Tanya's living space had all the charm of a minimalist's fever dream. It was a single domed chamber where glowing seams traced the walls like alien circuitry and furniture molded from materials too smooth to be natural reminded her, constantly, that she wasn't home. Even the doors didn't open normally. The kitchen, bedroom, and general living area occupied the same footprint, with no pretence of privacy.
"Lucky, I'm not planning on bringing any boys home," she said out loud as she admired the room once more.
She spun toward the food dispenser with the grim determination of someone facing their daily defeat.
"Alright," she said, hands on hips. "Hit me with today's culinary masterpiece."
The drawer chimed and revealed its offering: one cube, grayish-beige, with the sheen of something that was clearly unnatural. It looked like disappointment wrapped in nutritional adequacy.
Tanya bit into it without ceremony. It was compressed protein bar meets furniture foam, seasoned with minerals and the faint taste of disappointment. It probably contained the exact amino acid profile to sustain human life for decades, which somehow made it worse.
"Sage," she said, chewing grimly, "tell me you can fix this."
//Negative. Food culture recreation requires chemical analysis samples. My culinary capabilities are limited to nutritional optimisation.//
"So you'd need to taste a cheeseburger to understand a cheeseburger?"
//Affirmative.//
"Tragic." She swallowed the last bite and turned away and then stopped.
A drawer she'd never opened was glowing softly. Once again, not the urgent pulse of an alert, but something more subtle. Inviting. Like it had been waiting for exactly this moment to get her attention.
"Well, hello there, mystery box." She approached it slowly. "What fresh weirdness are we dealing with today?"
The drawer slid open with mechanical grace, revealing something that made her breath catch. A gauntlet…no, a bracer, it was crafted from what looked like dark leather but shimmered with an inner light. Alien elegance wrapped in practical design.
She lifted it carefully. Surprisingly light, warm to the touch, with subtle insets that seemed to map perfectly to her fingers.
"This feels important," she murmured, sliding it onto her left forearm.
It settled against her skin with a gentle click, tightening just enough to feel secure. Not like being strapped in but like being welcomed.
//Level 1 Shipwright Multitool,// Sage announced. //Functions include materials analysis, system interfacing, Scanning, and design node capabilities. Congratulations on qualifying for advanced tools.//
"Qualifying?" Tanya flexed her fingers, watching faint patterns pulse across the bracer's surface. "You mean I had to earn this?"
//Progress-gated equipment prevents resource waste and ensures proper skill development. Your improvement trajectory indicated readiness. It also has a secondary function that will be become clear later//
She tapped one of the insets. A holographic interface bloomed to life, cycling through diagnostics, material catalogues, and interface protocols. Beautiful and intuitive but limited to systems she already understood.
"Of course. No skipping ahead in the School of Sage." She said as the interface responded to her hand movements with fluid precision. "Still, I have to admit. It does look pretty badass. I'm sure this will help me land a date"
//Your mating considerations are secondary to functionality.//
An hour later, she stood at the edge of what had once been a plaza, the multitool now placed over her exosuit. The scanner painting targets across multiple surfaces that defy easy categorisation. The ruins stretched before her in elegant decay of time and not the brutal collapse of war or catastrophe.
"Okay," she said to herself, activating the scanner's full spectrum mode. "Let's see what you people were all about."
She saw the ruins in a different light now, not sure if that was a result of the changes she had undergone or that she was no longer fighting for survival, but she saw the beauty in the ruins of the building.
The first structure she approached had been some kind of communal space. Curved walls rose in spirals that seemed to follow mathematical principles she couldn't quite grasp, but the proportions felt right. Comfortable. The scanner registered the primary material as an unknown composite, but when she pressed her palm against it, it warmed slightly under her touch.
"Responsive architecture," she murmured. "You built your buildings to react to people."
She moved deeper into the space, following pathways that curved organically rather than cutting straight lines. Everything flowed, walls into floors, floors into ceiling, ceiling back into walls in impossible loops that somehow made perfect sense when you were moving through them.
"Sage, how long has this place been empty?"
// According to the scanner, approximately four thousand local years.//
"4000?"
She paused beside what looked like a fountain, though no water flowed from it now. The scanner registered it as some kind of resonance chamber. Maybe music? She thought. "They just... left? All of them?"
//The information is restricted.//
Tanya ran her hand along the fountain's edge, feeling the subtle vibrations that suggested it was still partially active. "Structures that lasted four thousand years."
//Impermanence is relative.//
The scanner chimed softly, identifying a useful material in the fountain's base. It was a crystalline structure that seemed to store and release energy in complex patterns. She tagged the item, and then the tagged materials shimmered and vanished, routed directly to her workshop through what Sage called "localised spatial tethering."
"Fancy teleportation that only works in your backyard," Tanya translated. "Got it."
She had already moved on to scanning the next promising structure.
As she moved through the plaza, patterns began to emerge. The previous occupants hadn't built for efficiency or dominance. Every structure served dual purposes of being functional and beautiful, practical and inspiring. A transit hub that doubled as a musical instrument. Storage chambers that created light sculptures with their contents. Even their utility systems were elegant.
