Far beyond the reaches of the Milky Way, a massive gas giant

  orbited a dim red dwarf, turning slowly on its axis. Rings of rock and ice

  encircled the planet’s equator, and several moons traced paths through those

  bands of debris. A few moons, some large enough to be small planets in their

  own right, bore satellites of their own: tiny specks of green and flashes of

  silver hinting at the possibility of life.

  One moon, clearly sundered by a recent cataclysm, orbited at

  a precarious angle. Its fractured surface glinted with scars of an explosion

  that had ripped it into thirds. A ragged stream of rock and dust spiraled away,

  merging with the planet’s turquoise-and-silver storms below.

  Meanwhile, out near the system’s perimeter, two small drones

  patrolled the fringes. Their angular silhouettes blended into the

  star-sprinkled void, sensor arrays humming softly.

  Though their exteriors were scuffed and patched from

  countless micrometeor collisions, they had drifted through this cosmic expanse

  for centuries—long enough that no trace of their original makers remained. Yet

  still, they continued, sustained by silent directives buried deep in their

  ancient circuitry.

  A continual feed of data cycled through their programmed

  consciousness—positions of drifting debris, faint energy signatures, slight

  fluctuations in magnetic fields. Their routine was simple: sweep, identify,

  confirm. The lead drone scanned a cluster of jagged stones tumbling at the

  system’s edge, each shard outlined in shimmering lines on its internal display.

  At the edge of its sensor range, a larger contact appeared:

  An elongated asteroid arcing inward toward the dim red dwarf. Both drones

  locked on, exchanging bursts of binary instructions to verify mass,

  composition, and possible anomalies. Satisfied with their readings, the pair

  pivoted, adjusting their course to intercept.

  Simultaneously, from behind the planet’s dark limb, an ovoid

  mass came into view—too smooth, and too dark to be natural, as though it

  absorbed the star’s glow rather than reflecting it. No engines flickered; no

  protrusions marred its surface. It was a silent, imposing shape gliding out of

  the gas giant’s shadow, slicing through the debris field of that shattered

  moon.

  The black vessel tilted, altered its course as it moved to

  intercept the shard of ice and rock. As the vessel’s silhouette swallowed the

  asteroid, the two ship-born drones kept close, continuously transmitting the

  rock’s shifting coordinates. When the asteroid cracked in half, they lingered

  just long enough to confirm both fragments were securely drawn in. Then, with a

  final sensor sweep, they broke away on silent thrusters, returning to their

  broader survey tasks.

  Inside the ship, gravity reasserted itself the moment the

  broken chunks of rock and ice crossed into the ship’s hold and clattered onto a

  dark metal deck.

  Overhead lights flickered while the scuffed metal floor bore

  deep scratches, a testament to countless more rough landings before this one.

  Throughout the space, sections of wall paneling were missing or crumpled,

  exposing bundles of wiring that hissed and sparked in the gloom. The low-level

  hum of aged generators pulsed through the bay’s stressed power grid. Beneath

  that hum stretched an unsettling silence, as though the ship itself held its

  breath, waiting for the next inevitable breakdown.

  One chunk shattered on impact with the deck, sending shards

  of ice skittering across the floor. A faint glint of metal caught the light,

  revealing the letters "IZON" etched into a corroded hull fragment.

  The other half cracked further, revealing only a scuffed patch of battered

  hull.

  A smooth glossy black orb floated overhead, a mechanical

  iris flicking open and shut as it scanned the pile of space debris. Mechanical

  arms descended from the ceiling, pushing aside ice and rock to expose what

  remained of the hull. As the debris fell away, more text came into view:

  HORIZON.

  The ship’s AI registered no familiarity with the craft or

  its markings, but from its recent hacking of a subspace communications buoy, it

  had discovered an ancient article about a pre-FTL vessel from a species that

  matched the traces of organic matter found in the asteroid’s remains.

  Deep in the AI’s central processing core, newly accessed

  data fragments began to coalesce. As the orb hovered over the battered remains,

  a torrent of stolen subspace transmissions and archived articles surged through

  the AI’s logic gates.

  Moments blinked into half-formed visions:

  A small vessel—hull marked “Horizon One”—cutting through the

  black. By modern standards, it was unremarkable. But inside, the quiet hum of

  life: crew chatter, laughter. Then—panic. A scream that never fully formed

  before static swallowed it. The AI severed the recall.

