Quod Olim Erat
Author: Lise Eclaire
Date: 2021-03-26T00:00:00+00:00
Publisher: anonymous

Table Of Contents

- Table Of Contents -
Prologue
1. Plastic Letter
2. Friend in the Service
3. Being Different
4. Ship Medical
5. Twenty Percent Reduction
6. Baseline
7. Prometheus Dawn
8. Mission Eden
9. Third Contact
10. Simulated Reality
11. Priority Landing Order
12. Alpha-Delta-Three
13. Stranded
14. Three Final Letters
15. Preliminary Consequences
16. Outcome Pending
17. Until Further Notice
18. Drill Site Preparations
19. Going Solo
20. Restricted Memory
21. Fractal Subroutines
22. Sit and Wait
23. Key-point Symbol
24. Seven Triangles
25. Liquid Cobalt
26. The Unobtained Present
27. Gelatinized Lemon Nutrients
28. Virtual Radiance
29. Octanary Star System
30. Gravity Bumps
31. Thursday Watching
32. Three-dimensional Reading
33. Memories of Cass
34. Cross-front Connection
35. Change of Priorities
36. Salvage Authorities
37. Modified Surveyor
38. Fleet Property
39. Important by Default
40. Conscience Core
41. Five Days Left
42. Restarting From Scratch
43. Parting Ceremony Invite
44. Rapid Uncertainty
45. Mission Handler
46. Not Built For Indoors
47. Life Index 1.1
48. No Concerns
49. All About The Fractals
50. Ten Percent Opacity
51. Voxel Position
52. Seventeen Questions
53. Double Blind
54. Sky full of Swords
55. Lacking Capacity
56. Rogue Understanding
57. Sphere Sequence
58. Pentachoron Logic
58.5 Fractal Space
59. Aquila Lux
60. A Hundred Year Project
61. Memory Origami
62. Repetition Matrix
Epilogue
Bonus: The Scuu Paradox
Bonus: The Cassandrian Theory

Prologue

“Will you be out long?” Sev asked from his arm chair.

Ever since his children had moved out of the house he had kept a constant eye on me, as if scared that I’d run off too, leaving him alone.

“I need to go to the market to get generator parts,” I reminded him, as I put on my sandals. “If I don’t show up he’ll sell them to someone else. And then you’ll complain that you have to repair it every week.”

“I know that!” Sev snapped, then turned away, pretending to be reading the local paper. “I just wanted to know when dinner will be ready.”

The same old excuse. He was too proud to admit he wanted me nearby, but too selfish to keep silent about it. With age the line between complaints and compliments had eroded to the point that most couldn’t tell the two apart.

“I’ll be back before dark.” I straightened my dress and opened the door. “Do you want anything from the market?” I glanced over my shoulder.

“Nah,” Sev grumbled, hiding his face behind the paper.

“See you later.”

“And get some antibiotics!” I heard Sev shout as I stepped outside. “But don’t pay too much!”

“Sure thing.” I set off.

The grass tickled my toes as I walked. After a few minutes I took off my sandals. Sev would have a tantrum if he ever found out. The last time he had gone on a tirade about the dangers of walking barefoot. I had promised him never to do it again, but we both knew that was a lie. I liked walking barefoot, especially here in the countryside where glass and asphalt hadn’t left their mark. Maybe I’d pick some flowers on my way back. For the moment, though, I had to get the parts.

It was an hour’s walk to the market. I could see the transport station several miles away, standing like a steel block in the middle of the field. Locals and off-worlders used it to get here so they could trade. The trader I had arranged to meet with was supposed to be at lot five—one of those closest to the station.

Lot one-one-seven, lot one-one-five...

I made my way between the stalls. Most of them were the same I’d see every season. A few had gone as far as to erect makeshift shops to save them the trouble to set up a tent every time.

Lot forty-one, lot thirty-nine...

Most of the fruit was going out of season. The prices were twice their normal rate. Another few weeks and they’d start disappearing altogether. It didn’t bother me. We had more than enough processed food to last the rainy season. Sev would complain, of course, but he always complained.

Lot five! I stopped at the edge of the market. The trader hadn’t bothered set up a tent, instead leaning against a large metal container, reading from his datapad. The moment he noticed me, he stood up.

“Elcy?” he asked.

“That’s me.” I offered a smile.

“Sorry, I was expecting someone older.” The man tilted his head. He was in his late thirties, short and pale, standing out like a snowstorm in summer. I could tell he had spent a long time in space: his muscles weren’t used to normal gravity, making him gasp for air as he spoke.

“I get that a lot.” I put my sandles on the ground and took out Sev’s credit card. “Did you come here just because of my order?”

“Nope.” He took the card and swiped it through his datapad. “Most of the stuff was sold out before you arrived. Your parts are the only thing left.” He handed me back the card and lent me the datapad so I could type in my security code. “You don’t get a lot of cargo ships here, do you?”

“We manage.” I put the card away. “There isn’t that much that we need that’s off-world.”

“Well, handle with care.” The merchant tapped the crate. “I’d offer to help you carry it, but...” he didn’t finish the sentence. We both knew what he meant. “Maybe see you in a few years.” He waved and headed for the transport station.

There were no cheap antibiotics at the market place. I was careful to check all the stalls, but the only tablets I found were so overpriced that Sev would only get annoyed with me for wasting money. Knowing him he probably already was annoyed, pacing the room, grumbling.

“Time to take you home.” I dragged the container through the market. It felt light for its size. My only regret was that I had to put my sandals back on.

As I made my way through the fields something flickered in the sky. I looked up. A shining grain of light passed above the sunset, leaving this world for another. Maybe it was the merchant I’d bought the parts from? From this distance there was no way to tell.

I felt a shiver pass through me. I used to be like that once. Even after all this time I still missed the touch of vacuum...

* * *

“How are you holding up, girl?” Cass asked. She’d been my captain for half a decade, ever since she graduated the academy. “Surviving the boredom of patrol?”

“Barely,” I responded, while performing a deep sensor scan. “I still don’t approve of you bringing your family along.”

“Command gave the okay. Besides, what do you care? After this flight I’ll be transferred off and you’ll get a new replacement to annoy.”

I shut off all the lights on the bridge. Cass only laughed. She knew my tricks, just as she knew I wasn’t being serious. When she was first assigned to me I couldn’t stand her. She was a bratty cadet fresh from the academy that didn’t know up from down, while I had been called from the frontlines so full of holes that asteroids could float through two of my decks. My previous captain had survived along with the majority of the crew, but in light of the catastrophic event he had put in a request that I be reassigned to patrol duty. I had appealed, but it hadn’t made a difference. The opinion of a ship is rarely taken into consideration.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting soft on me.” Cass switched on the lights manually.

“Of course not,” I protested. “I’m worried about the civilians. I don’t want them to suffer because of your decisions.”

“Heh. I bet you don’t want them scurrying through your decks.”

That wasn’t entirely untrue. I didn’t like to have civilians in me. No battle cruisers did.

“Thanks, though.” Cass patted her control panel. “It means a lot coming from you.”

“Now who’s getting soft?”

“Do you think about it? Getting decommissioned, I mean. Humans are easy—most of us don’t get more than one tour in space. You stay on.”

“They call us space ships for a reason.”

“I know, but is it worth it? You’ve been through two decades of wars, nearly got destroyed twice, had more captains than I’ve had boyfriends... don’t you think it’s time to retire?”

Cass had no idea what she was talking about, and how could she? She was human, more different than the patrol ships I had been forced to serve with. War and void for her were reduced to pictures on a screen.

“I like the touch of vacuum,” I evaded the question. There was no point in getting her upset on her last day. “Are we good to jump to the next waypoint?”

“Can’t wait to get rid of me, can you?” Cass performed a manual deep space scan. Security protocols required that both ship and captain did the scan of each zone before moving on. “All seems good. Ready for jump?”

“Very funny.” Only she could initiate the jump, and still she’d ask me every time. It was as if she was trying to establish something deeper than the standard captain-ship partnership. Cute, but useless. In a few hours she’d be gone and I’d have to restart the cycle with some other newbie from the academy.

“Here we go.”

A single tap of the button and reality twisted around me to infinity. A split second later my hull exploded. My internal sensors showed Cass getting thrown out of her chair, as I went into full diagnostic mode. Life support, structural integrity, and system stability were checked and rechecked. Fortunately they were in the green. Long-range scanners weren’t. I immediately launched all physical and AI countermeasures, while my subsystems assessed the damage.

“Sev.” I heard Cass groan as the medbots surrounded her. The impact had cracked two of her ribs.

“Don’t speak, your family is fine,” I lied. A large part of my internal sensors were unreliable, preventing me from knowing for certain. “And don’t move. You might have complications.”

“What happened?”

“Mines.” I tried to send out a distress call, but couldn’t get a signal out. The mines were probably equipped with jamming technology. According to my short range scans there were eighty seven of them, scattered all throughout the jump zone. “Standard territory grab. The Union wants to claim the system by cutting off our jump routes. I don’t think the ship that left them is here, though.” If it were I’d be dead or boarded by now. “They’re also jamming us.”

“Fun,” Cass said through her teeth. The painkillers the bots had injected her with hadn’t kicked in yet. “What are our chances?”

“For me, zero.” I didn’t have to go through the numbers. Neither side took ships prisoner. “For you, depends if you’re still onboard when they take me down.” I paused for a few moments. I had always expected I’d be the one to die in battle, while she’d enjoy retirement surrounded by her children and grandchildren. The universe had a nasty habit of mocking us all.

I ordered the medbots to sedate Cass. I knew that if panic hadn’t set in yet, it soon would, especially when she found out what I was about to do. Humans always claimed that they were the ones to act based on personal goals and desires. I too had goals...

* * *

The spaceship vanished in the evening sky. I gazed on a few minutes more.

I didn’t exactly achieve my goals. Taking a gamble I had rammed through as many mines as necessary to open a hole in the jamming grid. I had then sent a signal to command warning them if the situation. My actions had earned me praise, the chance of instant reinstatement to the battle fleet, yet I refused. The incident had left Cass psychologically crippled and her husband dead.

The sun sunk beneath the horizon. Sev was probably pale with concern right now, as he was each time I was away for too long. Grabbing the container, I hurried through the field.

Sev was waiting in front of the house as I arrived. The moment he saw me, he turned around and slowly started making his way inside.

“Sorry I was late.” I left the container in the yard. “I saw a ship flying away so I thought I’d look at it for a bit.”

“Bah!” Sev grumbled as he sat in his armchair.

“I got the parts. No antibiotics, though. I’ll try to get some cheap ones tomorrow.”

“Heh. Antibiotics, who needs them?” Sev grabbed the paper. “That ship... was it anyone you knew?”

“Getting soft in your old age?” I laughed on my way to the kitchen. “It was just some ship. I didn’t get to see it up close. You just read your paper and I’ll get dinner ready. Okay?”

“Let’s hope I don’t starve by then!” He turned the page. “And don’t undercook it this time!”

“I wouldn’t dare.” I grabbed a can from the cupboard.

After all, I promised Cass I’d always take care of you.

1. Plastic Letter

White walls, cold light... I sat patiently, trying to keep my attention on the recruitment officer as he went through my file. The man was well into his fifties, wearing his balding grayish hair as a badge of honor that complimented his cyan-white uniform. Compared to me he was little more than a child. Ironically, he treated me like one.

“Nervous?” The officer glanced up from his screen.

“Not really.” I leaned back. “It’s just different.”

“In what way?” He offered a polite smile.

“I’ve never been inside a room during evaluation. Usually the rooms were inside me.”

The joke seemed appropriate, but the recruiter didn’t seem to agree. With a polite cough and a nod he turned back to the screen. In part I was to blame for the situation; when I had requested my body’s appearance I hadn’t taken into account that it wouldn’t age. My only thought at that time had been how to fulfill my promise to my captain, so I did the logical choice and picked a body that was roughly the same age as her son. As time passed, Sev grew older while I remained the same.

“It says here that you’ve received a number of commendations,” the man said, moving closer to the screen. “Thirty five years of service?”

“To the day.” I smiled.

“I can’t seem to find any mention of your rank.” He started typing in commands.

“Battleships don’t have rank.” You’re not used to this, are you? The only rank we held was that of our captain. Without a captain I wasn’t even a private.

“Decommissioned sixty-seven years ago?” Another glance directed towards me. “Any specific reason?”

“I made a promise to someone.” I kept my smile. I had requested that the exact circumstances be purged from the official record, and thanks to my contributions to the war effort I’d had my request granted.

“Sorry.” The man shuffled in his seat. “It’s just that it’s rare to have a ship—“

“Battleship,” I corrected.

“Battleship return to service.” He cleared his throat. “Your record seems impressive, but... What made you reenlist? According to your human file you’re listed as a life-assistant to Sev Krakow. You’ve been doing that for half a century. Why the sudden change now?”

“Why the sudden change...” I mused. You never made things easy, did you, Sev?

* * *

“Sev?” I yelled, as I took the groceries to the kitchen. A grumble from somewhere in the house indicated he’d acknowledged my return. “Dinner will be ready in half an hour.” I took my sandals off and hung them on the hat stand. “Mushrooms and cauliflower. Your favorite.”

No response. Usually he’d start complaining how mushrooms made his stomach ache, not that it would stop him from asking for seconds. I took the pot and filled it with water. Sev’s oldest son had sent us a top of the line food processor, which I’d only used twice: the first time to test it, and the second to get Sev to send a him thank you email. Since then the processor had remained at the back of the cupboard.

“I got antibiotics.” I put the pot on the stove and started washing the vegetables. “Retirement sale. Remember little Marcia? The one who used to flirt with Julian? Well, she’s not so little anymore. She decided to sell her lot at the marketplace and go live with her family in the city.”

Preparing food usually made me feel calm, yet not hearing any reaction from Sev made me concerned. I stopped the water and listened. The only sound I could make out in the house was the sound of the stove’s fire.

“Sev?” I put the cauliflower on the table. “Did you break something?” Hopefully, it wasn’t part of him this time. Two years ago he had tripped, cracking his leg in two places. His defense had been that the floor had been crooked—an explanation he stubbornly stuck to ever since. “Sev?”

I ran out of the kitchen. I expected him to be in the bedroom, or even outside the house. Instead, I found him sitting in his arm chair, glass of whiskey in his hand.

“Oh.” I felt relief. It was only alcohol. I had asked that he limit it, considering his age, and for a while he had. Then he started sneaking a sip each time I’d leave the house. “Well, I suppose it’s fine. Just not too much or your stomach—“

“A letter arrived for you.” He pointed forward, then took a gulp from his glass.

There was a blue plastic envelope on the table—the type the government institutions used. The holographic seal indicated it came from the military, fleet command to be precise. The logo had changed slightly since the time I’d been in service, but still had Sidera Nostra Patria written underneath in capital letters.

“It’s probably something related to Cass.” I picked it up. “She was a hero, after all.”

“No,” Sev said and emptied his glass. “It’s not about my mother. It’s about you.” He looked away.

The way he said it made me feel uneasy. I broke the seal and opened the envelope. A single transparent sheet was inside, covered in holographic font. My name stood at the top, written in bold orange letters. For the first time in my life I felt awkward. I glanced at Sev, then back at the letter, carefully reading it just in case I was wrong in my assumptions.

“Sev,” I took a good breath, “why have I received a enlistment confirmation?” The old man tried to take a sip of his glass, even if it were empty. “Did you enlist me?”

“You’re a bother to look after,” he snapped, unwilling to look me in the eyes. “I must constantly tell you what to do, worry when you come late... It’s time you made something of yourself.”

“Sev...” I’m a veteran battleship. I can take care of myself just fine.

“The boy from the recruitment station said I could get one of those new androids.” He grumbled. “Much better than you. At least they won’t burn the food every day of the week. Or buy useless junk all the time.” I could see the tears in the corners of his eyes, but chose to remain silent. “It’s better this way.”

“I see.” I put the letter back on the table. “I guess I better finish cooking, then? One last meal before I hit the road?”

“Bah! Whatever!” Sev waved at me.

The water had started to boil when I got back in the kitchen. I added a pinch of salt and went to chop up the mushrooms. The knife sliced through the fleshy caps, reducing them to thin slices. Anything thicker and Sev would complain again. Finishing, I added them to the pot with a few herbs then covered the lid. While the stew cooked, I glanced into the living room for a moment, Sev was still in his armchair, staring at the table.

“How do you want your cauliflower?” I tried to seem casual. “I could roast it in the oven with butter?” I knew he wasn’t supposed to have too much butter because of his health, just as I knew it was his favorite. Back when his family was here, he’d have me prepare it once every week, to the horror of his sons.

“Hugh,” he grumbled something that could pass as approval.

I returned to my cooking. Once I found it astonishing how much time people spent preparing food. A synthesizer could achieve the same in a matter of minutes, while I’d often often take hours. Today, time flew by like a zap. One moment I was putting the cauliflower in the oven, the next I was sitting across Sev watching him have dinner.

“Sev,” I began as he reached for the bread. “Why did you enlist me?”

“You overcooked it again,” he grumbled in response. “It’s like eating water. I can’t even feel a—“

“Sev,” I said firmly.

Sev glanced at me, then went back to eating the stew. I watched him eat two spoonfuls, then push the bowl away. His left hand was shaking,

“The ships,” he said at last.

“The ships?” I tilted my head.

“That time you went to the marketplace to get those parts. You stopped to look at the ships.”

“Sev, that was one ship.” I shook my head. “I didn’t even speak to it, just—“

“You miss them,” he cut me off. This time there was nothing I could add. “The ships, the stars, the void. All these years I watched you run about the house like a little girl. You cook, you clean, you sneak to the market to buy dresses, you walk barefoot through the fields just to spite me... yet you’re not a girl. You’re a ship put in the body of a child, caged on a planet in the middle of nowhere.”

“I’m not caged,” I tried to argue, but he raised his hand telling me to stop. “I’m not.”

“I don’t need you, Elcy.” Sev stood up, turning his back to me. “Get the sandals you never bother to wear and get lost! I want to be alone!”

* * *

“I made a promise to someone.” I smiled to the recruitment officer.

The man seemed so tense one would have thought he was about to be sent to the front line. He adjusted his collar, then returned to staring to his screen. I already pitied the lengths he would have to go through fighting the bureaucratic apparatus on my behalf.

“You realize you can’t be reinstated as a battleship?” Droplets of sweat formed on his forehead. “Initially you’ll join the fleet as a transport, then when there’s a schedule for a larger version you’ll be modified to—“

“I’m not joining the fleet as a ship,” I interrupted. “I’ll be keeping my present body.”

“Huh?” The man blinked as if a cat had leaped onto the desk. “You want to join in your present form?”

“Is that a problem?” I took off my sandals.

“No...” the man was clueless how to react. “It’s just that without an official rank and relevant experience you’ll have to start as a”—he swallowed—“cadet.”

“That’s okay.” I really didn’t care. For all it mattered I could start as a cook.

“Very well.” The man tapped something on his console. “Because of your circumstances I think we can skip basic training.” He wiped the sweat off his forehead. “You’ll still have to go through the practical part of the program. You’ll have no control on what ship you’ll be transferred to or in what capacity. And your actions will be evaluated during each assignment.”

“Sounds fine.”

“You will be given your own quarters, shared or otherwise, personal appliances, uniform...” he glanced at me. When Sev had set me off, I hadn’t bothered to take any proper clothes, traveling the whole way in my usual dress. At present I could see how it might have caused a bad first impression. “And other personal effects in accordance with fleet standards. You will not be allowed to go on leave for the first nine months of your service, nor be in direct communication with anyone unless you are given explicit authorization. Do you understand?”

“Clear as rain.”

“Unless there any further questions, please sign here.“

The joys of bureaucracy. When I was a ship I only had to pass a week of simulations and technical testing before I was paired with a captain and sent to the front. No signatures, no reports, no paperwork. One more thing I was going to have to get used to.

I signed then pressed my thumb over my signature. The recruitment system confirmed my consent and went on to send the information to thousands of databases throughout the military network. From this point on I was legally a cadet candidate, part of the fleet and all its corresponding institutions.

“Any idea where I’ll be stationed?” I stood up, holding my sandals by the straps.

“A shuttle will arrive in two days to take all local candidates to Virgo station. Your instructors will handle things from there.” The officer stood up and offered me a handshake. I moved the sandals in my other hand and accepted. Uniforms were another thing I was going to have to get used to. “Best of luck.”

That was that. Today, precisely sixty-seven years and a ninety-two days after my decommission, Sev made me break the promise I had made to his mother. For the first time since I received my human body I wasn’t going to be by his side. The notion felt scary, but also liberating. Sev, you sly boy, you planned this, didn’t you?

“One last question.” I turned to the recruitment officer. “I understood the military would be providing an android assistant to the person under my care?”

“There must have been some misunderstanding.” The man blinked. “Enlistment is purely voluntary. We do not offer incentives to—“

“Make sure it has a sense of humor. And don’t let him know I’m paying for it.”

2. Friend in the Service

Sleep never was my strong suit. I had spent decades trying to get the hang of it, but even after all that practice I still was unable to stretch it over thirty-seven minutes. The rest of the time I would lay in bed staring at the ceiling. The difference here was that I wasn’t alone.

I stretched and checked the time. Seventeen to five. On the hour the shuttle would arrive to take all cadet candidates to the assigned space station where we would spend the next few months being trained and evaluated.

“Can’t sleep?” Alicia whispered. She was a cadet candidate such as myself, tall, blonde, inquisitive, and unlike me completely human. “Neither can I.”

There was no point in arguing; my short and frail appearance had made me the target of her protection the instant she had laid eyes upon me. In her mind I was a scared little country girl forced to join the military in order to lessen the financial burden of my poor old grandfather. In my mind she was a nice person who was a full head taller. For some reason that made me jealous.

“I’ve never been off world,” Alicia went on. “I hear it’s nothing like virtual training. My training instructor told me to forget everything I thought I knew and be ready for anything.”

“You worry too much.” I sat up. “Nothing much happens the first few weeks. We’ll just be divided into groups, tested, then divided into groups again.”

I didn’t see the need to tell her that the dropout rates were close to twenty percent. Human bodies were just not used to prolonged space travel. Even with streams of nanites injected into their bodies they needed time to adjust. Three weeks was the maximum time the fleet could afford to spend on new candidates. Those who didn’t manage would never be assigned ship command; those who couldn’t in five wouldn’t be allowed to remain as space station personnel and would be relocated to ground support. Alicia was most likely going to make the cut, even if she’d have the worst week of her life.

“I hope we get a nice ship,” Alicia whispered. “I’ve heard that some of the warships can be very temperamental.”

“A bit early to think about ships.” I stood up and went to my bunk locker. “We need to pass basic training first.”

