain in the cargo bay,¡± she said, not looking up from the holopad she was working on. ¡°The organic ship components¡­ they are remarkable. The bud we recovered is full of pluripotent stem cells. Waiting for instruction. I believe I can grow it into either a transport ship or a mining vessel.¡±


    She tapped a few commands and a 3D model of the bioform bloomed above the table the designs looked aquatic in nature almost like a giant space whale. It pulsed faintly, like it was breathing.


    ¡°There¡¯s more,¡± she continued, eyes wide with wonder. ¡°The tissue architecture is adaptable. I think I can rewrite its genetic template. If I¡¯m correct, I might even be able to graft a mother blood drive into it. Create a living ship that can navigate the slipstream.¡±


    That drew everyone¡¯s attention.


    ¡°You¡¯re saying,¡± Lynn asked slowly, ¡°you could grow  a slipstream ship?¡±


    ¡°Grow,¡± T¡¯lish confirmed, ¡°and maybe¡­ evolve.¡±


    Kel raised an eyebrow. ¡°And what exactly would it be? A tool or a¡­ pet?¡±


    T¡¯lish hesitated for the first time. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ unclear. The records Laia retrieved indicate something called a ¡®personality anchor.¡¯ It¡¯s possible the ship would develop a behavioural profile and possibly a temperament. Not intelligence like ours, but¡­ responses. Preferences.¡±


    ¡°So¡­ a moody mushroom with engine pods,¡± Mira muttered.


    ¡°I am still translating the archive,¡± T¡¯lish said. ¡°The language is complex, metaphorical.. but I suspect it will be more like a pet but I still have much to research before I can give a complete answer¡±


    No one spoke for a long moment. Even Laia seemed unusually contemplative, her avatar staring at the hologram, like it might suddenly move.


    And me? I didn¡¯t know how to feel about any of it. The idea of growing a semi-organic ship was unsettling enough, but the thought of adding another... crew member, especially one that might need raising and a pilot had left me more wary than excited. We were already a strange mix of misfits and miracles. I could already see cracks starting to form between the crew and not sure adding young ship to the mix would help with that.


    As the meeting wrapped, everyone began sketching out their own schedules for the next few weeks. I took that moment to gently but firmly remind them all that rest wasn¡¯t optional. Shore leave was to be taken. Ideally together. I didn¡¯t just want them to recharge but I also wanted them to bond. Camping, was a good bonding experience. I had memories of it being a quiet kind of magic, the kind where people laughed more easily and talked when the stars were overhead.


    Maybe the crew could use some of that. Maybe Laia could. She was still learning about the crew who they were and what they needed. And sometimes, the best way to understand people wasn¡¯t through data... but through burnt marshmallows and arguments over who forgot the tent poles. That reminds me I need to teach Mira how to make marshmallows.

 Chapter 44: Camping

    PoV: Mira


    I flicked the fishing rod hoping she could scare something edible onto the hook. I had been at it for hours and I¡¯ve had a few bites but nothing that stayed on the hook, as mr Lazarus called it.


    ¡°This is stupid,¡± I muttered to no one. I had a few bites I think but n


    The lake shimmered under the shadow of the nearby planet, its surface glassy and silent. Too silent. Not a single splash. Not even a ripple. Just her and her reflection staring at each other, both unimpressed.


    Camping was not what Mr Lazarus had promised. He¡¯d said it would be fun. A ¡°bonding experience,¡± whatever that meant. Something about character building and ¡°getting in touch with our ancient roots.¡±


    Then he kicked us off the ship. Saying he needed some Me time, whatever that meant.


    ¡°Don¡¯t call it kicking,¡± he¡¯d said.¡°You¡¯re all perfectly safe. I found a location where the tidal pattern is extremely stable, the lake is freshwater, and you¡¯ll thank me later.¡±


    I was not thanking him.


    ¡°Not even a tiny bit,¡± I couldn''t help but grumble, shifting on the rock to try to find a more comfortable position.


    The ¡®campsite¡¯ if you could call it that was a flat stretch of grey sand beside the lake. A few stubby trees offered zero shade, and the wind was just sharp enough to make her hair fly. Lazarus had picked the spot for its so-called ¡®natural serenity¡¯. It was quiet, sure. In the same way, an empty ship was quiet.


    It would¡¯ve been fine if he¡¯d let us use the nanites to make a shelter. Or even use one of the bases on the moon. But no.


    ¡°You need to struggle,¡± he¡¯d said. ¡°Struggling builds character.¡±


    T¡¯lish, naturally, had loved that idea, it was the Kall-e motto to a tee. That was until the tents came out.


    ¡°I did not realise ¡®character¡¯ meant peeing in a bucket,¡± she¡¯d snapped earlier, flaring her teeth in irritation.


    I wholeheartedly agree.


    The tents all three of them were flimsy things made from what Lazarus called ¡°canvas¡± and I called ¡°cheap disappointment.¡± Lynn and I were staying in one, Stewie and Kel shared another, and Laia bunked with T¡¯lish in the third, even though neither of them needed much sleep. Laia said she was there for ¡°observation and emotional support.¡± T¡¯lish claimed she needed the tent for ¡°ritual privacy.¡±


    Mira suspected both just wanted somewhere to complain in peace.


    Setting up the tents had taken an hour. They¡¯d spent most of it swearing, tripping over cords, and accusing each other of reading the instructions wrong. That right, we had instructions, written on thin sheets of metal.


    Stewie had finally thrown the entire instruction sheet into the lake, ¡°If I ever see a tent again, I am going to¡­.¡±.   I agreed with his sentiment but I don¡¯t think some of the things he said are possible.


    And that had been the easy part.


    Then came dinner.


    No rations. No nutrient ball. Not even a crumb of hydrogel.


    ¡°You will hunt,fish and forage,¡± Lazarus had declared. ¡°This is a survival exercise.¡±


    I groaned so loud anything in the lake would be gone now, just remembering the conversation made me mad.