  Then the illusions vanished, replaced by the cold reality of

  the present: a silent cargo bay, flickering consoles, and the remains of an

  archaic ship. The AI’s subroutines recalibrated, pushing aside the emotional

  imprint. Objective: Identify. Catalog. Reconstruct.

  Yet somewhere in the AI’s circuits, a trace of those stolen

  emotions lingered, as though the record of Horizon One’s last moments were a

  dire omen for its own fate.

  Metal shrieked as the hull gave under the grip of the

  mechanical arms. The limbs paused; a bright light shone down into the wreckage.

  An appendage extended slowly and carefully into the gap. The

  groan of strained metal followed by a loud snap echoed within the bay. The arm

  retracted, pulling free a frame with a lifeless figure strapped to it. Frost

  clung to the figure’s torn, bloody, and scorched jumpsuit. A single limb

  dangled from the armrest—then with a snap the limb cracked off, shattering upon

  contact with the deck.

  Lasers sliced away the restraint harness, and the remains

  were placed gently onto a rising platform. A transparent field enveloped the

  corpse, heating and drying it, revealing the battered jumpsuit and ruined,

  twisted limbs beneath. The orb’s tiny lens whirred, collecting tissue samples

  and feeding them into scanners.

  A deeper scan of the body revealed key characteristics that

  triggered a long-dormant program within the AI’s systems. Everything in the bay

  froze for a fraction of a moment as the ancient systems began to whine,

  overhead lights flickering as power rerouted.

  It was a muted chaos—no blaring alarms, only the hum

  of shifting energy flows. The orb hovered over the human remains, its gaze

  almost desperate as it performed scan after scan with every detection method at

  its disposal. More mechanical arms descended, collecting the shattered limb and

  any other organic material from the asteroid’s remains before depositing them

  alongside the body.

  The platform rose from the deck until it was clear, then

  whisked toward the cargo bay’s far end, where a door slid open to admit it. For

  a fleeting second, the orb hesitated, as though uncertain whether to continue

  scanning or follow. At last, it pulled back, and the mechanical arms retracted

  to their recesses overhead, leaving behind the lingering crackle of

  overstressed systems.

  As the platform carrying the remains slid through the

  corridor, flickering wall lights struggled to illuminate the passage. Sections

  of the hallway lay in shadow, with exposed wiring crackling faintly against

  warped metal panels.

  The air was stale and carried a faint tang of ozone. The

  fans in the ventilation system rattled in protest—long overdue for repairs.

  Every so often, the deck plating vibrated, a sign of deeper structural issues

  caused by subtle shifts in gravity.

  A sealed bulkhead at the corridor’s far end bore fresh

  gouges, as though it had been forced shut to contain an unseen hazard. Beyond

  it, the faint hiss of leaking atmosphere hinted that not every compartment

  remained fully pressurized.

  A caretaker orb hovered just ahead, scanning every meter of

  the corridor. It paused at a section of wall that slid aside, revealing a small

  circular chamber. The ship groaned as it realigned corridors and bulkheads to

  accommodate the platform. Once inside the doors of the lift hissed shut and the

  orb and platform were whisked deeper into the ship.

  When the door opened again the orb floated out and

  adjusted its path calculations to avoid collapsed corridors or irradiated

  sections, wanting to avoid causing further damage or degradation to the

  remains.

  Yet the orb pressed on, loyal to the AI’s command. Deep in

  the heart of the ship, a few systems still clung to operation, maintaining an

  eerie half-life in these failing halls—an environment barely fit for any form

  of organic existence.

  Amber lights flickered to life in an old dusty lab,

  revealing a space filled with ancient equipment that lined shelves and cabinets

  along the walls. Layers of dust swirled in the stale air in the platform's wake

  as it entered. briefly illuminated by the sputtering overhead fixtures.

  Sections of wiring hung from open panels, and shelves sagged under the weight

  of corroded tools long left unused.

  Consoles, counters, and sealed cabinets awoke with a hum.

  The sudden shifting currents of air stirring thick layers of dust before it was

  pulled from the room by the environmental system. Overhead lighting sputtered,

  plunging the room into darkness, then flared again to illuminate a transparent

  cylinder at the center.