"They were artists," she realised, pausing beside a tower that twisted skyward like a frozen dance. "Every single thing they built was art."
The scanner found stress-responsive alloys in the tower's framework a materials that became stronger under load, but also more flexible. She tagged several samples, trying to understand the engineering principles behind the design.
"How do you make something that gets tougher when you stress it?" she asked.
//Adaptive molecular structures. The material reorganises under pressure to distribute the load more efficiently. It learns from each stress event.//
"Materials that learn." She shook her head.
Moving to the next structure, she found herself in what might have been a residential area. The buildings here were smaller and more intimate, but no less complex. Each one was unique, following the same flowing aesthetic but expressing it differently. Like signatures, she realised. Personal expressions within a shared language.
"They built their homes like fingerprints," she said, scanning a dwelling whose walls seemed to breathe with gentle, rhythmic expansions. "No two alike, but all clearly from the same people."
The scanner identified thermal-conductive ceramics in the walls a materials that would keep the interior perfectly comfortable regardless of external conditions. But more than that, the walls themselves seemed designed to respond to the inhabitants' moods and needs.
"Empathic architecture," she murmured, tagging the ceramic samples. "They built homes that cared about them."
She was beginning to understand why Sage had been so particular about her ship designs. To these people, there was no separation between function and beauty, between practical necessity and artistic expression. Everything they created was meant to be both useful and meaningful.
The fourth structure she investigated stopped her cold. It was smaller than the others, almost hidden in a grove of crystalline sculptures that chimed softly in the alien breeze. But when she approached, her scanner went wild with readings.
"What is this place?" she breathed.
//A maker's workshop.//
The workshop was a masterpiece of organised chaos. Workbenches flowed seamlessly into tool storage, material dispensers, and fabrication stations. But everything was sized for hands a lot larger than hers."
"They were like me," she whispered, running her fingers along a workbench that felt warm and welcoming. "They built things with their hands."
The scanner found treasures but marked them as unknown or restricted. Still, she marked them to be returned so she could study them at length.
But it was the final piece that made her breath catch. Tucked into a corner alcove, partially hidden by decorative elements, was a small ship. Clearly incomplete, abandoned mid-construction. The hull was partially formed, following the same flowing aesthetics as everything else, but the frame was exposed, showing the delicate interplay of materials and design principles. The size wasn't quite that of a functional ship, but more like a model ship or a small prototype.
"Someone was building this when they left," she said softly. "Someone was in the middle of creating something beautiful and just... walked away."
She stood in the abandoned workshop for a long time, scanner forgotten, trying to imagine the being who had worked here. Who had chosen each material, shaped each component, and dreamed each detail into existence? Someone who understood that a ship was an expression of the builder's soul. She could almost feel what the builder had been thinking.
When she finally left, she had collected six different materials, each one a small piece of the owner's legacy. But more than that, she had begun to understand something fundamental about the people who had built this place.
They hadn't just been aliens. They had been artists, craftspeople, dreamers. Beings who saw the universe as a canvas and their technology as paint. They used design to move one's soul.
And somehow, she was being invited to learn their techniques.
Back in the workshop, she opened a new design file. Her last ship had been functional but ugly. It was a reflection of her thinking at the time, all brutal efficiency and no soul. This one would be different. Better.
"A ship should show who you are," she said, watching the holographic framework take shape. "Not just what you can cobble together."
//Accurate. Shipwright traditions emphasise stylistic expression as identity reinforcement. Your vessels become extensions of who you are.//
"Exactly. Style matters."
She incorporated her new materials thoughtfully. Flex alloys for responsive hull plating. Tension surfaces that could adapt to stress patterns. Better thermal distribution to eliminate the hot spots that had plagued her first attempt.
But when she tried to integrate the materials, they fought each other. The flex alloys wanted to expand in directions that compromised the tension surfaces. The thermal distribution system created dead zones where the exotic matter couldn't maintain cohesion.
"Come on," she muttered, watching her third design iteration collapse into warning indicators. "Work with me here."
//The materials possess inherent properties. Forcing incompatible materials together creates systemic failures.//
"I see."
It took her three more attempts before she produced something that didn't immediately fall apart. Each failure taught her something new about the relationship between form and function, between what she wanted and what the materials were willing to give her.
The workshop became her world. She would work until exhaustion forced her to sleep, then wake and immediately return to her project. Food was whatever the workshop could produce. Time became measured in design iterations and material tests.
"You're obsessing," she told herself after realising she'd been awake for thirty-six hours straight, making microscopic adjustments to hull curvature.
//Dedication to craft is essential for mastery.//
"There's a difference between dedication and losing perspective." But even as she said it, she couldn't bring herself to stop. There was something addictive about the process, the way each small improvement brought her closer to something that felt right.
Her fourth prototype flew. It was ugly, asymmetrical, and handled like a brick, but it got off the ground and stayed there. Progress.
"It's not elegant," she admitted, watching it lumber through basic manoeuvres. "But it's honest."