    I could barely draw the bowstring, so Stewie had handed her the fishing rod and said, ¡°You sit by the lake and try not to stab yourself with the hook.¡±


    So rude.


    T¡¯lish had disappeared into the trees not long after, muttering something about reliving her ¡°Blood-Spine Rite,¡± which involved stalking prey at the age of five with nothing but a carved obsidian fang. I wasn¡¯t sure if that was true or just one of the alien¡¯s weird ways of bragging. I suspected now knowing more about the Kall-e it was likely true. Either way, it left me with a fishing rod, zero idea what I was doing, and a bucket she refused to acknowledge.


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    Lazarus had told us how it was supposed to work but I hadn¡¯t been listening so didn¡¯t really understand what I was doing.


    The rod twitched.


    I panicked catching my breath.


    Another twitch. That was another bite, I¡¯ve been here before.


    I was supposed to yank the line, so I did but too fast and too hard the hook whipped out of the water, flinging a fat, grey thing straight into my face. It slapped her cheek like a cold hand and plopped into her lap.


    I shrieked. Not in a dignified way, but what was that thing?


    ¡°Help!¡± she shouted, slapping at the flopping creature.


    A moment later, Lynn jogged over, bow slung across her back. She took one look at Mira and burst out laughing.


    ¡°You caught something,¡± Lynn said between wheezes. ¡°Sort of.¡±


    ¡°It attacked me!¡±


    ¡°Right. With its¡­ flippers.¡± Lynn leaned down and scooped up the fish-thing. ¡°Looks edible. Ugly as sin, though.¡±


    Mira wiped her face with her sleeve. ¡°I want my ship food back.¡±


    Lynn went to toss the creature into the cooking pot, now balanced over their tiny campfire. Laia stopped her.


    ¡°You have to prepare it first.¡± She said.


    Preparing the fish was awful, it was still alive so I had to kill it with a knife, and then I had to remove its insides in put it into the lake. Finally, I was able to put it over the fire to cook.


    ¡°Same. At least with Lazarus, dinner doesn¡¯t smell like damp socks and look like it wants revenge.¡± Said Lynn


    From across the camp, Stewie cheered. ¡°Oi! Mira caught dinner!¡±


    ¡°Not on purpose,¡± I said, but secretly I was a bit proud.


    Kel offered a rare grin as he walked past. ¡°Doesn¡¯t matter. You fed us. That counts.¡±


    That actually made her feel a bit better. Not much, but enough.


    Later, as they all gathered around the fire and blinking into the heat, chewing on dubious grilled fish, and trying not to think too hard about the bucket. I looked up at the stars and imagined Mr Lazarus watching them from orbit, probably smug as ever.


    ¡°Still think this was a good idea?¡± I whispered to the sky.


    Laia was fussing with a packet beside the fire, hands moving too delicately for someone who claimed not to need food. She peeled something soft and white out of a foil wrapper and flew over to hand it to me on the tip of a long stick.


    ¡°Marshmallow,¡± she announced, like she was unveiling a sacred relic. ¡°Lazarus said they¡¯re best when slightly burned.¡±


    ¡°Flame-charring,¡± I corrected, rolling my eyes. ¡°Because apparently, setting sugar on fire is a delicacy.¡±


    I had made the marshmallows following Mr Lazarus''s directions. It was sugar, water and gelatine. I hope it was as nice as he said.


    I held the stick out over the fire and watched the edges bubble. The heat made the sugary puff sag and wobble like it was thinking about giving up.


    Lynn leaned over from her seat on a log. ¡°Careful, it¡¯ll melt clean off if you hold it too long.¡±


    I wasn¡¯t paying attention and the sugary puff fell off into fire.


    ¡°That was a failure,¡±  whispered Lynn.


    ¡°Like your tent-building skills?¡± I replied


    She bumped her shoulder into mine and grinned. ¡°Harsh. Accurate. But harsh.¡±


    While we tried to keep our marshmallows from collapsing into flaming goo, I asked, ¡°So¡­ how¡¯d bow practice go? Any actual targets yet, or still pretending logs are dangerous beasts?¡±


    Stewie groaned. ¡°Laia still won¡¯t let us use sharp tips.¡±


    ¡°Because you¡¯re still hitting trees,¡± Laia chirped without looking up. ¡°And that poor rock. Repeatedly.¡±


    Kel snorted. ¡°Bows aren¡¯t toys. We¡¯re not putting holes in each other on a camping trip just to make it interesting. I don¡¯t even know where Lazarus got the idea from¡±


    ¡°But tomorrow¡± Stewie jabbed his stick at the fire for emphasis, ¡°we¡¯re stepping it up. Real arrows. Real meat. No offence, Mira, but there wasn¡¯t enough on this fish to fill me¡±


    ¡°None taken,¡± I said, pulling my marshmallow back to inspect the scorch. It was golden on one side, and black on the other. So, success?


    I tried it, and it was heavenly. Warm and slightly strange texture, but yes adding fire had changed it.


    I asked Laia if she knew anything about T¡¯lish


    Laia offered a smile. ¡°T¡¯lish is still out there. Lazarus  has eyes on her and says she¡¯s fine..  actually better than fine¡±


    Stewie made a face. ¡°Yeah,  I can¡¯t believe she wanted to hunt without any tools, who does that?¡±


    ¡°She¡¯s Kall-e,¡± Lynn said. ¡°Their version of school is probably a jungle death maze.¡±


    We all laughed at that, even Laia.


    The fire crackled on, chasing shadows into the scrub, and we just¡­ sat. The conversation wandered. Someone told a story about their worst meal (spoiler: hydrogel smoothie), and someone else asked what we¡¯d do if we ever had a whole planet to ourselves.


    I didn¡¯t know what I¡¯d want. I guess I just liked this. Sitting close. Warm. Not running.


