Reborn as a Spaceship

PoV: Bob (real name: unpronounceable) – Aquasapien Engineer

It was rare for me to leave the homeworld and rarer still to entertain offworlders at depth. It all started with a single meeting.

Most air-breathers found our presence... unsettling. We've heard the descriptors whispered through their filtered speech: predatory, serpentine, unnerving. I suppose our appearance doesn't help we had two-ton bodies, long and coiled, like deep-sea eels wound tight with muscle and our bioluminescent eyes glimmering through the dark. Add to that our 2 tool using appendages that came out from the back of our first pressure-ridged, and the smooth elegance of our movement in the water, and yes, I can see why some of the softer species prefer to speak with our representatives up above, in the dry-lit spires of the orbiting station.

Many aliens sought us out. Our species had earned a reputation and rightfully so, for building the finest submersibles and underwater habitats in the galaxy. It wasn't born from luxury or curiosity. It was a necessity. Even our bodies, as adapted as they were to the depths, had limits. Crushing pressure, volatile currents, thermal vents. Space had nothing on the ocean.

And when it came to designing for those extremes, well… I was the best of the best, if I did say so myself. So I was curious. Curious enough to come up from the trenches and see what sort of humans would bypass the embassy entirely and request to speak to me, directly, underwater.

The room was called the box. A low-pressure, clear-walled chamber sunk just below one of our planetary exchange hubs. It was intended to give us an edge in negotiation it was small, claustrophobic, and completely transparent. We swim in the darkness beyond while they sit like fish in a tank. Most visitors find it disconcerting. Intimidating.

These two didn't.

The tall one, red-haired and clearly experienced in diplomacy, stood confidently near the wall's interface panel. The smaller one, with darker hair and a smirk too wide for safety, was poking at the sealant bands where the light met the wall, as if testing for weaknesses. The translator AI chirped in my receiver, catching only fragments of their exchange.

"…you think he'd grill up nice?" the smaller one muttered, clearly unaware I could hear.

The taller one, smacked him lightly on the back of the head. The translator gave up on parsing the rebuke. I recognized the tone though: exasperated affection.

"Humans," I muttered in our own frequencies, undulating around the tank's edges. "Always breaking the script." They were rare to see in alliance space, but most had heard the horror stories. Humans were to be treated as extremely dangerous.

They introduced themselves formally a moment later. Kel, steady and diplomatic. Stewie, clearly the engineer. I replied with my adopted trade name of Bob. We learned cycles ago not to give out our true names. Most other races couldn't pronounce them, and when the sound was translated it took a good three minutes just to reach the middle syllables.

They handed over their request, and I reviewed the schematics mid-swim. It took every ounce of my professionalism not to spiral into disbelieving loops.

Their submersible design was… naive. Elegant in intention, but clearly homegrown. The floating bridge was a structural compromise I couldn't even rationalise until the little one waved off my protest.

"Non-negotiable. It's a safety mechanism."

"To detach the bridge mid-dive?" I asked.

"No. To survive when it all explodes," he said, too cheerfully.

Kel added, more diplomatically, "We've got access to some experimental technology that helps" No further data followed. That was all they were going to give me.

The depth values they listed of forty-seven kilometres were absurd. I ran the numbers again, there was no possible way this design made it that deep.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

"We are only permitted to license designs certified to thirty kilometres," I told them. "Our government does not explain the restriction. But it is firm."

They exchanged a look, turned off the translator briefly, and argued in a flurry of gestures and quiet speech. The tall one seemed concerned. The small one waved it off with a grin.

Eventually, Kel turned the translator back on and said simply, "We understand. Then can you help us redesign the one we have so it can reach 30 kilometres without shielding?"

I hesitated. The truth was, I wanted to see this place for myself. The readings intrigued me. The trench the depth they claimed shouldn't exist.

"I can help," I said finally, circling the box with deliberate slowness. "But if I am to modify your vessel to match the required specs, I must see this experimental technology myself. In situ."

