Reborn as a Spaceship

We were nearly ready to depart when the comm beeped urgently. I tapped it open, to see Mira's face twisted somewhere between amusement and exasperation.

"Laz," Mira said, trying and failing to hide her smile, "we've got a slight problem."

I sighed, already anticipating trouble. "What did Stewie do now?"

Mira chuckled and gestured towards the table. "Best you see it yourself."

The screen panned and there was Stewie, standing or more accurately, wobbling on top of a table, a half-empty bottle raised high in one hand as he swayed like a drunken sailor.

"Oh no," Laia murmured, hand covering her mouth to hide a laugh.

Stewie was belting out an old Human song off-key, his voice slurred, limbs flailing wildly. Around him, a crowd of aliens—most of whom I'd never seen before—clapped and stomped, egging him on. His newfound friends clearly loved every chaotic second. I already could tell what had happened. It seemed Stewie was a lightweight.

The video ended abruptly, Mira's face appeared again and turning to us with a sigh. "He got challenged to a drinking contest. Claims they were serving 'rocket fuel,' but honestly, I think he just can't hold his drink."

So we went to pick them up and our lander as well.

"Rocket fuel," Stewie mumbled as he stumbled into the ship's lounge, Mira propping him up, "definitely... definitely rocket fuel. Never drink with a four-armed alien, Laz."

Laia shook her head gently. "I'll note that for future reference."

I sighed, amused despite myself. "Did you at least win the contest?"

Stewie grinned lopsidedly. "Pretty sure…maybe?"

Mira rolled her eyes fondly. "His new 'friends' made him promise he'd return for the next race. Not sure he'll even remember it, though."

Stewie waved dismissively. "I remember everything. Mostly."

Wayfarer's quiet amusement filled the room. "Perhaps next time you'll accept our recommendation to avoid alien beverages."

Stewie blinked slowly, swaying slightly. "Probably not."

Chuckling softly, I shook my head and turned to the controls. "Well, buckle up, we're shifting."

Stewie went a different shade of green at just the suggestion.

The dimensional shift deposited us exactly at the coordinates Jack and T'lish had given us. My sensors came alive, confirming an ordinary planet orbiting an equally unremarkable star. No Kall-e fleet yet, but there was an immediate hail waiting. Our arrival was clearly anticipated.

"Incoming transmission," Laia announced.

I opened the channel, revealing a Kall-e dressed in the elaborate ceremonial robes of a Brood Mother, richly coloured and decorated in ancestral patterns. She inclined her head respectfully.

"Captain Lazarus," she began warmly. "We welcome you to Brood World Katha. T'lish informed us of your arrival. She extends her gratitude and invites you to witness our Kallath."

"Thank you," I replied, choosing my words carefully. "We are honoured by the invitation, though I admit we're not fully familiar with the ritual."

The Brood Mother smiled knowingly. "I anticipated as much. If you permit me aboard, I would gladly explain."

"Of course," I responded. "You're welcome aboard."

Within minutes, the Brood Mother entered our lounge, her robes flowing elegantly as she settled into the seat we offered. Her eyes briefly studied Stewie and Mira, and I braced for hostility, but none came. Instead, her eyes softened with warmth.

"You honor us," she began, "friends of the Bringer of Light. T'lish has spoken often of your assistance, of the knowledge you have returned to our people."

"We only did what was right," Mira replied softly, her eyes fixed with fascination on the Kall-e.

The Brood Mother inclined her head. "You help to give us our memories back. Our history. The gift you brought helped us reclaim who we truly are. For that, we owe you our respect."

I glanced around the room, noting how carefully Stewie was listening despite his lingering hangover.

"And this ritual—this Kallath—what exactly will we witness?" I asked, I could tell that it was a sacred event and that we were being trusted to witness it. I would be remiss if I didn't educate myself.

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She folded her hands gracefully, her voice resonating with pride and solemnity. "Kallath begins before battle, where eligible Kall-e warriors visit Brood worlds like this one. They leave behind their essence, ensuring the continuation of their line. Thus, even if they fall in battle, their memories and bloodline endure."

Stewie nodded, looking slightly more sober. "But that's before battle. What about now?"

She nodded, eyes thoughtful. "The ritual is twofold. After the battle, survivors return to the eggs. They speak directly to the unhatched young, recounting the bravery, courage, and sacrifices of their progenitors. It is our way to honour the fallen and ensure their legacy lives on. It helps survivors find peace and lessens the weight of guilt they carry."

A respectful silence settled between us. Even Stewie's restless energy stilled, absorbing the significance.

Wayfarer spoke softly, curiosity evident. "It must be a heavy burden for you, raising generations of warriors."

The Brood Mother smiled gently. "Not a burden. A privilege. Each child grows swiftly, their lives brief compared to most other races. At first, when I learned of the longevity of others, I thought we had been wronged. But now I see the gift in our fleeting lives as each moment matters intensely. Every choice carries profound significance. A Kall-e life is short but without regret."

