Reborn as a Spaceship

We were gathered in the crew lounge, orbiting our newly designated home system. Fabrication work continued relentlessly, but the initial frenzy had settled into a steady rhythm. Mira was voicing a thought that had likely crossed other minds.

"Has anyone actually seen T'lish the past few days?" she asked, glancing around. "She's been completely holed up in her quarters."

Lynn, eyes still on her holopad reviewing station progress reports, looked up. "Probably analysing sensor data about this star. You know how she gets with anything new." She flicked to a new report. "Speaking of which, the final components for the station's core structure are almost ready. Dimetri is flagging it for pickup within the next few weeks."

Before anyone could respond, the lounge door slid open and T'lish stepped in. But she wasn't alone. Cradled carefully in her arms, nestled in a soft foam container that looked suspiciously like a makeshift baby carriers, were the two eggs. Except they weren't just eggs anymore.

Two pairs of large, intelligent eyes blinked slowly, observing the room. Just three standard days had passed since she'd informed me they'd hatched, and already the hatchlings were roughly the size of watermelons, limbs tucked close to their sides. Kall-e growth rates were astonishing. It was likely another lingering quirk from the Mother's ancient genetic meddling.

One hatchling sported vibrant, electric-blue scales. The other was a smooth, muted grey, much like T'lish herself and, presumably, the 'colourless' male donor. Seeing them—these tiny beings born of complex circumstances, destined to grow far from any Kall-e norms it made me wondered how T'lish would choose to raise them. Would she hold fast to tradition, or forge something entirely new? And what effect would that have one them.

The crew's reactions were immediate and wide-ranging.

Kel, who'd been leaning back in a chair, shot bolt upright. His mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.

"What... How...? When...? Back up—how?"

Lynn simply stared, her jaw slack, eyes wide. Calculations and implications visibly fought for dominance behind her expression. She looked like a very startled goldfish.

Mira gasped with delight and practically vaulted over the lounge table. "Oh, my stars, T'lish! They're beautiful! Hello there, little ones! I'm Aunty Mira!" She beamed, already extending a tentative finger before pausing at the last second.

Stewie was right behind her, grinning broadly. "And I'm Uncle Stewie! Wow."

T'lish gave a small, proud smile and adjusted her grip on the container. "They hatched three days ago. This," she said, indicating the blue one, "is K'lak. And this," gesturing to the grey, "is K'Pish."

She explained that the names followed traditional Kall-e convention, combining elements from both genetic donors. "They were conceived during the… diplomatic mission. Kall-e gestation is rapid."

She gently set the container down, and the two infants immediately began crawling with their limbs moving with surprising strength across the lounge floor. They clearly couldn't manage upright movement yet, but it had taken them three days to reach a developmental stage that would take a human infant nearly eight months.

Watching them explore, tiny claws tapping softly on the deck plating, triggered an unexpected cascade of memory that were vivid and sharp. My grandchildren. Their first hesitant steps. That same wonder, that same hush before joy.

It struck me, then: this vessel, magnificent as it was, wasn't built for children. Not without significant changes. Not without help. More crew. More structure. Thinking about families… Lynn and Darren deserved more than this endless rhythm of transit. They deserved rooms with windows. A future.

The station wouldn't just be strategic. It was becoming essential.

I let the initial wave of excitement subside, then cleared my avatar's throat and gathered their attention. "This… changes things," I said carefully. "In a wonderful way, T'lish. But it highlights something we need to talk about. The station will soon be ready for deployment. It offers permanence. Stability. Room to grow in ways I… cannot. So I need to ask: when it's operational, where do you see yourselves? Will you remain aboard The Arbiter, or make the station your primary base?"

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The silence that followed was thoughtful, not awkward.

T'lish answered first, predictably. "The station offers controlled environmental facilities essential for raising K'lak and K'Pish, and for my ongoing research. My place will be there. Well, for the first three years. Then they should be independent." The life cycle of the Kall-e still confused and impressed me.