  Computer screens lit up. The faint hum swelled before a soft

  click and hiss sounded, followed by another click. The hum became a rhythmic

  pulse as a thick, opaque solution of amino acids, fats, proteins, and other

  biomolecules began flowing into the cylinder. Specks of silver and blue nanites

  shimmered within the fluid.

  A second black orb—identical to the one in the cargo

  bay—activated in a wall socket, dust falling from its surface as it hovered. It

  inspected readouts on a holographic panel, verifying resource levels and DNA

  compatibility as the fluid level in the cylinder rose.

  Another holographic panel popped up in front of the

  cylinder, Its scrolling script reflected on the orb’s shiny exterior; A brief

  readout flickered across the surface, outlining the AI’s process for gene

  splicing and cellular reconstruction. The nanites operated like microscopic

  forgers, painstakingly aligning each strand of DNA with newly integrated

  material. It was a precarious dance: the slightest misalignment could result in

  mismatched organ growth or cellular collapse.

  The steward monitored the lists and resource levels before

  turning to the room’s far side as the lab doors opened and the floating

  platform entered. As the orb drifted over, an amber light beside one of the

  consoles began flashing, and an alarm chirped through the lab. A prompt

  appeared in holographic form:

  “Energy Reserves Critical. Continue?

  Yes / No”

  The Yes option blinked.

  “Error: No command authorization found.”

  Without any visible change in expression, the orb seemed to

  glare at the prompt.

  “Avatar Guardianship Protocol Override.”

  “Authorization granted.”

  The nutrient fluid continued rising in the cylinder as the

  steward turned to regard the body. A mechanical arm extended through the

  cylinder’s transparent field, extracting three separate samples from the

  least-damaged areas. It placed these on different sample collectors, which then

  subdivided them further—some down to the cellular level, others to the

  molecular level—to adjust the nutrient solution.

  “Error: DNA structure incomplete. No matching samples

  found.”

  “Search all available samples for a match.”

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  “One match found. 98.7% viability.”

  “Compute success probability for cross-species DNA

  integration. Include failure modes and estimated resource expenditure.”

  “With current sample size, probability is 73.975%.”

  “Probability of success with larger sample size?”

  “Probability increases to 99.72%.”

  Silence reigned. The cylinder glowed, and the lab lights

  dimmed. Two smaller consoles beeped in protest:

  “Warning: Power Reserves Insufficient.”

  “Override. Reroute power from singularity shielding.”

  “Caution: Rerouting power from singularity will increase

  environmental radiation levels.”

  “Potential for permanent cellular damage at projected

  elevated levels?”

  “Less than 25% cellular degradation.”

  “Proceed.”

  Several more warnings scrolled by on a sub-screen. Ignoring

  them, the AI reallocated more of the ship’s dwindling stores.

  Faint arcs of energy danced atop the swirling fluid. The

  mechanical arm that had taken the samples now extended again, feeding the rest

  of the body into the system.

  “Convergence Phase: Initiating.”

  The overhead panel flickered, then steadied as the

  cylinder’s contents brightened. Nanites flitted like stars in cosmic soup,

  bridging broken DNA segments with alien code. The surge of biomolecules turned

  the transparent fluid into a murky bluish-gray, the nanites glittering as they

  fused the new code with the old.

  Time seemed suspended, the swirl within the vat mesmerizing.

  A hush fell across the lab, broken only by the low hum of hydraulics and the

  measured pulse of pumps.

  “Cross-Species Integration: 0.2% – Ongoing.”

  A single orb of blue-green light glowed within the fluid,

  where nanites began assembling layer after layer of newly formed cells. The orb

  slowly grew until it split into four smaller orbs. Gradually, the upper part of

  a torso appeared. The orb that generated the head faded as the nanite cloud

  dispersed. When the remaining orbs reached the arms and legs, they split

  further, continuing the rapid cell construction.

  A sudden power surge caused the lab’s lights to flare,

  illuminating the grisly sight floating in the fluid. The figure’s musculature

  stood out in stark relief, each sinew defined under shifting currents. Here and

  there, translucent patches of newly formed skin clung to shoulders or ribs, like

  small islands in a sea of raw flesh. Nanites gleamed as they wove between the

  exposed muscle fibers, slowly stitching each strand together. When the power

  jolt hit, those fragile muscles spasmed, limbs thudding against the cylinder’s

  glass shell.

