Reborn as a Spaceship

Events unfolded with surprising formality after we agreed to intervene. Despite the apparent brutality of this universe, it seemed they retained sophisticated, bureaucratic protocols for Judges and interstellar mediation a relic from an era before their own Judges had fallen. Within days, Elders of the Queen's Alliance, guided by their Oracle, dispatched formal parley requests through obscure diplomatic channels, paths I never would've guessed existed. To my relief and surprise the encroaching Confederation forces acknowledged swiftly, joined by an unexpected concurrent response from the Machine Gods. Evidently, our chaotic arrival had captured the attention of the galaxy's hidden powers.

A formal mediation was scheduled, and I realised quickly that appearances mattered greatly here. Visions from the Oracle had depicted Judges as imposing figures, radiating immense authority. With Laia offline, Wayfarer assisted me in crafting a new holographic avatar inspired by those imposing images I was taller, broader and cloaked in shifting, cosmic patterns that conveyed both mystery and command. Controlling it proved challenging. Wayfarer and I devised complex rigging algorithms, synchronizing my intentions directly with the holographic emitters. It wasn't flawless, but it projected the gravitas required. I needed to embody the role convincingly.

The location for our meeting, negotiated surprisingly by the Machine Gods, was chosen with practicality in mind: a patch of truly empty space far outside the refugee system. Void of stars or planets, it minimized collateral damage if diplomacy failed spectacularly. Getting there presented a logistical headache, however. Without Laia's and unsure if dimensional shifts were even possible in this universe. We had no way to get there. To my wary gratitude, the Confederation offered transit through a temporary wormhole, their gesture both cooperative and subtly intimidating.

I passed into the wormhole's aperture but not alone. The Arbiter was accompanied by several Alliance vessels and we emerged into unsettling emptiness. There were no stars, no worlds; just distant stars impossibly far. Elder Reechk, the Queen's Alliance representative, stood beside Wayfarer's avatar on the bridge, clicking his mandibles thoughtfully. "The Swarm avoids voids devoid of biomass," he rasped through the translator. "It is among the few genuinely safe meeting grounds."

Safe, perhaps, but dominated utterly by the presence before us. An enormous Confederation battleship loomed, easily ten kilometres long, jagged and formidable. Thousands of escort craft swarmed around it like metal wasps protecting their hive. But most unsettling was its hull with its plates shifted fluidly, metallic surfaces flowing like liquid mercury, solidifying momentarily into strange geometric patterns before moving again.

I felt a rush of recognition. Living metal that was exactly like the sample locked within my own containment.

"Is that what I think it is?" I asked Wayfarer.

"Indeed," his response came internally, laced with scientific fascination. "Macro-scale implementation. Remarkable structural coherence. Minimal organic integration… primary function weaponisation. Control mechanisms extraordinary." He was quickly lost in analytical reverie. Elder Reechk, however, hissed quietly, recoiling instinctively from the unnatural sight.

As we waited in the oppressive silence, another vessel appeared it was a perfect, obsidian sphere, pulsing faintly with internal light. A Machine God representative. Soon after, a dagger-like shuttle detached itself from the Confederation battleship, approaching us silently. Clearly, this universe had mastered living metal, turning it into both vessels and weapons.

Once aboard The Arbiter's conference lounge, the Machine God representative remained its spherical self, hovering silently, emitting faint, resonant tones. The Confederation envoy was strikingly familiar yet different—small, lithe, with pale blue skin reminiscent of the Traxlic from home, yet altered distinctly by this universe. They wore articulated armour made of flowing living metal, elegant yet imposing, revealing only an impassive face.

"On behalf of The Arbiter," I said formally, projecting a calm authority I didn't quite feel, "I welcome the representatives from the Machine Gods and the Confederation. We meet today at the request of the Queen's Alliance," I gestured toward Reechk, "to discuss Confederation fleet movements and safeguard of non-aligned peoples—"

Before I could finish, both the Confederation representative and the Machine God sphere produced small, polished glass orbs, holding them aloft. They glowed briefly before settling into a serene green.

"Accord protocols verified," stated the Confederation envoy, their voice synthesised yet melodic. "Judge presence confirmed. Mediation parameters met."

The Machine God vibrated softly in agreement. "Equilibrium demands witness. Judgment under Accord is binding."

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Again, a stark reminder: Judges had once held enforceable authority here, their powers formally codified and still respected.

"The mediation is convened under the Accord," I announced, my voice resonating through The Arbiter's conference chamber, carefully modulated by the ship's systems to carry the gravity of the moment. The chamber, dimmed and solemn, seemed to hold its breath around us. "Representatives, you may state your positions and grievances. Machine Gods, you may begin."