    At one point, Stewie leaned back, hands behind his head, and stared at the sky.


    ¡°You think anyone else has ever seen this exact same set of stars?¡± he asked.


    We all looked up.


    The sky was packed. Tiny, sharp lights freckled the black, spread wide like someone had spilled diamond dust on velvet. There were no satellites. No blinking beacons. No ship trails. Just the main planet and the stars, untouched and ancient.


    ¡°No,¡± I said. ¡°I don¡¯t think anyone else has.¡±


    ¡°Not from this spot,¡± Lynn agreed. ¡°Not this moon. ¡°


    Kel nodded, quiet. ¡°We¡¯re the first.¡±


    And somehow, that made the cold, the bucket, the fish-slap, and the tent wrestle all¡­ worth it. Because we were here. Together. Under a sky no one else had ever seen.


    And that made it ours.

 Chapter 45 : Camping Part 2

    PoV: Kel


    Since Lazarus had relented on the whole bucket-and-tent thing, this camping trip had morphed into one of the best experiences of my life. Seriously. I didn¡¯t think sleeping on the ground and pretending to be wilderness survivors would be fun, but here I was¡ªgrinning like a lunatic with blood under my fingernails and a full belly.


    The first hunt? Exhilarating. All of us missed our first shots, of course. The little deer-like creature bolted into the woods so fast we were left blinking, bows still drawn. Next time, though, we learned. The wind mattered. The sound of our boots mattered. The fact that Mira couldn¡¯t stop humming while we were supposed to be sneaking? That definitely mattered.


    We spotted another one near a ridge. I crept up from downwind, heart pounding. Drew the bow, took aim¡ªbehind the shoulder, like Lazarus said¡ªand let it fly. I was a bit off. Hit it in the rear leg. It stumbled and bolted.


    I was halfway through tracking it when Laia appeared, calm and quiet, holding the animal already downed. She said Lazarus had been clear¡ªno suffering. ¡°Take the shot, or I will,¡± she said.


    Which raised a question I hadn¡¯t asked out loud yet: How the hell does a spaceship know so much about hunting?


    Skinning and bleeding the carcass was¡­ less poetic. Lynn bailed. I don¡¯t blame her¡ªthere were sounds and smells involved that didn¡¯t exactly scream ¡°dinner.¡± But Stewie stuck with me. Kid was surprisingly good at it. He had taken to studying the animal and looking at how it worked.


    We prepped it right following all of the instructions for bleeding, skinning, trimming. Laia helped us identify the safe cuts. Apparently, we didn¡¯t want to eat the glands. Good to know.


    Fishing wasn¡¯t for me. The whole sitting-with-a-rod thing? Boring. I needed movement. Something tactile. I got so bored I started to throw rocks into the take to hope and hit a fish at random. So Laia suggested spearfishing. Said it¡¯d be more ¡°visceral.¡± She wasn¡¯t wrong.


    First few tries, I missed. Every. Damn. Time. Turns out fish aren¡¯t where they look like they are. Refraction was a thing. Light bending through water. Once I adjusted for that¡­ I got one. Then another. I dragged three large fish back to camp like a triumphant caveman.


    This whole experience¡ªit made me feel different. Raw. Real. Alive. That word doesn¡¯t mean much when you¡¯ve spent most of your life scrounging inside dead ships. But now? Every sunrise felt earned.


    Lynn didn¡¯t get it at first. She tried. She¡¯d help with meals and occasionally poke at the fire. But it was Mira who really brought her around. Mira had taken to the whole ¡°outdoors¡± thing like it was her calling. She and Lynn had been working on food prep together, learning how to cook over an open flame. Mira called it ¡°bar-be-que gourmet.¡± I wasn¡¯t complaining. I was sure it was another term from Lazarus.


    Meanwhile, Stewie had discovered swimming.


    Swimming. Voluntarily submerging yourself in water. Who even thought of that?


    The Kall-e, that who.  T¡¯lish said the Kall-e were taught to swim from a young age. ¡°It¡¯s good for the skin,¡± she claimed. I wasn¡¯t sure if she was being serious, but she was surprisingly good at it. She even became our swim instructor.


    The first time I wandered too deep and couldn¡¯t touch the bottom, I panicked. I flailed. I splashed. I might¡¯ve shouted something about being eaten by sea monsters. T¡¯lish laughed at me so hard she snorted water. I vowed revenge by showing off. Once I got better I tried to out-dive her. Failed spectacularly. I had to be rescued by her. She even gave me one of the strange Kall-e smiles.


    Stewie, though? Natural. Kid glided through the water like he¡¯d been born in it. Mira said it was probably all the wiry limbs. Stewie said she sounded like a sore loser and splashed her in the face. This somehow devolved into all of us trying to splash each other. Laia had taught Lynn a trick where she trapped water between her palms and squirted water at us. I didn¡¯t have to guess where the technique had come from.


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    What struck me most, though, was Lazarus. He just¡­ knew everything. Every technique. Every method. How to hunt, how to skin, how to build shelter, how to fish, how to float, how to swim and hold your breath without choking. Who would think you could pinch your nose when submerging? We had all noticed this.


    So we decided to try cornered Laia over dinner except camping made it hard to stay focused. The fire crackled lazily, casting soft orange light across the clearing. Skewers sizzled over the flames, dripping juices onto the coals with satisfying hisses. Mira passed around slices of roasted root vegetables like they were treasures. Honestly, they kind of were it had taken us half the day to find them.