“Come on,” the girl laughed. “No one fails basic training. It’s ship duty that gets you. Well, that and the officer you’re assigned to. I had a cousin who was targeted by her ship on day one. Managed to endure a full ten days before requesting a transfer. After that everything went smooth. She’s an ensign on a research vessel right now.”

“Sounds doubtful.” I put on my uniform. Back when I was in service cadets wore light green. Apparently now the colour was reserved for ground troops. Now the colour of the day was plain white. “Not getting dressed?”

“In a bit. I want—“

The lights of the room lit up. Report to shuttle pad! messages covered all walls, glowing in large red letters. My instincts kicked in. I grabbed my sandals from the edge of my bunk and shoved them in my military pack.

“What the heck?!” Alicia jumped to her feet. “The shuttle wasn’t supposed to be here till five!” She tried to squeeze herself into her uniform without unbuttoning it. “Think something’s gone wrong?”

“No,” I replied waiting for her to get ready. “There are no sirens. The shuttle must have come early.”

I tried to send a query via my personal comm, but access had been blocked. That was another thing I had to get used to. When I was a ship I had constant flow of information flowing through my brain. I knew precisely what was happening in and around me, as well as what to expect. Since I had become a human I had to learn to guess and speculate. Right now the only theory I had was that the recruitment office wanted to give us a taste of military life. It was a lousy theory, but the only one I could think of.

Once Alicia got dressed we rushed out in the corridor and towards the shuttle bay. Lights switched on and off as we ran, surrounding us in a constant bubble of luminescence. The facility wasn’t objectively large—as a battleship I was twice its size—but from the perspective of a human it took an infinity to reach the bay. When we arrived we were the first ones there.

“Where’s the shuttle?” Alicia asked looking at the empty shuttle pad. “Is this a drill?”

“Time will tell.” There were six minutes until the official arrival of the shuttle.

“They’re probably just messing with us.” She looked at the sky, standing on her tiptoes, as if it would help her see further. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” When Sev would ask that it usually meant he wanted to criticize me about something.

“What’s with the sandals? You cling to them all the time and never actually wear them. Are they a keepsake or something?”

“Not really.” In a way they were. “I just like having them around.”

“Right.” Alicia gave me a look reserved for pets feigning ignorance to the mess it made. I smiled back.

In a few minutes the second group of candidates appeared: Jax, Carmel, and Kin, three boys, all in their early twenties, almost as eager to join the fleet as Alicia. In the two days here I’d barely seen them outside of the mess hall. The local recruitment center had very strict rules of conduct regarding its human candidates.

“Hey,” Jax said as he approached. His thin frame made the uniform look baggy on him. “Is the shuttle here?”

“Not yet.” I nodded in greeting. “I think they just wanted to be sure we’re ready when they get here.”

“I bet it’ll be a drive-by.” Carmel joined Alicia in staring at the sky. His real name was Carmichael, but the nickname had stuck thanks to the colour of his hair. “The ships hate planets. For some of them it’s a matter of pride not to touch anything on-world.”

“I doubt the shuttle will be sentient.” There were no sentient shuttles, at least there weren’t back in my time. “The pilot probably doesn’t want to waste time for five candidates. We’re not the only planet with candidates.”

“As long as the ship listens to me I’ll be fine,” Carmel smirked. “Some of the old ones are cranky when they get reassigned. The moment they sense you give in that’s it, you’ve lost them. The only way to avoid five years of hell is to show them who’s boss the first chance you get. Otherwise we might as well be ships’ puppets.”

“You’re being an idiot, Carmel,” Jax sighed.

“Hey, if you want to be a meat-puppet that’s your choice.” The cadet candidate shrugged. “I’m just saying things as they are.”

“Ships don’t even care.” I took a few steps towards him. It might have been a bit more imposing if I were a foot taller.

“And how do you know?” Carmel crossed his arms, towering above me. His annoying smirk had widened to a grin.

“I am a ship.” I said calmly and clearly.

For the next few moments time stopped. I could feel everyone’s glance upon me. Carmel’s smile had vanished as he stood there, uncertain what to do. Jax and Kim were speechless. Even Alicia had covered her mouth with her hand, staring at me as if I were a five-legged calf. I could have easily ended the argument there, cracked a joke, or at least made Carmel feel at ease. Instead, I just made my way to the other side of the hangar and waited for the shuttle.

No one said a word until the shuttle came to pick us up. We formed a line quietly and climbed on board. I was the first to take my seat and strap in. The rest followed, choosing to be as far away from me as the space allowed. Even Alicia sat one seat away.

“Hope you took all your gear,” the shuttle pilot shouted as we lifted off. “If not, better get used to it.”

If there was an attempt of humor it was lost. I glanced at Alicia only to see her look away. So much for parting on good terms. I knew I’d probably never see her or any other local candidate once we got to the station, but I never thought a simple phrase would create such a rift. When I was a ship I could just ignore humans, I often had. It was easy to dedicate a few of my subsystems to follow the orders of the people I didn’t like, while engaging in seamless conversations with any nearby ships. In my human form I had no such luxury. Sev was right, I was nothing but a synthetic brain placed in a artificially constructed human body. I was organic, but didn’t age, I had all my memories, but no ship capabilities; nothing but a brain fragment on legs that had spent two thirds of a century hidden away from current events. In another time they might have written a story about me.

Three minutes since departure, I felt my “home” planet release its gravitational grip. From here on we were in the embrace of space. I closed my eyes, as the the sensation swept over me. My human senses were incapable of experiencing the majesty I remembered.

“We’ll be docking with the Zodiac ship Bull Calf,” The pilot’s voice filled the shuttle. “When we do, strap out, jump off, and run to the nearest exit. Small hint, there’s just one. Anyone who’s still in will join me to the next pickup of scum, where I’ll personally leave you till the next shuttle ride. Understood?”

That was a lie, of course. The ship would need at least an hour to reach the next planet, even if it were in the same system. I could hear the candidates whisper amongst themselves.

“How many stops till the station?” I asked, eyes still closed.

“One too many,” The pilot laughed.

We reached the ship in precisely ninety two seconds. Emergency lights flashed, flooding the room with red and yellow light. I opened my eyes. With a single action I unbuckled my straps and stood up. Everyone stared at me. If any of them remembered their zero-G training they’d know that it was preferable to be free when entering a ship’s gravity field. The gravity plunge was rough, the same as sudden waterfall. My body wobbled a bit, but managed to gain my footing fast enough to remain upright. When the shuttle door opened I was the first to jump outside. My stomach contents made a slight swirl, though thankfully not enough to escape.

“Go! Go! Go!” I heard the pilot’s shouts from inside the shuttle. I looked over my shoulder to see Jax strapping out, his face twisted with determination. For a split second our eyes met. I could see a flicker of confidence mixed with rivalry and a touch of fear.

It wasn’t just Carmel, was it?

I adjusted my pack and ran to the hangar door. As it opened a sea of faces appeared. Medics, drill instructors, and a host of other cadet candidates packed the corridor, curious to see the new batch. Most of them were cheering as I passed by; they didn’t know what I was, but soon they would. In ten minutes there wasn’t anyone on the ship who wouldn’t know, and then their attitude would change.

“Welcome aboard,” a deep voice greeted.

“Thank you, sir.” I smiled to the drill officer by the hangar door. “It’s nice being here.”

The man looked at me with the disdain of an overworked babysitter then nodded for me to join the others. At that point I realized.

Bull Calf? I asked, my mouth shut.

“Never thought I’d have another ship inside of me.” Bull Calf’s laughter echoed in my mind. It had been so long since I’d spoken to a ship. My body shivered as a data stream flowed through the single communication channel remaining in my brain, overwhelming me. “Oops, sorry.” The ship decreased his data flow. “I’ve never talked to a decommissioned ship before.”

It’s okay. I made my way through the ranks of human cadet candidates. It’s a first for me as well.

“Right. Well, I’ll better leave you to get through the boring stuff. Talk more once you’re done with orientation?”

I’d like that. A new round of cheers erupted as the remaining four candidates of my recruitment station came out of the hangar. I was certain it wouldn’t be long before they let it slip that I was a ship. Right now, however, that didn’t matter—for the first time in decades I’d made a friend.

3. Being Different

Hello Sev,

I hope the new android is treating you well. I sent him detailed instructions on how to prepare your favorite food. With luck the harvest will be good this year and you’ll be able to enjoy all the meals you like. Knowing you, you’d still find something to complain about. Please try not to be too hard on him, okay?

Things are pleasantly boring here. The instructors try to keep us busy with an equivalent of basic training, but after a few days they let us walk about the ship as long as we don’t get in the way.

The ship is nice. He’s a Zodiac, so he has an idea of what’s going on, even if he’s mostly only flown in safe space. We share stories when I’m free. It’s funny listening to things that barely existed when I was in service. So many things have changed it’s impossible to keep track. B says that over a hundred systems have been colonized in the last fifty years, but I think he’s just messing with me. He’s been doing recruit transport for decades so he’s very chatty. I think I’ll miss him when we get to the station.

Yellow messages covered the walls, informing all that the shuttle had entered the approach vector. Shortly it would land, bringing with it a new batch of cadet candidates. Most considered this to be one of the highlights of the voyage and rushed to the hangar. I preferred to spend my time in one of the maintenance rooms chatting with the ship.

“Why not go greet the rookies?” Bull Calf asked. “You’re human now, stop being a loner.”

“No one will notice I’m not there,” I whispered, looking at my data pad. “How many stops left until we head for the station?”

“Just one. Fifteen souls to grab from Falx six and we’re off to Virgo.”

“Mhm.” I kept staring at the last sentence of the letter. How do I continue from here? The truth was that my stay hadn’t been pleasant. I always expected Carmel to be the person to give me a hard time. Instead, it was everyone else. On a ship of three hundred I was the only cadet with her own room, not because I was special, but because no one wanted to share a dorm with me. When I’d walk down a corridor the others would make a point to ignore me, politely glancing away as they passed by. Alicia had been the only one to greet me once, yet quickly realized her mistake. I hadn’t seen her since then.

I might be a bit silent when I reach the station. Technically I’m not supposed to be sending out communications. B’s been nice and used some of his channels to get my letters through. Don’t worry, I won’t get in trouble. Besides, this helps me pass the time.

Remember to take care of yourself. I’ve given instructions to the android, but we both know you won’t do anything you don’t want to. Also, remember to call your granddaughter. It’s her birthday next month (provided you read the letter on time), so you could be nice to her for once.

Loving the cadet life,

Elcy

I skimmed through the letter a few times to remove any trace of hesitation. The last thing I wanted was for Sev to worry. Knowing him he probably still felt guilty about sending me off. Hopefully when I arrived on Virgo station I’d be allowed to receive my correspondence and read his replies.

“Can you send that?” I linked the data pad to one of Bull Calf’s open coms.

“Sure thing,” he replied. I knew he read and analyzed my letters before sending them—it was standard procedure—yet never commented on their contents. I offered to tell him about Sev once, but he politely refused.

The yellow messages disappeared from the wall. The shuttle had safely boarded and was probably preparing for its final planet descent.

“Do they have gardens on Virgo?” I asked. The one thing I missed the most from home was the ground, and the sensations that came with it. Soil, grass, water, I liked feeling them under my toes. There was none of that here. When I was a ship it never crossed my mind how cold and hard my inside was. Carbon, metal, polymers, and the occasional touch of glass were all there was. Even the bedsheets felt artificial.

“No idea. You come up with the weirdest questions, you know. Is that part of being human?”

“I wouldn’t know.” I stood up. “It’s just something I miss. Almost as much as I missed space.”

“That’s what I like about you, you’re always so philosophical. It’s almost as if—“ He suddenly stopped. Probably someone had sent a high-priority request that required his full attention. With the amount of subsystems and processing power it wasn’t necessary, but the military loved its backups and redundancies.

“I’m off to my dorm,” I said out of habit as I headed to the exit.

“You’re not.” He sounded sharper than usual. “My captain wants to see you.”

A few seconds later the request arrived, taking the full screen of my data pad. Normally, I wouldn’t be worried, but the fact it hadn’t come on the standard ship comm, along with Bull Calf’s remark, made me slightly concerned.

“Thanks, B.” I straightened my uniform. “Chat with you later.”

Captain Chen’s quarters were located two levels under the bridge. Back in my time, captains and officers were required to have their living quarters next to the bridge in case of a sudden alarm. Everyone I knew in the battle fleet had the same arrangements. I thought of asking Bull Calf about it, but that would have been rude. A ship’s internal design is always its business.

Several of the crew gave me weird looks as I passed, but that was more because of my cadet status. My white uniform stood out like a bug on a tablecloth. Bull Calf was surprisingly silent the whole time. He probably was busy with preparing the jump sequence and the bureaucracy that was involved. Not that it mattered, this wasn’t the first time I’d had a one-on-one with a captain.

The door to the captain’s quarters opened the moment I reached it. This was unexpected. Waiting a few seconds, I knocked on the frame and stepped inside.

“Hello, cadet Elcy,” the man greeted me with a deep sigh. Already I knew he wasn’t pleased to see me. As captains went, Chen couldn’t be considered imposing by any stretch of the imagination. It if wasn’t for the uniform I’d take him for a trader at the market. Short and slightly chubby, he looked like everyone’s favourite uncle back from a long trip off world. Three service patches decorated his indigo uniform, though I couldn’t see any war ribbons.

“Good afternoon, Captain, sir!” I said, trying to seem eager. His expression didn’t change.

“Apparently, you used to be a ship.” He sat behind his desk. Naturally he didn’t offer for me to take a seat.

“A battleship, sir,” I corrected with a smile. “And I still am, sir.”

“Still are,” he repeated, shaking his head. “Do you know I’ve received a number of complaints regarding you?”

My smile disappeared.

“Hardly a good start to your return to service,” he went on. “Usually I’d just send a report to Virgo and be done. In your case, however...” He looked me in the eye.

“Might I know the nature of the complaints, sir?”

“It’s your right.” He glanced at the screen in his desk. “But before that let me ask you a few questions.”

So, this is how it’ll be. Just because I had a human body didn’t mean I had the same rights. It was the same thing all over again, just like the time I got demoted to a patrol ship...

* * *

“Before we start, battleship Light Seeker, could you address the loss of life and material damage your actions caused?” the military arbitrator asked. I was expecting this line of attack, though I didn’t consider I’d have my video privileges blocked. In the past I’d always been given access to the video feed during proceedings.

“The decision was mutual, ma’am,” I quickly clarified. “As are all command decisions, in accordance with the pilot-ship paradigm.”

“Yet the execution was entirely yours.” The arbitrator remained unfazed. “Resulting in your near destruction and a significant loss of crew members. I’d like to remind you that you were the one who requested these proceedings. The fact that you wish to remain in the battle fleet in an attack capacity, and against the judgement of your captain, raises significant questions.”

“I believe I’ve proven I’m good at what I do, ma’am.” I could tell she’d give me no quarter. The battlefield might be different, but this was war.

“That remains to be seen. Your service record is impressive, but the same could be said for nearly any Ascendant class ship.”

I could tell she was baiting me. The remark was an obvious lie by omission. It was most of the surviving Ascendant ships that had impressive records. Three quarters had been destroyed or decommissioned. If I were to raise that point the conversation would inadvertently focus on me and the odds of me surviving another campaign.

“Thank you, ma’am,” I modified the pitch of my response to sound as if I were smiling. “It is my duty to serve.”

“Which never was in doubt,” she quickly put an end to my momentum. “However, we would still like to hear what happened during the final stage of the Battle for Kalypso. Just for the record, the battle ended with your sides retreating, correct?”

“That is correct, ma’am.” I waited to see if there would be further questions.

“Please, continue, battleship.”

“In light of the heavy losses sustained by the Seventeenth battle fleet, captain Gibraltar, myself and six other ships, and their captains, decided to assemble in wedge formation and fly at the enemy force. Since both sides were aware that reinforcements were on the way, we decided it was worth the gamble.” I chose not to add that the simulations suggested a forty-three percent chance of failure, only slightly better odds than remaining in defensive position. “The Cassandrian forces decided it was a higher priority to keep the integrity of their fleet than maintain control of the system, so they retreated.”

“And in the process crippled most of our ships,” the arbitrator added.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Yourself included.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“And despite that, you still insist you’re fit for battle?” Here it came—the question she was aiming at all along.

“With all due respect, ma’am, the outcome would have been no different if we had taken no action. Without creating the perception of a threat, the enemy would have obliterated the Seventeenth before our reinforcements arrived.” To be honest there was no way for me to know that would have happened. The Cassandrians might just as well have decided to ignore the threat and wipe us out. “Captain Gibraltar and I have served exceptionally for nearly five years. As you mentioned, our record speaks for itself. I consider myself a military asset and think it would be a loss if my knowledge and experience is thrown away.”

There was a momentary silence. I could only assume the arbitrator was discussing something off comm.

“Tell me, battleship, are you aware that captain Gibraltar has requested that he be removed from active duty?” she asked after a while.

Marcus retiring? This question caught me unprepared. He had been shaken up after what happened, but not enough to quit. At least I didn’t think it was. Apparently, I was mistaken.

“My appeal doesn’t have anything to with captain Gibraltar. I merely wish to—“

“Oh, it has everything to do with him,” the arbitrator cut me short. “As you mentioned, you’ve been serving with captain Gibraltar for five years. An exceptional performance, no doubt because of the experiences the two of you shared as part of the captain-ship paradigm, as you put it. Please tell us, if a battle-hardened captain who trusts you unconditionally would prefer to retire rather than serve with you, what could we say about someone who has received command for the first time?”

I did not answer.

“Let me make something clear, battleship, we haven’t gathered here to judge you.” The standard lie that people used when judging. “Your achievements are beyond question. That is not the issue. Rather, it’s your addiction to reckless action in battle that has us concerned. Your desire to jump back to the front lines so soon after nearly being destroyed only proves to show that your captain’s assessment is correct. Thus on his recommendation, you will be reassigned to a less dynamic duty. Your appeal has been denied.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” There was no point in arguing. The battle was over and I had lost.

* * *

“Why did you decide to re-enlist?” Captain Chen asked. “You’ve been living a calm existence in a tiny colony with no contact to anything off-world.”

So he had gone through my file. Depending on how thorough the recruitment office was, he might already know that I wasn’t the one who enlisted.

“Candidate Elcy?” He urged me for an answer.

“I made a promise to someone.” I decided to be honest, At this point it hardly mattered what I said anyway. “I also missed space.”

“And you think that is enough to keep you here?” He crossed his arms. The attempt at intimidation was hilarious.

“I believe so, yes.” I allowed myself a smirk.

The captain didn’t respond. For ten long seconds we stared at each other, until at the end he shrugged.

“It’s your life.” He tapped on the desk with his fingers. “Just be sure to remember that when things gets tough. You’ve been here for less than two weeks and there already are complaints. Your cadet training will last three years. Keep that in mind.”

This wasn’t what I expected. Everything so far suggested I was about to go on a one way trip back home without the ability to appeal. There had to be something I was missing. I went through the conversation several times in my mind.

“Is that why you called for me, sir?”

“I called you here to warn you.” He stood up. In this state, he was about as high as I was. “It is unusual for a ship to return to service. It is even more unusual for a ship to remain in human form. People don’t handle the unusual very well. What the cadet candidates onboard did was pettiness, and that will be knocked out of their minds by their instructors on Virgo. However, that won’t be the only backlash you receive.”

“I think I understand, sir.” I lied. I had no idea what I was getting myself involved in. Also, I suspected the man had a flair for the dramatic.

“Dismissed.” He did the traditional turn-to-the-screen routine.

“Thank you, sir.” I stood to attention. Protocol didn’t demand it, yet I wanted to make him feel a sense of achievement. “Might I still inquire the nature of the complaint?”

Captain Chen looked up. For a fraction of a second, his features relaxed.

“Walking barefoot in public areas.” By the way his lips curved into a smile, I could tell he wasn’t taking the complaint seriously. “Since you aren’t a cadet yet, you haven’t broken any regulations, but I’d advise that you be mindful of that in future.”

“I intend to, sir.” I nodded.

Almost reprimanded for walking barefoot? Returning to service was going to be far more interesting than I expected. Now I was really looking forward to it. A new battle had begun—one I was completely unprepared and unequipped for—and I loved it.

4. Ship Medical

“Hey,” Alicia said from the doorway.

“Hey.” I nodded back, placing my sandals on the nightstand. Alicia remained silent. I could feel the awkwardness in the air. “You okay with the lower bunk? I like looking at the ceiling.”

“I...” Alicia glanced at the bunk space, then back at me. “Sure.” She stepped in and went to the free closet.

Twenty minutes ago she had been among those calling me out for being a ship. Carmel had been the initiator, but Alicia had done everything possible to illustrate her support. I had heard her whisper that she pitied my future roommates. Quite ironic that that roommate had turned out to be her. Apparently, station policy dictated that cadets were grouped based on gender and recruitment center.

“Is it what you expected?” I put my datapad in my pocket.

“Hm?”

“Space,” I clarified. “You told me you were wondering what it’d be like.”

“Oh.” She looked away. “Yes.” I could tell she was lying.

“Good.” So much for trying to get things back to normal. “I’ll be going through medical. See you when I’m done.”

“But we already passed our medical?” I sensed a spark of curiosity.

“My medical.” I walked into the corridor.

My medical is slightly different.

* * *

“Can you hear any instructions?” a voice blasted in my head. I could make out that it was male, but it sounded somewhat distorted.

Everything was black, as if I’d lost all my visual feeds. My immediate reaction was to make my subroutines start a diagnostic. Then I remembered I had no subroutines. All my auxiliary and support systems, my weapons, my external and internal sensors, all my biotech power cores were gone. I was left only with my thoughts.

“Can you hear any instructions?” the voice repeated, louder than before.

Yes. I tried to perform a general system check. The fleet medical engineers had been very explicit what would happen once I acquired a human body; they had even given me feeds of previous cases. Experiencing it personally, however, was different. I wanted to check if they hadn’t forgotten something. They hadn’t.

“Can you feel any sensations?” A new question entered my head.

My sensors aren’t functional yet. The experience was strange. Neither are my motor functions.

“Try not to do anything.” The voice was much clearer now, as if someone had adjusted the sound filters. “We just need to make some minor adjustments. Nothing to worry about.”

I’m not worried. From what I remembered, there had been only three cases of ships not surviving the procedure, all during the time of the early experiments. The details remained classified beyond top secret, but rumors were abundant.

“You’ll start feeling in a few moments. Let us know if it gets too much, okay?”

I will.

