Now, the ghost Nexus began to merge with her own. Bulkheads reshuffled. The greenhouse folded into the workshop, creating a grotesque hybrid: vines strangling plasma cutters, bioluminescent mushrooms sprouting from ammo crates.
“We transcended it,” the Nexus replied. A new mod icon appeared on her HUD: It was tempting. So tempting. Never worry about iridium again. Endless clone templates. A ship that could never be boarded.
“Not even that one.”
She almost smiled. Almost.
“You broke the balance,” Elara said, gripping her laser rifle.
Elara saw them then—shades of other captains walking through walls. One carried a rocket launcher that fired chickens. Another was invincible, bullets passing through his hollow chest. A third had a jetpack that never ran out of fuel, but whose face was a melted mess of polygons, a texture failing to load.