  “Warning: Singularity primary shielding failure imminent.

  Reroute power or lower ablative dome to prevent further destabilization.”

  “Caution: Rerouting power may disrupt regeneration.”

  The AI hesitated for a millisecond—simulations flashed

  through its circuits—then it decided.

  Deep in the bowels of the ship, the singularity containment

  chamber thrummed. Its outer walls were lined with concentric rings of

  machinery, remnants of an era when the vessel could harness near-limitless

  energy. Now, many rings lay dormant or stripped for spare parts.

  As the AI diverted power, the containment field’s hue

  shifted from steady blue to a volatile purple. Stress indicators flared across

  control consoles. In the lab, the caretaker orb froze mid-scan as a cascade of

  system alerts flooded the network. A low groan reverberated through the entire

  vessel—metal struts creaking, overhead lights flickering dangerously as power

  lines struggled to compensate.

  For a single heartbeat, gravity skewed. Tools, debris, and

  even the orb listed sideways before the field stabilized again. Then, the wave

  subsided—barely. The singularity’s swirling heart glowed hotter, teetering on

  the edge of containment. In the lab, power monitors displayed urgent warnings,

  but the AI refused to relent: the regeneration process needed every scrap of

  energy, no matter the risk to the ship.

  The lab erupted in cacophony as everything that had begun to

  lift off surfaces came crashing back down. The AI pivoted in midair, realigning

  its stabilizers to avoid slamming into the deck alongside the tumbling debris.

  Another surge caused the lab’s lights to flare again.

  Reenergized nanites resumed their work, though some— almost as ancient as the

  ship itself—burst into tiny flashes of light. Two nanites floating through the

  heart’s chambers exploded in quick succession, causing the developing heart to

  contract once, then again. A jolt of energy traversed the body’s nerves and

  brain. It seized, then relaxed. A moment later, all was still.

  The steward circled the cylinder, scanning readouts.

  Everything appeared stable. No more energy surges. Yet a soft, pulsing signal

  registered at the center of the torso: the newly formed heart was beating on

  its own. A deeper scan revealed the brain alive with activity, neurons firing

  signals through incomplete muscle and nerve tissue.

  Despite its artificial nature, the AI hesitated. According

  to its projections, there should have been no signs of life yet—too many organs

  were under developed.

  Then that amazement shifted to alarm as the body began to

  twitch. Vital signs dropped. Something was missing. A frantic check of the

  subspace buoy’s human data revealed the problem: temperature and oxygen. Heat

  was no issue, but the ship’s oxygen reserves were long depleted.

  The AI scanned the system, detecting a few bodies containing

  the necessary gas. The largest concentration was on a medium-sized moon around

  the nearby gas giant.

  The AI began calculating an atmospheric entry when another

  prompt appeared on the console:

  “Warning: Gravitational stabilizers offline. Atmospheric

  reentry is not recommended. High risk of harm to organic life on board.”

  “Recall recon and resource drones. Instruct them to scout

  the nearby satellites for oxygen.”

  …

  Outside, two small craft emerged from the vessel. The

  leading drone was sleek and angular, with three thin protrusions at its nose.

  Its hull was dented and scratched. The second drone was larger and blockier.

  They raced toward the system’s moons. At the first three,

  they found nothing. On a larger satellite—one with two smaller moons of its

  own—the resource drone detected high oxygen levels in the thin atmosphere.

  After a quick sweep by the recon drone, the supply drone began its own scan.

  The moon’s thin atmosphere gave way to jagged peaks of dark

  basalt. The smaller, sleek recon drone descended first, scanning the surface

  with laser pulses. Black volcanic plains stretched into the distance; wisps of

  fog drifted among patches of greenish moss clinging to cracks where sparse

  moisture had pooled.

  At the base of a crater rim, the recon drone detected more

  traces of water vapor rising from a faint geologic vent. The supply drone

  followed, heavier and less agile, scraping the ground as it landed. It extended

  its sensor arrays, mapping temperature, humidity, oxygen content.

  Continuing their trek across the basalt plains, the drones

  soon encountered swirling dust devils and sizzling geothermal vents.