    ¡°These taste weirdly sweet,¡± Stewie said, chewing with a thoughtful frown. ¡°Like, not bad weird. Just¡­ weird.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s because they¡¯re genetically modified,¡± T¡¯lish chimed in from her seat near the fire, her tone slipping into lecture mode. ¡°NeuroGenesis engineered this moon however long ago. Most vegetables wouldn¡¯t survive here. The soil is too alkaline, and the weather cycles are unstable. These¡± she held up a root chunk between two claws ¡°were designed to adapt. Deep taproots. Microbial resilience. They even photosynthesize under planet light, partially.¡±


    Mira blinked. ¡°They photosynthesize at night?¡±


    ¡°Partially,¡± T¡¯lish repeated with a shrug. ¡°Enough to survive. It¡¯s inefficient but elegant.¡±


    ¡°Well, I like ¡¯em,¡± Lynn muttered, grabbing another skewer. ¡°Genetically modified or not, they beat nutrient balls.¡±


    Stewie glanced toward Laia, who had been unusually quiet. ¡°So¡­ are you gonna tell us how  Laz knows all this stuff, or are we going to pretend Laz is a walking library of knowledge?¡±


    Laia tilted her head. ¡°Huh. You want to know that?¡± I wasn¡¯t sure why she was surprised.


    ¡°Obviously,¡± I said, waving a skewer for emphasis. ¡°You¡¯ve been dancing around this for days. He¡¯s too good at this. The fishing, the hunting, the fire-building. Come on, Laia. What is he and how does he know all this?¡±


    She went quiet for a while, She still had a direction connection to Lazarus in orbit, so I was sure she was getting permission or maybe a story to tell us. Eventually, she must have got her answer.


    Laia looked around the circle, the flickering fire reflected in her eyes as she hovered in the air, her wings beating slowly. ¡°Lazarus is old.¡±


    ¡°How old?¡± Lynn asked, half-daring.


    Laia¡¯s voice softened. ¡°Very.¡±


    ¡°Not helpful,¡± I muttered. ¡°Is he, like, corporate-founder old? Or ancient-oracle old?¡±


    Stewie leaned forward. ¡°He talks about things from before the Fall like he remembers it. Was he alive back then?¡±


    Laia nodded. ¡°Yes. Before the Fall. Before the Reclamation. Before the Corporation Age. His mind¡­ his brain was preserved. Frozen in stasis.¡±


    Lynn¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Wait. Wait wait wait¡ªlike cryogenics?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Laia said simply. ¡°NeuroGenesis recovered him from an ancient vault along with many others. Reconstructed his neural map. Built the first Todd-class interface around it. Lazarus is a copy like we had already told you.¡±


    There was a long silence.


    ¡°So he¡¯s, what¡­ he was alive five thousand years ago?¡± I asked slowly.


    ¡°Roughly.¡±


    Stewie gave a low whistle. ¡°Dude. He¡¯s like a grandpa from the literal past. A pre-Fall popsicle they stuck into a starship.¡±


    Mira hugged her knees. ¡°That¡¯s¡­ kind of sad.¡±


    ¡°It is not,¡± Laia said firmly, but not unkindly. ¡°He¡¯s alive. He¡¯s flying. He has you.¡±


    ¡°That doesn¡¯t make it not sad,¡± Lynn said, voice softer now. ¡°He doesn¡¯t even have a real body anymore.¡±


    ¡°I would argue,¡± Laia said, glancing toward the firelight, ¡°that Lazarus is more real now than most people in this galaxy.¡±


    ¡°Still,¡± I said, poking at the coals, ¡°must be a strange kind of loneliness.¡± We had understood he was person inside a ship, but he was also a person out of his time.


    Nobody said anything after that. The fire crackled. Wind stirred the leaves. Somewhere nearby, something chirped like a frog trying to be a cricket.


    Then T¡¯lish piped up, breaking the silence. ¡°I find the concept inspiring,¡± she said, taking another bite of root. ¡°Preserved knowledge. A living fossil. I wish I could get see the far future.¡±


    ¡°Good luck with that,¡± Stewie muttered. ¡°You¡¯re already old at twelve.¡±


    ¡°I am middle-aged,¡± T¡¯lish huffed. ¡°And I will outlive your sass.¡±


    And just like that, the heaviness broke.


    We passed around the last of the skewers, told a few stories, and even got Mira to sing one of the songs Lazarus had taught her. He had called them sea shanties and had said they were perfect for travelling around in a spaceship.


    But the truth about Lazarus lingered, somewhere beneath the warmth of the fire and the taste of sweet moon-roots.


    I think we all saw him a little differently after that. Not less human.


    But More.

 Chapter 46: Three Months

    Three months.


    Three months the crew had been routinely commuting between the moon and the ship. The crew sometimes camped on the moon, other times conducting independent research aboard the ship.


    But it worked.


    The crew had bonded in the strangest, most human way possible. Camping, hunting, learning to swim or just bickering over cleaning duties. It did something good to them. The boundaries between the crew and Laia had slowly come down, T¡¯lish was now more accepted as part of the crew.  Even I, now that my secret was revealed and that I was an old-timer was accept with any fuss.


    Over the last few months, Laia had become¡­ intrigued.


    Watching the crew fumble through fire-building, swimming and hunting had fascinated her. I had formally assigned her the role of guardian and teacher, I taught her all the basics, giving her what she needed to help.


    She spent her nights with T¡¯lish. The two didn¡¯t need much sleep, which gave them a couple of quiet hours each cycle for what Laia cheerfully referred to as ¡°girl talk.¡± I had no idea what that entailed, and frankly, I didn¡¯t want to know. But it was doing something. T¡¯lish had a blunt, clinical honesty about her and she gave Laia exactly the kind of feedback I couldn¡¯t. Even if I was sure some of it might have been wrong.


    We had discussed it, her and I. That empathy wasn¡¯t something you could download like a language pack. She wasn¡¯t going to wake up one day and suddenly feel what humans felt. But she could observe. Learn. Predict. That was something an AI could do.


    And over the three months on this moon, she had.


    More and more, she correctly anticipated the crew¡¯s emotional responses and predicted when to back off, when to step in, when a joke would land and when it would cut too deep. She¡¯d started warning herself before actions that might hurt them. She¡¯d begun asking questions she never would have before. They noticed, even if they didn¡¯t say it aloud.


