Reborn as a Spaceship

Thisse disappeared as suddenly as he'd arrived, taking everything I'd shown him and a bit more besides. The display flashed, showing nothing but empty racks and discarded casings. I stood frozen for a moment, irritation rising like a storm beneath my calm exterior. We hadn't even haggled on price yet or what was even for sale.

"Wayfarer," I said slowly, my voice controlled but dangerously quiet, "please tell me our little grey friend didn't just steal everything I had on display."

Wayfarer's response resonated with the ship's internal structure, a low buzz of concern woven into the words. "He has taken more than was agreed upon. It appears he removed the auxiliary samples and data clusters as well."

Laia chimed in, "He also copied more data than we authorized."

I let out a weary breath, my nanite avatar fists tightening and releasing slowly. At least I'd kept the most sensitive assets hidden. The primary Todd brain and the immortality templates were still safe. But it rankled me to no end how casually Thisse had decided to ignore our agreement. My patience was wearing thin, and I reminded myself again why trusting Jack's recommendation always came with complications.

Before my frustration could boil over into outright anger, a soft chime announced an incoming communication. Thisse's grey, serene face materialised on the central display. He seemed very pleased with himself. I had to stop myself from doing something rash.

"My apologies, Judge Larazus," he said smoothly, not even pretending contrition. "In my excitement, I took some additional items, but I assure you fair compensation will be provided. I simply required more data to fully understand the potentials here."

My jaw clenched, but I nodded slowly. "I'd appreciate advanced notice next time and I will decide what is fair."

"Noted," he replied, his thin lips curving into a polite yet somewhat smug smile. "But this gives me enough data to outline the possibilities clearly. Shall I?"

"Please," I responded, tension easing slightly. At least he seemed genuine in his eagerness to deliver on our original deal.

He steepled his fingers, a gesture oddly human and unsettling coming from such an alien creature. "Your desire for a physical avatar, integrated seamlessly with your core consciousness, offers several intriguing paths. Allow me to explain."

I motioned for him to continue, curiosity momentarily overriding my annoyance.

"Option one," Thisse began, calling up holographic schematics, "is to utilise an avatar printer. In this approach, an organic vessel would be printed or grown as needed, with each incarnation receiving an updated neural map from your core. When the avatar completes its mission and returns, we merge its neural imprint back into your primary consciousness."

He paused, letting the idea sink in, then continued. "However, this poses two significant issues. First, managing multiple avatars simultaneously could prove problematic. Even if you only deploy one at a time, recycling avatars repeatedly could create ethical and psychological complications. Secondly, merging neural maps requires your core to be inherently adaptable—something I'm not certain we can safely achieve without extensive modifications."

I leaned back, letting the data Thisse had shared scroll through my internal logs. The concept of using an avatar printer was appealing in its flexibility. It would allow me to be in multiple places at once, to interact with the physical world without risking my core systems, and to explore regions of space my ship form simply couldn't reach. I could experience touch, smell, taste—everything I had lost when I became the Arbiter.

But the pitfalls loomed just as large. If each avatar's neural map was only merged upon its return, then the experiences and memories it gathered would remain isolated until that moment. There was the very real risk that my core personality could fragment, splintered by the countless variations I would need to handle different missions. I had no interest in becoming a fractured, unstable mess of conflicting memories and personalities.

The ethical implications were also troubling. I would be, essentially, creating and destroying living bodies on demand and growing sentient beings for the sole purpose of disposable missions. It felt dangerously close to the kind of experiments I had condemned NeuroGenesis for conducting.

Thisse, sensing my hesitation, leaned forward, his grey, featureless face unreadable but his tone oddly reassuring. "There are advantages beyond mere presence. With this method, you could customize each avatar for its intended mission. The genetic data you provided—the Kall-e, human, and even Traxlic samples it could allow for hybrids perfectly suited to specific tasks."

He tapped a sequence on his own interface, and a series of genetic schematics blossomed in the air between us. Some were humanoid, others far stranger, their forms twisted and powerful, bristling with reinforced bone and dense muscle fibers. I recognized some of the DNA signatures. Human, Kall-e, even fragments of other aliens. A living, breathing arsenal of biological potential.

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He continued, his voice filling with excitement, painting a vivid picture of a hybrid warrior possessing not only the unmatched strength and resilience of a Kall-e, but also the tactical brilliance of a human strategist, further enhanced by the remarkable ability to adapt quickly.

The idea was tempting. Incredibly so. The thought of sending an avatar into battle without fear, of testing the limits of genetic possibility without risking my own sanity, was enticing. I could become anything or anyone. I could walk the streets of a hundred worlds, see the stars from a thousand different perspectives.