Most Kall-e bonds were merely considered genetic pairings and brief encounters designed primarily for the strength and continuity of their lineage. The Kallath ceremony illuminated an unexpected depth. The solemnity of the survivors speaking to the eggs, it became clear this wasn't simply about genetic legacy. It was about something deeper, something universally relatable: closure, respect, and a means to cope with the heavy burden of survival.

The Brood Mother quietly watched our reactions, her eyes reflecting a profound empathy. "I understand this might seem strange to you," she began gently, sensing my curiosity. "We Kall-e don't share the parental bonds humans do. There's no nuclear family unit. We don't raise our offspring directly, yet that doesn't mean we're untouched by their lives or their deaths."

"How do the survivors cope?" I asked, genuinely intrigued. "Does speaking to the eggs truly relieve their guilt?"

"More than you'd think," she replied. "Warriors leave a part of themselves here before battle, and in doing so, they give the survivors something precious: a chance to fulfil a promise, to remember them, honor them, and to say goodbye. The survivors don't merely speak to eggs; they speak to the future, to the hope that each sacrifice means something."

Mira leaned forward, clearly captivated. "And after they're born? How do you manage raising so many, especially with such accelerated lifespans?"

The Brood Mother smiled warmly, as though recalling countless vivid memories. "It is both a challenge and an honour. From the moment of hatching, the young are in constant motion, learning, growing, and pushing their boundaries. They mature rapidly, their education and training are rigorously paced. We assess each child's talents and inclinations early, guiding them carefully towards the caste where their potential can flourish."

She paused, her gaze turning reflective. "Many other species pity our short lives. Yet, I've come to see our brevity as a blessing. Our young live fiercely, passionately, without hesitation. They don't dwell on the past; they rarely harbour regrets. Each generation lives fully, precisely because their time is limited. It's an intensity other races often can't understand."

Stewie spoke quietly, thoughtful for once. "It sounds exhausting, raising them that fast. Do you ever wish you had more time?"

She chuckled softly, a sound tinged with wisdom. "Sometimes, yes. Yet, there's joy in their fleeting nature. Each child burns brightly, like a comet streaking across the night sky. Brief, brilliant, unforgettable. As a Brood Mother, it's my duty and my privilege to ensure that, short though their childhood may be, each child understands exactly how valuable their contribution to our people truly is."

I glanced at Laia, who nodded subtly, sharing my appreciation for this unexpected glimpse into Kall-e culture. What I'd seen as a purely militaristic society revealed itself as profoundly emotional, layered with traditions that balanced pragmatism and compassion.

The Brood Mother's words echoed in my mind long after our conversation ended. Perhaps the Kall-e had found something most of us spent our entire lives searching for a meaningful way to honor both the living and the fallen, deeply tied to their very survival.

When the fleet finally appeared, my sensors caught signs of severe damage immediately. It seemed worse than I'd first observed in the chaos of battle. Several vessels limped into orbit, their hulls scorched and battered, testimony to the ferocity they had faced.

I couldn't physically participate in Kallath, of course, but the Brood Mother invited us to observe via a remote stream. The chamber displayed on our screen was vast, warmly lit, its walls lined with rows of softly glowing eggs. T'lish, dressed in vivid ceremonial attire, stood proudly at the chamber's center. Warriors surrounded her, all resplendent in vibrant robes, solemn and silent.

T'lish began to sing, her voice haunting and powerful, reverberating through the chamber with primal resonance. The warriors joined, voices rising in harmony, a chorus that sent shivers through my systems.

It was a song of battle and of victory and loss, glory and sorrow. I saw Stewie glance away, blinking rapidly, moved beyond words. Mira's hand found his, squeezing softly, eyes shining. Even Laia was quiet, her body language softened.

As the song faded, the warriors slowly dispersed, each moving carefully to specific eggs. T'lish knelt beside two eggs larger than the rest, her voice low and tender as she began recounting battles, bravery, and sacrifices. Her tone was gentle yet strong, the words indistinct, but their meaning clear, they were stories of courage and honor whispered lovingly.

It was unexpectedly intimate. I felt I was intruding, yet honored to bear witness. Each warrior spoke to the eggs, faces reflecting grief mingled with pride. I saw some smile through tears, recounting joyful memories; others spoke with reverence, softly murmuring tales of heroism.

"Extraordinary," Wayfarer murmured softly. "Life, death, memory it is all woven so elegantly."

"Yeah," Stewie said, voice thick. "It's...beautiful, actually."

The Brood Mother smiled knowingly. "This is our strength. Our way to heal and move forward. Every egg, every memory, every story makes us stronger."

The feed slowly faded, but the powerful emotion lingered. I sat back, reflecting. After everything we'd seen, moments like these reminded me why we fought so fiercely to not merely survive but to ensure our stories endured, too. I ran from my own death the first time, maybe that made me a coward. I couldn't picture any of the Kall-e freezing their brain to avoid death.

T'lish reached out privately moments later, her face tired but peaceful. "Thank you for witnessing our Kallath, Lazarus. It means more than you know."

I nodded solemnly. "No, thank you, T'lish. It was an honor. Truly."