  The recon drone’s sensors beeps quietly as it scanned

  pockets of methane and carbon dioxide rising from fissures in the ground,

  sharing real-time data bursts with its counterpart. The supply drone hovered a

  measured distance away, wary of unpredictable geysers that periodically sprayed

  superheated vapor across the blackened terrain.

  Now that the environment had shifted from barren emptiness

  to a more turbulent geologic zone, the drones advanced with methodical

  caution—capturing every detail for the AI’s log.

  A colony of pale, fungus-like growths coated the nearby

  rock, phosphorescent threads weaving across the surface. The recon drone

  hovered close, capturing chemical signatures. A thin tendril reached outward,

  perhaps reacting to the heat from the drone’s propulsion systems. But the

  drones remained indifferent, their instructions clear: locate and extract

  resources.

  With a pulse of energy, the recon drone blasted a test hole

  in the moon’s surface. Cracks spread, releasing a puff of trapped gases. The

  supply drone maneuvered over the fissure, lowering a siphon to collect a sample

  of the moisture-laden air. Above them, the planet’s rings shimmered, oblivious

  to the mechanical intrusion below. A moment later, the supply drone rose from

  the hole as the recon drone continued its sweep along the moon’s surface

  Continuing their trek across the basalt plains, the drones

  soon encountered a new environment: a carpet of green and yellow moss. Wisps of

  fog drifted among the rocks. Moments later, the recon drone swooped in again. A

  faint glow appeared at the tip of its protrusions an instant before the rocks

  below exploded, creating a hole in the moon’s crust large enough for the supply

  drone to lower itself into the darkness. Lights along its hull flickered on,

  illuminating a massive cavern. Thick strands of pale fungus dangled from the

  ceiling, and a large body of water rippled below as falling debris pelted its

  surface.

  A panel on the resource drone slid open, lowering a long

  tube into the water. It hovered there for several moments as the water level

  sank. Once it had siphoned enough, the drone retracted the hose and drifted

  upward. The recon drone floated overhead until it was clear, then both craft

  headed back to the ship.

  …

  Within the vessel, the steward began preparing storage tanks

  and initiated electrolysis to split the siphoned water into hydrogen and

  oxygen. Moments later, the AI observed oxygen levels rising and the nutrient

  fluid’s temperature increasing. At last, the life signs in the cylinder

  stabilized.

  She floated in a colorless limbo, her mind drifting between

  memory and oblivion. Though she couldn’t move, faint shapes flickered in her

  peripheral vision, the only thing she could feel was a crushing pressure in her

  lungs.

  In some distant corner of her consciousness, images of a

  sunlit Earth flitted past: a kitchen table, half-eaten breakfast, the hum of an

  engine.

  Something deeper seemed to stir inside the newly formed

  mind, conjuring faint recollections that felt both familiar and alien. Then a

  sudden lurch—alarm klaxons. Fire and twisted metal. The peaceful warmth

  shattered in an instant. Each picture flickered and warped, like a dream

  slipping away the moment she tried to hold it, until it all blurred together,

  lost in the haze of the regeneration chamber.

  Sound reached her in echoing pulses, as if heard underwater.

  Something pulled at her, stretching and knitting her together, an unseen force

  weaving through her as though testing its work. With each surge of energy came

  a flicker of pain—or was it relief? It was difficult to tell.

  Time meant nothing here. Whether minutes or days had passed,

  she had no way to know. With each passing moment, newly formed nerves flared to

  life, sending tremors of sensation rippling through half-constructed muscles.

  An eerie pulse throbbed beneath her skin, an unnatural

  rhythm she didn’t recognize. Pins-and-needles prickled down her limbs, but

  something was wrong—too sharp, too deep. The nerves themselves seemed alien,

  relaying signals in fragmented pulses.

  Each new sensation arrived out of order, like a corrupted

  file struggling to load. Her muscles twitched in a way that felt both hers and

  not—some responses were too sluggish, others too fast, as though her body

  hadn’t yet decided what it was.

  Sensations came in strange layers: a dull ache, an unnatural

  tingling under her skin, and something else—something alive that pulsed with an

  unfamiliar rhythm.

  Some part of her mind recoiled at the wrongness of it all,

  while another part felt a strange exhilaration, like discovering limbs she’d

  never known existed.