But the risks remained. What if the connection failed? What if the neural maps became incompatible over time? What if the avatars, upon returning, brought back more than just memories—like the Kall-e's primal instincts? Would I still be myself, or something twisted and corrupted by the experiences of countless lives?

I let the data projection fade, my mind returning to the here and now. Thisse was watching me closely, his dark eyes gleaming with the anticipation of a scientist on the edge of a breakthrough.

It was then that a thought struck me. "Thisse, if adaptability is the issue, perhaps my research on the Swarm could be useful. They are an advanced life form with a neural architecture that allows instant, seamless adaptation to changing circumstances. Maybe their biological principles could be adapted to solve our core adaptability problem."

His eyes widened fractionally, the first true expression of surprise I'd seen him show. "You possess detailed data on such a race's neural architecture?"

"I do," I confirmed. "Laia and I recorded extensive data from our encounters."

"This could indeed prove transformative," Thisse murmured thoughtfully, "potentially resolving the adaptability constraints entirely."

His attention turned back to his displays, fingers rapidly tapping unseen controls, clearly intrigued by the potential.

"Option two," he continued after a moment, "involves a permanently grown, singular physical avatar, genetically identical in neural structure to your own. This avatar would maintain a real-time connection to your core consciousness, effectively making it a continuous extension of your mind. It eliminates concerns about merging imprints, but it has severe range limitations. Real-time communication must be maintained, or risk catastrophic neural drift."

I frowned. "Neural drift?"

"If the connection falters," Thisse continued, his voice as smooth and clinical as a surgeon's scalpel, "even for a moment, the two minds may begin to diverge. Separate experiences, separate perspectives, creating cognitive dissonance when the link is restored. The results could be... unpredictable. Perhaps even catastrophic."

I felt a shiver run through my code, an echo of the human instincts I had never quite shaken. The idea of my mind fracturing, each half convinced it was the true Lazarus, each fragment fighting for dominance, was a nightmare I didn't particularly want to entertain. I had seen what happened to corrupted AIs, their personalities shattering into conflicting subroutines, spiraling into madness. The thought of that happening to me, of becoming a broken reflection of myself, was not a risk I took lightly.

Still, this option had its appeal. A permanent avatar, one that could grow, adapt, and truly live, was the closest thing to being human again. It wouldn't have the versatility of the printer models, nor the raw adaptability of a purely singular existence, but it would be real. Tangible. Flesh and blood, with all the messy, chaotic potential that entailed. I could stand beside my crew, breathe the same air and feel the warmth of the sun on my skin.

It would be the most like being... me.

Seeing my discomfort, Thisse pressed forward. "There is a third option, essentially combining elements of the first two. An avatar printer could generate an organic body on-demand, but instead of transferring or merging minds, this avatar would simply serve as a relay drone. Essentially, it would be an advanced organic robot with your consciousness never leaving your core, merely puppeteering this physical proxy."

The weakness of this solution was immediately apparent. I voiced it aloud. "Limited sensory feedback, potential signal interference or hacking, reduced autonomy and agility of thought. It would be vulnerable to signal jamming or other electronic countermeasures."

Thisse nodded, acknowledging the points succinctly. "Precisely. Still viable, but far from ideal. I suggest careful consideration. There is no perfect choice as each has inherent compromises."

I rubbed the bridge of my nose, feeling a headache begin to build was a purely psychological response, given my synthetic state, but oddly comforting in its familiarity. "I'll need to think this through carefully."

"Of course," Thisse said smoothly. "It will take me significant time to analyse fully and incorporate the data you provided, especially the Swarm intelligence. Take this period to weigh your options carefully."

"Understood, I will be leaving the system for a while but I should be back soon," I replied.

Thisse's image wavered, growing faint. "I will contact you again soon with preliminary findings. Consider our cooperation most promising, Judge Lazarus."

And then he was gone, leaving me alone with Wayfarer's presence echoing gently through the hull.

I exhaled slowly, staring at the empty space where Thisse had been. Three paths, each with daunting implications. The flexibility and complexity of multiple avatars, risking fragmentation; the permanence and perilous vulnerability of a singular avatar tethered by constant connection; or the remote puppet, safest but least effective.

"This is not an easy choice," Wayfarer's deep voice whispered softly, breaking the quiet tension. "You must consider what it truly means to be embodied, Lazarus. What form can truly contain your essence without corrupting it?"

I sighed, the enormity of the question pressing down on me. "Maybe none of them can. But I've come too far not to try."

The Arbiter purred softly in response, and I closed my eyes, settling back into my chair. Soon we would meet T'lish and the Kall-e, their victory celebration perhaps providing a momentary reprieve from these existential puzzles. Perhaps a clearer path would appear. Until then, I would carry this burden, weighing each choice against the uncertain future we all faced.