Lynn nodded immediately. "Managing the station's trade, security, and diplomatic functions means being on-site. Darren and I already planned to base ourselves there. I just hadn't worked up the courage to ask." This was another expected result, I wasn't sure why she couldn't have voiced her opinion earlier.

I turned to Kel, expecting him to choose the ship and the adventure, the open stars. His answer surprised me.

"Well," he said, running a hand through his hair, "can't let Lynn have all the fun managing things. Besides…" He avoided meeting my eyes. "I'm sure there'll be plenty of, uh, diplomatic liaison work that needs doing. Wouldn't feel right leaving her to handle it all."

I doubted that was the full story. But I didn't press him on it. I would just assume he didn't want to leave his sister behind.

Mira and Stewie exchanged a look, already decided.

"We're staying with you, Mr. Lazarus," Mira said simply. "This ship… it's our home."

Stewie nodded. "You and this ship. That's where we belong."

The lines were drawn. T'lish, Lynn, Kel—station-bound. Mira and Stewie—staying with the ship. Our tight-knit found family was about to branch out, growing into something larger than itself, spread across a ship and a station orbiting a dead star.

A few weeks later, Dimetri Industries signalled completion. It was time to collect the core structure of our new base. We jumped to the designated orbital construction yard it was a skeletal ring buzzing with drones and tugs. The station itself hung suspended in the void, habitat modules interlocked, rings spinning. Efficient. Modular. Ready.

Except it wasn't empty.

Our sensors picked up active life support. Lights in every sector. Dozens, possibly hundreds of biosigns. Through the viewports, non-humanoid figures moved between control banks or performed external maintenance.

I felt confusion twist into irritation.

I looked directly at the crew manning the bridge and noticed that both Kel and Lynn were looking guility.

"Kel. Report. Why is the station crewed? The handover protocols specified delivery of an unstaffed core structure."

He looked, to his credit, mildly guilty.

"Ah. Yeah. About that, Lazarus… Lynn and I took the liberty. While you and T'lish were handling diplomacy, we started recruiting."

"You what?" It came out sharper than intended.

"We talked about it!" Kel said quickly. "Five people can't run a station this size. Not safely. We needed techs, engineers, basic support staff. Lynn handled contracts through Dimetri's HR. Everyone's qualified. It just made sense to get them onboard early."

The logic was sound. The action was not. I was furious, I was about to do something I would regret. Laia brought me into a private conversation within our shared consciousness.

"They recruited hundreds of people," I seethed, "without telling me. Without letting me review the applications. This station exists because of my reputation. And now I'm finding out alongside everyone else?"

"Your reaction is understandable," Laia said gently, her voice threaded with calm. "Lynn forwarded the personnel manifests two days ago. I reviewed them thoroughly. No flagged risks. The hires are qualified. Accelerating onboarding now saves us weeks, possibly months."

It didn't soothe the gnawing tension in my thoughts.

"Accelerates readiness for what, though?" I asked. "So they can operate without me? Make calls I'm not part of?"

Frustration edged into anger as I paced mentally through the data feeds. "Who hired the information broker? Who vetted the spymaster? The Alliance couldn't even reverse-engineer the jump buoy tech, what makes anyone think we can trust an information specialist from them? How much have they been told? Do they know about me? About Wayfarer? About the location of where the station going?"

"And why didn't you tell me?" I added, quieter now, but sharper.

Laia hesitated.

That silence was worse than any answer. My thoughts spiraled. Was I really that disconnected from the crew's day-to-day? Or had they simply grown more independent while I was busy? Was there more to this? Had Darren pushed Lynn to act quickly? Had she been manipulated? Or worse, was he a spy?

I felt my thoughts chasing their own tail. Laia tried to answer, tried to pull me back with reason, but I severed the connection and exited the shared consciousness.

None of this felt right.It felt like a betrayal but was it?

Back in full control of the bridge, I locked it down. Kicking Lynn and Kel out, their steps hesitant but concerned, I didn't give them a chance to explain.

"Not now," I said. "I don't want to see either of you right now."

They tried to protest. I didn't let them.

"Please. Just… give me space."

They left without a word. The doors closed behind them.