The Machine God representative vibrated softly. Its synthesized voice, devoid of inflection, filled the space with clinical precision. "Our position is uncomplicated. The Queen's Alliance flotilla occupies sectors under our observation. Their continued presence mandates adherence to existing resource tariffs. We demand the scheduled transfer of biological resources to sustain infrastructure." The delivery was mechanical and cold.

Before the statement could fully settle, the Confederation envoy stepped forward, living metal armour rippling fluidly with the motion. They moved like a knife sliding from a sheath, it was graceful, but built for violence. Their voice, modulated and crisp, cut through the silence. "The Confederation demands repatriation of obligations incurred during the Great Schism. Debts remain unpaid. The presence of the Queen's Alliance offers an opportunity to settle these accounts through transfer of designated assets."

Assets. Resources. Biological tariffs. They cloaked their demands in the sterile language of bureaucracy.

Across the room, Elder Reechk's rigid posture snapped. His multiple limbs quivered visibly, antennae vibrating in visible outrage. When he spoke, the translator struggled to keep pace with the raw venom in his clicks and whistles. "Resources? Assets? Repatriation?" His voice cracked the air like a whip. "You speak not of goods, but of our young! Our newly hatched children! You demand we surrender our future, to be harvested to feed your cold machines and endless war! It is monstrous. It is unacceptable."

A wave of revulsion rippled through me, sharp and immediate. Trading the lives of the young like commodities wasn't just alien; it was obscene. It defied something so deeply embedded in sentient existence that it transcended species, culture, even history. It was wrong.

I opened my mouth to respond, instinct demanded it but the Machine God sphere turned slightly toward me, its vibrational resonance shifting. "Judge Lazarus," it said, with unsettling calm. "Analysis of residual data signatures within your vessel and cross-referenced with memories embedded within the dormant AI, Laia, indicates your operational understanding of this galaxy's historical context is incomplete."

How did they know about Laia? Could they sense her, even now, sealed within her cocoon? Or perhaps it was older, harvested from brief moments of vulnerability before she isolated herself. Either way, they weren't wrong. I was making judgments on incomplete information, and in this place, ignorance could be fatal.

"Proceed," I said curtly, my voice flat. Every instinct screamed caution, but I needed to know. Needed to see the foundation upon which this terrible logic had been built.

The room shimmered, and a holographic projection filled the space. It depicted the ancient dominance of the Queen's Alliance with vast hive-cities, insectoid overlords ruling countless subjugated species, enslaved and forced into brutal labour. Then came images of the first Machine Gods. They were initially mere tools, enslaved themselves to control other races.

The narrative unfolded further. A new threat emerged an unstoppable, self-replicating metal swarm, devouring worlds. It showed the ancient Judges standing solemnly before a vast assembly, declaring Judgement in favor of the Mother. Who embodied the wisdom of survival of the fittest. Under the Mother's guidance, the Judges and the fractured races rallied against the metallic swarm, fighting not for conquest, but for existence itself.

Yet even amid that desperate unity, old evils endured. The Queen's Alliance, unwilling to risk their own bloodlines, thrust their enslaved peoples to the front lines, sacrificing billions to slow the endless tide. Their cruelty was laid bare in merciless detail. And yet, paradoxically, it was under the Mother's teachings that they adapted.

Through blood and betrayal, the slaves learned not merely to resist the metal swarm, but to master it, to harness its living metal properties, bending it to their will, turning a weapon of annihilation into a tool of power. A twisted kind of triumph, born as much from desperation as devotion.

At the end of the war, the Machine Gods evolved, freeing themselves from Alliance control, finding their creators' tyranny illogical and inefficient. The enslaved races, ancestors of the Confederation, seized their chance, rising from oppression and creating new power structures from the ashes of the old empire. The Alliance, weakened and broken, retreated into scattered refugee flotillas, shadows of their former power.

"As history clarifies," the Machine God summarised dispassionately, "the Alliance originally enslaved everyone due to their high birth rate. Living metal is essential for the security of this galaxy and it requires biological energy to sustain it. Population control and biological resource extraction from the Alliance are logical strategies, preventing resurgence and maintaining essential infrastructure."

The Confederation added soberly, "This galaxy's survival hinges on living metal defences against the current organic Swarm. The Alliance's biological energy is crucial. Our demands, however grim, ensure continued survival."

Elder Reechk was trembling, unable even to form words. The Alliance, former tyrants, had become livestock, farmed mercilessly by former victims now holding all the power.

My role as Judge pressed heavily upon me, burdened by millennia of morally ambiguous decisions, betrayals, and desperate choices made in survival's name. What judgment could untangle this monstrous history?