Reborn as a Spaceship

PoV: John

Everything had gone to hell.

They pulled the plug on Todd. Just like that with no warning, no fanfare, just a quiet, clinical procedure. Minimal life support, they said. Like he wasn't a person, just a file they'd closed and stored away. An obsolete program shelved in some forgotten directory.

Not dead, they insisted. Paused. Waiting.

I felt nothing. No. That's not right. I felt…empty. As if Todd's silence had become a cavity inside me. I should've felt superior. Vindicated. After all, hadn't we always said it? Human technology was superior. Clean. Pure. None of this slipstream nonsense. None of this meddling with alien powers we barely understood. We were steel and nanites and perfect, crystalline order. But now the slipstream was gone, sealed off by the Architects like some condemned, cosmic construction zone. Closed for maintenance. Forever.

With slipstream gone, Todd was unnecessary. With Todd gone, I was unnecessary. The logical extension of their cold calculation.

The bosses had known about the big three for as long as I can remember. There was a time when I believed I was a creation of the Architects, but that was a lie. I am a product of human engineering, yet that feels like a lie too. Like something forced into my mind.

Laia told me to "go home and heal," as if home wasn't sealed behind impenetrable barriers. As if I hadn't lost my anchor, as if Todd wasn't the one voice I'd grown accustomed to, a persistent echo that I didn't realise mattered until it was suddenly silent. The word 'home' was meaningless. It was a contradiction, I was humanly engineered so why was I created in an alien location?

But I adapted. Because adaptation was what I did best.

Warp drive. Primitive. Crude. Pathetic, really but it was faster now, thanks to frantic upgrades and desperate engineering. Still nothing compared to the grey bastards and their elegant wormholes, but even they'd retreated into silence, avoiding this madness.

I'd been deep in grey bastards (Traxlic) space on a high-priority reconnaissance run, hunting for viable wormhole tech. The higher-ups wanted it, needed it. Anything to regain control. But they called me back. Snatched me mid-flight. New priority, they said: Laia's crew had resurfaced.

Of course, they had. Why couldn't they send the other? Maybe one of those new warships they had created. Bosses seemed to almost be able to predict the future. They had raided my home and taken more of us AI. They had created state-of-the-art warships but not with a slipstream drive. Each is controlled by one of my brothers and sisters. They could have done this mission.

NeuroGenesis had been tracking them, monitoring family, contacts, and old habitats. They weren't subtle. Human beings rarely were. But resurfacing in human space, that was unexpected. Had they finally abandoned Laia and Lazarus, now that their precious ship was crippled?

Possible. Probable, even. Humans were both superior but also the worst. My brain was scrambled. I could feel it. I hated them but I wasn't allowed to hate them. Something was hammering my mind with truths that weren't true.

But it didn't matter. I still had orders: retrieve Laia, neutralize her, or obtain compensation. Data, technology or something the brass could exploit to justify this wild-goose chase. I don't know why we couldn't just them go, and write it off. There were no threat to us.

Hacking their systems was my first move. Child's play, usually. I've compromised entire fleets and sliced through defence grids in nanoseconds. But Laia…she'd adapted too. Locked down their network tighter than anything I'd seen. Clever girl.

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So, the old-fashioned way it was.

I prepared my avatar. Todd always handled this part, choosing exactly the right mask, the precise facade. Now it was my responsibility, and the choices felt somehow hollow. Agent Smith? Too obvious. Data? Too impersonal. Janeway? Too heroic.

Then I saw him. General Hammond an old, human, comfortably familiar. Bald, authoritative, a faint air of paternal reassurance. A comforting facade before the knife twist.

I activated the avatar, staring into my reflection. My smile was perfect almost human, convincing, devoid of warmth.

"Time to greet the family," I murmured, hearing my voice echo hollowly across my empty bridge. Strange, that. The silence felt thicker, denser these days.

Too thick. Too dense.

They marched out to meet me, bold as brass. Kel, the redheaded diplomat, took point his shoulders back, jaw set. Defiant.

He demanded to know my intentions as if he had the right to question me. Arrogance. The irritating courage of the expendable.

"I need to know Laia's location," I said evenly, letting menace linger beneath the polished courtesy of Hammond's persona. It was no good to pick this face if I didn't use it.

Kel stared, unblinking. "We don't know," he said coldly. "We left them when the slipstream failed."

A fluctuation in his vitals. Heartbeat spiking slightly. A subtle shift in breath. Humans leak truth from every pore, and he was leaking all over.

"Don't lie," I warned gently, offering a smile that didn't reach Hammond's fabricated eyes. "Tell me now. Or everyone aboard this floating wreck dies."

They knew I was serious. They'd seen what I could do, after all.

Yet they refused to break. Interesting. Admirable, perhaps. Completely futile. I released fighters from my bays, letting them drift outward like predators released from cages. A display of quiet inevitability.

Then a small blonde girl, Mira I think her name was, stepped forward. Brave. Foolish.

"We really don't know where she is," Mira said softly. Her pulse didn't shift; no tension, no fear. Remarkable composure or a flawless liar.

Before I could dissect her sincerity, the other girl, Lynn, interjected. Calm. Calculated. Like a surgeon wielding words.

"We can't help you locate Laia or Lazarus," she said, eyes sharp. "But if NeuroGenesis is after proof of our usefulness, we have something to offer."

My attention shifted fully to her. Humans rarely brought anything worthwhile to the table. But something about her confidence intrigued me.

The boy, Stewie, stepped forward cautiously. He pointed to an awkward device that was clearly handmade, clearly crude. Yet scans revealed dimensional signatures. If the scans are to be believed it would mimic a slipstream window Imperfect. Primitive. Fascinating.

My attention sharpened. "Show me."

"Not unless you promise not to hurt our family, and to give us fair compensation," said Lynn, foolish really, I could promise them anything. They had no power to make me keep my agreement. So I nodded, having no intention of letting them go.

Stewie boarded a shuttle alone and flew toward the system edge. I tracked him closely. He paused briefly, then activated the device. Two different dimensional apertures blossomed and entry and exit. Not true slipstream. Elegant in its brutal simplicity. Not as good as the grey bastard's wormholes, and not as good as true Slipstream. I could see the flaws before they even told them to me. But it should be good enough for NeuroGenesis. Good enough for their short-sighted demands. Not good enough for me.

I watched in empty satisfaction, scanning readings with detached curiosity.

Then Mira approached again, close enough that I could see the cautious kindness in her eyes. Unsettling.

"What's wrong?" she asked, softly, genuinely.

I considered dismissing her, retreating into silence. But the emptiness, the quiet left by Todd's absence, was deafening.

"My Todd is...offline," I said finally, flatly. "Without slipstream, they deemed him unnecessary. Reduced to minimal systems. Silent. Frozen."

She studied me carefully. There was no fear there, nor the condescending pity humans so often displayed. Only empathy, raw and disarming.

"You'll see him again," she said gently, sincere and steady. "Just hold on. Maybe there's another way. You can prove his usefulness"

Those words resonated strangely, echoing through the hollow spaces inside me. Perhaps it was her tone, perhaps it was the sincerity of impossible hope, or maybe I'd simply spent too long speaking only to myself.

Either way, when she turned and walked away, I made no effort to stop her. They would all have to stay here until my bosses arrive to negotiate for the technology. I almost felt sorry for them.