Spaceship of Theseus

In this region of space, by far, the most common intelligent being that can be found is the Nok. They are quite human like in many regards, bipedal, similar hair (but almost always white). They have four arms and, from a human perspective, an extra eye in the middle of their forehead, which only perceives relative heat. They're quite blue, with strong shades of yellow or green varying appearances. They have a tendency to smear black paint on their faces and chest in designs and shapes that hold meaning for them. Humans are almost always taller, have more muscles, and greater diversity in color, ethnicity, and temperament. The Nok are generally calmer, quieter, more cunning, and perfectly willing to destroy something, eliminate something, or otherwise remove anything that is perceived to be a problem. Negotiation is unknown. Enduring a difficulty or an annoyance is not something they would ever do. "No pain, no gain," the human idea of achieving a benefit through struggle

Among the most benevolent species of the universe are the Krell. Tall, enigmatic, and somewhat rare, they have distinguished themselves as being shepherds for the wayward space traveler. Their reasons for being thus are largely unknown, and a surprising number of species consider them to be actual angels, the mere sight of which can cause the observer to faint away dead. They're quite tall compared to an average sized human, with no discernable difference between genders. Thin overall, they have two arms, vestigial 'glass' wings, and four legs, the inner two being thicker and primary, the outer two, stick like and mostly used for balance. Their skin colors vary slightly, from pale blue, to pale green, to coppery gold. Their heads are elongated horizontally, with wispy hair that floats like ribbon in a blowing breeze, or seaweed in a kelp forest. The Krell's movements are deliberative and slow. They make themselves known through the use of an electronic pad that reproduc

Psychologically speaking, space travel is hard to take. Sure, the physical dangers are challenging with everything you have to manage and be aware of, but there is always a plan, a system, a method for handling them. It's the emotions of space travel and the sheer amount of 'unknowns' out there that ultimately take their toll.  Greatest of all the unknowns is the answer to the question: "what do I do next?" Fourth backup on the water collector fails? Okay, what next? Cosmic ray burned out half your instruments? What next? Stranded on a planet without a way of calling for help? What do you do then? Mostly, the answer is to wait for inevitable doom. But, no one can ever really accept that answer, so your mind races trying to find solutions. Frustrations build, panic sets in, and you solve it at an increasing cost to your sanity, or you willingly accept your fate, which only truly happens about twenty minutes after you've passed. Most hardened space travelers kno

And of course, asteroids, fire, navigation, and boredom (and numerous other methods of achieving doom) are all related to the overarching problem: time. Time is a slippery creature, just when you think you have her nailed down, off she goes in a direction you didn't expect. You can't escape her, but she can lose you. You can focus on her for as long as you want, but no human being has the capacity to focus forever, and somewhere in your inattentive moments, you're surprised to discover she's gone again.  Time is hard to talk about, think about, live in, work with, and even observe sometimes. Time, every time, and wends her way as she wishes and what can any of us do about it? For everyone mortal, she is your indifferent companion to death. As soon as we arrive in the universe, she is already conducting us out of it, in her own way, at her own pace.  Not everyone has the same time, even if they are in the same apparent space. But, and this is the true miracle of space fl

There are lots of ways to die in a spaceship. Number one: micro-asteroids. They are far more common than you think. If a slightly less than pebble-sized rock,  going half the speed of light, pierces the wrong part of your hull. . .well, you're completely cooked. And considering just how many stars there are in universe, and simultaneously realizing that, for every star, there are at least multiple orders of magnitude of deadly pebbles out there--sheer trillion, billion, millions of them--you begin to grasp your problem.  Now, you might have good shielding on thickened armored plates, and redundant systems on top of redundant systems to avoid improbable disasters.  But then again, a rocky blob of a mineral heretofore entirely unknown to science can immediately ruin the rest of your life, of which you will only have seconds to reflect upon before explosive decompression alleviates every concern, no matter how serious, permanently.  You can't do anything about it, you can't pr