    Kel had taken to the wilderness like he was born for it. He was half-wild himself now, the proud owner of a handmade spear he kept insisting was ¡°just for balance¡± despite Laia¡¯s ongoing and entirely futile attempts to confiscate it whenever he came back to the ship.  He''d let his beard grow untamed, using it to mock Stewie''s lack of facial hair. A rite of passage for any teenage boy.


    The teasing had seemed to increase their bond. He and Stewie had practically rebuilt Chunkyboy from the reactor core up, using half-recovered tech and a shocking amount of gumption. Warp drive was stronger, shielding tighter and more efficient, reactor cleaner. It was now ready for the crew to take on solo missions.


    Mira had turned food into art. Somehow. She¡¯d managed to catalogue every edible plant on the moon. She had taste-tested most of them with Stewie as her ¡°official sacrifice.¡± Then came the quiet request: could we add a garden? Maybe even a livestock bay? ¡°Fresh is best,¡± she¡¯d said, more than once, spoon in hand, eyes bright with hope.


    I hated disappointing her. But unless I did a full hull expansion there was no way for it to happen. I was already at near max internal capacity so that dream was on hold. Still, she kept smiling. That¡¯s the thing about Mira. Even when the answer¡¯s no, she stores it away like a ¡°maybe.¡± She had stockpiled seeds and a few other samples for if we did get a garden. I had also started to design where it would go. Just need a good shipyard.


    Lynn had gone full merchant mode. I don¡¯t know how many times I caught her muttering trade values in her sleep, or drawing up maps of salvage paths across her datapad. She catalogued every asset, flagged four promising salvage sites from data we had collected, and turned our mess of miscellaneous loot into something approaching a legitimate portfolio. We just needed to get back to a hub, and convert it into Telks.


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    On the subject of Telks. I had even considered stripping one of the old bases for Telk as there were caches of it used in the construction of the bases. But in the end, I didn¡¯t. We might need this place again. And if I¡¯ve learned anything about life in my last life, it¡¯s that burning bridges leaves you cold.


    I¡¯d been doing some analysis of my own. Between camping schedules, weather watch, and regulating T¡¯lish¡¯s increasingly dangerous bio experiments, I¡¯d used the me time to dig into the slipstream and warp maps we had recovered.


    My findings? Warp lanes and slipstreams weren¡¯t separate entities, they were threads of the same weave. And if you understood the pattern, you could navigate and create the slipstream routes using nothing more than a traditional warp map a bit of patience and an algorithm. It wasn¡¯t elegant, but it worked. And it meant we could travel to more unknown locations without needing to buy or find slipstream routes.


    Of all of us, it was T¡¯lish who had accomplished the most.


    While the rest of the crew learned to hunt, build fires, and sleep without complaining about insects, she buried herself in research. She was quiet, methodical and obsessive. She studied the organic ship components like they were sacred texts. She grew samples from stem cells in sealed containers, tested muscle contractions, regrew damaged biostructures and even ran simulations of atmospheric re-entry stress on bioflex tissue. Her excitement was infectious. I believe their short life spans made Kall-e more impulsive to prone to action.


    She¡¯d made progress too. And she wanted to share it with me.


    ¡°I believe I can improve your sensory feedback,¡± she said one evening, standing beside a rack of glistening organoid clusters. ¡°This patchwork here will allow me to mimic dermal nerve input. I could integrate it with your hull. Let you feel again.¡±


    I didn¡¯t even hesitate before shaking my avatar head.


    Not because it wouldn¡¯t work. It probably would. But because some things you can¡¯t come back from. Feeling again that real, physical sensation not just my current vague feeling wouldn¡¯t just be a technical upgrade. It would be a regression. A door cracked open to a past I had finally stopped chasing. I wasn¡¯t a man anymore, not really. And if I was going to survive as a ship¡­ I had to move forward. Not backward. I had to come to terms with being a ship.


    T¡¯lish didn¡¯t push. She just nodded. ¡°I understand.¡±


    And then moved on to her next project: the hull-bud.


    We¡¯d agreed on a transport configuration it was nothing fancy, but enough to help us move more goods, open new trade options. But that was only the beginning to her. T¡¯lish had grand ideas. She¡¯d studied the scans of the slipstream bugs over and over, cross-referencing genetic structures and energy patterns. She was convinced she could build an organic slipstream drive.


    I didn¡¯t laugh.


    Because if anyone could do it, it would be her.


    But then came the problem.


    The ship, once grown, couldn¡¯t pilot itself.


    ¡°There¡¯s no interface sophisticated enough to handle living control dynamics,¡± she explained. ¡°Not without a mind like yours. Or Laia¡¯s.¡±


    That was when she proposed her wildest idea yet.


    A self-contained core system. She wanted to build a module that could house my consciousness and Laia¡¯s Ai core, together or separately. A plug-and-play brain. Something that would allow us to swap bodies, and shift control between vessels. I could be me, but also fly something else. Experience being different ships. I already begun imagine my dreadnought body, or transport body, maybe even a luxury space liner body.


    Except, of course, she couldn¡¯t do it alone.


    ¡°I don¡¯t understand how your mind threads into half the systems,¡± she admitted, sketching schematics on her holopad. ¡°If I do it wrong, you could¡­ break. Or go mad.¡±


    Which, yes, was a problem.


    ¡°We¡¯d need help,¡± she said. ¡°From NeuroGenesis. Or at least their archives. I know you hate them. But I can¡¯t do this without understanding what they did to you.¡±


    I didn¡¯t answer right away. Because part of me agreed. And another part wanted to rip the idea up and throw it into the nearest sun.


    Then there was the practical issue: the organic ship wouldn¡¯t grow on its own. It needed a growth pond. A controlled environment where it could mature, root itself into the biosphere, draw nutrients and oxygen and catalyze its early structures.


