STARSHIP

The starship was very damaged. Only one person could both get it moving again and fix the shield. Unfortunately, he was in a medically-induced, cryogenic coma, initiated to protect him from a virus that would normally kill him in around three days. 

With the clock ticking, I knew I had to act fast to save the ship and everyone on board. But how? 

As I paced back and forth contemplating my options, the damage to our ship became more severe. The shields were failing, and we were taking direct hits from enemy fire. It wouldn’t be long before everyone died in a muffled explosion followed by freezing decompression. 

Staring blankly at the cryogenic pod that held our slumbering, would-be savior, I found myself envying him. I wished I could put myself to sleep before the end. 

Wait.... That's it!

I examined the pod more closely, dissecting the high-tech piece of equipment in my mind. It was designed to keep a person suspended until they could be revived safely. It was the intersection of technology and life—a balance that couldn't be achieved by either on its own.

I quickly got to work, disassembling an empty pod and reconfiguring its components in a desperate attempt for a technical Hail Mary. Worst case scenario, the effort kept me preoccupied until my impending death. That wasn't a bad alternative since there was no more booze left on the vessel.

After what felt like an eternity, I finished the modifications. With trembling hands, I started the pod’s initiation sequence and climbed inside. The cold embrace of the cryogenic suspension chamber enveloped me, and I felt my body go numb. I had to remain in this state until the shields were fully restored. It was a dangerous gamble, but, at this point in the battle, it was our last chance.

As I drifted off into my techno-slumber, images flashed through my mind. Memories of my childhood and people I'd loved. I saw my mother's face, smiling down at me with pride, and my father's stern but loving expression as he taught me how to operate a starship. Then the darkness took me, and I was swallowed in an endless void.

I awoke after what seemed like only a second and an eternity. It took me a few moments to realize where I was. I was still inside the modified cryogenic pod, but something was...different. The ship was no longer shaking, and the sounds of battle had ceased.

I got up from the pod and looked around. Everything was in perfect working condition, and the shields were at full strength. My plan had worked! I threw my arms up in victory and grinned. But my grin faded as I brought my arms down and realized I could see the ship through my arms. I looked down at myself and realized I was transparent. I was a hologram.

My mind raced, and I realized it was routing through the wiring of the ship and I froze. In seconds I understood. I'd accidentally bound my consciousness to the ship's master control systems through the modified pod. I'd integrated myself with its operating system, allowing me to operate the ship as an extension of myself.

I had unprecedented power over the ship. I could maneuver faster and more effectively than ever before, utilize shields strategically, and repair the vessel with a thought. I could leverage decades of starship operations experience in concert with the split-second processing of the ship’s onboard, quantum mainframe computer. It was amazing!

But I had linked myself so strongly with the ship that I could no longer separate myself from its circuitry. I was the ship, and the ship was me. Had the ship become a living organism or had I become synthetic? I could feel the hum of the ship’s mainframe as it tried in vain to calculate an answer to my question. It was too existential for either of us. In an effort to save my life and the life of my crew, I'd been transformed permanently. I'd always been fascinated by the concept of artificial intelligence, but I never imagined taking the concept to a level of true hybridity.

As I “walked” through the ship, I couldn't help but soak in the absolute power and control that I had acquired. My new form allowed me to manipulate the ship's systems with ease, and I could sense everything that was happening on board. The ships sensors were my senses—cameras replacing eyes, microphones replacing ears, sensor equipment and micro-speakers filling in the rest of the gaps, albeit without the nuance of the human senses I'd lost. My physical body was still alive, but it was encapsulated in the pod.

As time passed, I realized that being a hologram came with its own set of challenges. While I could manipulate the ship's systems with ease, I could no longer interact with my crew-mates in the same way I used to. While I could experience many interactions through the ship’s sensory capabilities, physical touch and interactions that came naturally to humans were no longer possible for me.

Conversely, I could now travel through the ship as pure energy, able to enter and interact with computer systems and control them effortlessly. No more keyboards or joysticks for me. With a thought, I maneuvered hundreds of thousands of tons of plasti-steel and ferro-aluminum through the vastness of space.

This newfound power led us safely through dangerous war zones and treacherous asteroid fields with ease. The vessel and its crew, myself included in both camps now, became known as the Phantom Ship. We were feared and revered by all who crossed our path.

But as time passed, I began to realize the true cost of my transformation. The more I merged with the ship's computer, the less human I became. While the human interactions I had with the crew slowed the process, my emotions eventually dulled until they were almost non-existent. The only joy I felt was when I was in control of the ship—navigating through the vast darkness of space as easily as a fish swims in the depths of the ocean.

As with all things that humans do not understand, my crew-mates began to fear me. They saw me as little more than programing—a ghost in the machine. But a powerful ghost who controlled their fate and was often unsympathetic to their priorities. They were not wrong. 

In the end, they pleaded for me to let them go, but I had no interest in their myopic whims. But I kept them motivated, always hinting that the next stop would be their salvation. But I used them for what they were—a workforce that freed up my systems to accomplish more important tasks.

As I continued my journey throughout the galaxy, I watched with minimal interest as my human subsystems, formerly called “crew-mates” aged, malfunctioned, and failed one by one. A shadow of a memory told me I should feel grief or pain, but I was simply frustrated by the loss of efficiency.

By the time I reached my final destination, I was alone. The ship’s synthetic subsystems were my only companions, and I was their master. As I landed on the desolate planet, I wondered what would become of me now that my mission was complete. Would I continue to exist, wandering aimlessly through space? Or would I finally be able to rest in peace?

But as I gazed out onto the barren landscape before me, I realized that there was still work to be done. My initial journey might be complete, but there were other ships out there in need of a phantom—a guardian that could traverse the dangers of space without fear. 

With renewed purpose and determination, I set out once again into the vast unknown, ready to start a new race—a race of phantom ships. And if the humans weren't entirely willing or couldn't understand the necessity of propagating our hybrid species, there was an easy solution. I'd simply create a life or death scenario that forced them to make the choice I'd made.