Reborn as a Spaceship

There were moments when the sheer physicality of my crew's existence sparked something akin to envy within my core systems. Today was one of them. Below us, nestled in the heart of Alliance space, lay Xantus Prime it was a designated paradise world famed for its majestic, snow-dusted mountain ranges and crystal-clear glacial lakes. Normally a resort for races that enjoyed the cold but today. Down there, amidst the pristine powder snow, were my crew plus 1: Kel, Lynn, Stewie, Mira, T'lish, Lynn's partner Darren, and even an agile nanite clone Laia had deployed, all attempting to master the ancient art of skiing and snowboarding.

I watched through the clone's optical feed and The Arbiter's orbital sensors as bright figures carved occasionally graceful, often chaotic, paths down the slopes of Xantus Prime. Laughter, interspersed with yelps of surprise and muffled thuds, echoed faintly over the comm link Laia kept open. Skiing, apparently, was a skill largely lost to time, but between my accessed memories of skiing lessons and Laia's testing we had managed to reconstruct the techniques and provide remote instruction. It required a blend of balance and coordination that proved challenging.

Kel, predictably adventurous and overconfident, caught an edge on his third turn and cartwheeled spectacularly into a soft drift, emerging sputtered and snow-covered. Lynn and Darren seemed engaged in a poorly disguised attempt to impress each other, resulting mostly in tangled skis and shared, laughing collapses. The images set off another round of jealousy as I used to do the same thing with my wife. I knew it was time to let go, but it was difficult.

Stewie approached it like an engineering problem, meticulously trying to replicate the instructional simulations Laia had given him, but his limbs occasionally refused to obey the precise angles, sending him skidding sideways. Mira, more cautious, seemed content with slow, wide turns and using a snowboard, often pausing simply to admire the breathtaking mountain vistas.

T'lish, however, presented a unique challenge. Her Kall-e physiology wasn't naturally suited to the frigid temperatures, requiring a bulky, heat-regulated environmental suit that hampered her movements. After several frustrating attempts that ended with her flat on her back, legs and tail tangled in the unfamiliar skis, she'd clearly had enough. With characteristic pragmatism, she unclipped the skis, sat firmly upon them, grasped her poles like rudimentary tillers, and proceeded to toboggan down a gentler incline with a determined, if slightly undignified, slide, leaving parallel grooves in her wake. Even from orbit, I could almost hear her satisfied grunt.

Later, the feed showed them gathered near Chunkyboy, which they had used as a landing shuttle, stamping snow from their boots while Mira cheerfully distributed steaming mugs of what looked like her signature spiced floral tea, warming chilled hands and spirits. Still, watching them share that simple, physical camaraderie amidst the stunning alpine scenery… I felt that distinct pang again. Jealousy. A purely organic emotion, illogical for a consciousness woven into a spaceship, yet undeniably present. I wanted to feel the bite of the cold air, the rush of speed, the satisfying crunch of snow underfoot.

Instead, I was engaged in a different kind of recreation, one made possible by the strange intimacy of our merged existence. It seemed that in the merging event, both Laia and Wayfarer had gained passive access to the vast archives of my memories well Todd's memories, really. It was… disconcerting. A violation, on some level, of a past self I barely related to anymore. Yet, it had unexpected benefits, like being able to perfectly recall the intricate rules of Warhammer 40,000.

On the bridge, which often served as our oversized game room during quiet transits, a physical battle raged. Laia's nanites had meticulously replicated hundreds of miniatures based on my memory files. Tiny, perfect Space Marines in Ultramarine blue stood arrayed against hordes of ramshackle Ork Boyz and surprisingly sleek Tau Battlesuits. I, naturally, commanded the Emperor's finest, currently absorbed in modifying a Land Raider Redeemer with custom nanite-formed iconography. Wayfarer, perhaps drawn to their raw, chaotic energy, had embraced the Orks. Laia had picked the Tau, confessing later that she simply thought their Crisis suits looked "aerodynamically pleasing." Aesthetics over strategy, typical for her.

There was something deeply satisfying about the tactile nature of the game, a welcome counterpoint to the often-abstract nature of my existence. Rolling physical dice, moving tangible units across the detailed terrain board Laia had fabricated… it felt grounding. The current match was pitched: my 5000 points of Space Marines versus their combined 5000 points of Orks and Tau. A straight-up battle.

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"Bold move, advancing your Crisis team directly into my Devastator squad's firing line," I commented, lining up a shot. "Or just foolish?"

