Reborn as a Spaceship

The new laboratory on the ship was quiet but still had an atmosphere of expectant energy. The sterile white surfaces gleamed beneath the muted blue glow of recessed lighting, and transparent vats lined the walls like sentinels, filled with nutrient-rich fluids and pulsing gently with life-support systems. In the centre of the chamber stood a single, large vat, its contents obscured by a milky translucence that teased a familiar, humanoid form suspended within.

I stood before it, Laia to my right, her arms folded and her expression unreadable. To my left, Thisse adjusted a complex array of instruments with practised ease, his diminutive grey figure moving swiftly despite the occasional pause to admire his own handiwork. He had insisted on assembling the setup personally, I think half out of pride, and half out of genuine excitement.

Just beyond him, T'lish leaned forward, her hands clasped behind her back, her dark eyes bright with scientific curiosity. She had joined us after our brief respite, eager to assist and advise. She also needed Thisse's expertise to help with her own data. I was grateful for her presence; her perspective would be invaluable in this new and uncertain territory.

"So," I finally broke the silence, trying to keep my voice steady despite the mounting tension, "what exactly am I looking at here?"

Thisse turned, smiling faintly. "The fruits of my labour, Lazarus. I present your 'Trinary Echo System.' Quite elegant, if I may say so myself. Your species data and methods were truly fascinating if not a little primitive."

T'lish tilted her head, intrigued. "An unusual name. Explain it clearly for us, Thisse. My background in biological integration is extensive, but this hybrid model is unprecedented." She said as she read the data on the holopad.

"Precisely," Thisse said, gesturing at the vat. "We are not building just a simple avatar—no, such things are primitive. Lazarus's unique situation required innovation."

I suspect he was showing off, but I wasn't going to refuse a unique opportunity to gain something from a Traxlic.

I felt Laia shift beside me, her attention fully engaged now. "Innovation tends to come with risks," she pointed out carefully.

"Indeed," Thisse agreed, his voice bright, untroubled. "But risk and reward dance closely. I have balanced them well."

I could tell he believed that, I just hoped it was true. This was my body we were playing with.

He turned to a screen beside the vat, its holographic display shimmering into clarity.

"The first layer," he began, tracing delicate fingers across the controls, "is your permanent physical avatar. A fully organic, autonomous extension of your core consciousness. It possesses a quantum entanglement tether, enabling constant real-time connection, assuming you remain within a certain radius."

I nodded slowly. "How far exactly?"

"Approximately within a planetary system, extending somewhat beyond using enhanced comm-relays," Thisse clarified. "Beyond that, risks of desynchronisation arise."

T'lish stepped closer, her interest clearly grabbed "Fascinating. A stable quantum neural link? I was under the impression that this kind of technology was either theoretical or impossible. I've certainly never encountered a working model."

Thisse gave her an approving nod. "Under normal circumstances, you'd be right. But Lazarus's unique core architecture, combined with the data we recovered from the Swarm, allowed me to achieve a breakthrough. The connection is far more stable than anything previously attempted."

"Cognitive divergence?" I echoed warily. Since we'd already talked about it, I anticipated he'd have solved the problem.

"In short," T'lish interjected softly, "your avatar and core could split mentally, creating two separate Lazaruses, each convinced they are the true consciousness. A severe psychological conflict upon reconnection would occur."

I frowned, the idea deeply unsettling. "And how do we mitigate that?"

Thisse smiled again, clearly pleased to have the answer. "That's the beauty of layer two. Your sub-brain relays—the 'Ghost Frames.' These bodies are biologically simpler. Each contains only an echo of your neural pattern, able to perform complex tasks but lacking full autonomy. Think of them as sophisticated drones. They can gather experiences and return to you for controlled integration."

Laia's brow knitted thoughtfully. "Like data storage with sensory inputs, but minimal risk if lost."

"Exactly," Thisse said brightly. "They can be specialised—Kall-e-human hybrids, stealth operatives, or even diplomatic envoys tailored to specific races."

T'lish exhaled sharply, impressed. "Highly practical, indeed. Disposable yet valuable. But this would still require careful management."

"Correct," Thisse said, adjusting his posture slightly. He raised a single grey finger, voice crisp with precision. "Which brings us to the final layer—the Oracle Buffer. This mechanism serves as a filtration and verification system. It's not just a safeguard—it's your gatekeeper."

Stolen story; please report.

He gestured toward the schematic hovering in the air. "Any ghost frame—whether it's a printed avatar, a relay unit, or even a temporary consciousness fragment—sends its gathered data and experiences back through the quantum link. But those memories don't immediately merge with your core. Instead, they're held in the Oracle Buffer, isolated within a secure sandbox environment."

I frowned slightly, nodding as I tried to visualise it. "So... like a review chamber?"

"Exactly," Thisse said. "Within that space, your primary consciousness can access the experiences of the ghost frame, evaluate them, compare emotional patterns, and detect inconsistencies or corruption. If something doesn't align with your identity or presents instability, it's flagged. You decide whether to integrate, quarantine, or discard it."

I exhaled slowly, both impressed and unsettled. "And that sandbox prevents corrupted data or dangerous emotional bleed from slipping through into the core?"

"Precisely," Thisse replied, his tone grave. "Without it, cumulative divergence would be inevitable. The Oracle Buffer keeps you singular—anchored. No surprises, no overwriting. You remain the gatekeeper of your own mind."