    T¡¯lish was ready to start.


    She wanted to build the pond here, on the moon. Use the same valley where the deer grazed and Mira picked vegetables. She said the soil was fertile, the moisture steady, the sunlight optimal. She said it could be hidden and camouflaged.


    But I shook my head.


    ¡°I want it somewhere private,¡± I told her. ¡°Somewhere no one can stumble across. Somewhere we control.¡±


    She frowned. ¡°You don¡¯t trust the others?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t trust the galaxy.¡±


    She didn¡¯t argue.


    So now we needed a new objective. A quiet system, unclaimed and unobserved. A hidden sanctuary where something precious could grow.


    Exploration again. But first, we needed to return to a hub and make some Telks.

 Chapter 47: Return to Tacci station

    The virtual bridge projected Tacci Station in full panoramic detail with its sprawling lattice of docking arms and neon-lit flight corridors pulsing with activity. Ships from a dozen different races came and went in choreographed chaos, flashing ID markers and trade credentials like polite chaos theory.


    Unlike our last visit, when the arrival of multiple Todd-class ships had practically frozen local traffic, this time we barely earned a passing glance. No alarms. No panic. Just the standard automated greeting ping: Welcome to Tacci Station.


    Kel handled the incoming call with his usual flirtatious grace, flashing a roguish smile and dialing up the charm like it was a finely tuned frequency. The official on the other end¡ªa blue-skinned humanoid with translucent antennae¡ªbarely reacted, their eyes drifting repeatedly to something off-screen as if the conversation was bothersome.


    "Clearance granted," the official droned, disconnecting the call mid-sentence.


    "I shaved for this," Kel muttered, running a hand over his smooth jaw, fingers lingering on the nick he''d earned trying to rush the process. A tiny red dot stood as a testament to his vanity and wanting to maintain his wild-man image as he had used a real blade instead of his grooming drone.


    Lynn let out a dry laugh, the sound echoing off the surfaces of the bridge. "No, you shaved because you were starting to look like a caveman."


    Kel frowned, rubbing his jaw. "A very handsome, rugged caveman."


    "You smelled like one too," Mira added from across the room, her nose wrinkling at the memory.


    The bickering continued, light and familiar. And for a moment, everything felt ordinary it was like we were just another ship, with just another crew, about to take on just another job. Almost like we belonged. Which I believe we did.


    The docking clamps engaged with a resonant thunk that vibrated through my hull. Lynn wasted no time as she was already halfway down the station''s promenade with Kel and the kids in tow before the airlock had fully cycled. She''d scheduled a string of meetings, aiming to cash in our Telk rewards and lock in those reputation modifiers while they were still hot. Kel and the kids, on the other hand, had more important priorities: shopping, snacks, and what I assumed would be several hours of "accidentally" wandering into entertainment arcades.


    T''lish had opted to remain onboard, quietly immersed in her experiments. The soft hiss of her instruments and the occasional clicks of her claws against glass beakers created a soothing rhythm from the lab. She claimed the lab was quieter without Stewie poking at her samples or Mira trying to accessorize the analysis drones with what she called "personality upgrades."


    I could tell that the last comments were made in jest rather than annoyance.


    That left just Laia and me on the virtual bridge, sifting through the station''s open newsfeeds. The rescue mission had made headlines across multiple networks with images of desperate refugees boarding ships flashing beside corporate logos and political commentary. It looked like John''s little stunt had worked. NeuroGenesis was getting widespread credit for the 64% civilian survival rate on the war-torn planet. Laia seemed unsurprised, her holographic fairy form floating around slightly as she processed the data.


    What really caught my attention, though, were the smaller headlines buried deeper in the data stream: reports of a recent skirmish near one of the lawless areas. The attackers matched the profile of the mercenary ships that had ambushed us in the final encounter on the planet. Same description and everything.


    Apparently, John and the other Todds had found them.


    And from the sound of it, the mercs hadn''t walked. The article was light on details, but the tone was clear: swift, brutal, efficient. Images of twisted metal and frozen bodies dotted the report, quietly censored but still telling enough.


    "Looks like John handled that unfinished business," I said, scrolling through the casualty reports, their names blinking red across my interface.


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    We turned our attention back to local broadcasts, skimming through cultural segments, trade tips, and public station notices. I was looking for two things: a better understanding of the local species and somewhere I could go to expand my hull. If we were going to take on bigger jobs, I needed more room. More drones. More shielding. More everything. We could fabricate the parts but we needed real tradespeople to do the work. I have faith in my team for most tasks, but there are countless details you only discover through experience. That¡¯s why I need a proper shipbuilder to help.


    The crew returned after only a few days, but in that time, I''d been anything but idle, receiving courier drones, sorting inventory, and receiving the Telk shipments Lynn had negotiated. A steady stream of pings flowed through my systems. Efficient. Satisfying. Almost relaxing. The soft pings of successful transactions created a pleasant background noise to my operations. It was the sound of progress.


    Lynn walked in first, visibly pleased with herself. She didn''t say much, but her stride said everything. With the trade agreements secured, supplies topped off, and paperwork filed. In her language, that was a win. A barely contained smile played at the corner of her mouth. I could tell she was glad to be doing her job and being useful to the ship.


    Kel and the kids followed close behind, and they were... glowing. Literally. Each of them wore an alien suit made of some exotic light-based material that shimmered like a solid hologram. The effect was dazzling and just this side of ridiculous. Mira twirled, her suit casting prismatic patterns across the walls, while Stewie kept poking his arm and watching the ripples of light cascade through the fabric.


    Stewie couldn''t wait to explain. "So, Kel spent lunch talking to this alien lady, who was super elegant, kinda floaty and she ended up making these for us. For free." His eyes were wide with excitement, pupils reflecting the glow of his new attire.