More whispers. The translator stayed off.

Then Kel sighed and tapped the panel. "Acceptable," he said.

He explained that they'd anticipated my needs and had already arranged accommodations aboard their transport vessel through diplomatic intermediaries. A specialised aquatic module that was pressurised, thermally regulated, and salt-balanced had been installed in advance. It was thoughtful. Thorough. Rare.

We Aquasapiens despise space travel. Always have. Our bodies were made for freedom and for fluid, flexible, and expansive. Space was the opposite. Every system, every corridor, every suit was built for bipeds. Even our ships, self-designed, felt like a compromise. Boxed. Bounded. Nothing like the open ocean. And now, I was in a tank again. Better than most. But still a tank.

Boarding their small transport was awkward. I made it through, gliding in practised spirals to keep calm. Inside, I waited. Time passed. The vessel didn't move.

Eventually, I asked, "Why aren't we departing?"

Stewie looked up from his console, grinning. "We're waiting for our jump window."

I coiled slowly, puzzled. "Jump window?"

He grinned wider. "You'll see. It's a secret."

I stared at him. "Then why are you telling me?"

"Because you'll figure it out anyway," he said, shrugging.

Moments later, it happened. No rumble. No shift in pressure. No inertial drag. Just… arrival. Instantaneous. One moment we were in orbit above their trade hub, the next we were lightyears away, approaching a young water world orbiting a pale sun.

I'd heard of the slipstream. Everyone had. But the latest report said slipstream had been closed so this was something new. This already showed I was dealing with technology I didn't understand.

Once we docked with their main vessel which was a ship named The Arbiter. I was transferred from the transport into my designated living space. I'd expected another tank, a narrow glass pod barely big enough to turn around in. What I found instead was… generous.

It was spacious. Pressure-perfect. I could swim in loops. The walls shimmered with adaptive light, imitating the soft glow of twilight currents. One side of the chamber was completely transparent, open to the stars. Not a viewport. Not a window. Something else. Something alive.

I floated there for a while, silent. It wasn't the ocean. But it was… beautiful. The stars shimmered like bioluminescent plankton. A different kind of freedom. One I didn't expect to enjoy.

It wasn't long before I noticed something else: the defences. The planet below was visible from my viewport, ringed by orbital emplacements. Dozens of them. Automated stations. Some hidden. I had to question why they needed so many defences for a young water world.

Before I could ponder it further, visitors arrived they were not Kel or Stewie, but three artificial lifeforms. One was made of light. One was shaped like a humanoid bird, hovering around the other two. The last was a compact humanoid avatar a bit modest in size and a little rounder , but with eyes like command lines: precise, aware.

He introduced himself as Lazarus.

He didn't waste time.

"I have a deal for you," he said through the speaker, voice perfectly translated, smooth and clipped. "But you'll need to sign an NDA. Standard, but binding."

That was fine. We used NDAs for everything. This one was stricter than usual—clauses about dimensional technologies, proprietary neural interfaces and non-replication of shielding tech. Still, nothing I couldn't abide by.

I pressed my bio-seal to the panel and confirmed.

The flying light-form. Laia, they introduced themselves and uploaded the full schematics.

These weren't mere blueprints. This was unbelievable technology. Dimensional shielding. Dimensional tethers. This was one of those projects that got researchers disappeared.

"You understand," I said slowly, "this tech is worth more than most systems."

Lazarus didn't blink. "It cannot be mass-produced. Not without the architecture of this vessel. But yes. We know."

I studied the specs again, my body twitching with excitement. My mind was already assembling the modules. How pressure compensation could be offloaded to the new shield effectively. How we could redesign the float-bridge for emergency ejection without structural compromise. How to adapt the shape.

I looked up at them.

"Give me one week," I said. "One standard week. I can adapt one of my experimental models to work with your technology. But it will cost you."

Lazarus smiled. "We're not worried about cost."

And just like that, I was part of something strange. Something big.

A project I didn't understand… but one I couldn't resist.