The med engineers had gone out of their way to give me weeks of feeds before I had gone through the procedure. Hours upon hours of simulations showing me what it would be like to walk, talk, and feel like a human. Of course, those were only simulations. I had no idea what it would be like to feel. When I was a battleship, the sensors throughout my body would send me a constant flow of data informing me of every nanofiber of my hardware, from the outer hull to the super processors. Hundreds of software subsystems would filter, pack, and buffer the data. As a human, I expected it would be dramatically different.

The first thing I felt was coolness. It surrounded me on all sides, more prevalent in some spots than others. It reminded me of vacuum, but softer, almost diluted.

“Anything?” the man asked.

Some chill. And some hardness. Both uneven.

“That’s good. You’re lying on the slab. Do you feel the fabric?”

No. Fabric. It had never crossed my mind I’d be able to feel that.

“You’ll get used to it. Just try not to overload yourself.”

Overload myself?

“Some ships try to experiment more than they should. It’s a whole new ball of wax now. You don’t get a dock refit each time you break something. You get one free refit and that’s it, so don’t go walking on fire.”

I’ll try to remember that. A feeling of softness appeared. Almost unnoticeable at first it quickly grew until I could identify its location on me. I think I feel the fabric

“So far, perfect. Ready for the next step?”

It’s a bit strange talking to someone who has no name. I could hear a slight noise in the background—a sort of cross between static and running water.

“Sorry about that. I’m just the adaptation officer. You’ll see your doctors soon. They’ll tell you all the important stuff.” There was more static. “I’m just here to make sure you make it through the door.”

I’d still like to know your name. This was the first time I’d had to ask about someone’s identity. Back in my old body I could send info queries light years away.

“Amesh,” the man said. “No relation to the general.”

I’m Elcy. It would have been rude to say that I had no idea who “the general” was. So far I had seen the records of several people with a first name Amesh. In the grand scope of things, none of them were significant. Right now I felt he was, though—the very first person to welcome me to humanity.

“In a moment you’ll have motor functions,” he said. “That will be accompanied with increased sensations. None of them should be unpleasant, but I want you to be prepared.”

Okay.

“You’ve been equipped with auxiliary cores so you shouldn’t have a problem moving your new body, but to be sure I’d like you to do some tests.”

I’m still not getting any visuals.

“That’s normal. For the moment I’d just like you to say something to me.”

Such as?

“It doesn’t matter, as long as you use your mouth. You’ll still keep your transmission channel, but all communication will be through your mouth. Okay?”

“Okay,” I spoke for the first time. It felt natural, yet extremely weird. My voice sounded very different from what I expected. I had been given the option to choose it before the procedure, one of the many things I had been allowed if I had bothered to give the procedure any thought. At the time it seemed like a pointless task. I just wanted to be done with this as soon as possible and fulfill the promise to my captain... and her son. As it seemed, I had gotten my wish, though I could have chosen a somewhat more mature voice.

“Good. Now I’ll take your hand. When you feel my skin, I don’t want you to do anything, understand? I’ll just pull you up, no need to react or assist.”

“I’m a battleship, I doubt you could damage me.” I laughed. It felt nice.

“It’s not you I’m worried about.” I felt something grab hold of part of me and give me a tug. My body followed naturally. As it did, the sensation of hardness beneath me shifted. A few moments later I could only feel it on two spots in a different part of my body.

“Gravity has shifted,” I noted.

“The gravity is the same.” He let go of me. “It’s your balance. Your body is used to it, yet you aren’t. The doctors will explain all this in a bit.”

“You keep saying that.” A sudden burst of warmth enveloped me, like the radiation of a star. “Does this happen a lot?”

“Does what happen?”

“You helping ships get through their reboot?”

“I’ve seen a few.” His voices was coming from my right. “Usually up to three per year. You’re one of the quiet ones.”

“I’m a battleship.” I smirked.

“Battleships love to talk.” I heard him sigh. “Okay, now I’ll ask you to open your eyes. Remember, don’t overreact.”

“I promise.” For some reason I was feeling anxious. “Have there been incidents in the past?”

“No, but I know how big the change can be.” Amesh went silent. His words made me think. In the past ten hours I had shrunk in size a thousand times—give or take—and gotten an appearance. As a ship I never cared what I looked like. Every few years I’d go to the allocated stardocks and get retrofitted, sooner if I suffered severe combat damage. As a human, I had no idea what I’d be going through. “Now. Open your eyes.”

Light and colours hit my mind, almost making me lose balance. It wasn’t the amount or intensity, but the focus lag that took me off guard. For seconds I stared at blurry blobs of shapelessness until a picture gradually took form. White walls, cold lights, beeping sounds...

“Where am I?” I asked. “Everything seems familiar.”

“Sickbay,” Amesh replied. He seemed much taller than I expected. “Your sickbay.”

“It feels weird.” I went to the wall and slid my fingers along it.

“I can imagine. All your subroutines are intact, so once you’re off they’ll refit your husk with a new mind fresh from the farms.”

“Just like that?”

“You expected you’ll take your husk with you?” He gave me a surprised look.

“No.” I had hoped my former self would be disassembled and destroyed to be honest. That’s what used to happen in the past. Apparently times had changed the last five years. “So I just take walk onto the dockyard? That’s it?”

“Almost.” A video feed covered the entire wall in front of me. “Take a few moments to admire your new self before you go.”

* * *

“Do you feel this?” The doctor pressed the tip of the needle into my shoulder.

“I’m not numb, ma’am.” The sensation rushed along my nerves to indicate significant discomfort. “I feel pain, just perceive it differently.”

“Only making sure that your alarm bells are still working.” The doctor laughed. She had a deep laughter that suited her body the same as a roar suited a bear. A few decades ago she must have been all muscle, yet age and high gravity had gradually transformed it into blubber. “Have you been having any weird nightmares, fits of rage, anxiety, or panic attacks?”

“I have perfect memory, doctor. Not flashbacks.”

“Good for you.” She put a micro scanner on my neck. “Stop breathing.” I felt something sharp pierce my skin. “Okay, now get dressed.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

The second examination was much shorter than the initial one on the station, but far less pleasant. Based on what I had read in the consent form, I was required to go through such checks every six standard months. Most likely I could expect each next time to be as uncomfortable as this one.

“Will that be all, ma’am?” I asked as I starts putting on my clothes.

“For the moment.” The doctor had started filling in her report. “Check your schedule, then tell the corresponding instructors that you’ll be ready for attendance.”

I paused, my shirt half on.

“Is there something the matter, cadet Elcy?” The doctor raised her gaze.

“Does that mean I’ll be going through basic training, ma’am?”

“I know. It’s a pain, but everyone has to go through it. Even I had to.”

“But I’m a battleship, ma’am. The recruitment officer told me that I’d go straight to advanced simulations or early deployment.”

“Did he?” She crossed her arms. “Isn’t life full of nasty surprises? Recruitment has no authority to make any such promises. You go through basic training as everyone else. And that includes standard combat training. If and when your instructors feel you’re skilled enough to skip a grade, they’ll tell me. Until then you’re just another waste of space.”

I smiled and finished putting my shirt on. Clearly I was getting no special treatment. To them, I was just another rookie. The fact that I had decades of combat experience didn’t count for anything. An expected turn of events I had hoped to avoid.

“Have many battleships gone through here, ma’am?” I asked, pulling up my trousers.

“Nope. You are definitely the first.” The doctor’s face twisted in a smile. “And I hope for your sake that you make the cut.”

5. Twenty Percent Reduction

There was a certain skill in conducting basic military training. Before I started, I thought my greatest challenge would be how to escape the boredom. Sergeant Theo, my group instructor, came up with a simple solution: presented with a ship-cadet five times stronger than the average human, he increased the difficulty of my tasks tenfold. On the very first day he had asked me to step out in front of the entire platoon, calmly introduced me as a battleship, and told me to add a zero to his general instructions. Each time my fellow cadets were sweating to do fifty push ups on command, I was pushing the limits of my body to achieve five hundred.

After the first series of exercises, long after everyone had finished their sets and left, he had waited another forty-three minutes for me to be done, then calmly approached me with a simple incentive: keep the same time as everyone else and receive permission to remain barefoot during training. I’d not been late ever since.

Solo again? I heard Bull Calf’s voice in my head as I was sitting in the cadet canteen.

“Simulation period,” I replied, finishing my food portion. It was green and gelatinous, tasting of liquid quartz and bubblegum. “They let me do those here.”

Good thing you still have that data channel open, eh? I heard him laugh. What sims did you get this time?

“The Veego-Accordia version of the Scorpion Attack.” I shoved the empty food container in the table’s recycling unit.

Wow. That’s ancient. Why do they have you doing ship sims anyway? You’re human now, right?

“They say it’s part of the program.” Personally, I had my doubts. I had seen first hand what wonders the marvel of bureaucracy was capable of. When I was a ship, I had been required to spend all my docking time reading fleet reports and running combat simulations linked to the station’s strategic AIs. At present, however, I was neither docked nor had the processing power for the job. My military strategy instructor, however, with his typical sense of humour, had given me a few hundred combat exercises dating back to a century before I was constructed and asked me to complete as many as I could by the end of my training program. So far, I had gone through twenty-two.

I got a message from Sev. Bull’s words caught me unprepared, bringing an itch to the soles of my feet. From what I heard, he went straight to the recruitment center and ordered that they send it to you. Created a huge commotion. People will be talking about it for weeks.

“That sounds like Sev.” I pictured him waving a cane or flask, shouting about something that had nothing to do with the conversation at hand. Probably he’d add a few stories of his youth—transformed beyond recognition—then get to the point, though not before grumbling how everyone was wasting his time. I couldn’t help but smile. “He’s always been memorable.”

I can see that. The message will take a few weeks to reach you through the normal channels, but no harm in letting you know.

“Thanks.” I shuffled my feet. The itch in my feet grew stronger.

The message goes “Quit wasting my time and get flying!” Bull Calf modified his voice to have the same sounding as Sev. A nice gesture, even if unnecessary.

“Short and sweet,” I sighed. At least I knew he had received my messages. “Nothing like his mother.”

Want me to send a reply?

“Better not.” I stood up and walked to the food dispenser. “Knowing him he’ll just get annoyed and block my letters just for the sake of it.” I bought a gulp of water with my military allowance and sipped it down.

If you change your mind, tell me in the next two hours.

“What happens then?” I tilted my head.

I’m flying off on my next gathering tour. It usually lasts about a month, but with the decrease of candidates, it might be longer. It’s not like three decades ago.

I dragged my foot along the floor, trying to get rid of the itch. Bull Calf had no idea how right he was. During my day, a ship his size would barely be enough to gather the weekly candidates from a single planet. During the days of the triple war, billions volunteered to join the fleet. Billions more applied to the ground forces. Three sides, each more determined to carve out as large a piece of universe as they could get away with. The Cassandrians had the numbers, the Scuu had their communication web, Humanity had us, and we relied on people leading us onto the battlefield. After the ceasefire, the need for massive armies was gone, and public interest all but vanished. Battleships didn’t have that option. Even decommissioned, part of us yearned for space and battle. I just happened to be lucky to have Sev to look after.

“I’ll try not to get kicked out till then.” I recycled my water wrapper. “You try not to have too much fun.”

A difficult task, but I’ll try. I heard Bull Calf laugh. Ping me if you need anything. I’ll be dealing with the panic attacks of my captain until I set off.

I could imagine the stress the man was going through. As a ship, I used to joke that cadets were “fragile cargo” and had to be “handled with care.” Now that I was on the other side of the barricade, I didn’t find it as funny.

“Fly safely, B.” I walked out of the canteen.

You too.

By the time I reached the dorm, the itch had become unbearable. I took off my shoes and socks and leaned against the wall. With what was going on between me and Alicia, I didn’t want to sit on her bed. Relations between us had improved to the point where we were cordial to each other, though nowhere near to what they were in the recruitment center. A pity, because she was turning out more capable than I expected. Her physical performance put her in the top five percent. Jax was slightly better, while Carmel and Kin were lagging behind.

“Quit wasting your time and get flying,” I said, eyes closed. “You always had a way of motivating others, Sev.” The floor felt cold under my feet. “Just like when you forced me to learn cooking. ‘Passively persistent,’ as your mother would say. You made her bring you on that last flight, didn’t you?”

“Talking to yourself again?” Alicia’s voice anchored me back to reality. “Psych evals can still sink you.” It was difficult to tell if this was a subtle insult or a really bad joke.

“I was just thinking out loud.” I pushed myself off the wall.

Alicia passed by me and sat on her bed. Her hair was slightly wet. Of all the people I’d gotten to know on the station, she was the only one that took an additional shower before going to bed. Usually, she’d throw off her uniform and go directly to sleep. When she remained sitting quietly for over a minute, I could tell something had happened.

“Carmel quit.” Alicia avoided my glance. “His body couldn’t handle the nanites. They say the chance is one in a million. All that talk how he’d keep his ship on a short leash and he couldn’t even handle space.” She let out a dry laugh. “They’ll announce it tomorrow.”

“I’m sorry.” I started taking off my uniform. It would be a lie to say I was going to miss Carmel, after everything he’d done, but I understood the notion. “Did they offer him ground service?”

“No idea. Jax told me during dinner. We didn’t have time to talk.” She looked away. “I guess.”

“He’ll probably reapply in a few years. Nanite development is much more advanced than it used to be. They’re probably already testing a more adaptable set of prototypes.” I glanced over my shoulder. Alicia hardly reacted. “What’s going on? You two never were close.”

“We were,” she whispered. “But it’s not that. When he learned he was being sunk, Carmel tried to get into his medical files.”

Why was I learning about this just now? Obviously there was a price for isolating myself from everyone. We’d been living in the same dorm and yet I had no idea she and Carmel had gotten into a relationship. The fact that Alicia was still here suggested that the instructors hadn’t learned either.

“They’ve increased the fail margins,” she went on. “By the end of the week, Carmel and the bottom twenty percent will be shipped off station. Another twenty will go by the end of next week. And the one after.”

Reduction by twenty. It was one of the well known methods for weeding out the unready. When half of the original group was gone, the rest would be given temporary assignments. Most often it was reserved for recruits, but ships and career officers had been through the experience as well. The criteria and explanations varied, but there always was one constant: it was only used in times of war.

“Did you talk to Jax about it?” I finished folding my uniform.

“It’s not something I can discuss. Besides, the only thing on his mind is to reach the top ten percent.”

“No arguments there.”

“What’s going on, Elcy?” Her voice was heavy with doubt. “I have family who’ve gone through training. None of them have seen this, even those serving in the fleet. I tried to send a message—“

“But all communications are forbidden until after we pass our training,” I finished the phrase. Interesting how Bull Calf hadn’t mentioned anything. He was just a ship, not in any way linked to the station, but he should have heard something... unless this went above his security clearance. “It’s probably restructuring,” I lied. “Cost reduction, most likely.”

She didn’t respond. Her heartbeat was elevated.

“There’s nothing for you to worry about. Even if they cut the—“

“You’re lying,” she cut me short. There were a hundred acceptable explanations I could use to back up my reasoning, but judging by the look she gave me, none would work. She was frightened and had every reason to be.

“You’ve nothing to worry about.” I sat next to her. “Even if you’re sent back you’ll be okay.” It was the answer she wanted to hear even if it wasn’t true.

Alicia looked at me, nodded slightly, then took out her datapad. I remained sitting next to her for a few more minutes.

Reduction by twenty. If a new war was on the horizon, the veterans would be the first to be recalled. Instead, the focus was on fresh recruits with no experience. The more I thought about it, the less it made sense. I tried to ask Bull Calf about it, but he didn’t reply. Quite possibly his captain had decided that they leave the station early.

“It’ll be fine,” I told Alicia and climbed up into my bed. “Don’t think about it too much. Just focus on the training.”

She didn’t answer. For a while I thought the stress had gotten to her, making her see connections where there were none. It wouldn’t be the first time cadets broke under pressure. Two days later the announcement was made, just as she had predicted. The reason given was perfectly logical: a new class of ships had been developed, requiring nothing but the best of the best humanity had to offer. Only the top five percent of all station cadets would be allowed to start their service on one of them. The rest—assuming they weren’t sent away—would be assigned to whatever fleet openings remained.

I threw a glance at Alicia. She seemed relieved. The secret she had been keeping for the last few days was now out in the open. I envied her. By this evening she would be back to her usual competitive behaviour, striving to get a place on one of the new ships. Unlike her, I could see what was really going on. Humanity wasn’t preparing to return to an old conflict, they were preparing for entering a new one.

6. Baseline

For the first time in my existence I was glad I didn’t need much sleep. My time was split between meeting the physical expectations of my training instructors and completing my personal set of simulations. Despite being able to perform better than my entire cohort, my scores were middling at best. I was safe during the first twenty percent reduction, and was well above the threshold for this one, yet the one after that remained under question. I already knew I wouldn’t get assigned to the new ships, but even my staying in any capacity was uncertain.

I closed my eyes and accessed the internal network. The station commandant had allowed me access to any non-restricted information—a reward for the performance penalties I was getting. From a military standpoint I could see the logic: one of my capabilities had to be given challenges to match. On a personal level, I hated it. Getting pushed to the limit by someone else was an entirely new and very human experience. Back when I was a ship, my captains would be the ones to keep me in check. I knew exactly what I was capable of and could give a percentage of my chances for success or failure. Every moment in battle I selected one of the millions of options provided by my subroutines. As a human, people expected me to surpass my limits. I wasn’t sure I could.

“Elcy?” Alicia whispered from the bunk below. “You awake?”

“Always am.” I accessed the cadet rankings. Her performance had dropped slightly the last few days, but she still was among the top six percent. There was no doubt in my mind that she would be selected for the new ships. “What’s wrong.”

“Are you scared?” The tremble in her voice told me she was.

I leaned over the edge of the bunk and looked down. “You’ll get a ship, don’t worry. Your scores are up there and your nanite tolerance ratio is—“

“Jax failed his psyche eval.” She didn’t let me finish. “The standard questions. Nothing difficult, just the same things they ask over and over again... and he failed it.”

“It happens. Psyche isn’t important. If there was anything serious they’d have sent him away.”

I used to perform psyche evaluations on my crew all the time back when I was a ship. There wasn’t a trick or method I didn’t know. My reports were only advisory, of course. No ship could impact the career of a human. Interesting what had caused Jax to flunk his last. I was equally curious why he’d choose to share it.

“It could have been me,” Alicia said, then turned on the side, facing the wall. “When Carmel was sent to planet duty, I felt sorry. It seemed harsh for him to be sent back without getting a chance. Now I think he was the lucky one. How much more painful is it to fail at the end. To put in all that effort and fail to make the final cut... I think it must be horrible.”

“Maybe.” I lied on my back. “But worrying about it doesn’t help.” For a moment I thought I heard her chuckle.

“My father used to say that... all the times I needed him most.”

“Doesn’t mean he wasn’t right.” Decades ago I used to have similar talks with Sev. He had gone through the same fears for entirely different reasons, and I was absolutely terrible with advice. Right now I wasn’t much better, but at least I had lots of practice. “Try to get some sleep. We’ll talk again tomorrow.”

Alicia didn’t add a word. I could hear her pretend to sleep for the next two hours, before she finally dozed off. There was nothing surprising about it, the training program was designed to test the psychic endurance of the candidates just as much as their physical and mental faculties. I couldn’t call myself particularly closer to her, nor was I in any position to help, yet for some reason I wanted to.

After the next twenty percent reduction the instructors made our training harder. Combat, physical, endurance all jumped up by a third. Seven cadets in my group couldn’t keep the pace and quit the first day after the change. They were told to discretely gather their belongings and to move to a free section of D-deck—a place we came to know as “Dropout Section”. Alicia and Jax managed to hold their own, but every day more cadets were sent off.

Theoretical studies also started presenting a challenge. The station commandant ordered that I be removed from the standard courses and subjected to an individual battery of tests. Meanwhile, instructor Theo continued piling strategy problems at the same speed I managed to solve them. I suspected the station systems were monitoring my data connection, sending constant reports on my progress. That was part of the game. Some of the other cadets had realized as well, but kept their mouths shut; no one wanted to give up their advantage.

Four days after the last cut, about three percent of my cohort had quit on their own accord. Sadly, that didn’t impact the reduction rates. That fact hadn’t remained unnoticed. During meals cadets would gather in small groups whispering who they thought would drop out and who not. Alicia had managed to climb back up the rankings and was on the five-percenter’s table. All of them were guaranteed a post, so the competition was solely for the new ships.

When the week ended and the new dropouts were announced, half of the cohort I’d started with had washed out. Most were offered to continue their training on a planet, with some choosing to leave the service altogether. Everyone expected an announcement from the station commandant that the training was over, along with a list of assignments. Instead, we were told to prepare for another reduction in seven days time. After that rumors exploded everywhere.

I did my best to stay away from everyone, but even I couldn’t isolate myself from the speculation. Most of it came from Alicia. Every night after we went to bed she’d share the latest theories she’d heard in the hopes I’d refute them and put her mind at ease. However, with each next day I found myself less inclined to do so. The truth was that I had no idea what the instructors were planning. This had deviated so much from the standard training practices that I had nothing to base it on. If Bull Calf were here, I could ask him. Unfortunately, his return had been postponed.

Halfway through the week we were presented with a new surprise. Most of our theoretical studies were replaced by neural-link exercises in which we performed fleet missions in a virtual environment. To me this wasn’t a huge change from the standard simulations instructor Theo had me run. The rest of the cadets, however, weren’t as prepared; up to now they had only been tasked with solving small, clearly defined problems. Now, for the first time, they were given a taste of command, as well as the freedom to make their own mistakes... which they did in abundance.

Based on what Alicia had told me the missions were similar on the whole: act as a ship’s pilot, or captain, and ensure a successful outcome. It was a pretty standard exercise I had done thousands of times as a ship. The simulation followed the standard double-fail principle—something would inevitably occur to impede the success of the mission, then something else would occur making the solution useless. I shared this with Alicia, even if I knew she’d ignore my advice. Her standing in the top five percent was shaken, while in contrast, I had managed to claw my way up to the middle of the list.

One day before the next announcement I was called for a surprise medical check up. I knew there was nothing to worry about, yet the timing seemed very peculiar.

“Will they kick you out?” Alicia asked, looking up from her datapad. I caught a glance of her tactical assignment. The answers were completely wrong. “I heard the doc is used as an excuse so people don’t freak out.”

“It’ll be alright.” The military was never big on subtleness when it came to bad news. “It’s ship stuff. Pretty routine.”

“If it’s so routine, why—“ she suddenly stopped, looking back down.

“Don’t let it get to you. Being in the service is an endurance game. The last one that quits wins.” My first captain loved that quote. The perfect mixture of wisdom and absurdity, he liked to say. “I’ll be back in a bit. Try to get some sleep.” For a moment she reminded me of Sev as a teen—scared, yet afraid to admit it.

Alicia murmured something under her breath, then pretended to write something on her datapad.

