Reborn as a Spaceship

It had worked perfectly. Maybe a bit too perfectly.

When our strategically positioned explosives detonated, targeting communication relays, resource depots, and supply caches of already suspicious mid-tier factions, the delicate balance of mistrust holding this underworld system together shattered. It wasn't a ripple of chaos; it was instantaneous implosion. Every carefully mapped fault-line in Wayfarer's meticulous strategic overlay fractured at once. Skirmishes erupted into pitched battles as secondary explosions of likely panicked self-destruct sequences, sabotaged power cores, and preemptive strikes all cascaded into chaos.

Wayfarer's model proved devastatingly accurate. The major syndicates, like the Korlite-run Three-Three and the formidable Blackgrass Fleet, didn't even attempt to quell the flames. Instead, their powerful warships withdrew, abandoning lesser vassals and weaker affiliates, forming defensive spheres around their core holdings. Ships belonging to small-time pirates and mid-level traders suddenly found themselves isolated, leaderless, left to burn in the inferno we'd ignited.

On my bridge, Mira stared at the tactical display with widening eyes, its red icons proliferating like cells in an infection. "I knew you were planning something more than winning a drone race, Mr Lazarus," she whispered.

I kept my expression carefully neutral. "Just a bit of sociological experimentation," I said mildly, leaning forward to watch our handiwork unfold. "Educational, really."

"Compared to what you've taught us, that's a whole lot of explosions" Stewie remarked.

I just gave them both a small smirk. But I had to get back to concentrating on the problem at hand.

Laia, was already deep into the next phase. With pinpoint accuracy and a surgeon's elegance, we sifted through the debris fields for targets. My dimensional shift drive ran rhythmically as damaged vessels teetering on reactor breach or structural collapse were plucked from their imminent demise, disappearing from chaos and reappearing in our designated safe zones—neutral orbits far enough away to catch their breath.

Wayfarer's planetary avatar immediately projected itself onto their shattered bridges, the steady resonance of his voice delivering a single, consistent message: "Your leaders have abandoned you. The Three-Three and Blackgrass see you as disposable pawns. But Judge Lazarus offers an alternative: protection, stability, and fair arbitration." Behind his speech, carefully selected visual fragments played silently, it was the footage of the Harmonic at the Traxlic mediation, subtly edited to imply cosmic backing. "Accept mediation by the Judge," Wayfarer concluded firmly, "or perish in isolation."

It was a calculated bluff, and a risky one. This wasn't an official mediation recognized by the Old Ones. The Accord didn't cover petty pirate turf wars. But desperation, betrayal, and the illusion of cosmic authority had a persuasive power all their own. One after another, factions grudgingly surrendered their consent including the pragmatic Xtze merchants, the cunning cybernetic J'Nai pirates, even some scrappy independents whose hulls were barely holding atmosphere and one strange human vessel.

Unsurprisingly, the Three-Three and the Blackgrass Fleet refused outright, not even bothering to accept our calls. Confident behind their defensive fortifications, they were prepared to outlast the conflict. That might have worked, had a bigger fish not chosen that exact moment to enter the pond.

Without warning, a flawless tear in spacetime peeled open beside the system's primary star it was a textbook Traxlic wormhole. From within slipped a single vessel, small by Traxlic standards but radiating technological supremacy, hull geometry shifting subtly to disperse sensor sweeps. It glided forward effortlessly, ignoring all defenses, all battle formations, broadcasting calmly across every frequency.

"This is High Executor Thisse of the Pzetc Ascendancy," spoke the unmistakably Traxlic voice, smooth yet commanding, stripped of the usual xenophobic condescension. "Hostilities in this system will cease immediately. All factions including the Three-Three Collective and the Blackgrass Fleet are summoned to mediation under Judge Lazarus aboard The Arbiter. Refusal will result in immediate expulsion from this system. No further warnings will be issued."

A private, pointed addition followed, sent directly to the Three-Three and Blackgrass vessels. But was also relayed to us. "You must understand that Judge Lazarus represents the old ones and his ruling is absolute; plan accordingly."

I narrowed my eyes slightly, impressed by the audacity. Thisse surely knew the specifics of the Accord as well as I did; this little squabble didn't qualify for automatic cosmic enforcement. Yet, by invoking my title and the carefully engineered illusion of ultimate authority, Thisse neatly achieved their own goals under cover of my supposed jurisdiction. They were leveraging chaos to increase their own power. Clever, cold, and brilliantly executed.

And so The Arbiter found itself temporarily converted into a diplomatic hub crowded with wary syndicate leaders who, mere hours earlier, had been doing their utmost to annihilate one another. The grim-faced yet oddly lanky Korlite commanders from the Three-Three shifted uneasily near the hardened Blackgrass commander, whose trunks twitched with idle impatience. Meanwhile, the smaller, disenfranchised groups had unexpectedly rallied around a human representative. I instantly suspected he had Jack's fingerprints all over him.

My suspicions were confirmed almost immediately, as the human who was a tall, confident figure in a worn but stylish trader's coat, leaned forward with an easy smile. "Speaking of debts," he drawled toward the Three-Three commander, "when exactly are you going to pay out the three tonnes of Telk you owe me from that little wager? Two hundred-to-one was irresistible odds."

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The Three-Three commander bristled visibly, his lanky limbs stiffening as a deep growl of anger rose from his throat. The Blackgrass commander chuckled softly, amused by the brewing conflict. Before tensions could escalate further, the human representative turned to me with a polite nod, as though noticing me for the first time. "Apologies. Name's Sene Smith, representing the Bluebones Traders."

