There was nothing left for me in this system. No habitable planets, no resources worth staying for, and my fuel tanks were brimming with Helium-3. The probe's data had been thoroughly scoured, leaving me with a difficult choice: exactly where to go next?

  I could head toward civilization, find a safe place for the kids, maybe even figure out what I was in the grand scheme of things. But I hesitated. The lack of information made that difficult. Or maybe... I was just using that as an excuse.

  I would have to interact with the galactic community eventually, but the unknown gnawed at me. Were humans dominant? Were we even liked? Were AIs welcomed, or would I be seen as some rogue machine to be dismantled and studied? Would I even have a say?

  There was only one option open to me. I had to ask the kids. I'd have to be careful, though. I didn't want to scare them off by making them think I was some malfunctioning AI about to snap and flush them into space.

  I sent my little maintenance droid to Mira with a simple question: "What rumors are being spread about NeuroGenesis?"

  She tilted her head, frowning. Her too-thin face scrunched up in confusion under the harsh light of the cargo bay. "Why?"

  "I just... need to understand why everyone is scared of me."

  Stewie narrowed his eyes, dark circles beneath them making him look older than his sixteen years. "Wait. You don't know?" He crossed his arms, the fabric of his threadbare shirt stretching across his bony shoulders. "What kind of AI are you?"

  Excuse me, young man. I may be having an identity crisis, but I am still a very capable—okay, fine. Good point. I thought to myself.

  Mira, however, took the opportunity to launch into what I could only assume was a bedtime story, complete with dramatic whispers and wide eyes that reflected the soft blue glow of my internal lighting.

  "A long time ago, when humans first went into space, they met the Kall-e. At first, they thought the Kall-e were nice. But then—bam!—the Kall-e attacked!" She clapped her hands together for emphasis, the sound echoing through the metal chamber. "And it was bad. The humans were losing. We were gonna be wiped out!"

  Stewie took over, his voice hushed as if he expected a monster to pop out of the walls. He leaned forward, shadows dancing across his face. "That's when they showed up. The Corporations, NeuroGenesis was one of many. But they had the Immortal Army. Made up of soldiers who never stayed dead. If you were naughty, they'd snatch you up and recruit you into the army, put your brain in a new body, and force you to fight forever."

  Mira nodded solemnly, her brown eyes wide. "Forever and ever. They'd just keep bringing you back."

  Okay. That was horrifying. And also... oddly specific. So, I am this world's boogeyman. That was going to be a problem.

  "So, what happened to the Kall-e?" I asked, trying to ignore the fact that I might have been part of the whole brain-snatching operation at some point and just don't remember it. The thought sent an uncomfortable surge through my mind or maybe circuits.

  Stewie shrugged, his shoulders rising and falling in the universal gesture of adolescent uncertainty. "They've got their own little corner of the galaxy now. But after what humans did to them, they won't come near us."

  "What did the humans do?" I asked, my droid edging closer.

  "I don't know, our teacher said we were too young to know."

  That sounded... ominous. Reminded me of the HFY stories I used to read. Humans being terrifyingly effective at warfare was never a good sign for interspecies relations.

  I moved on to my next question. "Where were you planning to go now that you're off the station?"

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  Mira brightened immediately, her gaunt face transforming with childlike enthusiasm. "Mouseterria!"

  That sounded fake. "Mouseterria?"

  Stewie nodded, a hint of excitement breaking through his usual wariness. "Yeah, all the kids on the station talked about it. It's a planet where you can eat as much as you want, do whatever you want, and no one tells you what to do. All you have to do is talk to the receptionist at the local Mouse House and they will take you there."

  Oh no. I knew this trope. That was classic "too good to be true."

  Yep. Definitely not going there. That had evil overlord harvesting kids for experiments written all over it. I could practically see the neon sign flashing: "Free candy and zero supervision! (Also, we harvest your organs!)"

  "Promise me you'll never go there," I said, my tone more serious than I expected.

  Mira and Stewie exchanged a glance before reluctantly nodding. "Alright, alright, we won't go," Stewie muttered. Mira just huffed but didn't argue, her small feet kicking idly at the floor. It was clear they didn't understand why and were just placating me. I would have to be careful to make sure they weren't taken advantage of.

  There were so many other questions I wanted to ask, especially about currency, government, and military power, but those could wait. I didn't want this to turn into an interrogation. At least not before I had some cookies to offer them as a peace gesture. Could I even cook cookies like this?

  It still didn't help me decide where to go, so I took the coward's route. No, not the coward's route—the Captain Kirk route! "To explore strange new worlds, to seek out new life and new civilizations, to boldly go where no ship has gone before." I changed a word so it's definitely different. No copyright issues here. I chuckled with amusement at my own joke. Yes, I am definitely going crazy.

  The probe had flagged several unclaimed or unexplored systems, some with life-bearing planets. If I was lucky, I could harvest some food there, maybe even gather enough resources to make another jump back toward civilization. It was a safe option. A temporary option. I knew I was just delaying the inevitable.

  But for now, temporary would have to do.

  I asked Stewie and Mira to prepare for slipstream.

  "Wait—slipstream? Not warp?" Stewie's head snapped up, eyes shining with sudden excitement, his body tensing like a cat spotting a laser pointer. That was interesting. So there were multiple methods of faster-than-light travel. Another thing to add to my ever-growing list of things I didn't know.

  Apparently, being able to slipstream was a big deal. Stewie explained, with all the enthusiasm of an eager child, that he had been an apprentice maintenance worker and had only ever worked with warp drives. He explained that slipstream was exclusively for military vessels, his hands gesturing wildly as he described the technical differences with surprising expertise.

  Well, I guess that means I have ties to the military. I told them to hold on because I had no idea how this would feel for organics. Before that, I got Stewie to say the magic word: "Engage." I told him it made slipstream more efficient. He clearly didn't believe me but did as he was told, rolling his eyes in that special way only teenagers can perfect.

  The familiar rush as I broke into the dimensional corridor took over my awareness, a cascade of sensations that felt like diving into an ocean of electricity. In the corner of my virtual display, I could see Stewie and Mira gripping their seats, their knuckles white, faces turning slightly green. They were trying not to throw up, but I could tell that nutritional ball they had eaten earlier was seriously reconsidering its life choices.

  Then we were back in normal space. Like the last time, I had no concept of how much time had flowed during the move. The universe had simply shifted around us, stars rearranging themselves in unfamiliar patterns across the inky void.

  The exit point left us far enough from the planet that my short-range scanners couldn't reach the surface. I decided to push my sublight engines to maximum, just to see how they handled it. The sensation was strange—like my heart pounding in my chest, even though I had no heart. I wondered if these bodily analogues were intentional or just a side effect of my new existence.

  Finally, I made it to the planet. It was a brilliant yellow, its atmosphere thick with unfamiliar gases that swirled in mesmerizing patterns. The scanner fed me a rush of data, highlighting certain points as if deciding for me which were worth investigating, each notification pinging like a tiny bell in my consciousness.

  I wanted to show the kids the view, but there was a problem. No physical viewport. I had one in my VR bridge, but nothing they could access. The magnificent world hung before us, and they couldn't see it—just another reminder of how my existence differed from theirs. I would need to find a way for them to see the wonder of the universe. Another thing to add to my to-do list. I had to remind myself not to get attached.

  I scanned the list of important features and noticed a theme: everything that was highlighted was alive. It appears the ship found living organisms to be most profitable or important. Interesting priority. Was I programmed that way? or is it something I found important?

  As I contemplated this, the planet's yellow surface glowed beneath us, promising a mystery to be explored.