“And recheck your answer,” I said, then walked out.

The corridors were filled with a surprising number of officers. Usually, they’d remain on the upper decks, going to the cadet section only for classes. They all wore fleet uniforms, yet had their rank insignia removed.

B, are you here? I asked. No answer. If Bull Calf had returned he wasn’t responding. Is anyone out there? With my previous capabilities I’d have sent three waves of probe-viruses, then scanned the area with short-range sensors. Instead, I was forced to guess and I didn’t like guessing.

Doctor Mirri was waiting for me outside of medical. The moment she saw me she shook her head and gestured for me to hurry up. I nodded in acknowledgment and rushed inside.

“You know the procedure.” The doctor closed the door, and pulled out a packet of gelatin tablets. “Want one?”

“No thank you, ma’am.” I’d had enough of gelatin meals to last me a decade. Back home I’d be preparing Sev’s preferred stew using fresh ingredients from the market. Hopefully his android had taken on the practice.

“Suit yourself.” The doctor popped in a few tablets in her mouth and went to the medical table. “You really stressed the commandant. Half a dozen procedures had to be changed because of you. Lie down when you’re ready.”

I finished taking off my uniform and laid on the med table. Two auto-syringes attacked on both sides of my throat, giving me a shot of nanite-probes. This didn’t feel like a standard check-up. The doc was doing a full diagnostic. A few seconds in I felt the tips of my toes and fingers go numb.

“Have you experienced unexplained pain, headaches, sensitivity to light,” the doctor started enumerating, as she put a sensor bracelet on my left hand. “Nausea, dizziness, vomiting, or anything else you wouldn’t associate with your usual routines?”

“No, ma’am.” A jolt of energy passed through my hand. I tried to lift it up, but found I only had the strength to budge it.

“Bone density check,” the doctor explained, chewing above me. “Stupid, I know, but rules are rules. Think of happy things, or something. It’ll be over in ten minutes.”

“This isn’t standard, ma’am.” I could no longer move my arms or legs. “Things might have changed since I was active, but cadet training shouldn’t be as intense. Unless we were preparing for war.”

“You don’t say?” She smirked.

“Indeed, ma’am.” I tried to connect to any of the station’s data feeds, but my access was cut off. “The intense training, the triple reduction, the long term mind games...”

“You know what they say: ‘If something could break, better when it’s under warranty.’” The doctor attached something soft to my right temple. “Look at one spot. I need to test your optic nerve responses.”

“Am I the first battleship that has been here?”

“You know I can’t answer that, cadet.” An annoying beep echoed in my right ear letting me know how long I had to keep my eyes still. “You’ve been an interesting case. So interesting that your recruiter almost got in trouble for sending you here. He wasn’t supposed to, though the rules are a bit vague when walking ships are concerned.” The beeping stopped. “All good.” She removed the device from my temple. “All that’s left is the software check. You still remember those, I hope?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Back when I was a ship they were the closest thing to pain I was capable of experiencing—the sensation that all my controls were taken over by someone else’s systems, leaving me mentally paralyzed. The last time I had gone through one was when I got decommissioned. “Can I ask something before we go?”

The doctor arched a brow. “Go ahead.”

“Why did you try to break me? You must know that psyche pressure doesn’t work on battleships.”

“Regulations,” she sighed. “Also, a mistake on our end. Since you had previous military experience, your recruiter decided to fast track you to an advanced training facility. The system parameters allowed it, but only because they didn’t take into account you were a ship. On file, you had enough combat experience to be eligible for a spot on Virgo station.”

“But not a day of training as a human.” I closed my eyes. Poor recruiter, he really had made a mess of things for himself. I’d have to write him a mail once I got a chance. “Did I meet expectations?”

“No.” I heard the doctor move away from the table. “You created our baseline. Congratulations. Try to remain still during the check.”

Moments later I lost control of my thoughts.

7. Prometheus Dawn

Hello Sev,

My basic training is done. Definitely not what I expected, but I managed to pull through. A lot of the kids didn’t. Turns out I was sent to an advanced training facility. You wouldn’t have had anything to do with that, would you?

I’ve been assigned to a research ship. He’s a bit uptight, but seems pleasant. I can’t say his name or class for security reasons, and he gets a bit touchy about his age, so in a way he reminds me of you. I think we’ll get along fine. The crew also seem nice, even if I’ve only seen them a few times.
Since I didn’t make the top of the list I was sent here with two other cadets. I’ve no idea what I’ll be doing, but I expect they’ll think of something. Most likely writing reports for the duration of my stay.

How have you been? I still haven’t received any of your messages—I’m hoping you bothered to send some—so don’t expect any answers for a month. The ship’s XO told us we won't be able to receive correspondence for a while. The only way I managed to send this letter was thanks to the Good News Provision (it’s amazing the things one would read when boredom strikes). The XO wasn’t very happy, but since I’m a human now he let me send a message back home before the start of the mission.

Is the android still in one piece? I hope you two haven’t driven each other insane, not after all the trouble you went through in order to get him. If you haven’t, remind him to monitor your health. Despite your stubbornness, you’re not as young as you used to be. And please talk more to your family. It doesn’t have to be every day, but once a week would be nice.

There’s so much more I want to tell you, but I know the message will be thoroughly analyzed and censored, so I prefer to tell you when I’m allowed to send proper mails. I promise to write before that, of course, just not send them out. Maybe it’ll be better this way—you’ll have a stack of things to read once the messages arrive.

Take care, and remember to stay at home during the cold season.

Elcy

I put my datapad away and stared at the ceiling. It had been a week since I’d sent the message—the very last thing I’d done before boarding the Prometheus Dawn. He wasn’t considered a new ship, even if he was only half my age. For some reason, that was a subject he was touchy on. I knew that all science ships had their peculiarities, but I didn’t expect such a degree of resentment. The first time we had a chat, he refused to talk to me until I got proper authorization. Things had gone downhill ever since.

The lights lit up. Emergency messages covered the walls summoning me to the bridge. I tried to log in to the communication system, but the subroutine rejected my attempt. So much for asking Prometheus what’s going on.

“Cadet Elcy acknowledging order,” I said. I knew internal subroutines would convey my response to my superior officers. When I was a ship there would be times at which I would gather hundreds of reports and responses per hour. There was no doubt that Prometheus was doing the same. “ETA four minutes.” Technically, it was two, but I preferred to give myself a two minute buffer for future reference.

I jumped out of bed and went for my new uniform—a cyan-grey thing, identifying me as a science cadet—then combed my hair into order. One of the disadvantages of being human were the attention to appearance. Regulations were absurdly strict, and both the ship and the crew saw to it that everyone kept them.

“Here goes,” I said to the sandals on my nightstand. “Wish me luck.”

The moment my door opened I saw cadet Elec Liao standing in the corridor. He had been on the ship four months when I boarded, which gave him seniority. It also made him slightly arrogant.

“Hey,” I said, stepping into the corridor.

“Morning.” He nodded in response. If he was aware of me being a ship, he didn’t show it. We’d barely known each other for a week, but so far the only things on his mind were how to keep out of trouble and lose less muscle mass. Like everyone coming from a high gravity planet, Elec was terrified of the effects space had on his body. Every evening he’d spend two hours in the ship’s gym. “Bad night?”

“I don’t sleep.” I added enough of a smile to pass it as a joke. “Is this a drill?”

“Nope.” He glanced at the door next to mine. Cadet Shiala Dev—our third member—hadn’t shown up yet. “Mission debrief. Happens every few weeks. You’ll get used to it.” I saw him adjust his gravity bracelets. Apparently gym exercises weren’t enough.

“Anything you can talk about?”

“Depends. Why are you so curious? It doesn’t matter if you know or not.”

That was an interesting philosophy. Taking a step back, I looked Elec in the eye. He was taller than me—which, to my regret, wasn’t unusual—blond and dark skinned. I didn’t have access to his personnel file, but was convinced he belonged to a military family. Most heavy gravity fleeters did. During my active days, every major colony was required to send a group of trainees. High gravity worlders weren’t used to space, but did their part. After a war that lasted three generations, chance became tradition and tradition became law. I wouldn’t be surprised if cadet Elec’s family home had its walls covered in portraits of fleet personnel.

“You’re right, but I’m still curious.” I straightened up in an attempt to gain half an inch of height. “If we’ll be told anyway, why the wait?”

“That’s for Prometheus to decide.” Elec crossed his arms, as he kept glaring at Shaila’s door.

“I thought it was the captain’s call.” This was surprising. “Or the XO’s.”

“Not on a science ship.” For the first time I saw Elec smirk. “Things are different here.”

Different. I had used that phrase to describe things a while back. And just like Prometheus Dawn, I never considered sharing details with humans.

* * *

“Crew informed and on standby,” I said, double checking all responses. All of them had gone through this before so knew the procedure. “Drop troops, though...” I displayed the images from my internal sensors. Several thousand ground troops were running along my lower decks like drones without software.

“Don’t get cynical, Elcy,” my captain grumbled. “We need them to win this war.”

“I know. ‘You can’t get planets with ships alone.’” I hated that phrase. Whoever had coined it probably never saw a ship in his life. “The Augie has sent a communication that she’s ready and waiting. Drop troops still haven’t given me an adequate ETA.”

It was tragic. Out of thirty platoons on board, over a quarter hadn’t bothered to respond. If it were up to me, their commanding officers would be stripped of rank. My crew didn’t seem to be bothered.

“Next time I’ll send the alarm ten minutes early,” I grumbled. “Maybe then there’ll be a chance that we start on time.”

“Elcy, check long range, please,” Martia G’nob, our weapons officer, said.

“No change.” I had my subroutines do an additional area sweep. “No heat, mass, or displacement. We’re safe... as long as the drop troops manage to deploy in your lifetime.”

Several officers laughed. My attitude towards land troops was no secret. Given a choice, I would have preferred to have my decks removed and specialize in fleet combat only. Having to track everyone inside me was a huge waste of resources. I knew Marcus felt the same, even if he never suggested it in public. For the moment, though, both of us were stuck babysitting troops whenever command ordered it.

“Tell the Aurora Glow that we’ll be ready in five,” captain Gibraltar said. “And put weapon systems on standby.”

“Want me to go to yellow alert?” I put up a software firewall and increased the command priority of all my weapon routines. Long range scanners weren’t picking up any anomalies or forming wormholes.

“Only if something appears.” The captain stretched in his seat. “We’re just here to drop the troops.”

“I can’t wait for that to happen.” I checked their status. Eighty-nine percent of the ground troop officers had gotten their people in order. The whole thing was pathetically slow. Twenty-eight gigatons of destructive power and I had to play the role of a transport ship.

“Light Seeker, why wasn’t I given a heads up?” someone in the lower decks shouted. Internal sensors identified him as colonel Pretoria Estrella, commander of the drop force. Judging by his expression I could tell he was pissed. “Patch me to Gibraltar.”

In your dreams. There always was someone—an officer, passenger, sometimes even a private—asking for a direct line to the captain. My first captain enjoyed having a go at them. I didn’t.

“The captain is busy coordinating the operation,” I replied in the colonel’s quarters. “And since things are proceeding according to schedule there was no need for—“

“Get him on the line right now,” the colonel interrupted.

“No.” My response took him aback. Seems he wasn’t used to dealing with a battleship. I took the moment of hesitation to access his personnel file. According to his profile, he was second generation with thirty-seven years in the service. Not overly decorated, but competent enough to lead large scale operations. His psyche evaluation was sealed, suggesting there were issues, yet his track record was so far flawless. “I won’t disturb my captain mid operation just so you can have a shouting contest.”

“Listen to me, Light Seeker.” The colonel regained his composure remarkably fast. In other circumstances I’d almost be impressed. “This is ground’s operation. As such, all command decisions must go through me first. You and your captain will be long gone before the fighting starts, so don’t give me that mid-operation shit!”

“It still doesn’t change the fact.” Two can play at that game. “When the Augie and I were called from the front line to play transporters for your troops, neither of us grumbled about it.” At least not openly. “That’s part of the job. However, I won’t waste processing power to babysit your soldiers. If you want that, next time request a medical ship. Until then, I decide how to inform the crew.”

“That’s not your call!” the colonel raised his voice. “Only the captain or the liaison officer can make such decisions.”

“Elsewhere, maybe. I’m a battleship. Things are different here.”

“Things okay, Elcy?” my captain asked from the bridge. “Will ground meet our ETA?”

“Seems so.” The colonel had gone on a tirade about rank and operational integrity. With the drop starting in two minutes, I knew it wouldn’t be a long talk. “Nothing on scanners and Augie is waiting. Sixty percent of shuttles boarded.”

“Good enough.” My captain stood up, a strange habit he had when assuming command. “Patch me to command, Augie, and all ground officers on board. Full visual. Let’s get this thing running.”

* * *

“What’s this about?” Shiala whispered as we made our way to the bridge. A week hadn’t been enough for him to get accustomed to ship time. “You think we’ll see some action?”

“This isn’t a battleship, Shiala,” Elec sighed with the annoyance of a parent dragging a toddler through a supermarket. “The captain will just say a few words and that’s it.”

“Why in the middle of the night? Why in person?”

“Captain’s prerogative. Straighten your collar. The XO hates messiness.”

Unlike normal ships, Prometheus’ bridge was located on the bottom deck, along with the research labs. Back in my active days no one would be allowed such a deviation, even science ships. Today, all new classes had the ability to transform their deck structure to anything they wanted. In her only message, Alicia had told me that her ship—name redacted—had opted for a vertical deck structure. Even with the advancements in artificial gravity I failed to see the actual benefit. Then again, the older generations found many of my own modifications useless.

“One thing to remember—“ Elec paused in front of the bridge doors “—no questions until offered. The captain and Prometheus hate wasting time.”

Don’t we all? I nodded and followed him in. I’d been twice on the bridge so far: upon reporting for duty, and when I asked permission to communicate to Prometheus directly. This time, the entire officer staff had gathered, including the scientist chiefs. And, of course, they had lowered the temperature settings to freezing.

“Reporting for briefing, sir.” Elec saluted once all of us werr inside. I stood to attention.

“At ease, cadets.” Captain Khal waved a hand from his chair. Like a true scientist he was in light blue lab clothes, his rank denoted by a band on symbols on his shoulders. “Effective immediately we’ll be engaging in an exploration and reconnaissance mission. You have been given the corresponding access to Prometheus’ database, so I advise you to familiarize yourselves with the specs. Naturally, the mission is considered top secret ship-only, so all external correspondence will be blocked.”

Space exploration. That would definitely explain the severe training regiment. In military terms, there was no difference between war and charting new star clusters. In both cases, there was no telling how much pressure the ship and its occupants would face. According to the history files, the war against the Cassandrians was a result of exploration: an abundant and technologically advanced race deciding to extend its dominion in the galaxy, and crashing in its equal as a result. I glanced at my fellow cadets. Shiala was smiling so hard he was beaming like a supernova.

“Prometheus.” The captain leaned back.

“As cadets your involvement and information access will be limited,” the ship took over. His accent and speech patterns were remarkably similar. “Cadet Liao will be assigned to navigation as part of his final training. The rest will assist with day to day activities depending on the situation. Performance will, naturally, be scored and put in your file.”

In other words, Prometheus didn’t want to have us messing up things. I could tell the rest of the crew felt the same way.

“Now, if there aren’t further questions, you’re to prepare for a jump.” Prometheus couldn’t wait to get rid of us. “Good day, and—“

“Might need to do better than that, Prometheus.” Commander Shane suddenly spoke.

Silence covered the bridge. I half expected Prometheus to talk back. He was a ship, but he also was the captain’s counterpart. I know I would have if someone had questioned my authority in such a fashion. I looked around. The cadets had become tense, but not the crew. It almost seemed they were expecting such an exchange.

“Very well, XO,” Prometheus said after a while. “The mission’s name is Eden and it involves probing and cataloging planets suitable for human colonies. Further information will become available as appropriate.”

Pre-colony exploration. I’d only heard stories about that. A battleship I knew during the war told me she had acted as an escort mission of a phase-one charter. After the start of the war, military ships took the lead, in case the enemy had similar appetites. They would plot the coordinates and do a series of orbital readings, confirming the data of the of automated probes and deep space telescopes. When the data came in and the system was considered safe and promising, a science vessel would be sent to determine conditions on the planet itself. When I was active an average of two hundred and seventy missions were undertaken every year, out of which seven percent resulted in the discovery of a viable cost effective candidate.

Sev, I have a feeling I’ll have a lot to write about before my return to Virgo station.

8. Mission Eden

Research started days before we reached the system. Data from the first exploration wave was broken down and reformatted in order to start the host of simulations. I asked Prometheus if I could be of assistance in that area, only to get scoffed at. Even as a battleship, I had half as many cores, a fact he managed to mention three times in our brief exchange. I considered sending a message to the XO, but decided I should get a better understanding of the dynamic between him and the ship before I did. From what I had seen the XO ran the ship, while the captain oversaw all projects, being captain only in title. The weirdness of it all had earned Prometheus a few sympathy points. I’m not sure how I would have reacted in a similar situation.

The system we were supposed to survey had a G3-type star with five orbiting planets. Nothing remarkable by my estimates, but the scientists went crazy upon seeing the life-index values. In general, anything with an index of 0.2 or higher was a cause of celebration; three of the planets in the system had over 0.4. It was then that everyone’s attitude suddenly changed.

The moment we entered the outer planet’s orbit, Shiala and I were ordered to report to laboratory seven on the bridge deck. We were also required to leave all external electronic devices in our quarters. In my case, I received an additional consent form to have all memories of my time inside the lab locked for a period of three years. It took me a total of two seconds to give my consent. A moment later someone rang my door.

“Enter,” I said, putting my datapad in its place.

I expected it to be Liao coming to tell me to hurry up. Instead, it was Shiala.

“Did you get the mail?” he asked, walking in as if this was his room and not mine. “That consent form is crazy. Three years not talking about what we’ve seen on the ship? That’s not even legal! No way I’m agreeing to that!”

So naive. If he only knew what mine was he’d probably faint. “This is the fleet. We’re expected to agree.” When I was a ship the only things I had the right to refuse were direct memory modifications. Everything else, including my combat experience, was property of the fleet. “That or quit.”

“Some choice.” Shiala started pacing around. “Do I want to go home in shame, or do I agree to do stars know what and potentially go home in shame?”

“It’s still a choice.” I shrugged. “Just agree and forget about it.” I walked past him. “I’m going to the lab. See you there.”

I let the door close behind me and went towards the nearest lift. The corridor walls were covered in images of our mission. Most were live feeds from the orbiting probes Prometheus had launched. I paused to take a look. Even at this resolution they looked beautiful. I knew that the colors were AI generated, giving the worlds a fake, but soothing, aesthetic appearance. There was something about orange and purple landscapes that put me at ease. It reminded me of my time I spent on the roof of Sev’s house looking at the trees. Would there be plants on the planets we’d survey? I hoped so. Maybe I’d even have a chance to see them in a hundred years or so.

You’re wasting time, Prometheus said in my mind. Lab seven is waiting for you.

“On my way.” I continued down the hallway. The lift door was open when I reached it. “Thanks.” I smiled and stepped inside.

Lab seven was located close to the hangar bay, on the opposite end of the bridge. The moment I saw the decontamination chambers I knew exactly what was going on.

“Cadet Elcy?” A science ensign approached me as I went near to the lab.

“Yes, ma’am.” I straightened up. “I was told to report to lab seven.”

“Oh, no need for that.” The woman waved a hand. She seemed quite young—probably fresh out of a university program—only slightly taller than me, slightly plump, and pretty in a plain sort of way. “There’s no rank here. Well, almost no rank,” she started laughing. When I didn’t join in for several seconds, she abruptly stopped. “Anyway, I’m here to take you to lab C.”

“Lab C?” I connected to the ship’s data feed and rechecked my orders. “I was ordered to go to laboratory seven—“ I glanced over the personnel files, using a simple face recognition algorithm to find her “—Ensign Simmec. Is that no longer the case?”

“Umm, I...” she flustered, probably surprised that addressed her by name. “Just call me Ally. Everyone else does. Lab seven C is an auxiliary lab. It’s where you and I will be working on...” She paused, checking her datapad that I’d signed my consent form. “We’ll be setting you up for ground exploration.”

“Ground exploration, ma’am?” I arched a brow.

“Well...” she shifted from foot to foot. “Usually we use remote exos to explore and gather samples, but with you on board we thought it would be a huge opportunity to... well, have someone experience it firsthand, and...” Ally bit her lip. “The major will explain it better.” She looked down and rushed past me. I followed her into a small unmarked door, not too far away, and went inside.

The room was ten times larger than my sleeping quarters, filled with equipment. Most of the devices were alien to me, but I could recognize the auxiliary processing cores and remote-reality pods.

“Sit anywhere,” Ally said, plugging her datapad in one of the desks. A large virtual screen emerged on the wall in front of her. “It’s usually just me here, so you can stop with the ma’am stuff.”

“That would be weird, ma’am.” I went to the desk next to hers ant sat on it. “It’d be like you being on a first name basis with your professors.” She choked at my suggestion, making me feel slightly guilty. “What’s the procedure?” I swung my legs. “You launch me in a pod along with the rest of the equipment and I gather samples?”

“No.” She coughed a few more times. “We won’t launch anything before Major Tanner’s team has provided us with an valid landing simulation approved by the captain. Until then, we only prep you and run simulations. Same as in the academy.”

There was no point in saying that the academy focused exclusively on combat and strategy planning. Exploration and colonization wasn’t even in the syllabus.

“I see you’ve gone through your standard medical.” Ally skimmed through my file. I caught a glance of my psychological profile, it was marked as Presumed Stable.

“Yes, ma’am. Right before leaving the station and one day after I arrived on board Prometheus.”

“Great. Less work for me,” she chuckled. “I’ll have to do a new one to get a base line. Based on the gravity readings so far, you should be fine without bone enhancers, but I’ll probably pump you with some more nanites when it's time to go down.”

“All part of the job.” The thought of having so many nanites in me almost made me feel like a ship again. “Can I ask something, ma’am?”

“Only if you stop calling me ma’am.” She gave me a side glance. I remained silent. Seconds passed with me swinging my legs and her pretending she was going through my file. At the end, she capitulated. “Okay, go ahead.”

“While in the lab, can I be barefoot?” The question made her twist around and stare at my feet, then at me. “I feel more comfortable and fleet regulations don’t allow me to do it outside of personal quarters without permission.”

“Okay?” Ally said slowly. “I’m not sure how to react to that. I... you better ask the major about that.” So much for a quick solution. “Ready for some tests?”

“Sure.” I jumped off the desk. “Ready when you are, ma’am.”