High Executor Thisse, overseeing proceedings with quiet yet undeniable authority, gave a subtle, nearly imperceptible nod for me to proceed. The Traxlic had positioned itself carefully, a neutral observer whose presence nonetheless felt distinctly commanding. All eyes eventually fell upon me, awaiting judgment. The chaos I'd engineered had indeed been masterful, yet as I considered the assortment of heavily armed, disgruntled syndicate leaders gathered before me, I couldn't help but feel that being a Judge was akin to supervising a nursery filled with dangerously armed toddlers.

Unsurprisingly, the Three-Three commander launched into the proceedings immediately, pointing an accusatory finger my way. "Judge Lazarus orchestrated this madness," he snapped bitterly. "This chaos is his fault."

Before I could even respond, Sene Smith leaned forward casually, cutting in smoothly. "No, commander. What caused this chaos was your Collective skimming far more Telk than agreed upon from your 'protected' clients. The same clients you conveniently abandoned at the first sign of trouble."

The Korlite hissed sharply, turning its angular features toward Sene. "We have every right to manage our resources as we see fit. Those under our protection should accept their role."

"Accept their role?" Sene laughed, spreading his hands as he glanced around the table. "Their role, apparently, is to pay you tribute and then conveniently die when you decide they're disposable."

The Blackgrass commander, clearly bored by the squabbling, interrupted with a slow wave of his thick mouth trunks. "Pointless bickering," he rumbled. "Blackgrass sees no need to negotiate at all. We'll simply destroy the troublemakers and rebuild from scratch."

"Ah, yes," Sene replied with dry amusement, "and then what? You'll be next. The Three-Three have the superior fleet and without the Telk your clients funnel in, Blackgrass would collapse within months."

The Blackgrass commander's mouth trunks jerked aggressively, a rare show of open irritation. "Watch your tongue, human. Blackgrass Fleet could obliterate the Three-Three at will."

High Executor Thisse intervened smoothly, breaking the tension with practised ease. "Each faction in this system possesses unique strengths. Without balance and without all three core powers intact this system collapses. Need I remind you," it said, dark eyes moving deliberately around the table, "we are here because of Telk. If you cannot manage your affairs and protect your interests, there are other underworld factions beyond this system willing and eager to fill the void."

The subtle threat hung clearly in the air, a warning unmistakable to all present.

I took that moment to step in, projecting calm authority through my avatar. "Let's cut straight to the point, then. Clearly, protection agreements and embezzlement are the primary sources of conflict here. We need a sustainable, fair solution. Suggestions?"

A moment of wary silence fell, and then Sene Smith spoke up first. "Independent oversight. No more direct embezzlement. No more exploiting smaller groups."

The Three-Three commander gave a sharp, humorless bark of laughter. "You're joking. Who oversees the overseers? You?" He looked at me, then to Thisse. "No offence to the Judge or the Executor, but we govern ourselves. No outside leash. No 'banking authority' telling us how to run our affairs."

"Of course you'd object," Sene said, eyes narrowing. "You've had the most to skim."

The Korlite's head snapped around, long neck flexing as he surged to his feet. "Careful, human. The only reason your miserable Traders exist is because we allow it."

The Blackgrass commander rumbled from his seat, barely lifting his gaze. "And yet you couldn't stop half your assets from defecting the moment things got loud. Perhaps your grip is more brittle than you think."

The room threatened to devolve again, heat rising, words hardening into threats. I raised my hand, not to stop them, but to signal that I wasn't asking permission to speak.

"The solution," I continued evenly, "is straightforward. An independent banking authority will oversee all Telk transactions. Additionally, a neutral enforcement force will maintain balance and ensure compliance. This force won't be equally manned by each faction. Instead, representation will be proportional. The ratio is based strictly on how much Telk each syndicate contributes to the system. Those who generate the most revenue gain greater influence. Fair, simple, and self-regulating."

There was a beat of silence. Then, predictably, the pushback began.

"That's rich," the Blackgrass commander scoffed, his trunks coiling. "So the biggest earners become the enforcers? That's just gilded corruption."

"No," I countered immediately. "Because there will be transparency. Oversight logs will be available to all major parties. Enforcement personnel must be seconded from outside your primary command chains."

"That won't stop bribery," growled the Korlite. "Or infiltration. You can't legislate loyalty."

"No, But you aren't exactly a legitimate operation either," I said again. "But you can at least give visibility. And the Pzetc can enforce accountability. Because here's the alternative: you go back to what you had before. But this time, the minor syndicates have seen what you'll do when things turn sour. They won't fall in line. They'll look elsewhere for protection. Maybe to me. Maybe to someone worse."

Thisse chose that moment to speak, voice cool but unmistakably decisive. "And should this order collapse again, the Pzetc will not tolerate further instability in a system this strategically placed. Consider this judgment… an opportunity."

The Three-Three commander finally sank back into his seat, eyes calculating. "We'll want verification mechanisms. Audits."

"That can be arranged," I replied. "But the core judgment stands. Independent bank. Proportional enforcement. And all protection fees are transparent, regulated, and registered."

There was a long pause as each leader absorbed the implications. Predictably, the Blackgrass commander rumbled with mild scepticism, his trunks twitching. The Three-Three commander appeared still upset but was quickly calculating potential advantages. Sene simply smiled knowingly, clearly seeing the potential opportunities in a more stable system.

Thisse, for its part, nodded approvingly. "A prudent judgment. Balance restored. Telk secured."

The gathered leaders reluctantly agreed. It wasn't perfect, but it was manageable and a foundation for stability. As tensions gradually receded into wary silence. I had my connection to the underworld, but still didn't know how to leverage it.