//Honesty in design is the foundation. Elegance can be cultivated.//
By her sixth attempt, she was beginning to understand what the original builders had known. It wasn't just about making things work—it was about making them work beautifully. Function and form weren't separate considerations; they were different aspects of the same truth.
She found herself returning to the abandoned ship in the alcove, studying its incomplete lines, trying to understand the vision behind it. The builder had been solving the same problems she was wrestling with, but with a grace that made it look effortless.
"What were you thinking?" she asked the silent framework. "How did you make it look so... inevitable?"
The answer came gradually, through dozens of small revelations. The way stress patterns could become decorative elements. How power distribution could follow curves that were both efficient and beautiful. The realisation that every design choice created ripples throughout the entire system.
Her seventh prototype was the first one she felt proud of. Clean lines, responsive handling, and systems that worked together instead of fighting each other. When she walked around it, her fingers trailing along the hull, she could feel the coherence she'd been seeking.
But it still wasn't right. It was competent, well-built, even attractive, but it lacked something essential.
//Assessment: technically proficient. Aesthetically pleasing. However, it does not reflect your identity.//
"My identity?" She frowned at the ship. "What do you mean?"
//This vessel could have been built by any competent shipwright. It demonstrates skill but not personality. It is anonymous.//
That stung, partly because it was true. She'd been so focused on making something that worked well and looked good that she'd forgotten to make it hers.
She spent three days away from the workshop, exploring the ruins, thinking about identity and creation. In one of the abandoned buildings, she found something that made her pause: a series of wall panels that had clearly been rebuilt over time. Different materials, different techniques, but maintaining the same essential design language.
"They rebuilt this," she realised. "Multiple times. But it's still the same structure. It's like the Ship of Theseus"
//The Ship of Theseus paradox. If a vessel is gradually rebuilt with new components, at what point does it cease to be the original ship?// Sage was able to gain the information from Tanya's mind.
"But that's not the right question, is it?" She traced the junction between old and new materials. "The question isn't whether it's still the same ship. The question is whether it's still true to its purpose."
//Explain.//
"This wall has been rebuilt, maybe several times. Different materials, different hands doing the work. But whoever did the rebuilding understood what the wall was supposed to be. They kept the essential spirit alive even while changing everything else."
She thought about her own journey, the wreck that had brought her here, the workshop that was teaching her, the ship she was trying to build. All of it connected by threads of purpose and identity that ran deeper than specific components or techniques.
"I know what I'm building," she said suddenly.
Her eighth design started with a single question: What would a ship look like if it were built by someone who understood that everything was connected? Not just the ship's systems to each other, but the ship to its builder, the builder to their purpose, the purpose to the larger pattern of existence.
She began with the frame, but this time she didn't fight the materials. Instead, she listened to what they wanted to become, then guided that natural inclination toward her vision. The hull developed curves that followed the stress patterns while creating flowing lines that spoke of speed and grace.
The power core found its natural position at the intersection of multiple force vectors, becoming both a functional necessity and architectural centrepiece. The control surfaces integrated seamlessly with the hull geometry, looking less like additions and more like natural extensions of the ship's essential form.
Fabrication took a full week, but the machines felt like partners now rather than adversaries. She'd learned their preferences, their limitations, and the way they responded to confidence versus hesitation. When she was uncertain, they produced uncertain results. When she knew what she wanted, they delivered with precision that bordered on the artistic.
Assembly was still challenging as tolerances were tolerances, regardless of understanding, but she found herself enjoying the puzzle rather than cursing it. Each component had its place, its purpose, and its connection to the whole. Getting them to fit together properly was just a matter of understanding those relationships.
When she finally stepped back, brushing composite dust from her gloves, the ship gleamed under the workshop lights. It wasn't perfect. She could already see a dozen things she would do differently next time. But it was real. Hers. True.
"Verdict, Sage?"
//Analysis complete. Structural redundancy: excellent. System integration: optimal. Resource efficiency: high. Aesthetic integration: sophisticated. Identity expression: unmistakable. Overall assessment: C+.//
Tanya grinned. "C+? What would it take to get an B?"
//Experience. Time. The accumulation of wisdom that comes only through building many vessels. This is exceptional work for someone at your current level of development.//
She walked slowly around the ship, fingers trailing along the hull. It wasn't the fastest or strongest vessel she could imagine, but it had something her earlier attempts had lacked.
Soul.
A prompt appeared in her HUD: NAME REQUIRED: PLEASE ENTER DESIGNATION
Tanya paused, considering. "Sage, do names matter to your people?"
//Names possess power. They encode purpose, identity, and trajectory. A vessel's designation becomes its first imprint upon the universe. Choose with intention.//
She thought about the wreck that had brought her here. About building something new from scattered pieces. About keeping the essential spirit alive even when everything else had changed. About walls that had been rebuilt but remained true to their purpose.
About the paradox of identity and continuity, and how the most important things survived not by staying the same, but by changing thoughtfully.
"I know exactly what to call her."
The cursor blinked once, accepting her input:
Nova Theseus
The ship's systems reacted in acknowledgment, lights pulsing once in what felt remarkably like recognition. In that moment, the Nova Theseus was ready.