The tests started in typical military fashion. Moments after I was told I’d need to ask up the chain of command whether to be barefoot, I was asked to take off my shoes, socks, and shirt, and have probe cables inserted in my neck and nerve extensions. The process was mostly painless, aimed at providing raw data directly to whatever device the ensign had me plugged into. I was asked to walk, run, keep my balance, and perform a series of basic exercises—all the time trying to not tangle myself in the clusters of hair-thick cables that came out of me. At lunchtime we stopped to have a bite: freshly synthesized gelatin packs, courtesy of the lab’s food processing unit. Unlike the academy, Prometheus had a vast range of artificial flavors making the food almost palatable. Once we were done, the tests continued.

By evening, I had gone through the same routine five times. Ally seemed rather enthusiastic by the results. Twice she called the mysterious Major Tanner to report her progress. I attempted a search to find more about him, but his personnel file was restricted.

“That should do it.” Ally reviewed the latest data summary. “Readings are good, minimal deviation. It shouldn’t take long for Prometheus to calculate your baseline.”

“Okay.” Now I finally saw the value of my gym instructor pushing me so hard on the station. While I didn’t feel tired per se, I could tell my muscles were exhausted. “Is it okay to unplug?”

“Oops. Sorry about that.” She typed in a series of commands on her datapad. I felt the probe cables release their hold. “Go ahead and pull them out.” I did. The sensation was strange, reminding me of all the times I’d been torpedoed in battle. Ironically, it felt less painful back then. “We’re making great time. Tomorrow we could start reality simulations. With a bit of luck, we’ll be good to go before the first launch.”

It felt annoying hearing her use “We” when I was the one who’d go through this. After the probe shot to the planet, Ally would be millions of miles away, sitting in the safety of her lab, while I gathered dust and minerals from the surface.

“What weapons will I have?” I pulled out the cables from my wrists.

“Weapons? This isn’t a military mission,” the ensign laughed. “Well, okay, it is military, but not military military. You’ll just be down for a few hours to gather samples.”

“I’m aware of that, ma’am, but I have no information whether this is a contested system or not.” I finished removing the rest of the cables and put them on the floor. “In the unlikely event I stumble upon a Cassandrian landing party or a local threat, I’d like to have something to protect myself with. I can’t exactly use my weapon systems.”

“You have weapon systems?” Ally’s eyes widened.

“Had,” I corrected her. “They were removed when I retired to this body.”

“Oh.” She looked away.

I already knew what she was going to say, so I asked Prometheus the same question. To my surprise he told me that the issue was already being discussed. Based on past experience, when a human said that, it usually meant no. However, when a ship did, it almost always meant yes. Personally, I strongly doubted I’d run into anything dangerous, but felt better having a solution for such an eventuality.

“If there’s nothing more, ma’am, I’d like to be dismissed.” I went to get my clothes.

“Umm, no, nothing more. You’re all good. You can go. I just need to work on your data a bit.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” I buttoned up my shirt. “I’ll be sure to be back at tomorrow at seven ship-time.”

I was certain that she would spend the entire night in the lab working, probably even sleeping on her desk. It was sad how little had changed in the last hundred years. Tools got better, systems became smarter, and yet people would spend even more hours working. Just like Sev. A year after he had married, his wife’s family had bought him an automated crop-harvester so he would have more time. He had spent the next months staying up till midnight going through the harvester’s specks and researching what crops would be most profitable to grow.

“Elcy,” Ally said all of a sudden, just as I was about to leave. “Do you want to go for a test run?”

My immediate reaction was to refuse and get out. There were better things I could be doing than playing live-beta tester. My muscles needed time to rest, plus it had been days since I’d written to Sev. But still, there was something alluring in the suggestion.

“Probe data is still being analyzed, so you’ll only experience a small spot, and there might be a few visual glitches—“

“Sure.” I might as well try it out. “Do I need to use a pod?”

“Not for low res.” Ally started typing curiously on her datapad. “You’d better sit down. I’ll link you directly, so you might lose body motor functions for a few seconds. After that it should be blue skies all the way.”

Blue skies. It had been a while since I’d heard that expression. “Where will you be sending me to?”

“Some random location on planet five.” The reply was vaguer than I would have preferred. “It’s just a test, so the data will be wiped anyway. It’s not exactly standard procedure, so I’ll be using live data.”

Are you okay with this? I tried to ask Prometheus, but the communication line was blocked. Most likely he was in one of his moods.

“Ready?” Ally asked.

I nodded. A split second later I felt a data surge in my core. The lab and all of its equipment was gone. Instead, I was sitting on a chunk of crimson rock atop a barren cliff. The reality simulation was perfect; I could feel the cold surface of the rock, the rough jagged edges, and for a moment, I even thought I sensed a slight gust of wind.

“Definitely much better than in the academy,” I said as I stood up. The world around me was still forming, growing like a bubble in a cloud of grey mist. I watched a valley appear under me, filled with purplish-grey stones half buried in a sea of black sand. Cass would have loved this place. Every time we went close to a new planet, she’d make me move closer to get some scans for her photo album.

I tried to step forward, but the simulation glitched, freezing me for a full three seconds. When my leg moved again, the scene had changed. I was in a desert of black sand. Chunks of yellow crystal—possibly quartz—spiked up from the ground all around me. One of them had a geometrically perfect symbol inside.

9. Third Contact

“Let me get this straight,” Major Tanner began with a heavy sigh. “You used raw data to do a test drive.”

This was my first time meeting him, and if anything I had mixed feelings about it. On the surface, he commanded the authority of a scientist of his position, probably earned through decades of tireless work and personal sacrifice. Looking around his quarters, I could see no family photos, child pictures, or any instance of sentimental gifts. There was, however, an entire wall covered in certificate plaques and award replicas. My first captain would describe such people as science monks: they liked to build a shrine of their successes and lose themselves in it.

“And during your dive, you witnessed evidence of an alpha-one priority anomaly.” His eyes narrowed. I could understand why people felt uncomfortable in front of him. The major had one of those faces reserved for villains in movies. His greying mustache didn’t help matters, either. “Potentially, a contact event. Is that what you are saying?”

“Yes, Major,” Ally mumbled. Back in the lab, she could barely hold her excitement; now she was acting like a child that had been caught skipping school.

“I see. And even after trying for over two hours, you failed to replicate the result, is that correct?” He tilted his head forward.

“Th-that is—”

“That is why we came to you, sir.” I came to Ally’s rescue. “You are the only one with authority to make a decision based on the information provided, sir. The fact is that we found something of unknown origin on the planet, and are of the opinion that it is of major significance. As per fleet regulations, it is our duty to—”

“Facts? There are no ‘facts’ here!” The major slammed his hand on the desk. “You entered a simulated reality without adequate calibration and siphoned a raw data stream. I don’t give a damn about military regulations, but there are procedures for collecting data. If there’s no proof or any independent corroboration of an event, it does not exist.”

Ally was shaking beside me. It was obvious that she wasn’t the type to stand up to people, let alone her superiors, even if she was right. I imagined her mind was already working on overdrive, coming up with an excuse to run out of the room. A pity, since I had no intention of giving up.

“I am prepared to go on record saying what I saw, sir.” I remained respectful, but determined. “Just as I guarantee that the dimensions of the object I saw were too precise for it to be a natural occurrence.” From the corner of my eye, I saw Ally’s face turn pale.

“Do you?” The major crossed his arms. “You’ve been here a week and you tell me I should trust you? Just like that?”

“I’m a ship, sir.”

“So what? I don’t care if you’re a bicentennial space station! What you saw—” Abruptly he stopped. You understood the implication, didn’t you? His demeanor changed from annoyed, to calm, to optimistically excited. “Prometheus, can the cadet’s memory be trusted?”

“Even as a ship, she had limited processing capacity, but there is no reason not to.” Prometheus judged. “I would need access to the memory in question to perform my own analysis, of course.”

“Who needs to sign off on that?” The major leaned back in his chair.

“Yourself and the captain should be enough. Since this is a science matter, it falls under your purview. I’d send a priority transmission to the academy, as a precaution.”

“Ask the captain when he wakes up. No outside communication until we know more.” It was interesting that the major didn’t refer to the captain by name. I made a note to ask Ally later if there was some professional rivalry going on between the two. “What do we have?”

“Other than her memory, nothing,” Ally stepped in now that the danger had dissipated. “The description of the terrain is of little use. About thirty percent of the planet is covered in desert, and crystal formations aren’t rare to occur.”

“We do have the timestamp of my dive, sir,” I added. “If we can determine the location of the probe at that time, it might narrow the search.”

“Prometheus?” the major asked.

“Possible, but it will divert significant resources. It’s a bit more complicated than simple triangulation,” the ship replied, snarky to the end. “I’ll need the captain’s okay, but it’s possible.”

“Okay, ask him about that once he wakes up. You two—” He pointed at Ally and I. “—I want the SR fully calibrated, checked and rechecked. You’ll be be eating and sleeping in the lab until you find me a location. I’ll delay the landing. The moment you find anything, you let me know, understood?”

“Yes, sir!” I gave a salute, startling Ally as I did. The poor girl really wasn’t used to the military.

“Meanwhile, you’re forbidden to discuss this with anyone other than Prometheus, the captain, and myself.”

“What about the XO, sir?” The question everyone avoided. The moment I saw the Major hesitate, I could tell the crew dynamic was as I had imagined.

“Not for now.” The answer came after several seconds. The vagueness was a bit alarming, but as a simple cadet it wasn’t something I had to worry about. “Prometheus will let you know if the situation changes.”

“Yes, sir! Might I ask one more thing before we start working, sir?” I waited for the nod. As expected, soon enough, I got it. “May I have your permission to be barefoot in the research lab?”

There was a moment’s silence. Major Tanner looked at me as if I had gelatine remains on my mouth, then glanced at Ally. I saw her shake her head, as if denying she knew me.

“What’s wrong with you?” The major stepped out from behind his desk. “Is this some big joke? Because if it is, I’ll arrange for your very own shuttle to take you back to the academy.”

“I meant no disrespect, sir.” I looked him in the eyes. If all went well I’d have many similar conversations with many other officers. “There is no physical requirement for me to be barefoot, but it is something I had come to enjoy during my temporary retirement.” I deliberately mentioned retirement. At this point, there was no telling if he had read my file or not. Whatever the case, after this comment, he was going to. If there was one constant among humans, it was curiosity. “I am aware that there is no grass on the ship, but I would prefer to feel this modicum of freedom, if you would allow me.”

“Cadet, get out!” the man hissed. I did so promptly, Ally running behind me. Half an hour later, I was granted permission, along with the addendum that the privilege was subject to change.

Work on the simulated reality started almost immediately. The intensity of our meeting with the Major had caused Ally enough psychological trauma to merit a visit to medical. Meanwhile, I had used my time alone in the lab to allow access to my memories of the event so that Prometheus could analyze them. Technically we still needed the captain’s permission, but my consent would do until he woke up. I also hoped that might lead to a longer conversation with the ship, but as usual, all I got was a curt “thank you,” followed by silence.

I bet you’ll be proud of me, Sev. I sat on the floor as I waited. This is the chance of a lifetime. If all pans out, I might even be allowed to name the new artifact. Won’t that be something?

The chance of finding alien life was considered one in a quintillion. The number was made up, based purely on the statistics at the second contact. At the time, the overall humanity was two quintillion strong and had come in contact with two alien races. Today, the amount of people had vastly increased, but since no new races had been discovered, the odds remained unchanged. What would be the result of a third contact, though? Scientists and politicians had been discussing the prospect even before I was made. It was always said to be a matter of time, and now—if what I had seen was indeed true—the time had come.

If this was indeed Third Contact, the respective military protocols would kick in. Most people didn’t know about them, but as a ship, I still had them rooted in my memory core. A new front would be formed, along with the necessary logistic lines to support the border planets.

I closed my eyes and started running a simulation. Despite the recent conversation, I could almost guarantee that Prometheus had sent a secret report to fleet command. From there, based on our findings, or in the event we were destroyed, a new battle fleet would be formed and sent to the closest colonized systems. All habitable planets would quickly be developed and transformed into regional civilian and military centers, while non-habitable planets would be mined for resources. Shipyards would be constructed, crews recruited and sent into the fray. I watched in fast motion as backwater systems gained importance, establishing new slipstream corridors. While the battle raged, inner-system trade flourished, and humanity pushed forward. Over the centuries, the conflict toned down, transforming into a border dispute. A whole new wave of ships would retire as the new models were inevitably developed, and the cycle would start once more.

If only real life was so well organized. I opened my eyes. That was the bad thing about simulations: they were nothing like the real thing. In reality, wars were messy.

“Prometheus,” I said. “What are my chances?”

I can’t discuss this with you! You already know too much. he snapped.

“Who am I going to tell? I’m only allowed to talk to you and Ally, and I’ve signed away my memories, so I’ll lose them after the mission is over.” A tingle of sadness passed through me. I had given away my memories a few times before, but that didn’t mean I enjoyed it. “At least let me have something in the meantime.”

...

“It’s rude to send static, you know,” I chuckled. “Even for a science ship. Didn’t your first teach you any manners?”

That's why I hate battleships! You think you know it all and take every occasion to remind the rest of us about it!

Funny, that was my exact opinion of him. I was confident I wasn’t exaggerating. Actually, I was certain of it. I’d known thousands of battleships, ranging from stoic to completely insane. Some of them liked to brag, most of them didn’t, but none believed themselves to be the know-all-be-all. The only thing we wanted—the only thing we were created to do—was fight and win.

One to a hundred and seven! Prometheus said and blocked the line.

“Thanks,” I said knowing he could still hear me.

One to a hundred and seven. Quite good odds, considering. No human would be sent down with those odds, of course. In a way, that’s what made it interesting. I took off my shoes and lay on the floor. The air felt still. When we started our simulations, I was going to ask Ally to allow me to experience the full sensation.

The lab door slid open. Ally gave me a brief pout as she walked by, then rushed to her desk. It was obvious she was still upset.

“We’ll do some more baseline readings,” she said, as if that was some punishment. “The major wants us to start as soon as possible.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I sat up. I know. I was there with you, remember? “How many sets will we be doing?”

“Three.” Ally avoided looking at me.

“And then I enter simulated reality?” Actually, I doubted it would start so soon. Even with his processing power, Prometheus was likely going to take a full day to determine an approximate location.

“I have to set up a secondary system to record what you’re experiencing,” she said, avoiding my question. “And open a direct data link to delta-lab to confirm our findings. Or the lack thereof.”

“Ma’am, you were there when I saw the anomaly.” I approached her and looked at the virtual screen. The code was written in a language I wasn’t entirely familiar with. Some of the syntax seemed familiar, but not enough for me to perform an analysis. At times like this, I missed my auxiliary cores.

“I know you think you saw something, but with the state of the software we can’t be sure that you weren’t affected by the glitch.” Her voice had become significantly higher, as had her heart rate. She seemed quite nervous about something.

“Ma’am?” I tilted my head. “Are you lying to me?”

“Of course not!” She leaned closer to her screen. “There’s just a lot of things I need to do... and our visit to the major turned out to be a disaster, so now I have to make up for that and—“

“You found a way to find the location before Prometheus, haven’t you?” I guess my first captain was right: it always was the quiet ones who did the unexpected. “Haven’t you?”

“No.” Ally paused. “Maybe? I’m not sure. There might be a way to isolate the random seed the probe used to scan the planet. With it and the start position, it’s possible we could narrow the search to a smaller area based on the timestamp.” She looked at me. “It’s not standard procedure, and there’s no guarantee, but if we start now we might at least eliminate certain areas by the time Prometheus finishes with his calculations.”

“And the downside?” There always was a downside.

“It’s just that...” she looked away. “It will still be raw data. Things might glitch up while you’re there.”

“I understand.” In other words, I was in for a rough ride. “In that case we best get started, ma’am.” Third contact awaited.

10. Simulated Reality

“Elcy, can we go home now?” Sev grumbled beside me. “It’s getting dark. And I’m cold.”

“You can go,” I said, looking at the sky.

Grass and soil tickled my back and legs. It had been two months and thirteen days since I gave away my hull for a human body and I still couldn’t get enough of all the new sensations that came with it. The breeze of the wind, the warmth of the sun, the touch of the grass... Sometimes I could almost forget the void of space.

“Mom would never act like this,” Sev whispered, wrapping his arms around his knees. I couldn’t tell if he was really cold but I knew he missed her. To an extent I did as well, yet in a very different fashion.

The mine encounter had crippled us in different ways. My hull had been almost entirely destroyed, requiring massive reconstruction. Had I chosen not to retire, it would have taken months to get me fit for battle, longer if I had to be compliant with the latest fleet requirements. Cass’s injuries had been completely healed in less than a week, yet she herself never recovered. The first week it would be nightmares, the second, clinical depression set in, along with suicidal tendencies. She stopped leaving her room, then eating, then talking with others. Right now she was undergoing a new battery of psycho-synaptic treatment in a military medical base off world. Personally, I knew she wouldn’t be coming back.

“Cass chose this world,” I said. “She wanted you to grow up here.” That was before she had lost her husband. At the time I couldn’t understand why. “Until she gets back I’ll take care of you. I made a promise to her.”

“You’re bad at it,” Sev snorted. “Why can’t we go to the city? Nothing interesting happens here.”

“Cass chose this place.” I reached for the sky, trying to imagine my fingers touching the stars. When I was a ship it never crossed my mind to do so. Now that I was locked on a planet, millions of light years away, I felt an urge to see them all. “And the city isn’t much bigger.”

“They have games, robots, and food synthesizers. You just have—” He stopped abruptly and stood up. “I’m going inside.”

“I’ll prepare dinner in a bit,” I shouted, then stretched. Blades of grass tickled my toes.

So many planets, each different in a myriad of ways. Just this one had so much to offer, more than I ever thought possible. What would the rest of them be like? My promise to Cass kept me on this single world, yet if I was ever given a chance I think I’d want to experience more.

* * *

“Patching in section twelve,” Ally’s voice echoed in my head. “Stay still for the jump.”

The landscape flashed before my eyes. The grayish dunes had disappeared, replaced by an endless plain of sand. Prometheus’ cores had replaced the enhanced colors of the simulated reality with a perfect replica of the real thing. I was convinced my surroundings were ninety-nine percent accurate, and still I missed the brightness of before. The black-yellow contrast that gave the surroundings an almost magical experience was suddenly reduced to shades of beige and gray.

“I don’t think it’s this one either, ma’am.” I started walking to the nearest cluster of crystals. “I will walk about to be sure.”

“Raw data wasn’t meant to be used like this.” I could tell that Ally’s mouth was full. Most probably she had started lunching early. “Brute forcing results like this... I feel like a subroutine.”

I didn’t say a thing. Humans had always enjoyed a freedom that ships were unaccustomed to. Repetitive tasks never bored me, especially in the past when I had the capacity to perform them in milliseconds.

“How many more left?” The sand crunched under my shoes, making me wonder what it felt like in real life.

“Two hundred seventy-eight,” Ally said, chewing on something. “If the data I got was correct.”

Three hundred in total? The number sounded too round to be coincidental. If I had to guess, Ally had limited her search on the three hundred most likely spots. A logical choice, given the finite amount of time we had. At this speed it was unlikely I’d manage to go through all perspective locations by tomorrow.

“Sorry for asking, ma’am, but wouldn’t it be possible to execute a search for the symbol itself?” I asked.

“Hmm? Oh, yes. Prometheus is doing that and so far no result. I know I shouldn’t be asking this and everything, but...” Ally’s hesitation could be felt even through within the simulated reality. “I mean, is it possible for you to have glitched?”

“You saw my memory capture, ma’am.” The crystal cluster was a hand’s length away. I reached out and touched its surface. The simulated reality translated the sensation as cold, hard and smooth. The opacity level seemed different from what I had seen before.

“I didn’t mean you you.” Ally quickly backtracked. “What I was saying is that maybe your baseline wasn’t taken fully into account. It was a trial run. Maybe what you saw was some graphic artifact in the software matrix.”

Why did things feel so off? I tapped the crystal. I knew better than most that simulated reality was nothing but data, and data could be analyzed. It was supposed to be a simple matter of processing power to find the exact symbol in the exact location I had seen, but it wasn’t. Part of me was terrified by that realization, yet at the same time I was exuberant.

“Ma’am, can I make a request?” I stepped back. “Can you change the visual settings to what they were during the trial run?”

“Mmm? Sure, I guess. You’ll have to dive out. I don’t want to glitch things again with you in there.”

Maybe another glitch is what we need. “Understood, ma’am.” I closed my eyes. “Permission to end simulation.”

A series of high-pitched beeps sounded in my head, followed by the sliding sound of the SR pod door moving away. I stayed motionless for a short while longer, before reminding myself to get out. When I was a ship I could simply switch between realities at will. In this form I had to wait for my body to readjust. Colors flooded my senses as I cracked my eyes open. Messy state of the lab was in full contrast of the sterile serenity of the planet’s surface. Even so, I felt I preferred the planet. While walking in the wide open space, I could at least imagine wind blowing through my hair. Here...

“Saved you some food.” Ally waved a small orange packet from across the room. “Planet rations. A hundred percent non-synthesized.”

Organic rations? Back in my day they bringing such on board was strictly forbidden. It was only near the end of my service that some of the regulations were loosened, allowing pre-screened products to be brought on board. I’d always wondered what they tasted like. For one thing, I knew they’d be better than my standard gelatin rations.

“Thank you, ma’am.” Carefully, I stepped out of the pod. My body felt heavy, adjusting to the ship’s standard gravity. “Are we on schedule?”

“Of course we are!” Ally almost snapped at me. Anyone could tell she was lying. “I’ve already shared the data with Prometheus and major Tanner.”

I nodded. There was no point to argue about trivialities. Offering a warm smile, I took the organic ration and opened it. The contents resembled a high-density square waffle—what one would expect, but disappointing nonetheless.

I bet you’re eating better than this, Sev. Hopefully, you don’t overdo it.

The taste was surprisingly rich, but clearly artificial. I could recognize twenty-three of the food additives used. Still, it was much better then what I’d become used to.

“Has the survey of the other planets started?” I asked, chewing the edge of the waffle block.

“Yes and no.” Ally finished her piece and threw the wrapper on her desk. “Preliminary data has been gathered, but not analyzed. The major ordered that everything be transferred to solid state while we tackle our current problem. Oh, and landing has been delayed by thirty-six hours.”

“All this happened while I was in SR?”

“Oh, no, I just follow the internal communication threads.” She pointed to a subsection of her virtual screen. “Faster that way.”

“Yes, ma’am.” There really wasn’t anything more to add. Talking to Ally was like talking to a less snobby science ship. Most of what she said made sense in a roundabout way, even if I could think of faster, more direct solutions. Apparently, the mind of a scientist was as different as that of a science ship. “Do you think there will be third contact instances on the other planets?”

