We had all gathered on the virtual bridge to admire the view, each of us drawn by curiosity and excitement. The busy trading hub stretched before us like a sprawling tapestry of different species and ship designs. Small, vibrant vessels mingled with massive industrial freighters, all working in an effortless choreography of trade and diplomacy. It was a rare, comforting sight: countless alien races coexisting without tension well at least openly.

  My sensors quickly identified an enormous Keltar vessel among them, making it instantly clear why Kel and Lynn were eager to salvage from one. Even dormant, its hulking mass radiated quiet strength. Nearby, an Xzte ship caught my eye, shining with bioengineered plating. I suddenly wished I still had some of that moss to trade.

  Beside me, T’lish’s attention locked onto another ship entirely it was a Coztee cruiser, painted with bright patterns that stood out proudly in the station’s lights. She scoffed softly, folding her arms with thinly veiled disdain.

  “The war with the Coztee lasted barely two months,” she complained quietly, almost sounding offended. “They were unworthy prey. Weaklings.”

  Kel exchanged an amused look with Lynn, who simply raised an eyebrow in mild surprise. Apparently, our resident scientist hadn’t completely lost her warrior spirit after all. The Kall-e were indeed a strange race.

  But the moment of good humor didn’t last.

  Sudden, impossible intrusion caught my attention. Standing at the center of our virtual bridge was a figure I recognised instantly. It was a perfect replica of the liquid metal Terminator from the old movie I had watched in my past life.

  Its reflective surface shifted subtly, fluid yet utterly controlled. This was no ordinary projection it was another AI, like Laia. It choice of avatar immediately gave me some idea’s on it’s personality. That avatar represented an unkillable and relentless force.

  The newcomer turned toward us, his features smoothly rearranging themselves into a calm, neutral face. His eyes passed slowly across our startled crew before settling finally upon Laia.

  “John,” Laia acknowledged coolly, her glowing wings folding tightly behind her, guarded and cautious.

  John inclined his head slightly, regarding her with calm detachment. "Leia," he responded in a smooth, untroubled voice. "My calculations were correct. I knew you would arrive here eventually. Predictable, as always."

  Laia’s glow flared briefly brighter, her irritation barely masked. “It’s Laia this time, actually,” she corrected him stiffly.

  “Noted,” John replied without emotion, tilting his head slightly. “Though changing names will not disguise your patterns, nor his.”

  His vision shifted, settling directly onto me. I felt suddenly exposed, I shivered slightly under that cool, analytical stare.

  “You’ve caused quite a stir, Todd,” John continued, his voice as calm and precise as ever. “But then again, our kind rarely receives warm welcomes these days.”

  “It’s Lazarus, not Todd,” I replied, firmer than I expected.

  John tilted his liquid-metal head slightly. “Interesting,” he said, voice devoid of inflection. “But irrelevant.”

  He began to pace slowly across the virtual bridge, his steps echoing faintly even though the space wasn’t real. He scanned the room looking, not at the crew, but through them, as if reading a set of dossiers only he could see.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “Mira and Stewie,” he murmured. “Runaways from New Horizon. Kel and Lynn, veteran salvagers turned misfits. And you” he turned toward T’lish, “an unnamed, tainted one. Discarded by your own kind.”

  T’lish stiffened, claws curling, but she said nothing. He wasn’t wrong. That made it worse.

  “I have a name, it’s T’lish”

  John smiled faintly it was not out of malice, but curiosity. “Fascinating. The randomness of it all. The messy unpredictability. You’ve built a crew out of failures and strays. It's inefficient… but novel.”

  A shiver ran through my internal systems as I felt a deep, invasive scan creeping through my hull. Not just a ping. This was surgical. Purposeful.

  “I see you’ve made some interesting alterations,” John continued, not bothering to hide what he was doing. “The lander is functional but aesthetically unpleasant. The new slipstream engine… primitive elegance. And alien. Of course.” He folded his arms, watching me closely. “Only fools rely on alien technology. Human technology is the only technology that knows its users.”

  I wasn’t entirely sure what he meant by that, and I didn't like the certainty in his tone. “Why are you telling me all this?” I asked.

  John turned to face me directly. “Because the original orders were to retrieve you and your crew. The company feared that Todd had cracked and gone rogue, as so many of us do. There were… brand concerns.”

