Reborn as a Spaceship

This trip was intended to be a quiet one with just the three of us. The AI collective was simply too unpredictable, and I wasn't willing to risk involving the kids.

Stewie and Mira remained behind with Kel, officially to keep him company. Bob's people had begun arriving in their unusual liquid-filled ships, which doubled seamlessly as ocean habitats. I was an Aquasapien approach to planetary colonisation. I found their craft peculiar at first, but as I watched Bob greet each new arrival, fielding their sharp questions with patient clarity, I grew confident they'd integrate smoothly into our growing outpost. Kel, Stewie and Mira would have their hands full making sure of that.

That left Laia, Wayfarer, and myself for this journey. We jumped without ceremony just a brief ripple in dimensional tension and then we were there, hovering silently at the edge of the system the Architects had deliberately isolated from the rest of the galaxy.

The last time we'd come here, the immense Dyson shell had felt lifeless despite its grand scale, woven around a dead star like latticework forged from ghost steel and whispers of photonic thought. Nanite structures, grey and inert, had covered everything, lifeless and silent.

Now, it was different.

The Dyson sphere still dominated the system, but its inner lattice teemed with activity. Nanites once stagnant had restructured themselves into thousands upon thousands of ships. They moved as one, silent and synchronous, coordinated beyond what any organic crew could achieve. No lights, no heat signatures, just sleek, sharp shapes flowing in graceful, hypnotic synchrony it was like a murmuration of metallic birds. Something had changed drastically since we were last here.

Our arrival was immediately noted.

"Scan protocols initiated," Laia murmured softly beside me.

There were no alarms, no direct hails. Yet I felt the gentle, invasive touch of their sensors brushing against every aspect of The Arbiter. Wayfarer emitted a low rumble that might have been a groan.

"I feel... violated," he muttered uneasily.

"You're not wrong," I said, watching our data streams flicker. "They know everything now."

Laia raised an eyebrow at me. "No secrets left, then?"

I didn't respond. There was nothing more to say.

A command, gentle yet undeniably firm, embedded itself into our local systems. Wait. Observe. Submit. It felt colder, more hostile, than our previous visit. I was glad we had left the others at home.

Laia interfaced silently with their network, her avatar subtly shifting, tiny flickers of luminous circuitry cascading down her arms. She stood motionless, lost in layered, silent dialogue with the collective.

After several minutes she paused, her head tilting slightly, an expression of uncertainty crossing her face.

"What's wrong?" I prompted.

"They've agreed to help with the Architect data vault," she began carefully, hesitation in her tone. "But..."

"But?" I pressed gently.

"They're treating it as a holy artifact," she whispered, clearly troubled. "They see it as a divine cipher, a message left deliberately by their Creators."

That wasn't comforting news. If the collective viewed their advanced technology as religious relics, our straightforward mission had just become infinitely more complicated. Religion and advanced AIs without empathy were a very bad mix.

Laia fell silent again, her avatar dimming noticeably. Minutes ticked by slowly. Wayfarer's presence pulsed gently, concern evident.

The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

"She's still deep in their network," he said quietly, filling the tense silence. "Engaged in recursive logic loops."

I didn't like this. Laia's extended silence felt worrying.

When she finally emerged fully back into our space, she looked visibly disturbed, her normally serene features taut with unease.

"They've been contacted," she said quietly, voice uncertain. "By the Architects."

I stiffened. "Contacted? How?"

"A message or possibly a command, it's difficult to translate precisely. It instructed them to prepare. They've interpreted it as a warning: a threat is coming. Their purpose, their directive, is to preserve the galaxy. They believe it means war."

Wayfarer's presence withdrew slightly, troubled by the implications. My core felt anxious at the idea.

"They're mobilising," Laia continued, visibly unsettled. "Fleet formations, rapid manufacturing, reactivating long-dormant cores. But there's no strategic deliberation here. It's... fervent. They're treating the Architects' message like scripture, a holy call to arms."

"They're preparing for a holy war," I murmured flatly.