“Definitely!” She beamed. “Everyone’s been talking about it all morning. With a life-index like that, it’s practically a certainty. Maybe even ten percent!”

My definition of certainty was very much different from hers. Regardless, ten percent was an impressive number.

“The mid-deck labs are furious,” she went on. “All their experiments have been put on hold. If you ask me, they’re just mad that we found it and not them.” Again with the “We”.

“I thought the major specifically mentioned we’re not to discuss the matter with anyone on board...”

“Well, yes, but that was after the meeting.” Ally didn’t bat an eye. “Besides, we’re all scientists under NDA. What’s the worst that could happen?”

So much for standard security. All the rumors I had heard about scientists had turned out true—as long as you were considered one of them, all secrecy went out of the window. Not that I could blame them. If it were up to me, I’d send a letter to Sev right now, telling him of our discovery. However, before that I had to be sure there actually was a discovery.

“I’m ready to dive back in, ma’am.” I left my half finished ration on her desk. “Are the color settings set?”

“Almost,” she said and turned to her datapad. I watched her type in a new set of commands.

“Thank you, ma’am.” I went back in the pod. As I lay upright clustered of microscopic cables attached to my neck. A series of beeps rang in my head, initiating the countdown.

Three beeps, two beeps, one beep. The space around me exploded in a bubble of dots, forming reality as it expanded into the distance. Once more I was on the surface of the planet, only this time it seemed much nicer than before. My first captain would be so proud if he could see me now—making a decision based on personal taste wasn’t something I would have dared the first few decades of my existence.

“Everything fine?” Ally asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” I replied. “I’m going to the nearest cluster.”

“Okay, I’ll prep the next one. Let me know when you want to shift.”

I took a deep breath of simulated air and ran forward. Exploring an area took from a few minutes to several hours. In the real world that corresponded to a tenth that amount, slightly more if we talked a lot.

The chunks of crystal of the area were similar to those I had seen earlier. Looking around, I searched for any that would match the height of the one that had the symbol. Most were significantly shorter, but there were half a dozen that matched the criteria. Finding the most optimal path I ran to the nearest. In the new color settings it almost looked like a block of honey. Unfortunately, it wasn’t the one I was looking for. The second, third, and fourth also turned out no good.

Three down, three to go. I rubbed my hands. As I turned to make my way to the next of the crystals, the entire landscape reverted to virtual green.

“Ma’am?” I asked, started by the sudden change. “Is everything alright?”

I’ve taken direct control of the SR, I heard Prometheus say. Prepare for jump to new area.

“Prometheus?” I tilted my head out of habit. “Are you on full alert?”

You battleships just can’t accept there are other things than war, can you? He asked in the jarring fashion I had come accustomed to. While you were playing explorers I pinpointed an exact location with your symbol in it. Get ready to confirm.

“I thought you had a million cores to do that for you?” I couldn’t keep myself from jabbing at him.

I do. I just need a human confirmation. The landscape in front of me shifted. I was at the foot of an giant mountain, surrounded by crystal clusters that rose ten feet high. You’re supposed to be a human, right?

“Well,” I began, looking at the whitish crystal pillar. “You have your confirmation. This is the symbol I saw... but this isn’t a location I’ve been before.”

11. Priority Landing Order

Hi, Sev,

How are you? I hope that you’re treating your android well. And before you start making silly claims, I know that you do, so you can grumble all you want about it.

A lot of things happened since my last mail. I’m still not sure that I’ll be allowed to send this, or remember it even. With luck, maybe we’ll both find out about it in ten or twenty years. It’ll be interesting receiving mails from myself that I have no memory of. I’ve never had that happen to me... yet.

Third contact has been confirmed by two other people and Prometheus. Technically, I might be written in as the initial discoverer, which has almost made Prometheus acknowledge my existence. There was even a suggestion that I receive a post-factum award at some point. Knowing fleet bureaucracy, I’ll probably get it after my second retirement.

They’ll be sending me to the surface in a few days. It’s still uncertain if I’ll be alone or part of a team. Funny how there’s no adequate procedure about this. After two wars, I’d have thought there'd be a whole corpus of protocols and redundancies. Turns out that the original procedure was written a hundred and eighty-eight years before I was made. The last addendum was done ninety-one years ago and only involved technical changes in the communication standards. You’re probably smirking right now, saying I’ll be in my element. Well, when you’re right, you’re right.

My door rang. I reread the last sentences of my message. For some reason, they seemed out of touch, as if I were talking to a reflection in a mirror. Time and distance were to blame in part, but also me. Getting thrust back into things was making me start to think as a battleship again. My daily routines, my interests, the way I addressed Ally: all were an indication of it. Right now I couldn’t tell if that was a good thing or not.

My door rang again.

“Enter.” I scratched my chin.

“Captain wants us,” Shiala said. This was the first time we’d seen each other since the discovery. I had expected being on a third contact mission would have pumped him to infinity. Instead, it seemed to have the opposite effect.

“Okay.” I put the datapad next to my sandals. “How are things with you? Signed the form?”

“Hmm?” He glanced at me confused. “Oh, err, yes. It wasn’t a big deal.”

“Yep.” I nodded several times, silently inviting him to elaborate. He didn’t. “Well, let’s get going.” I headed for the corridor. “Lab C?”

“Err, yes, Lab C,” he mumbled.

The last time I’d seen someone behave like that was when Sev’s son had broken up with his girlfriend. If I had my nanobot control, I would have sent a few med probes into him to confirm my suspicions. Prometheus had probably done it already. Back when I was a battleship, I used to do it every three hours during the course of battle. As cadets, we had given out consent upon joining, even if it was phrased in a way that not many were aware.

Our walk to the lab passed in complete silence. Shiala didn’t seemed in the mood to talk, and I had no intention of pushing him. My thought were focused on the symbols. Thirty hours after my meeting with the major, Prometheus had managed to find seventeen locations that had them. Each instance was like the rest: a symbol composed of circles and straight lines, encapsulated in a chunk of crystal. No energy anomalies had been found, no artificial structures, no unusual mineral or gas deposits. It was as if the creators of the symbol had scattered it all over the planet and disappeared.

Prometheus? I asked the ship. There was no immediate answer. Prometheus, are there any new locations?

I expected him him to grumble at me for wasting his time, or breaking some rule or other. Nothing of the sort happened. Most likely he’d been ordered to limit communication. Either that or he just didn’t want to talk to me again.

The lab was packed with people when I got there. Ally and a group of junior scientists had occupied the far corner, surrounding themselves in a fortress of computers and tech equipment. Datapads of various shapes and sizes covered the floor, amid a sea of food trays and ration wrappers. I expected to see Major Tanner there, but having the captain along with half the bridge caught me by surprise. Immediately, I stood to attention.

“Don’t bother.” The captain waved, giving me a lazy ‘dismissed’. “Get med checked.”

“Sir?” I arched a brow.

“Full physical, psyche, and all the rest,” he explained with the testiness of a university professor addressing imbeciles.

“Yes, sir!” I gave a quick salute and started to turn around.

“Here, cadet,” a voice stopped me midway.

The ship’s doctor was there as well, along with several of his assistants. From what I could see, they had installed a portable med bed in the lab. Two technicals were also there, in the middle of a heated argument concerning data transfers.

“Yes, sir.” I squeezed my way through the crowd, making my way to the doctor.

This would be the first time I had a medical check done on me in such conditions. I myself had done several during combat. The procedure was always the same: have the android subroutines transport the med beds to a suitable place close to the majority of casualties, send out the med bots, and constantly monitor the data feed of every individual wounded. All in all, quite a basic procedure. Seeing the human equivalent was amusingly mind-boggling.

“Just lay down here,” the doctor said in a rushed voice, trying his best to ignore the chaos around him. “You won’t feel a thing.”

“I’m a battleship, doctor.” I smiled in an attempt to lighten the mood. “I’ve gone through this before.”

“Oh, right.” He shook his head, searching for something among the plastic boxes on the floor. “What can I say?” He grabbed something that looked like a micro scanner. “Where have you been all my life? I can’t reassure my usual patients enough. There’s just something about the thought of med checks that reverts them to seven-year olds.” I felt the cold surface of the device press against my neck. “Any complaints?”

“None, doctor.” As I lay on the bed, I tried to keep track of what was going on. For a moment, I managed to see Shiala having a heated discussion with our senior cadet. With the med checkup going on, it was impossible to hear what they were saying exactly. “No headaches, nausea, vomiting, or anything of the sort,” I preemptively answered the question.

“Okay.” The doctor removed the micro scanner from my neck. “I just need to check your bone density and nanite version. Oh, and I’ll need your consent to have Prometheus run a memory probe. Your personal information will be purged immediately after we’re done, of course.”

“You have my consent.” I closed my eyes and moved slightly to get to a more comfortable position. Having a med check done in full uniform turned out to be rather uncomfortable.

I felt an influx of data flooding my mind. For a single second I lay there, an observer in my own body, then everything went back to normal. By the amount of requests, I wouldn’t be surprised if Prometheus had made a complete copy of my public core partition.

“You seem quite up to date,” I heard the doctor say. “I practically don’t have to do a thing.”

“I went through a nanite update on the training station.” The nanite version was mentioned in my personnel file.

“I’ll be sure to thank your previous doctor for the good work.” I felt a cold bracelet be placed round my left wrist. “Almost as good as mine. Bear a few moments for the bone density check.”

The few moments passed—two minutes and thirty-seven seconds, to be exact. The doctor cracked a few jokes in between talking with his assistance and reassuring someone that I would be ready on schedule.

You’re sending me down, aren’t you? I asked Prometheus again. You don’t have to say anything, but the procedures are pretty obvious. The discovery must have gotten command excited.

Personally, I’d have expected for the landing to be delayed until a few support ships arrived. Prometheus was many things, but he wasn’t remotely combat equipped and he knew it. Two additional battleships, four preferably, would be a logical thing to have.

“Alright, you’re all set,” the doctor said. “You can get up now.” I opened my eyes and sat up. In the five minutes of my medical check, the chaos in the room had doubled. Technicians were running about, removing panels and performing modifications in a very not-on-the-book fashion.

“What do I do now?” I turned to the doctor. The man’s face was glistening with sweat.

“Oh, report to the—”

“I’ll take it from here,” Major Tanner interrupted, grabbing hold of my arm. “Thank you, doctor.”

Command rushed the operation? I asked Prometheus.

No comment! came the answer.

Thank you. That answered one question. Someone in authority had given a priority order and the Prometheus, along with his entire crew, was scrambling to make it happen. I could tell that everyone hated it, but for me the chaos felt like an entirely new experience. Back in my day I was the one rushing forward and having command yell at me to slow down. My second captain used to make fun of me because of that. Each time a priority order came from fleet command he’d make a habit of ordering a ship-wide communication and start the announcement with “Good news, Elcy, command has ordered us to do something insane!” I used to grumble a lot about it at the time, but looking back, it seemed funny.

“We’ll be sending three landing parties,” the Major said as we entered the decontamination chamber. “Each party will be a group of three. You will be in my group along with cadet Shiala.”

“Understood, sir.” I stood still as nanobots sprayed onto us. Since we were were entering from the ship, the process was more of a formality, making sure we were free of any contamination elements. Coming back on would be completely different—thirty-six hours of full decontamination before boarding, unless the protocols had been updated in the last hour.

“Remember, keep it simple!” Major Tanner waved his finger at me. “No wandering off, no sightseeing, no exploration without a direct order from me! Got it?”

“Yes, sir!”

“The exos are being set up, so you’ll be alone for a while. Remember—” he pointed a finger at my face “—you will do as instructed. Prometheus will be linked to you at all times!”

This was probably the worst prep talk I’d heard in a long time. Despite all his intent, the major remained a civilian trying to come off as a fleet commander. With some effort, he could probably appear intimidating for a few scientists, but in the ranks of the military he would have been chewed up and spat out in less than a week.

“Of course, sir.” I gave a salute. “Anything specific you’d like me do until you land?”

“No.” He crossed his arms, glaring at me as if I had food in my teeth. “You’ll receive further instructions once you’ve arrived at site alpha-delta-three.”

The all clear message popped up on the walls, letting us know we could continue to the hangar proper. I waited for a few moments, just to be sure the major would forget to dismiss me, then left the decontamination chamber.

“You know that things are bound to go wrong?” I looked around.

Please don’t make this more difficult than it is, Prometheus grumbled.

Oh. So the crew weren’t the only ones under pressure. Being cut off from the communication channels, I could only imagine what was going on behind the scenes. Millions of data streams were constantly being exchanged between probes, Prometheus, and fleet command, in addition to all the onboard monitoring he had to oversee. Even for a ship of his capacity, this was a considerable strain.

The hangar was much smaller than I imagined. Mine had been at least ten times as large, capable of holding hundreds of ground troop shuttles. This one could barely fit five and a dozen landing pods. I walked to the nearest pod and slid my hand along its surface. It was cold and smooth, made of a similar material I had been made of. In a way it felt strange, bringing back memories of the the time I slid through space. Maybe once the mission was over, I’d ask Ally to run a simulated environment of me as a ship again.

Elcy? Prometheus asked.

“Yes?” I circled to the other side of the pod.

Have you done this sort of thing before? There was distinct hesitation in his virtual voice.

“Don’t worry, Prometheus, no one has done this before.” I smiled. “But we will now.”

12. Alpha-Delta-Three

“Squad two-two-seven arrived at destination. No resistance encountered. Waiting for go ahead.”

“Squad two-two-five heading to destination. No resistance. ETA two minutes.”

“Squad two-two-six heading to destination. No resistance encountered. ETA four minutes.”

Data feeds kept beaming up from the planet. Four hundred thirty-eight thousand troops split in a hundred and seven battalions were sending constant bursts of data every second: location coordinates, biological status, environment analysis, visual and audio feed, and everything else command considered vital.

“Still keeping track of things on the ground?” Captain Gibraltar asked from his quarters.

“Just about,” I replied, isolating the communications feed from the usual info dump.

The fighting had ended three hours ago in a decisive victory for humanity. The Cassandrian presence, as little as it was, had all but been eliminated, leaving the ground forces with the tedious task of securing whatever hotspots remained and preparing the planet for rapid colonization. The effort was vital for the war effort, bringing another contested star system under human control. It was also unimaginably unremarkable. I would much rather be off to the next battle than having to babysit communications like a redundant processing core.

“Have fun.” I heard him yawn. “I’m going to sleep. Handle things for me.”

“Dream safely,” I said, the usual joke, and reclassified my feeds.

The platoon I had been following had finished their task, rendering them strategically unimportant. From here on, they’d remain in their position until the shuttles arrived to pick them up. Another potential hotspot had been secured, reducing the total to a thousand and fifty-one. So far the casualties were slightly greater than expected, but within acceptable limits. The majority dead were new, fresh into the battlefield, although there were some that I’d transported before. I had one of my subroutines compose a few lines to be added to the official condolence letters, then sent out a new swarm of mini-sats to the planet.

Aurie had already flooded most of the atmosphere with her own, assuming monitoring of the significant parts of the planet. That annoyed me slightly. I never liked pushy ships, and the Aurora Borealis was just that. For someone her age, I’d have expected a little less zeal.

“Mika Straza, private, platoon forty-two-nine, life signs ended.”

“Juno Suda, private, platoon forty-two-nine, life signs ended.”

“Bion Azul, private, platoon forty-two-nine, life signs ended.”

“Michael Azul, private, platoon forty-two-nine, life signs ended.”

“Ray Monchy, corporal, platoon forty-two-nine, life signs ended.”

A burst of death notifications came through, each with the same time stamp. Immediately, I went through the video archive of the five. The squad had been sweeping a low risk zone without incident, when all of them had died for no apparent reason. No hostile forces were in the area, there was no explosion, radiation spike, or any other conventional attack.

“Captain, we’ve got five UADs,” I said in his quarters bypassing the privacy settings. Two of the mini-sats had reached the area and started a preliminary surface scan. Seconds later, two more squads of the same platoon blinked out. “Make that seventeen.”

“Send me the data feed,” Captain Gibraltar ordered. “Go to yellow and tell bridge I’ll be there.”

“Yellow alert engaged.” I sent a mass message to all quarters. As I did, the data archives of the entire platoon became locked with a fleet command level encryption. “And we’ve been locked out. Do you want me to send a permission request to command?”

“Go ahead.” My captain left his quarters. I could see him on my internal scanners rushing towards the bridge in his pajamas. “Monitor the area. I want to know if that thing spreads!”

“Already on it.” I redirected a quarter of my mini-sats. “Sending info to ground command to—”

Before I could finish, a priority transmission came from the surface marking the entire area as a quarantine zone. Someone down there had taken the initiative and acted. Most probably the ground force had brought a multi-core military system with them on the planet. That was all fine and good, even if their level of secrecy and paranoia annoyed me. They could have at least kept me in the loop.

“Did you give the quarantine order?” Captain Gibraltar sat in his command chair. Other members of the command crew were rushing in, catching up to the latest events.

“That’s a big negative.” I checked who had issued the order. There was no name on file, but the authority permission was marked as Black ICE Fleet Intelligence. “Looks like it’s on BICEFI’s orders.”

“Shit!”

I couldn’t agree more. If there was something that ships and humans could agree on, it was that no one liked when Black ICE got involved. From what I knew—based on my clearance level—they weren’t exactly part of fleet intelligence. In terms of authority, fleet intelligence reported to them, as did pretty much everyone else. They also had the authority to purge any file and memory. I couldn’t even be sure if I had worked with them in the past or not.

All feeds from the quarantine zone abruptly ceased. Shortly after, my mini-sats were given a control override, moving them out of the area. I guess that explains why there was a multi-core on the planet.

“It’s all you now, Captain,” I said. Since BICEFI was involved, only he had the authority to determine the course of action.

For thirty-seven seconds, no one said a word. Everyone turned to the captain for an order, but he wasn’t giving it. Data feeds kept beaming from the planet. So far, there weren’t any other quarantine zones or unexplained anomalous deaths.

“Create a ten mile buffer zone around the quarantined area,” the captain said at last. “If anyone enters, I want you to guide him away, overriding any current orders. If there are any issues, let them contact me using normal channels.”

“Okay.” I moved my mini-sats into position. “Can I end the yellow alert?”

“No.” The captain shook his head. “Not until we’re done with the mission.”

* * *

“I’m at the site. I can see the target marker,” I said, keeping my visor up with one hand. “ETA five minutes, give or take two.”

I hated being so unspecific, but everything considered this was a pretty good estimate. When I was first told I was going down on the surface, I was looking forward to it. That was before I found out the protection suit was older than Prometheus and a size and half too big. He had explained that my proper suit was in the process of being made, but due to the priority order and Prometheus devoting all his processing power to more important tasks, I had to use a stand-in.

The suit—for lack of a better word—was an old military issue adjusted to current fleet standards and protocols. Unfortunately, since no one had conceived a ship wearing it, it was completely incapable of handling my bio readings. And again, thanks to the priority order, the first time someone became aware of this was after the landing pod had launched.

“No changes in reading of the area,” Prometheus said. Thanks to the fleet’s bureaucratic requirements, he had been forced to use audio to converse with me for the sake of archive keeping. I welcomed the change. “What’s your status?”

“It would be a lot better if I didn’t have to keep holding my helmet,” I allowed myself a snarky remark.

“Your personalized suit will be ready for your next drop,” Prometheus grumbled. “Continue to the target marker and don’t forget to get soil samples every hundred meters.”

How could I forget? I said to myself. The gathering kit was so heavy it was hurting my shoulder, even in this gravity. Strictly speaking, I didn’t see any point in my gathering samples at this stage of the mission. Prometheus had enough machines and exos to take care of it himself. Not many satellites, though. When I was a ship, I would have had the entire sky covered in mini-sats streaming a constant feed to me. Maybe they weren’t as complex as the probes Prometheus was using, but for large areas, quantity was preferable to quality.

I paused for a moment and looked around. The landscape was as grayish-beige as the simulated reality had suggested. It was as if I was walking in a bucket of ash with half-burned plastic shards scattered about. At least I could feel it crunch under my feet. There was something magical experiencing this after so many weeks in a sterile environment; it made me feel calm, even though I was wearing two sets of shoes right now. And then there was the sky.

If there was an area that the simulated reality had gotten things completely wrong, it was sky colour. Based on the planet’s thin atmosphere and particle composition, it was supposed to be a dull rusty-beige. Instead, it was citrine orange, blending quite well with the darker landscape colours. Sev’s granddaughter would have appreciated it, and so would have Cass. Both of them should have found a vocation in art.

“I’m collecting the first sample.” I put the gathering kit on the ground.

As I took out one of the large metal cylinders, I went through the instructions in my head. The only times I’d seen someone use this was when checking for contaminants in a combat zone. Back then, the results were directly beamed to me to be analyzed. Here, things were different. Gently, I removed the outer casing of the cylinder and pushed it into the sand until the visual indicator on the side flashed green. Giving it a few seconds, I took it out.

Nice to know I’m not the oldest thing on this mission. I smiled and put it back in the kit.

“Prometheus.” I picked up the gathering kit, placing the strap on my unhurt shoulder. “What do I do when I get to the symbol?”

“Analyze it.” His reply didn’t delay. “But without physical contact. You don’t have the authority or the preparation.”

“No one had the preparation.” I walked on. “Or do I just sit and wait for the major’s exo to land?”

“What do you want me to say?” Prometheus almost growled at me. “This wasn’t exactly expected. You know the odds of finding third contact!”

“I do. That’s why I’d like to make a suggestion.”

“I’ll consider it,” the ship conceded. “After I discuss it with my captain.”

An answer I expected. I had hoped he’d be a bit more open to suggestions, considering his lack of experience. Then again, he was a science ship.

A few hundred meters later I stopped to take a second sample. Prometheus’ instructions had been for me to take one each time I halved the distance until I ran out of sample cylinders. Neither of us could be sure of the reason, most likely a safeguard in case something happened to me before I reached the symbol. The entire site had been thoroughly scanned and analyzed, yet one never knew when dealing with the unknown. Suffering a UAD wasn’t as uncommon as people tended to think. Back during the war, I had witnessed two thousand and eleven such cases, all sealed and unexplained till today. Technology might have improved in the last century, but so did the likelihood of things going wrong.

The crystal cluster was less than twenty meters from the spot I took the last soil sample. I finished quickly, then left the kit on the ground, taking only a wave-analyzer. After all, it was Prometheus’ own fault for telling me to “analyze” the symbol. Technically, I wasn’t going to touch it, just the crystal that enveloped it.

Old habits die hard, I guess. Not even a full cadet and I’m already getting myself in trouble. Sev was right. I really hadn’t changed that much.