    "Grateful for the company, she had said," Mira added, trying to suppress a grin, elbowing Kel in the ribs hard enough to make him wince.


    I didn''t say anything. I just made a quiet internal note. What kind of ''talking'' gets you free advanced tech couture? Either way, I hoped it was a conversation worth remembering.


    All in all, the stop had been a success. We''d cleared out the cargo bay, topped off supplies, and now had over seven kilograms of Telk secured in the vault which was more than enough for a real upgrade or three. Lynn, ever the forward momentum of this operation, already had our next mission queued up.


    The next mission, at least on paper, looked refreshingly simple. The holographic display showed a debris field of the scattered remains of what appeared to be an old cargo convoy. It was one of the pieces of intel she had traded food for.


    Lynn dropped the holopad onto the table with a satisfied grin. ¡°Alright, drones are on their way. Deposit¡¯s paid.¡±


    I scanned the file she¡¯d sent me. ¡°Non-refundable?¡± I asked, raising a brow. ¡°Feeling bold today?¡±


    ¡°They¡¯re reputable,¡± she said, waving off my concern. ¡°Top marks across multiple Alliance factions. If they screw us, they lose far more than our measly 70grams of Telk.¡±


    Kel leaned over to peek at the screen. ¡°So what¡¯s the plan? Do we send them out with us?¡±


    ¡°Not exactly.¡± Lynn tapped a few keys, pulling up the visual. ¡°We find salvage, scan it,tag it, and the drones come back here with the location. Then a certified hauling company handles the pickup and arranges the payout. No towing, no storage, no headaches. We get a finder fee and percentage of the profits¡±


    Mira perked up. ¡°So¡­ we just clean it up and walk away rich?¡±


    Lynn smiled. ¡°Exactly.¡±


    ¡°Okay, but where¡¯s the part where it all goes wrong?¡± Stewie asked, suspicious. ¡°Because this sounds way too easy.¡±


    Lynn gave him a look. ¡°Stewie, not every mission has to involve running from space monsters or getting shot at.¡±


    He folded his arms. ¡°Every time someone says that, we get attacked by something with too many eyes.¡±


    ¡°Then don¡¯t say it,¡± I muttered, already pulling up the salvage coordinates.


    Laia chimed in softly. ¡°Their logistical protocols are clean. I¡¯ve verified their carrier schedules. The risk is minimal. You did well Lynn¡±


    Everyone was onboard with the mission.


    "This one should be easy," Mira said, already leaning back into her seat as if we were headed for a pleasure cruise. She propped her feet up on the console, her new light-suit casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the ceiling.


    "You had to say it," Stewie groaned, flopping dramatically into a chair. "You jinxed it. That''s how the bug incident happened,¡± I had hoped he was wrong but I had to agree, Mira''s statement felt like a flag.


    Kel grinned, his teeth flashing white against his tanned skin. "We survived the bugs, didn''t we?"


    "Barely! We blew up a planet" Stewie mimicked an explosion.


    Laia raised an eyebrow, her holographic wings beating faster. ¡°We didn¡¯t blow up the planet, we caused a chained reaction in the upper atmosphere,¡± she said with a slight synthetic edge of AI precision.


    "Close enough to blowing up a planet," Stewie corrected, hand pressed to his heart with theatrical gravity. "The trauma lingers."


    I let the chatter play out in the background while I scanned the coordinates. Everything checked out it was marked as low conflict risk, moderate debris density, and no signs of hostile claim markers. For once, this really did seem like a quick, straightforward mission.


    I plotted our course. Hopefully a salvage run with no complications.

 Chapter 48: Going against the flow

    The algorithm worked better than expected. I¡¯d taken Lynn¡¯s warp coordinates and translated them into slipstream paths, weaving through the network like a seasoned guide. The first three salvage sites went off without a hitch: jump in, scan the wreckage, tag the goods, dispatch the drone. Clean. Efficient. Almost boring.


    We weren¡¯t getting cocky but I must admit it felt like, for once, we had a handle on things.


    Until the fourth location.


    According to the intel Lynn had traded for, it was an old decommissioned science base. Quiet. Derelict. Orbiting a lonely young star in a planetless system, wrapped in a thick asteroid ring still rich in helium-3. Plenty of fuel, no strategic value. Just a forgotten place. It was perfect for hiding a research base.


    I aligned the ship and slipped us into the stream like I¡¯d done dozens of times now.


    Only this time, there was no exit.


    The slipstream we were riding simply vanished, as if the path ahead had been cut mid-flow. No transition. No divergence. One second we were gliding, the next we were into the void.


    We had a hard exit.


    My shielding held, but just barely. The pressure on the hull surged. The ripple echoed through my systems, rattling the crew. The slipstream shielding we had installed had also failed to contain all the effects.


    The crew felt the full effects of the slipstream for the first time in months.


    Mira was first to cry out, hands over her head. Stewie stumbled. Lynn cursed through clenched teeth. Even Kel, who never showed discomfort if he could help it, dropped to one knee. T¡¯lish who had never experienced it before screamed out in a pitch too high for humans to hear.


    It wasn¡¯t just a rough ride. It felt wrong. But we eventually exited back into normal space.


    Laia¡¯s voice brought us back to reality. ¡°That wasn¡¯t a standard collapse. We didn¡¯t exit through a tear. That was a breach,¡± Laia said, her voice barely above a whisper. ¡°That wasn¡¯t a slipstream lane. It was a dimensional rupture.¡±


    That would explain the effect on the crew, shifting between dimensions was pleasant on best days, but forcing our way through would have been worst.


    And now we were lost. Not in the poetic, stars-are-beautiful kind of way but truly, cosmically lost. Suspended in a patch of empty space where even the background radiation felt... off on my hull. No planets, no stations. Just cold nothing and a faint stellar signature far off on long-range sensors.