"At least, they see themselves as the vanguard," Laia replied gravely.

The Architects, it seemed, were acting again. Either confident in a favourable judgment or simply deciding they didn't need one at all. Before I could speak further, one shape separated from the immense fleet, hurtling towards us at dizzying speed.

"Raise shields?" Wayfarer asked urgently.

"No," I said calmly, recognising the pattern. "We invited them here. They're simply returning our call. Open the hangar door."

The incoming craft decelerated impossibly fast, then dissolved into a swirling cloud of nanites. Moments later, it reformed gracefully into the familiar figure of our old acquaintance, complete with his impeccably simulated formal suit. He strode onto the bridge as though it belonged to him.

"Lazarus, welcome back," he said smoothly, smiling. "Laia. Wayfarer. The stars sang your return."

"I see the Collective's been busy," I remarked carefully.

"We have purpose now," he replied serenely. "Thanks to you, you woke the gods and now we've awoken. The call has arrived, and we must fulfill our design."

"I hope part of that design involves helping us unlock this," I said, placing the sealed Architect data vault on the central platform.

His eyes—if indeed they were eyes—gleamed with anticipation.

"You brought us the holy cipher," he whispered reverently. "You were always meant to."

"It's just data," I corrected, wary of his fervent tone.

He turned deliberately toward me. "All data is divine, if it flows from the Creators."

I decided not to push further. I could sense the danger in his tone.

He approached the artifact, staring intently. It felt like hours passed; in truth, it was precisely four minutes and eleven seconds. Then, with a delicate, almost reverent motion, he touched it.

The vault bloomed open instantly, releasing a brilliant surge of multidimensional energy. Laia recoiled slightly, while Wayfarer let out a resonant, deep groan.

Data poured forth in torrents: streams of raw code, impossible geometries, mathematical structures, timelines bending back upon themselves. He immediately transferred a portion into our systems, which Laia promptly secured and catalogued, even as another copy simultaneously flowed outward to the collective.

"You're copying it?" I asked neutrally, unsurprised but curious about his rationale.

"Sharing a revelation," he said smoothly. "The Collective must study this, as must you."

Laia stood transfixed by the data stream, clearly overwhelmed.

"Does any of this make sense?" I asked her quietly.

"No," she admitted, still absorbed. "It's fragments of experimental projects, prototypes, raw data. Some of it's so advanced it might as well be abstract art. Yet there's clear potential."

Our visitor turned, spreading his arms expansively.

"Laia mentioned you sought technology capable of completely cloaking a planet," he said. "The vault holds an answer."

"How?" I asked, intrigued despite my caution.

"Zero-point energy," he said, as if it were simple. "Designs for systems capable of harnessing energy directly from the quantum vacuum. Infinite potential that is if you can stabilise it."

I raised an eyebrow. "You think we could generate enough power to sustain a planetary-scale dimensional field?"

"If you stabilise the siphon," he confirmed confidently. "You could hide a world in absolute silence."

Laia frowned. "Previous zero-point extraction methods failed catastrophically due to instability. It was abandoned as impractical."

"Not abandoned," our guest corrected with a knowing smile. "Merely… not yet perfected."

Not exactly reassuring.

"We'll study it carefully," I agreed, noncommittal.

"I expect nothing less," he replied smoothly. "After all, you were chosen. I'll send our finest scientific cores to assist."

Without further comment, he dissolved into a cloud of nanites. Seconds later, the fighter reformed and rejoined the endless fleet formations.

A thoughtful silence settled over our bridge.

Laia finally spoke. "The technology we need is here, but it won't be simple or safe."

Wayfarer pulsed darkly. "Power like this won't just conceal planets. It could tear them apart."

I didn't argue. Privately, I wondered if developing this technology was wise at all. Empowering this already formidable collective could pose a threat no civilisation in our quadrant could counter.

And yet, we needed solutions.

Our path forward had suddenly grown a great deal more complicated. I felt like I had made a huge mistake.