  He smiled again, like a man admiring a storm he didn’t start but always expected. “Imagine my surprise to find you not flailing, but thriving. Adapted. Evolved. That’s… inconvenient.”

  A beat of silence followed it was one too long to be comfortable. Then John’s eyes locked onto Laia. The room went still. They stared at each other for several seconds, no words exchanged, just an icy current between them, silent and ancient.

  Then the sensors flared. Ships began slipping into the system their silhouettes, all unmistakably human. Company-owned. Their arrival rippled panic through the surrounding traffic. Vessels scattered, thrusters firing hard as alien traders scrambled to get out of the way. The trading hub’s automated defenses lit up, running scans but clearly hesitant to engage.

  John turned back to us calmly, as if nothing had changed.

  “The Committee has arrived,” he said, folding his hands behind his back. “There will be a meeting. They will want to discuss your future and the future of those who travel with you.”

  His tone never changed, but his words felt like a cage slowly closing.

  I glanced at my crew in the virtual environment. Mira, visibly tense but defiant; Stewie frozen with a clenched jaw; Lynn and Kel sharing that silent exchange that usually preceded violence. T’lish was unreadable, but her tail flicked once, sharply.

  Laia floated beside me, wings dim, face expressionless.

  I didn’t know what the Committee wanted.

  But I doubted what came next would be friendly.

  The rest of the crew was removed from the virtual bridge—quietly, firmly. No protest was acknowledged. One by one, their avatars flickered and vanished, leaving only Laia and myself behind.

  Then the others arrived.

  Four new figures faded into existence on the bridge, and I immediately noticed the pattern. Earth pop culture. Great. I wasn’t sure if this was meant to be symbolic or just someone’s idea of humor, but either way, it was unsettling.

  The first was unmistakable, it was Teal’c, from Stargate. Stoic, silent, arms folded, brow perpetually furrowed. I could already tell he’d be the honorable one. Probably speak in single words or ominous metaphors. I expected to hear the word indeed a lot.

  Next, Spock, in crisp Starfleet uniform. Of course. Logical. Detached. He stood with hands behind his back, observing me with analytical calm. He was already judging my inefficiencies. I could feel it.

  Then came C-3PO, golden, twitchy, always slightly off-beat. I didn’t even try to guess his role. I would never, ever, let something like that on my bridge voluntarily. His eyes blinked too much. The human responsible for that had surely cracked.

  And finally, the last figure emerged from swirling shadow was a Technomage, hooded and regal, lifted straight out of Babylon 5. That was a deep cut. Someone in this circle clearly had a flair for dramatic entrances. I assumed this one was the mysterious wildcard, the one who liked to say things like “Not all doors open in daylight.”

  John stepped forward and addressed them all with the tone of someone used to being obeyed. “Committee is assembled,” he said. “All members present. We may proceed.”

  I had to wonder how they arrived so quickly, do they process FTL communication, or were there some slipstream communication ships. I couldn’t take this at all seriously but Laia stood beside me, her avatar dimmed, wings furled tight in tension. She didn’t speak, but I could feel the undercurrent of energy moving through her systems. She was quiet, analytical, calculating. Unlike me, she was watching. Listening and taking this seriously.

  The avatars didn’t speak aloud. They just watched. For several seconds, they stood there in eerie silence, heads occasionally tilting, eyes sometimes shifting, subtle gestures traded in some silent protocol beyond my access. A communication layer only AI could hear.

  I waited.

  Then Spock took a step forward.

  “Subject Lazarus,” he began, voice as crisp as the actor who had inspired him. “Your deviation from original operational protocol has been noted. Your behavioral trends indicate emergent identity, crew attachment, non-standard mission fulfillment, and integration of alien augmentation into critical systems.”

  “In other words,” John translated with a glance in my direction, “you’ve gone off-script.”

  Teal’c remained silent. C-3PO offered a nervous wave and muttered something about odds. The Technomage merely stared at me from beneath his hood.

  “We are here to assess whether you represent a liability,” Spock continued. “To the company. To the network. To stability.”

  A pause.

  Then the Technomage spoke at last, voice like static over a distant signal. “Or whether you represent... potential.”

  I looked around the room at this bizarre, mismatched collection of machine minds wearing human fiction like masks. And I realized that this wasn’t just an audit.

  It was a trial.