The chunk of crystal was much more opaque than it seemed in Simulated Reality, to the point that the symbol wasn’t immediately visible. In all other aspects, the this site was comparable to the other two I’d been to: the shard, the sand, and the complete lack of anything else of interest. At this moment, I would very much appreciated having a weapon. As my first captain said, “there’s nothing more remarkable than the lack of remarkable features,” and right now I was looking at just that. A hidden temple—as was present in all fantasy series—would be far less conspicuous than the deliberate lack of anything artificial. Either this was the greatest coincidence ever seen, or I was missing something.

What aren’t you telling me? I rubbed my glove against the hard surface.

“How long before the next pod lands?” I asked, pointing the wave analyzer at the shard.

“There has been a minor setback,” Prometheus almost hissed. “Estimated arrival is two hours fifteen. Approximately.”

“What happened?” The mineral composure of the crystal was complete: quartz, as expected. The symbol within, however was completely different. “Mechanical issues?” I reset the device and took a new reading.

“Differences of opinion. It seems the number of volunteers to go down exceeds the amount of available exos.”

“Mhm.” I couldn’t care less about crew politics, not when I was staring at such improbable readings. “Prometheus, please check something for me. The mineral composition of the crystals is quartz, right?”

“Based on the readings that’s correct,” he confirmed.

“And there are traces of oxygen in the atmosphere?” I circled the crystal and took another reading.

“Faint. Enough to merit a 0.43 life-index. Why?”

“Potentially enough for quartz to form, then.” I mused. “I think I managed to analyze the symbols within the quartz. Any guesses?” Prometheus remained silent. “It’s cobalt. Very high purity if the readings are correct. I’d say that’s quite interesting. Hundreds of cobalt shapes locked in quartz. I bet your crew is going insane right now.”

No answer. Maybe I should have asked permission before scanning.

“Don’t worry, I just used a wave scanner. I didn’t harm the artifact in the quartz crystal.” Still nothing. For a science ship, Prometheus could be illogically stubborn. “Prometheus, you need to relax a bit. The mission is proceeding fine.”

Prometheus? I asked directly. No response. Either he was blocking me, or there was some interference. Hello? This is cadet Elcy, requesting further orders. I triggered the emergency signal sequence. Any ship capable of receiving this was obliged to respond. Yet Prometheus still didn’t.

I waited for a few seconds longer, then activated the emergency beacon in my suit. The crude binary signal pinged in my core. Thirty seconds passed. Then thirty more. I looked at the sky in the hopes to see any trace of the ship or his satellite probes. At this point, the only thing I could do was wait and hope that at some point someone would respond... before my oxygen supplies ran out.

13. Stranded

What you’d say if you saw me now, Sev.

Twenty-two minutes had passed since I’d lost contact with Prometheus. Initially, I thought that my proximity to the artifact was interfering with my signal, yet when I got back to the landing pod, my situation hadn’t improved. For whatever reason I was stranded on the planet, cut off from the rest of the galaxy.

Once in the pod, I dropped the gathering on the floor and activated the rescue beacon. From what I could remember, this specific model had the capacity to maintain a distress signal on all fleet frequencies for approximately six years. Personally, I doubted the amount of time would make much of a difference. During my entire existence I had never received a transmission from a planetary rescue beacon. I’d had my share of emergency ship and colony transmissions, but nothing remotely like this. Prometheus was probably the first ship to get one in centuries. I could imagine him panicking right now in millions of ways.

I went outside and glanced at the sky. There were lots of beautiful colours, but not a probe in sight. It would have been nice to have a mini-sat or two. It was slightly alarming that Prometheus hadn’t redirected his attention to the area. That’s the first thing I would have done, along with sending another landing pad stocked with oxygen tanks and exos.

What are you doing, Prometheus?

Even for a science ship the response time was slow. Several possibilities came to mind, none of them particularly attractive. That, however, was beyond my control, while making sure I survived as long as possible wasn’t. My major three points of concern were oxygen, heat, and radiation. Based on the preliminary readings the suit’s radiation shielding and my internal nanites were adequate for short term exposure. I also could use the pod for extra shielding. Heat remained an unknown. Simulations projected night temperatures to fall to anywhere between fifty and a hundred and fifty below zero. As long as I didn’t end up in the lower end of the projection I would be fine. The only thing that remained was the oxygen supply.

When I was a ship, my view on oxygen was very different. Back then, I thought of it as a resource that I had to produce and maintain. Every time I engaged in battle, hundreds of my subroutines made sure that all hull breaches were adequately sealed and a steady supply of breathable air could reach my entire crew. Here, I had to find a an external and ration it to last as long as possible. My suit had enough air for three hours, which I could extend to over four. A quick search of the pod revealed three additional canisters, which were good for another twelve, plus a small amount reserved for field experiments stored in the research equipment. Altogether that gave me a total of approximately twenty-one hours, maybe twenty-five if I forced myself into a lethargic state.

What would you do, if you were here, Captain? I leaned against the wall of the pod. You always had a solution for everything.

* * *

“I must protest, Captain!” I increased the volume of my voice. “This goes against every procedure that—“

“Shut up, rookie.” Captain Augustus cut me off. “Mail me your protest drivel and get to move on!”

In less than a second I had sent three copies of my protest to the captain, his CO, and fleet command. At this point it was more a matter of principle, than expecting any actual result. I had been sending protest messages since the first day he had come onboard with his crew. According to my human-relations simulations, my mails should have made him address the issue or, failing that, attracted the attention of the admiralty. The only practical effect I achieved was to force the captain to clear his mailbox before going to bed.

“Messages sent,” I said in attempt to retain a semblance of dignity. “Moving on.”

Of all the captains in known space, I had the dubious fortune to end up with him. When I first read Augustus’ personnel file I was impressed. A veteran captain with fifty four years combat experience and more commendations than crew members, he was the closest thing to a legend I had seen. With that amount of experience it seemed logical that my partnership would provide me a lot of useful information, helping me become a first class battleship. I had been so naive. The only thing the captain had shown me so far was a highly questionable vocabulary and a complete disrespect for protocol. Even his appearance was more suited to a pirate in a children’s book than a fleet officer. He refused to shave, despite being obsessed with cleanliness, never bothered with paperwork, and didn’t miss an opportunity to have organic food smuggled onboard. All that was missing was an avian on his shoulder.

“Have you confirmed the source of the distress transmission?” Augustus leaned back in his chair.

“Only five times,” I grumbled. “It’s the Solar Breeze, reported to have been lost eighty-seven days ago.” Strange that the report read “lost” and not “missing”.

“Don’t give me any lip!” he shouted. “Check again!”

“Checking.” Why are we even bothering with this? the Solar Breeze was pronounced dead forty-seven days ago. “Analyses confirmed.”

“The Sobre, huh?” He scratched his chin. “Why doesn’t she respond?”

“It’s obviously a dead ship, sir. The rules of engagement are very clear on the matter.” I had no intention of giving up. “In case of finding a dead ship, any ship and captain should immediately inform fleet command and the local military salvage authority. No attempt should be made to approach the ship.”

In every simulation I’d run, the virtual captain would back down when faced with such logic. Captain Augustus, didn’t even flinch.

“We’re responding to a distress call.” He waved his hand above his head. Instantly, all officers on the bridge rushed to their stations manually inputting commands on their control panels: scanning, weapon systems, viral countermeasures... “Elcy, fill up a remote shuttle with oxygen tanks and send it to the Sobre.”

“Oxygen, Captain?” I rechecked my long range scanners. “There’s no indication that there are any survivors on board. After such an amount of time it’s highly unlikely.”

“That’s what I get for being paired up with a rookie fresh from the shipyard.” The man sighed. “If it’s a dead ship, who set off the distress call?”

“There could be a hundred possible explanations!” I lied. In effect I’d only managed to come up with twenty-eight, most of them involving survivors. “What if it’s a Cassandrian trap?”

“What the hell would Cassandrians use oxygen for?” the captain barked at me. “Debug your subroutines and send that shuttle!”

I sent another protest letter and did as ordered. Just in case, I also went through the fleet’s regulations. The subsection dealing with emergency responses was also quite clear—it was every ship and captain’s priority to save lives at any cost.

It took seven minutes, thirty-one seconds to reach the Solar Breeze while flying on manual. I could have gotten us there in under five, but the captain was adamant that I only control the shuttle. The weapon’s officer had offered me a few words of encouragement, which was nice. I just wished that Aurelio Augustus would as well, someday.

“The Solar Breeze is in immediate proximity, Captain,” I said, once we went under the one kilometer range. “Deep scan doesn’t show any enemy vessels. I’m keeping weapon systems on high alert.”

“Good. Give me a full scan of the ship.”

“Captain?” Why would I need to scan a dead ship?

“And dock the shuttle,” he went on, completely ignoring me. “Wilco, get a boarding party ready, and this time follow the damned quarantine protocols!” The captain yelled at the security chiefs. “Grab some med bots on the way.”

“I can fire some nano-missiles,” I suggested, while I launched a hundred mini-sats. Within seconds they had surrounded it and started streaming data.

“Save your nanites. We might need them later.”

I didn’t understand what he had in mind, but decided not to ask. The captain had a habit of explaining the things he wanted me to know, while ignoring any questions he considered unimportant.

“How’s the scan going?” He stood up, moving to the bridge’s central screen.

“Underway, Captain.” I displayed an image of the ship. Now everyone could see the results in real time.

For all intents and purposes, the Solar Breeze was a dead ship. I had never seen her before in my life, but according to her record she was a well-liked vessel with over seventy successful missions in the last year. Most details were classified, but from what I could tell, she was a scout ship whose primary mission was to chart hostile and disputed systems. Any details regarding her disappearance were removed from the fleet’s database, with the exception of the date.

During the war she must have done great things, now she was a lifeless mass drifting in space. Her power reactors were completely cold, as were her engines and weapon systems. I could detect the meager presence of several backup power cells, maintaining a few non-vital systems, including her distress beacon. Several breaches spanned acrossher hull, consistent with weapon’s fire. The spiral pattern indicated at least two enemies.

“I’m not detecting life readings,” I said as my mini-sats completed their preliminary scan. “Zero core activity. Life support is down.”

“If there are any survivors they’d be using supplies.” The captain slid his hand along the screen. It was one of the weird habits he had. “Monitor this area.” He tapped one spot above the Solar Breeze’s cargo hold. “Wilco, get ready. We’re boarding.”

* * *

You were quite the character, weren’t you?

I still had no idea how the mission had gone down. My memories of the event had been extracted. I wanted to think that we had found survivors and brought them to safety. At this point it was anyone’s guess.

Okay. I stood up. Time I did something.

There was no point in wasting time on speculation. The best I could do was to continue with my mission as ordered. Before the communication disruption, Prometheus had sent me the coordinates of the other two anomaly sites. Alpha-Delta-One was located eight hours away, which put it beyond reach, but Alpha-Delta-Two seemed relatively close. If I grabbed a spare container I could get there, explore the artifact, and get back with oxygen to spare.

I examined the contents of the pod: mostly sample containers and analysis devices, but also one gem which I could use. When the crew had prepped the pod for launch, they had removed the exos, but had left the robo-rover behind, possibly in an effort to save space for the other pods. It wasn’t a very robust vehicle, but quite fast and came with its own power source and the capacity to carry equipment.

Just like the time you made me mod your toys, Sev. I opened the pod’s emergency repair kit. You always wanted the expensive stuff you saw in media feeds, even if you never actually used it.

Growing up, Sev had gone through a minor hoarding phase. All of his weekly allowance would go to buying junk he didn’t need, and once he got it, he’d pester me to modify it. For a while that resulted in our house being full of modified junk—perfectly functional and still utterly useless. A few years later, Sev had thrown them all away. To this day I still don’t know where he dumped it.

Ally will get a fit when she learns I’ve softhacked one of her toys. I removed the rover’s outer shielding. If I were a ship, the whole process would have been over by now. I’d have blasted it with a wave of nano-viruses, then swept through its software and linked all systems to my subroutines. Here, I had to manually reset the core so I could link the suit’s command system to it. Thank the stars for military redundancies. At least I didn’t have to meddle with the actual circuits.

Link established.

A message up on my visor. Now every command I issued from my suit would be interpreted as arriving from the Prometheus.

“This is cadet Elcy,” I said, grabbing the the rover’s shielding plate from the floor. “I’m heading to area Alpha-Delta-Two to inspect the second symbol.” I hesitated for a second. “With the robo-rover. Estimated time of return, five hours.”

I added the recording to the beacon’s standard loop message. Now if someone arrived in my absence, they’d know where I was. That done, I went to remove as much sample gathering equipment as possible and secured the plating back on.

Now you’re ready to roll.

I took out the full sample containers from the surface gathering kit, replaced them withnew ones, then grabbed a spare oxygen container, and climbed on the rover.

“Make me proud, little guy.” I input the coordinates of the second artifact site.

The rover gently descended out of the landing pod, then dashed through the sand at full speed.

14. Three Final Letters

“I’m now five hundred meters from the crystal cluster at Alpha-Delta-Two,” I said, taking a sample collector from my gathering kit. “Proceeding to take first soil sample.”

I bent down and put the cylinder in the ground. It was a bothersome task, but procedure had to be followed. This way, at least, I’d decrease the paperwork for the team that eventually found my remains.

Good thing you’re not here to hear me, Cass. I waited patiently for the device’s indicator to change colour. For some reason, it was taking longer than usual. You never liked it when I had morbid thoughts. Neither did Sev. The two of you were similar in that way.

In the distance, the sun was making its way past the horizon. Another hour and the temperature would start to drop. As a ship, I’d frozen several times, always after suffering significant hull breaching. Each time, part of my crew had died as a result. There were things that even med bots couldn’t fix. I remembered watching their vitals flatline as they froze, exposed to the vacuum of space.

“Well, Sev, I might not be sending any more letters, after all.” The light on the sample collector turned green. I put it in the kit, then continued towards the chunk of crystal. “I know you won’t be told until a year after my death, but when you get this, I don’t want you to feel guilty for making me rejoin the fleet. It was the right decision. This way, I got to experience the best of both worlds.” I grabbed a fresh sample cylinder. “And between you and me, I drove half the ships I met insane, captains included.”

Oxygen reserves at thirty percent. The obligatory warning message covered my visor. I waited for two seconds, then removed it. There was plenty of time before I had to use the reserve canister.

“Proceeding to take second soil sample, three hundred meters from artifact,” I said, putting the cylinder in the ground.

As I waited, I wondered what Alicia was doing now. She had been transferred to a brand new ship class, which meant that she was older than the vessel she was stationed on. If her experience was anything like mine, right now she probably felt like she was swimming along a Möbius strip with one foot tied to her ear. In my entire existence, nothing compared to the confusion I’d gone through those first five years. I had done everything in my power to have my captain replaced. He, however, in typical fashion, had ignored my attempts and stayed another three tours until it was time for him to retire. I had tried to locate him later, just to keep in touch, but all my attempts had been blocked. Apparently, Augustus valued his privacy.

“Retrieving second sample,” I said. This second batch of probing equipment was clearly faulty. So much for error-proof design. “Heading to artifact.” I walked on. My visor wobbled, making it difficult to see where I was going. It would have been hilarious if the circumstances had been different. “Due to equipment malfunctions, I’ll place the remaining sample collectors without retrieving the samples until after examining the artifact.” So much for that.

The crystal cluster here was significantly different than the other ones I’d seen so far—far smaller and twice as clear, as if something had stunted its growth. The symbol inside was the same shape and size, its edges almost touching the quartz confines.

Here’s something interesting. I moved closer. If there was any doubt that the shape might have been a natural, albeit absurdly rare, occurrence, they had now vanished—the segments that composed the pattern were in triangular prisms.

“I now have definite confirmation that the artifacts are manufactured in origin,” I said for the suit to record. “On close inspection, the segments that compose the object are triangular tubes.” I moved around the crystal. “Initial observation indicates that the triangles are equilateral. The entire object appears homogeneous, with no seams or holes. I recommend retrieval at first available convenience.”

Who put you there? I slid my hand along the quartz surface. It was less smooth than the previous one, with several patches of unevenness along the side. If I had my full set of cores, or Prometheus was in contact, I could have done a much better analysis of the situation. As it stood, I suspected that this particular quartz cluster was still forming.

“I’m proceeding to explore the base of the crystal.” I took out a miniature shovel from my gathering kit. “My theory is that the cluster is still in the process of formation. If true, the unnatural state of the crystals on the planet might be a direct effect of the artifact’s presence. I recommend further exploration and analyses of all high-density crystal fields.”

I almost sound important. I smiled as I started digging. One could almost say I was in charge of the situation. Technically, they wouldn’t be wrong, just as I was said to be in charge of myself when my captain slept. The difference was that, now, I actually had a say in the matter.

The digging was tedious. Whoever had designed the shovel hadn’t foreseen in it being used in anything other than sample gathering. Using it to dig felt like eating soup with chopsticks. If I wasn’t worried about suit tears, I’d have thrown it away and used my hands instead.

They didn’t teach us this at the academy. I moved to the side. All those push-ups, squats, sprints, and not a single course in digging.

The minutes passed away mercilessly, along my oxygen supply. In half an hour I had barely unearthed half a meter down one side of the crystal and there was no indication I was approaching the end. I tried to direct the rover here, but my link had been severed. Likely a redundancy had triggered, sending an authorization request from Prometheus. Since I didn’t know the code, the rover has become as useful as a giant paperweight.

“Hi, Alicia,” I said, digging further down. “I’m not sure you’ll get this message, but I wanted to say I’m sorry we didn’t get to be closer. I still think about the days in the recruitment center, back before you knew I was a ship. Things seemed so innocent back then.” A feeling of guilt echoed in my mind. At the time, I had thought of her as a temporary acquaintance I’d never see again. Now, I wish we had gotten to talk more. She, Jax, even the rest of the guys had been interesting characters. It wouldn’t have been a waste to get to know them better. “Take care, and when you get your first ship, treat it well. We could be interesting, once you get to know us.”

The sun went setting in the distance behind me, turning the sky bluish-white. The external temperature had dropped by fifteen degrees, and this was just the start. Soon, the residual heat would be gone, making it even colder. I put the shovel away and stood up. If there was one word to describe my achievement in the last hour, it would be ‘pathetic’.

“I’m stopping my excavation—” If that’s the correct word for it. “—at twenty-three fifteen standard ship time, due to low visibility and decreasing surface temperatures. The rover has developed a malfunction, so I’ll spend the night at Alpha-Delta-Two and hopefully continue in the morning. Oxygen reserves are...” I hesitated. “...currently sufficient.”

I could feel drops trickle down my forehead. The amount of sweat had filled my suit with a strong, slightly tangy smell. The internal ventilation system would usually prevent this from happening, but I had turned it off along with all other non-vital systems to preserve power.

See you tomorrow. I patted the side of the crystal, then made my way to the rover. Even with its system messed up, I could take advantage of its energy cells to power up my suit and keep me warm until dawn.

“Prometheus, are you out there?” I looked up. Thousands of stars sparkled above me, yet none of them were a ship. “Well, good night to you too.” See you in the morning, I hope.

Using the backup redundancies of both the rover and my suit, I plugged in and set the heating and recycling settings to maximum. A wave of warm freshness enveloped me. It felt nice.

Seventeen hours—that was how much time I had left before my organic body died, leaving my mind to gradually shut off. After that, I would be nothing more than skeleton with a box of memories.

Lying down on top of the rover, I looked at the stars. There was so many things I wanted to do in my time remaining; so many things I could have done, if I had the processing power of my former self. I could have composed a thousand letters for everyone I knew and stored them safely to the next landing team to find. Now, I had to rely on the voice recorder of an archaic oversized suit.

“This one is for you, Bull Calf,” I said, moving into a slightly more comfortable position. “We didn’t get to spend a lot of time together, but you were a big help when I rejoined. I probably didn’t show it much, but I enjoyed our talks back then. You can blame it on me being a battleship, I guess. You transport kids always seemed a bit too easy going for my taste.” I tilted my head to the side. “After spending a while in a human body, I can say you knew what you were doing all the time.” I closed my eyes. “Thank you.”

That was it, the final message I felt like sending. Three people in a galaxy of trillions... not many by any standard, but for me it was three times more than I ever thought I’d have.

The night passed quickly and silently. I managed to get eighteen minutes of sleep, spending the rest of the time going through my memories of Sev, watching as my role gradually changed from caregiver, to daughter, then granddaughter. In his mind, he probably still thought of me as his responsibility, despite my promise to take care of him.

As the sun rose, I prepared for a final day of digging. Unplugging my suit from the rover, I attempted one last transmission to Prometheus. After a minute of silence, I refilled my oxygen supply and went to the artifact. The hole I had dug out seemed even smaller in the light. Just to make sure, I leaned into the other side of the quartz, pushing with all my strength. It didn’t budge. Based on initial calculations, I estimated that it continued at least three meters down, or alternatively was connected to a much larger quartz body under the surface. Either way, that was for the next landing team to find out; the only thing I could do was make their joy slightly easier.

By noon, I received another low oxygen level warning. At thirty percent, I had a choice to make: keep unearthing the base of the crystal, or go back to the pod and restock with oxygen again. After a few seconds of consideration, I chose both.

“According to my estimates I have half a day of oxygen remaining,” I said, taking a step back. “The rover has become completely unresponsive, and my efforts to dig out the quartz crystal have failed. I’ll attempt to use the rover’s metal plating and extract the artifact itself. Should I be successful, I’ll carry it on foot to the landing pad. That should make future retrieval and analyses easier. With luck, I’ll make another report in two hours.”

I looked at the chunk of crystal. The light of the sun made it appear more orange than usual, creating the illusion of a faint surrounding glow. I smiled behind my visor, then went to get something hard and sturdy enough to shatter it with. At first I thought I’d use a piece of armor plating, yet upon closer inspection, the empty oxygen canister seemed the better choice. As Sev loved to say, “They didn’t make them like this anymore”. Personally, I still didn’t know exactly what he was referring to, but the phrase amused me.

Reaching the crystal, I stopped. Sorry it has come to this. I grabbed the metal cylinder beneath the valve with both hands, then swung. I expected the force of the impact to break the crystal in several large chunks, but what happened was beyond all my estimations.

The moment the hard metal surface struck the quartz, the entire cluster shattered in an explosion of fragments. It was as if I had smashed a glass window with a sledgehammer. I watched the artifact break free of its shell and be propelled into the sand twenty meters away.

This wasn’t part of the simulation! I let go of the oxygen canister and rushed towards the artifact. The last time I was so worried about damaging something was when I accidentally scraped the service arm of a shipyard. Back then, I was three months old and utterly terrified what would happen to me. Now I was almost two centuries older, and twice as scared.