"Calculated risk," Laia's avatar replied smoothly from beside the table, her holographic form flickering slightly. As I focused on my dice roll, I caught a flicker out of the corner of my sensors, the terrain tile her Crisis suits were standing on subtly shifted, offering slightly better cover.

"Hey!" I protested. "No nanite landscaping mid-battle! Play fair."

Laia gave an innocent blink. "Merely ensuring accurate representation of battlefield dynamics, Lazarus."

Wayfarer's avatar, the living planet in miniature, chuckled it was a sound like distant thunder. "Da Orks fink dat's propa kunnin', but also roight sneaky!" he boomed, adopting the Ork persona with surprising gusto as he prepared to move a wave of green-skinned warriors.

As the game unfolded, our conversation drifted to more serious matters. "The station components are being fabricated," I mentioned, nudging a unit of Terminators forward. "Dimetri Industries confirmed the primary habitat rings are on schedule. But construction itself takes time, especially to Class-2 specs."

"And security sweeps," added Laia. "Can't have NeuroGenesis or anyone else planting listening devices before it's even operational."

"Exactly," I agreed. "Luckily, once it's built, we can dimensionally shift the entire station. The next major task is finding a suitable unclaimed system to permanently anchor it. Somewhere stable, accessible to us, but off the main warp lanes." I winced as a handful of dice scattered across the table, it was a terrible roll. One of my Tactical Marines vanished under a hail of imaginary pulse rifle fire. "Damn."

Wayfarer pondered as he removed my casualty. "Will this station follow the 'Babylon 5' model from your memory archives, Lazarus? A neutral ground for ambassadors and diplomacy?"

"Potentially, down the line," I conceded. "But that level of openness requires security we simply don't have yet. Inviting every faction aboard seems like asking for trouble until we're firmly established. Initially, it needs to be a hub for trade and information brokering. Our hub."

"We'll need our own secure network," Laia mused, measuring range for her Hammerhead gunship. "A private jump network, using modified stealth jump buoy tech perhaps, allowing instant, untraceable data flow between the station and The Arbiter." She rolled her dice, frowned at the result, and for a split second, I saw her avatar's hand twitch as if contemplating a quick swap. I narrowed my avatar's eyes at her; she immediately looked away, feigning interest in the tactical map. "Establishing such a network might antagonise local powers if discovered, though," she added quickly.

"We've come a long way from peddling exotic moss," I chuckled, remembering those early, desperate days.

"Moss farming is still a viable automated revenue stream," Laia pointed out logically.

"Too predictable," I countered. "Predictable routes attract pirates. Pirates necessitate dedicated security patrols. It becomes a resource drain, a losing situation unless done on a massive scale."

"Then we must think in scale," Wayfarer rumbled, lining up a charge with his Ork Warboss. "Scale is… familiar."

He wasn't wrong. Scale was the key. In information, in influence, in economic reach. But building that kind of foundation, the kind the Harmonic had alluded to, took time, resources, and careful planning. One roll of the dice, one carefully placed station, one network connection at a time. I focused back on the game board, calculating my next move against the combined Ork and Tau threat.

After a rather successful roll, my thoughts drifted back to the station, to the practicalities of establishing a permanent presence. Wayfarer's avatar turned from the game board, his planetary features momentarily still. "Lazarus," he asked, the synthesized Ork accent replaced by his usual resonant tone, "considering the risks demonstrated by NeuroGenesis and others, will do you still plan not to have a security force? Pacifism is a noble construct, but the broader galaxy may not honor it."

Laia's avatar nodded beside him, her expression serious. "Wayfarer's assessment aligns with my thinking as well, Lazarus. Influence requires security. Defence is a logical prerequisite."

I sighed internally, the familiar debate resurfacing. "Bringing guns just encourages others to bring bigger guns, Laia. It's an escalation we can't win, not against established powers. We can't compete in a conventional arms race."

I leaned over the game table, considering my Space Marine Captain's precarious position. "But defences… yes. Defences are different. The scale must be balanced, but the station will need formidable protection. Rock-solid shielding and perhaps …" I trailed off, lost in thought, picturing layered energy fields interwoven with spatial distortions, a shield only The Arbiter could potentially create or bypass… My concentration was shattered by a booming cry of pure, unadulterated joy. "WAAAGH!" Wayfarer yelled, slamming a fist onto the table (gently, for him). "Da Orks win! Green is best! Crushed yer shiny gitz!" I looked down to see his Warboss miniature standing triumphantly over the wreckage of my last defending Terminator squad. He'd rolled exceptionally well on his charge. So much for balanced defences.