T'lish, who had been studying the interface with quiet intensity, finally spoke. "It's like a neural customs checkpoint. Every returning thought or memory has to pass inspection before entering the core consciousness. Ingenious. But this also means Lazarus can learn from his avatars without becoming them."

"Just so," Thisse said, clearly pleased. "It allows for the broad flexibility of distributed experience without the psychological fragmentation that would normally follow."

We fell quiet again, each processing the ramifications of what lay before us. My eyes drifted back to the avatar, its shape hauntingly familiar.

"So," I said softly, "this is truly possible. I can have a genuine physical existence again."

Thisse inclined his head, his eyes glittering with satisfaction. "Not only possible. Imminent."

Laia moved closer to me, her tone gentle yet firm. "Lazie, are you sure you're prepared for this? The risks—"

"I understand the risks," I interrupted quietly, reaching out to touch the glass, its surface cool and strangely comforting beneath my fingertips. "But it's a chance to truly live again. To feel. To be part of the world, not just a watcher."

Laia smiled faintly, understanding deepening her expression. "You've always been part of the world, Lazarus. This just lets you experience it differently."

T'lish stepped up beside us, her presence calm and reassuring. "If I may offer guidance—this step you take will profoundly affect your sense of self. Kall-e have learned recently the power and dangers of recovering what was lost. Prepare yourself for an adjustment that transcends mere technology. Your entire perception of existence will shift."

I considered her words deeply. She spoke from experience, her voice steady and wise. "Thank you, T'lish. I'll remember."

Thisse cleared his throat, breaking the quiet intimacy of the moment. "Then, if you're ready, let us begin the awakening sequence."

I nodded once, swallowing against sudden nerves. "Do it."

He touched a series of commands, and the vat glowed brighter, pulses of energy rippling gently through its liquid medium. The silhouette within began to stir, subtle twitches and shifts turning more deliberate.

Heartbeats passed in silence. Then, with a sudden rush, the fluid drained rapidly from the tank, revealing the avatar fully—a perfect human form suspended briefly, tethered by delicate cords and wires. My avatar, eyes still closed, gasped in its first breath, chest rising and falling rapidly as life surged into its limbs.

Slowly, it opened its eyes.

My eyes.

I found myself staring into familiar grey irises, the mirror image of memories long past. A surge of disorientation washed through me, brief but intense.

"Who am I?" the avatar whispered hoarsely, voice raw and uncertain.

"You are Lazarus," I answered calmly, though my own core shivered with strange echoes of recognition and unease. "You are me. An extension of what I am."

He—no, I—blinked slowly, then lifted one unsteady hand, examining fingers that flexed and curled experimentally. "This feels...real."

T'lish stepped closer to the tank, her expression scholarly yet deeply empathetic. "It is real. You are both Lazarus, though distinct in perception. Remain calm and focus on grounding your awareness. Your memories and your senses will stabilise quickly."

My avatar took another deep breath, steadying himself, his eyes growing clearer. "I... remember. But there is a difference. I feel more... human."

I nodded, empathy stirring deeply within me. "That's the point. This is our chance to reconnect with that humanity. To rediscover it."

He considered my words quietly, the tension leaving his body with each passing second. Finally, a small smile played at the corner of our lips with a smile I knew intimately. "Then let's not waste any more time."

Laia released a breath she'd been holding, visibly relaxing. "The neural link is strong and stable. Cognitive synchronisation at ninety-nine percent. No divergence detected."

"Excellent," Thisse murmured happily, scribbling notes into his pad. "We'll monitor it closely. For now, let us welcome Lazarus back to a corporeal existence."

My avatar stepped carefully from the vat onto the chamber floor, feet touching solid ground for the first time. He stood, dripping slightly, yet undeniably alive, undeniably real. A wave of relief washed through me—my own feelings amplified by the empathic link. This was not merely a machine, not merely an echo.

This was me.

I had a physical form again, a chance at life beyond sensors and circuitry. I felt weight, heat, the coolness of air on skin. This wasn't just a tool; this was a rebirth. It would take time to get used to having two different inputs but I would adapt.

"Well, Lazarus," T'lish said warmly, stepping back slightly to admire the result. "How does it feel to stand among the living again?"

We raised our head slowly, eyes meeting hers with an expression of genuine wonder.

"It feels... incredible," I replied softly, sincerity trembling in our voice. "And for the first time in far too long, I feel whole."

We stood silently for a moment, the quiet of the lab filled only by the steady rhythm of his breathing. I felt my own heart or the closest equivalent beat in time with his. Two forms, one self.

"You have given me something irreplaceable," I said, addressing T'lish and Thisse, gratitude evident in my tone. "I owe you both greatly."

Thisse waved his hand dismissively, smiling. "The opportunity was reward enough. Seeing you complete is quite remarkable."

T'lish inclined her head solemnly. "And for my part, it is a privilege to witness such a profound transformation. Your courage to embrace it fully speaks volumes."

Laia touched my avatar's arm lightly, smiling. "Welcome back, Lazarus."

I felt a surge of warmth through both our selves, an alignment that felt right in ways I couldn't fully articulate.

"I'm alive," I whispered.

And, for the first time in countless years, it truly felt that way.