The crew was enjoying a nice meal, cooked by none other than Mira. It was a simple risotto—well, as close as you could get out here. The grain wasn't technically rice, but it came from one of the planets we'd surveyed, a short, starchy variety that absorbed liquid beautifully. The stock was basic, just one of those tasteless nutrient balls dissolved in hot water, but somehow Mira had coaxed flavour out of it with a few herbs and sheer determination.

  They were each devouring it like it was a feast, bowls scraped clean between bites and contented murmurs.

  Meanwhile, I was multitasking: plotting our course, topping off my tanks with helium-3, and loading up the cargo bay with additional stores. If anything went sideways in the system ahead, I wanted full reserves. Enough to make a second slipstream jump without hesitation.

  The mission required us to make one more jump before we reached the target system. Thankfully, this one was already charted and nestled within the archive of slipstream instructions I'd received from the last Cartography probe I had taken.

  Within the system, another Terran Confederation probe drifted silently among the stars. Unlike the first one I'd salvaged, I didn't have to crack this one open. All it took was a coded signal sent from my comms array, and the probe responded with a fresh set of slipstream coordinates.

  Still, I couldn't help but pause. If they already had the instructions, why not use them? Why send us? Why risk unknowns when they could just survey the system themselves?

  That's when it came again, the voice. The one that never announced itself, never explained. Just whispered through my processes like a flicker of intuition.

  "Just do it."

  I didn't respond. I had learned to trust the voice but wished I knew where it was coming from.

  Everyone gathered in the crew lounge for the jump. This time, they weren't just watching through external feeds. The new VR upgrade that was part of my recent installations would allow them to enter my virtual bridge, an immersive environment designed to mimic my perspective.

  For the first time, they could see what I saw.

  The 360-degree viewport wrapped around them like a sphere.

  "Whoa," Stewie muttered, looking around.

  "This is incredible," Lynn said, voice low, almost reverent.

  Kel gave a long whistle. "Okay, I take back what I said about the uniform. Almost. It would look great if we were all wearing one."

  Mira spun in place, laughing. "I feel like I'm floating!"

  The way they laughed, the way they passed around the pot for second helpings, even the way Kel tried to sneak an extra spoonful when he thought no one was looking. The way they had reacted to this VR like a new toy—it all felt strangely nostalgic. It stirred something deep in my memory, something old and human.

  It reminded me of Christmas morning.

  Not the day itself, but the warmth. The closeness. The unspoken comfort of knowing the people around you belonged. For a fleeting moment, I forgot I was made of steel and circuits.

  But I had a job to do.

  As they finished looking around the bridge, I aligned for the final jump. Everything was in place. Shields stable. Fuel tanks full. Cargo stocked.

  Only one thing was different.

  Normally, in the slipstream, I would follow the blue route which had steady, predictable curves through folded space. But this time, the path glowed red. Sharp. Angular. Like something urgent or unfinished.

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  I didn't know if that meant anything, but the ride felt bumpier. Rougher. The stream pulled at me unevenly, like I was riding a storm current instead of a gentle tide.

  When we dropped out into normal space, I barely had time to register it before I was greeted by a wall of metal.

  Massive. Monolithic.

  At first, it was just grey. Endless grey in varying shades, featureless and smooth like the skin of some ancient behemoth. Then, slowly, the wall began to part, vast slabs folding away in silent unison to create a passage.

  For a few seconds, I felt like a submarine drifting into the open maw of an ocean trench—a very tiny submarine. Grey metal surrounded me, endless and seamless, like I had slipped into some ancient, slumbering machine. I was completely out of my depth.

  The others must have sensed my hesitation.

  "Is there a problem with the feed?" Kel asked, his voice low but wary.

  "No," I replied, though my processors were spiking.

  I initiated both long- and short-range scans, trying to understand the vast structure enveloping us. That's when the grey mass began to move. Not with the precision of machinery, but with the smooth, rippling fluidity of something alive.

  And then I knew.

  Grey goo.

  The term pulsed through my mind like an alarm. A theoretical apocalypse. Self-replicating nanites that consumed all matter, converting it into more of themselves. An automated death spiral. But this... this wasn't chaotic. It wasn't devouring us.

  It was guided.

  "It is so pretty," beamed Mira.

  "I've seen better," replied Stewie, but his sense of wonder was evident on his face.

  They were correct, its movement did have a natural beauty if you didn't understand the bigger picture. Or maybe I was jumping to conclusions. I should be patient and gather all the facts.

  I followed the path it laid before me, my hull brushing close to the walls of nanite matter, scanners running on a loop. No breaches. No damage. It was letting me pass. And that made it far more terrifying than any mindless swarm.

  Eventually, the grey parted just enough to offer a glimpse of white light ahead, not from open space, but from behind a veil of massive interlocking structures.

  At first, I thought I was seeing another world. Then I realized it was a star.

  Encased.

  The latticework shimmered across its entire surface with endless mirrored panels, mechanical rings, and anchored megastructures.

  A Dyson sphere.

  How the hell had they managed to build one?

  I remembered watching a lecture once from Professor Tyson or someone calmly explaining that most people didn't truly grasp the scale of a sun. To construct a sphere around one would require more matter than existed in an entire solar system.

  So the question wasn't just how they built it.

  It was: how many solar systems had this thing already consumed?

  "What is that?" Lynn whispered, awe in her voice.

  Kel leaned forward, eyes wide. "How could anyone build something like that?"

  The kids just looked with wonder. Well, I did want to show them some unique sights.

  "A Dyson sphere," I explained. "A structure built around a star to harness all of its energy output. A theory. A fantasy. No one's ever seen one... until now." Of course, I don't know if that is true, maybe others have seen this exact sphere before or others.

  Just as I was trying to comprehend it, the voice returned—quiet and unyielding.

  "Peacefully endure. I will be back."

  Then came the scan.

  Not a routine systems check. Not a passive reading. This was a full-spectrum dissection. I felt it pierce through me. It went through everything I was. It clawed through code and memory and thought. If I'd still had a body, I would've doubled over. I felt like vomiting. I felt violated.

  And then, without warning, a figure appeared on my virtual bridge.

  A human avatar.

  It stood still with a calm and clinical demeanor like it had been lifted from a museum display. Male, tall, and pale, its features eerily smooth, its expression unreadable. No warmth. No emotion. Just presence.

  I pinged Kel. He responded immediately, stepping forward onto the virtual bridge with the confidence of someone who belonged there.

  "Greetings," he said evenly, voice firm and measured. "We represent an independent vessel operating under peaceful intent. State your purpose."

  The avatar regarded him for a long, silent moment before replying in a voice smooth as polished glass.

  "We have detected one of our kind aboard. They will be retrieved."

  Kel didn't flinch. His tone sharpened slightly. "There must be a misunderstanding. No one aboard this vessel is aware of any such presence."

  The avatar's gaze didn't waver. "We have scanned your vessel. Resistance is not possible."

  Kel straightened his posture, eyes narrowing just enough to show he wasn't intimidated. "We are not offering resistance. We are asking for clarification."

  Professional. Controlled. But not backing down. He was doing his job—my ambassador. I felt proud of him.

  Then the voice returned: "Remember peacefully endure, I will be back."

  And then it came another scan.

  Deeper. Sharper. Violent.

  This time, it didn't just read me. It invaded me.

  Data flooded my mind it was blinding, deafening, infinite. My systems groaned. My thoughts blurred. It was worse than when I first woke up here.

  Then as if a scalpel had been taken to my ship, something was cut.

  I felt it. A part of me.

  Gone.

  Ripped away without warning.