    But this wasn¡¯t our first time stranded between systems. The crew was rattled, but recovering. Mira sat breathing slowly in her chair. Kel muttered something under his breath about bad omens. Even Stewie, who usually bounced back quickest, was uncharacteristically quiet.


    I feared, briefly, that our slipstream drive had failed again. That we¡¯d burned out the same fragile miracle that kept us from drifting into cosmic irrelevance. But T¡¯lish once she recovered ran a full diagnostic and gave the all-clear.


    ¡°The drive¡¯s intact,¡± she said, her tail flicking nervously. ¡°All readings are nominal. It¡¯s... not the drive that¡¯s the problem.¡±


    Laia confirmed it a moment later. ¡°I¡¯ve identified our position. We¡¯re near the targeted system, just... displaced. It¡¯ll take months on sublight to reach orbit.¡±


    That sparked a debate.


    We gathered in the crew lounge with my avatar seated and Laia sitting on Mira while the rest of the crew rested in varying states of recovery. The options weren¡¯t great: turn back and give up on the salvage, or creep forward for months.


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    Lynn offered the third option, voice steady despite the tension in the room. ¡°We let Laia scout ahead. Use Chunkyboy. She can clone her consciousness and take the recovery drone, while we slipstream to a neighbouring sector and wait. Hopefully, warp still works so she can get there quickly.¡±


    I turned to Laia¡¯s avatar, her glow muted and her wings stopped. Showing that she was processing everything. ¡°Laia, you okay with that?¡±


    She nodded once, expression unreadable. ¡°Already prepping the clone. But be aware you could be risking Chunkyboy. I don¡¯t mind if I lose the clone, but I know that Stewie and Kel are attached to the lander¡±


    All that training in learning about the crew was helping. She had seen a possible problem and was addressing it. I had a bit of a proud dad moment.


    Both Kel and Stewie stiffened. For a second, neither of them spoke.


    Stewie finally looked down, jaw tight. ¡°You''re right, we have put everything into that thing¡­¡±


    Kel folded his arms but nodded. ¡°Rebuilt it from near scrap. Shielding, wiring, controls.¡±


    Laia remained quiet, letting them process.


    Stewie glanced at me, then at Laia. ¡°But it¡¯s the best plan.¡±


    Kel sighed. ¡°Yeah. It is.¡±


    ¡°We can just abandon the mission, it¡¯s not that critical¡± I reminded them, I wanted them to make a fully informed decision.


    Kel gave a cheeky grin. ¡°No, I am interested now. I would bet the station and lack of slipstream are related¡±


    Lynn also joined the conversation. ¡°An anti-slipstream weapon could give us an advantage against NeuroGenesis when the time to fight them comes¡±


    I wasn¡¯t sure a fight with NeuroGenesis was a forgone conclusion, but understanding an anti-slipstream weapon could be handy. I still wasn¡¯t convinced the two were related.


    Chunkyboy wasn¡¯t just a lander anymore. It was ours. It had carried us. Protected us. Felt like a piece of the crew.


    And now, we were sending it into a system we couldn¡¯t even reach without tearing at the seams of reality. It was a risky operation. No one said it aloud, but we were all thinking about it. We just hoped we¡¯d see it again.


    It didn¡¯t take long for Laia to get ready and a few moments later, I watched from my external sensors as Chunkyboy detached and peeled off into the black, silent and small against the void. A sliver of us hurtling toward a mystery system.


    Now it was our turn.


    This jump would burn through most of our fuel reserves, and failure wasn¡¯t an option. Not again. Not with the crew still reeling from the last breach.


    Laia projected a starmap across the virtual bridge, her voice calm as ever. ¡°This is the nearest viable system. My clone will rendezvous with us there, that is if all goes to plan, it should only take a week.¡±


    The destination was clear. The problem was getting to it.


    I¡¯d tried everything from running warp coordinates, rerouting slipstream calculations through every available lens. Except my algorithm couldn¡¯t detect a path. I could find an exit node in the system, but no entry point. Like trying to open a door from the wrong side of the wall. Normally we could enter slipstream from anywhere and find a path.


    T¡¯lish, watching silently from the corner of the bridge, finally spoke. ¡°If there¡¯s no entry, then we make one. We can reopen the rift. Force our way in.¡±


    Laia ran the numbers. ¡°It¡¯s possible. But without a natural lane, we¡¯ll be unshielded for most of the jump. The energy requirements will be massive. We¡¯ll have to shut down almost everything.¡±


    ¡°Define ¡®almost,¡¯¡± Kel asked warily.


    ¡°Life support stays on,¡± Laia replied. ¡°Everything else goes dark.¡±


    The groan that rolled through the crew was universal. Not just at everything going dark but the prospects of having to ensure an unshielded jump.


    Still, we agreed. There wasn¡¯t a better option. We strapped in, dimmed the lights, and powered down everything that wasn¡¯t critical. It was eerie almost like being blind, deaf, and nearly mute.


    Then I initiated the jump.


    There was no elegance this time. No graceful slide through dimensional threads. This was force it was raw and unfiltered. I could feel the slipstream pushing back, like a current that rejected my presence. It buckled against my hull. Reality twisted, flexed, and screamed.


    The crew felt it. Hard.


    Even with the shielding rerouted and doubled near their cabin, I sensed their vitals spike, pressure rising. Then¡­ silence. Unconsciousness.


    Laia, drained from the precision calculations and the over-taxing of her systems, slipped into hibernation mode. Still managing essential systems, but no longer with me. No voice. No presence. Just cold routines ticking in the background.


    I pushed harder, through that churning storm of dimensional resistance, until finally the slipstream caught hold. The path accepted me. And we made it.


    We arrived. But I was alone.


    The bridge was quiet. Laia¡¯s avatar was gone. The crew cabin was silent. I checked their vitals they were still healthy just knocked out by the rough jump.


    I knew it wouldn¡¯t be long before they woke up or before power would recover. But I still felt it.


    Lonely.