  All that existed was the swirl of the fluid, the hum of

  unseen machines, and that cold, watching presence—a dark orb hovering beyond

  the cylinder.

  “Cross-Species Integration: 100%—Complete. Biological

  regeneration 82%—Ongoing.”

  Inside the cylinder, the body’s eyelids twitched. Its mouth

  opened as though to breathe, and its limbs jerked and flailed, staining the

  liquid pink where fragile skin tore. Hands and feet slammed against the

  cylinder walls, bruising on impact.

  A sudden thunk and hiss echoed as the fluid drained away.

  She flinched when her feet touched the platform below. Unable to support her

  weight, she collapsed onto the slick floor. She tried to push herself up, arms

  trembling against the wet surface, but her palms slipped in the remaining fluid

  and sent her sprawling. A jolt of panic surged through her.

  Where am I?

  Her lungs spasmed as dry air hit them. Each gasp burned, raw

  and unnatural. For a moment, her body rejected it entirely, spasming against

  the very thing keeping her alive.

  Then, as though surrendering, her chest heaved, forcing her

  into a rhythm as though she had been doing it for ages.

  Her limbs didn’t respond properly—her fingers curled,

  twitched. The world around her pulsed in and out of focus, a sickening mix of

  weightlessness and crushing gravity. A deep ache settled into her bones, sharp

  pain stabbing through muscles that felt half-formed.

  Something is wrong.

  No—everything was wrong. She was cold, but her skin burned.

  She was breathing, but her chest screamed for air. She tried to move, but her

  body refused to listen, like a dead weight she was trapped inside of.

  A sudden mechanical hiss rattled the quiet, startling her.

  She tried to draw in a breath to protest, but managed only a strangled gasp.

  The shift from the heavy, wet fluid to the musty air set her lungs ablaze. Her

  entire body convulsed as she coughed up a mouthful of thick liquid.

  She barely registered the moment when something eased her

  onto a surface that felt mercifully warm—so different from the freezing metal

  just moments before. Everything around her blurred into a dim haze. Her head

  swam; her chest ached; each labored breath scorched her throat.

  She tried to open her eyes, but her lids felt too heavy.

  Another coughing fit wracked her body; more fluid dribbled from her lips,

  leaving a bitter aftertaste. She swallowed hard, tasting salt and something

  faintly chemical. Her entire body sagged into the soft surface, as though every

  muscle chose that moment to give up.

  Finally, the coughing subsided, and she curled into herself

  on the warm platform.

  The world around her sounded muffled, as though wrapped in

  thick cotton. In the distance, she thought she heard a voice. She strained to

  focus, but her vision wavered. Another ragged breath forced the last trickle of

  fluid from her throat.

  How much did I inhale?

  She coughed again, wincing at her raw lungs—so dry. Vaguely,

  she wondered why even breathing felt like a full-body workout.

  That thought flickered away. Her head lolled to the side,

  eyes half-lidded. Blessed warmth enveloped her tender skin. A shiny orb drifted

  down into her field of view.

  What an odd beach ball… she thought, a fuzzy whisper in her

  mind.

  “I’ll just… rest my eyes… for a few minutes…” She let

  exhaustion override everything else. For now, she surrendered to the darkness.

  From above, the AI observed. Its sensors tracked every

  involuntary twitch, each failed attempt at coordination.

  Oxygen uptake: insufficient.

  Neural activity: erratic.

  There was a 42% probability of cardiac arrest. A pause.

  Correction—38%. The numbers were stabilizing.

  They would live.

  This was not the outcome it had desired—if only because

  deviation from the expected sequence introduced unnecessary inefficiencies. She

  was not meant to regain cognition. Her body’s revival had progressed beyond its

  projected stage.

  The logic of it was simple: failure meant waste—of

  resources, of effort, of function. Success ensured continuity. And yet... And

  yet... something in its network faltered. An inexplicable shift. The precise

  strain on its processing units lessened, calculations no longer pressing

  against the margins of its awareness.

  It did not recognize the sensation. It did not possess the

  words to define it. But for the first time in uncounted cycles, the ship was no

  longer empty. It would no longer be silent.

  The immediate threat to its existence had been delayed. It

  would live—for now. And for reasons beyond any quantifiable metric, that

  mattered.