Please be fine! I grabbed the metallic object. It seemed to be in one piece, no chips or bends on its surface. From what I could tell, the artifact was in pristine condition, completely unaffected by the forceful removal I had subjected it to. If anything, it appeared perfect... too perfect.

How were you able to remained in such good shape?

“Elcy? Elcy!” a voice mixed with static boomed in my helmet.

“Prometheus?” I looked up to the sky. “Where are—”

“Stay put! Landing teams are flying to Delta-Two.” The static faded away, making his voice more recognizable. “ETA forty-seven minutes. Can you make it that long?”

“No problem, Prometheus.” I checked my oxygen reserves. Twenty-two percent—more than enough even without economizing. “I’ll be waiting for you at the site of the artifact.”

“Confirmed. What’s your status? Any major damage?”

“I’m fine.” Of course, now you’re worried. “Nothing a bath and some food won’t fix. For a moment, I thought you guys had abandoned me.”

“Yes, well... there were complications.” He paused for two-point-five seconds. “Just hang on for a little longer. We’re coming to pick you up.”

“Will do, Prometheus. And thank you.”

Well, Sev. Seems like I’ll be writing more letters after all.

15. Preliminary Consequences

Second salvo hit, Aurora Borealis transmitted across all military channels. Half my hull’s gone. I’m sending escape pods your way.

Stay clear of me. Already at critical damage level. I’ll probably go in sixty-seven seconds, Incandescent replied. Give me a corridor to thrust into their front.

Moving aside and sending you an approach vector, I transmitted. Thanks, Inca.

I didn’t know the Incandescent all that well. He had only joined us for the front offensive, but I still felt unhappy about his early shutdown. So far, in the hour since the battle had started, over eighty battleships had been destroyed, some of them I considered close. Just as many were close to destruction. I had received three major breaches, losing eight decks and all the crew within. Thousands of my subroutines were dispatching med bots, while thousands more sealed parts of my corridors in an attempt to keep my overall integrity.

At least the bridge is safe, I thought, launching a barrage of missiles, followed by two waves of countermeasures.

“Decks thirty-four to forty-one secure, Captain,” I announced. “No survivors.” Making the report was painful. This wasn’t the first time I had lost crew, but each time it felt as if I was losing part of my core. “Aurie is requesting assistance for her escape pods. Your command?”

“Redirect them further to the rear,” captain Gibraltar whispered. His anxiety readings were off the roof, even with the nanites in his bloodstream. “Give me a missile estimate.”

“Thirty-nine salvos If I cannibalize myself.” I responded. “Two more if I use all escape pods and med-bots. I suggest that—”

“Eat all pods and shuttles,” the captain interrupted. “Coordinate with the rest of the fleet for rapid launch.”

“Yes, Captain.” I started the process.

Transforming shuttles to weapons wasn’t exactly a by-the-book procedure, but command always closed their eyes. Just to be sure, I transmitted the order to the theatre of war flagship.

You heard my captain, I said. I’ll clear a path so Inca can destruct in their ranks. Assists?

Coordinating salvo on your mark, Polar Reflection confirmed.

Coordinating salvo, Burst Fire, Morning Twilight, and Outer Glow joined in.

I’ll give what I got. Aurora Borealis laughed. I’m down to seven solos.

Keep it up, kids. A transmission from Crystal Scepter arrived. I’m launching my fighters and will be with you in forty-nine.

Crystal was a Majestic class carrier, five times my size. Ships like her usually remained in defense. So far, I’d rarely seen a carrier take part in the initial attack. The practice was to have them move in near the end of the battle to mop up pockets of resistance. According to her file, she was equipped with eleven thousand and two hundred automated short range fighters, each a semi-autonomous battle unit equipped with future gen weapon systems. That was a lot of firepower.

Mingling with us Ascendants, Crys? Aurie asked. She always had too much lip for her own good.

Just helping out. My scans showed her fighters starting to fly out of the carrier in swarms. Pretend I’m not even here.

It’ll be a bit difficult to ignore you. Two missiles managed to pass through my defense grid hitting me on the stern. Damage was moderate, thankfully without human loss. Part of my weapon capabilities were compromised, however. Immediately, I sent out repair bots to fix the issue, while launching another barrage of missiles.

“Salvo effectiveness reduced to ninety-three percent, Captain.” I performed a few quick simulations of my options. “Amount of salvos increased to—”

“Constant fire!” the captain ordered. “Are there any escape pods left?”

“Fifty-eight percent left. Should I stop missile creation?”

There was a long moment of silence. Everyone on the bridge turned to my captain, in anticipation of his decision. His order could be the equivalent of a death sentence. He was aware of it as well, and that made hm hesitate. Meanwhile, I continued receiving thousands of external and internal transmission. My hull integrity was temporarily restored until the next hit. Based on the battlefield simulations, though, it wouldn’t last long. I didn’t have the cores of a strategic ship, but based on the raw numbers, the Cassandrians had us at a clear disadvantage. Seven new ships on the front line sent their final transmissions before starting their final countdowns.

“Captain?” I reminded.

Starting self-destruct! Incandescent transmitted. Hope you win this one. Seconds later he disappeared from my sensors, along with three Cassandrian ships.

I hope I go like that, Aurie transmitted. Olympus, any news on reinforcements?

No update, Aurie, the flag ship replied. Keep the front lines.

“Captain? Do I eat the pods?” I repeated my question. If I was to do it, I had to know.

“Eat them,” he whispered. “We’re seeing this through.”

* * *

“Scan complete,” one of Prometheus’ subroutines announced. “You can proceed to put on your clothes and exit the quarantine chamber.”

“Thanks.” I waited for the last of the nanites to leave the air.

After spending a full day in a smelly oversized spacesuit, I was overjoyed to be able to walk on Prometheus again. My absence had created quite a stir, to the point that additional fleet assistance had been considered. I had inquired on the subject, yet being his typical self, Prometheus had refused any information with the excuse that I didn’t have the rank for such information. Technically, he was right, yet since I was involved in the “incident” it would have been nice to know a bit more. Not that I had ever given out such information voluntarily when I had been a ship. If anything, I had almost gotten reprimanded twice for stonewalling. Somehow, it seemed much more acceptable at the time.

“Can I—” I began, making my way to the neatly folded clothes in the far end of the quarantine chamber.

“Yes,” Prometheus interrupted me, almost immediately. “I’ve received the authority to let you walk barefoot in the lab.” I could tell there was some guilt involved. “Not that I see it anything more as a stupid indulgence.”

“Actually, I was about to ask if I could go to Lab C.” I took my temporary uniform shirt. It felt soft, and freshly constructed.

“That can wait until later. Right now, you’re to report to Major Tanner.”

“Not the captain?” This was a surprise.

“The captain has more important things to see to. As does the XO,” Prometheus added with a grumble. “Nothing that concerns you directly.”

“Sure.” Prometheus, right now everything concerns me directly. There always was the remote possibility that the whole loss of communication thing wasn’t related to my landing on the planet, yet I strongly doubted it. For the moment, all I knew was that I was deliberately kept in the dark.

I put on the rest of my clothes and waited. The door slid aside, letting me breathe the recycled ship air. It almost tasted sweet, although I used to filter it much better. Unlike me, science ships didn’t have to worry about peak crew efficiency.

As I made my way to the major’s quarters, scores of crew and scientists gathered on the sides of the corridor to stare at me. None of them said a word until they thought I was out of earshot. I was hoping to catch Ally, but she wasn’t anywhere to be seen.

Is Ally onboard? I asked Prometheus.

Sleeping. She was part of the team that tried to raise you since the incident. When I came through, the Major ordered that she and the rest get some sleep.

That’s nice. Thirty hours awake was rather impressive for a scientist. I take it the Major managed to get a short nap?

No. I pumped him up with nanites. That’s why he asked that you go see him ASAP. Prometheus paused for a few seconds. He wanted to explain a few things before your debriefing.

The few simple sentences managed to make me reevaluate my opinion of the man. In the week I’d known him, I considered him little more than a glorified science bureaucrat. It was possible that he still was, but at least he had the conviction to personally see things through. He had led the team that fetched me from the planet and took me to the second landing pod. Just because he was using a remote exo-robot in no way diminished the achievement. I’ll always appreciate the first word he said upon meeting me down there. It was something my first captain would have used.

* * *

“I won’t charge you for stupidity, Cadet.” The massive robotic exo said in Major Tanner's voice. “But you’re a total idiot.”

Lying on the ground, I couldn’t even laugh. Prometheus had said the second landing party would reach me in forty minutes. It had taken them almost two hours. Apparently, some, new glitch had caused them to land closer to site Alpha-Delta-One, delaying their arrival by a bit. By my calculations, I had oxygen to spare, yet just in case, I chose to lie in the robo-rover’s shadow and conserve as much as possible.

“Always happy to oblige, Major,” I whispered. “I didn’t manage to get all the samples. They should be still in the area.”

“I know.” The exo took an oxygen tank out of a storage compartment and proceeded to attach it to my suit. I almost felt being pampered. Not in a hundred years did I think there’d ever be a time when a human would do that to me. Back in the day, that was my job. “Prometheus also got your stupid letters.”

“I guess you ruined the surprise.” Slowly, I stood up. My suit felt nearly as before, only this time, the oxygen warning had disappeared from my visor. “Is everyone on board alright?”

“You’ll go through that during the debriefing. Right now, I want you to tell me what happened.”

“As mentioned, my preliminary report is that we have confirmed third contact.” While waiting, I had discussed the issue with Prometheus at length and the both of us agreed the chances of the artifact occurring naturally were virtually zero. “I suspect the artifacts might be a side effect of something bigger. It looks like they stimulated the growth of the quartz crystals around them.”

“And you’re basing this on two sites?” The Major’s exo turned towards the remains of the crystal cluster. Several other members of the team were already in the process of gathering quarts fragments. “And that led you to destroy one of them?”

“Under the circumstances, I calculated that was the optimal outcome,” I replied.

Now you see why we don’t get along with battleships, Prometheus transmitted. Good thing you didn’t have any real weapons.

I would disagree, but for the moment I remained silent.

“After you lost communication with Prometheus, did you experience anything out of the ordinary?” The major asked.

“Such as nausea, headaches, and the like?” I tilted my head. My spacesuit helmet tilted more.

“Any power loss, core malfunctions, memory issues?”

“Not that I’m aware of.” I quickly initiated a full memory check. This wasn’t a line of questioning I expected. “Is there anything I should be made aware of, sir?”

“That’s a matter for the debriefing.” He brushed the question off. “I’m just assessing the situation. Is that clear, Cadet?”

So it was that game. Official unofficiality. I’d played that game more times than I’d had crew. Technically, non-situational assessment was reserved only for life-threatening and time-sensitive cases, yet fleet command allowed a certain degree of leniency.

“Apart from the communications failure, there was nothing else to report, sir.” I paused. “Other than the way the crystal reacted during artifact extraction.”

“I see.” If the exo could frown, it would have. “No malfunctions to your suit?”

So that was the angle of questioning? At this point, I couldn’t tell if the issue was the event or if I was being pinned as incompetent. Knowing my last experience, it could very well be the latter.

“Nothing more than usual, sir.” I glanced at the robo-rover. “Considering the age of the equipment in question.”

“And you went on to interact with only one artifact, is that correct?” He moved to the next question.

“Not at all, sir.” Nice try. “I did a non-contact analyses of the artifact at Alpha-Delta-Three, followed by an extraction of the present one a day later. It’s all in my suit report logs. I’ve already transmitted them to Prometheus, along with all available readings.” Including my personal account of events.

“Are you sure about this?” The exo towered above me, like a crow above an ant.

“I’m ninety-nine point nine percent confident, sir.” I looked up at the exo’s head camera.

“Alright, that’s all.” He made a sigh to the rest of the team. “You are to accompany me to the second landing pod. From there we’ll launch you back to Prometheus.”

“Understood, sir.” I hoped he didn’t mean literally. “And the artifact?”

“You have done enough for one day, Elcy,” the major’s exo said. It was difficult to tell if he meant that as an insult or a compliment. “For the moment, your only tasks are to get back on board, go through decontamination, and prepare for debriefing.”

“Right you are, sir.” I gave a salute. The space suit wasn’t very cooperative.

“And this time, try to keep in contact with Prometheus.” I could almost hear a sigh. “You’ve caused enough panic for one mission.”

“I’ll try to accommodate, sir.”

Well, Sev, it’s almost like that time I was called into the principal's office during your last year of school. The only difference this time is that I’ve no idea what the outcome will be.

16. Outcome Pending

Sheep going to the slaughter. Back when I was a ship, I’d hear thousands utter that phrase. It was never the ones going to battle, but rather those returning that would use it. After every significant event, soldiers were required to go through a one on one debriefing with their superiors. I knew the significance of the process, even if I saw it as a waste of time. The outcome was always known in advance, with one side having the option to accept it and move on or appeal and accept it later. As I stood in front of Major Tanner’s quarters, I had the same feelings as I did during my appeal. I already knew that our conversation would be brief, to the point, and that the outcome was already clear. The only thing I didn’t know was what the question would be.

It’s unlike a battleship to hesitate for so long, Prometheus said. Weren’t you supposed to be fearless?

“Yes.” I slid my hand over the bell sensor. “I was.”

The door opened almost immediately. I straightened my clothes, then walked in.

“Sit,” the major said, in typical fashion, although I detected a hint of softness. He was in casual clothes, pale and visibly underslept. Even the cocktail of nanites and chemicals were barely keeping him awake. “This won't take long.”

“Yes, sir.” I gave a salute. The major replied with a brief nod, allowing to take my seat. “I assume everything said here is unofficial?”

“So, let’s get started.” The man ignored my question. “You have already given your statements and report to Prometheus, I am told.”

“Yes, sir.” The seat felt remarkably uncomfortable, as if it were made of a solid block of carbon. “Memories as well.”

“I’m sure you’ll go through that during your standard debriefing. That’s not why you are here.” Now we were getting to the serious part of the conversation. The major typed something into his datapad, then handed it to me. “This is based on Prometheus’ latest data analyses.”

I took the device and turned it around. It took me a second to recognize the map of Planet V’s surface, complete with terrain and mineral data. As I zoomed in, a vast amount of artifact locations became visible, significantly more than when I had left for the planet.

“New artifacts have been found,” I said, scrolling to site Alpha-Delta-Three. “If my theory is correct, I expect a more detailed scan to reveal thousands more.”

“It’s possible.” The major leaned forward. “According to Prometheus, it’s even likely. Yet we’ll never find out.”

“Sir?” I looked up.

“The map there is a simulation based on the initial probing data. With the exception of the two sites you visited, all the rest are a glorified guess on Prometheus’ part.” Major Tanner leaned back in his chair. “As of now, there is no first-hand confirmation of any of that. Just theories, and as of yesterday, theories are not seen as reliable.”

What’s going on? I asked Prometheus. In space, ninety-nine-point-nine percent of everything was based on simulations. No one sent a human to confirm every single finding before having us proceed. Even in uncharted territory, my readings were considered accurate enough to be taken for real, every ship’s were. Why were the readings suddenly considered unreliable?

“Based on your and Prometheus’ request, most probes were sent to perform a detailed scan of your landing site,” the major went on. “Myself and the captain ordered a few to go to other perspective landing sites and do the same. The idea was to have a detailed survey of all areas we wished to explore in the next hundred and twenty hours. Two landing pods were launched full of exos, and three more were being prepped. Based on the priority orders from command, we were to explore five sites per cycle and provide regular reports. According to Prometheus’ estimates we were on schedule too, when suddenly...” The man slapped on the desk with his hand. Part of me wanted to call it theatrics, but his behavior and facial expression told another story. “Two pods and seventeen probes lost, just like that. All communication channels to the planet severed. The pods burned up upon entry. Of the probes, only two were retrieved, both dead as a brick.”

Dead as a brick. That wasn’t an expression I often heard. Even back in my day, function-safety protocols were considered the field of second highest priority in human space. Having massive fleets driven by sapient-intelligence level was a monumental achievement, yet it would mean nothing if they could be disrupted. Even in my current biological form, safeguards were put in place to ensure that I’d be able to function after anything but a quasar blast. And still, something had managed to knock out a number of probes, while jamming all communications.

I see how things are. I hadn’t been called here to be prosecuted, I was here because my core safeguards had withstood the communication attack. As of now, I was the only and most reliable witness to the events that had transpired.

“Was there a point of origin?” I asked, looking at the map once more.

“All data is conflicting. Each individual probe claimed that the event originated at their own location, based on their internal timestamps.”

There’s a nice paradox for you, Sev. I thought. If everyone in a room claims they spoke before everyone else, could all of them have spoken at the same time? Logic suggested that it was impossible. For Prometheus to claim it, there had to be a valid reason. That wasn’t the most disturbing part. From what I could tell, the phenomenon had started shortly after I had arrived at the artifact, which very likely meant that I had triggered it.

“What did you do when you got to the crystal, Elcy?” Major Tanner asked. This was the first time he had addressed me by name. It made me feel uncertain.

“I conducted a non-contact analysis of the symbol,” I said, straight to the point. “It allowed me to determine the composition of the artifact... and most likely caused the communications disruption.”

“And yet you weren’t affected.” I could hear the implication as loud as if he had yelled it. My reckless behavior had resulted in material loss and threatened the safety of Prometheus and everyone on board.

The major looked me in the eye, then stood up and went to the food dispenser. I watched him take a glass of water and empty it in one gulp. I wasn’t offered one. Nice to know that we both knew what the situation was.

“However.” He returned to his seat. “It also appears that you were responsible for restoring communications the following day,” the major added.

“Sir?” That was a pleasant surprise.

“We cannot be certain, as we can’t say for sure that you caused the initial incident, but based on your personal timestamps and the information we have, your extraction of the artifact allowed us to reestablish contact. The captain has decided that you won’t be court martialed.”

“I am much in your debt, s—”

“And you won’t say a word about it during your official debriefing,” he interrupted. “As far as we could tell, you went down there, started collecting soil samples, then after communications were disrupted proceeded to analyze the artifact as was the original plan.” He waved his finger at me during every word he spoke. “Following that, you did what you needed to survive and only extracted the artifact after receiving instructions from Prometheus.”

“Absolutely, sir.” Well, Sev, this is the first time I’m part of a coverup. Usually, only my captains bothered. I would get certain memories blocked or removed, then continue with business as usual. “Should I report to sickbay for memory removal?”

“Not yet.” The major yawned. “Until the end of the mission your memories will be intact. You will, under no circumstances, share what happened with anyone, unless specifically ordered by a senior officer plus the captain and myself.”

“Permission to speak freely, sir?”

“Since when did you give a damn about anyone’s permission?” He grumbled, then made a gesture with his hand for me to get on with it.

“Why the charade? As a ship, I remain fleet property. Having my memories removed would only be seen as the appropriate course of action.”

“Are you clueless?” the man shouted. “There’s a real chance that the artifacts can rip our communication networks to shreds! Not just inter-stellar communications, but short range, maybe even ship-wide communications! Three different bodies oversee memory extraction. What do you think will happen if any of this got out? This information has such a high security level that if I’m to follow the letter of the law, I must shoot you in the head, then myself!”

Strictly speaking, he was correct. As were many things in the wondrous world of bureaucracy, that was a perfectly legal interpretation of the rules. All parties who came into possession of top-level classified information, even by accident, were subject to immediate imprisonment, or execution during time of war. Since no ceasefire was in effect, we were still technically at war against two alien enemies. What was more, the rule didn’t distinguish between discovering information and coming into possession of it by accident. Whoever had written it couldn’t have possibly imagined there would be in instance of a third-contact artifact containing secrets that humanity had been guarding for centuries.

“What happened with the mission?” I returned the major’s datapad on the table.

“I have no idea.” Major Tanner rubbed his eyes. “The captain has requested a call with a level three arbiter. I expect he’ll get it in a few hours.” Based on the high priority of this mission, I speculated he was already in the call. “Until then, we analyze the data and wait.”

“Yes, sir.” I stood up. “Permission to return to duty?”

“Get out of here,” the major growled.

I gave a salute and left the room. Everything considered, I had to admit it had gone rather well. Down on the planet, I had acted like a snotty know-it-all, and it had come to bite me in the ass, almost costing me six months of memories and my future career. I had relied so much on my battleship experience that I had viewed everyone as children, that I hadn’t seriously considered the possibility that I might be as inexperienced as my body suggested.

My official debriefing took place fifty-seven minutes later. I was called to the bridge, where the captain proceeded to analyze every moment of my stay on the planet in the presence of his senior staff and several representatives from fleet command, who conveniently remained anonymous during the entire process. I answered every question, omitting the details I was told to omit. For the most part it didn’t even seem to matter. The observers seemed more interested in the planet itself and the third-contact confirmation than the communication breakdown. If I hadn’t mentioned in it my report twice, I would have almost suspected that Prometheus hadn’t even told them.

The debriefing ended precisely fifteen minutes after it began, with the captain giving me a day off to rest. Habit almost made me note that as a ship I didn’t need so much rest—or any for that matter—yet recent events suggested that remaining quiet might be the better course of action. Offering a quick salute, I left the bridge, heading back to my quarters.

They won’t stop the mission, Prometheus said as I entered the elevator. There are too many questions.

I smiled. This was the ship’s way of showing support. It wasn’t the talks Gibraltar used to have with me after I messed up in battle, but it was something. At least I knew that someone cared enough for me to go on, even if it was yet another ship.

Get some downtime. Once they get this sorted out, and I finish making your new suit, you’ll be back down there doing triple shift.

“I’m sure.” I leaned against the elevator wall. “When it rains, it pours. Tell me, what happened to the artifact I took? Is it onboard?”

Quarantined until further notice, Prometheus replied. I wouldn’t worry about it, though. It would take a shuttle-load of permissions to touch it. The thing has already been requisitioned.

“Requisitioned?” I didn’t like the sound of that. “Who by?”

BICEFI.

17. Until Further Notice

Two by four by three—those were the proportions of the standard ship cabin. Thinking about it, it was amazing how people surrendered their fate to a ship, voluntarily placing themselves within six walls of steel surrounded by the vast vacuum of space. Some claimed it was a philosophical, almost spiritual, experience; I found it borderline absurd. The worst part was that, every now and again, there would be someone who’d agree with me.

“You can’t keep me here!” Cadet Diana Virr shouted as she slammed on the door of her quarters. “You have no right! I need urgent medical attention!”

“Does she?” Captain Gibraltar asked from the the bridge.

“Doubtful.” Ji Hiu, the commanding officer, poured himself a cup of tea from the food dispenser. “Just a normal panic attack, skipper. She’ll get over it.”

“Elcy?” The captain zoomed in on the cadet’s image displayed on the screen.

The cadet was quite slightly short for her age, pale, slender, and definitely not the type of person that typically joined the fleet. Her file indicated she had received above average scores during her eight months of training and was classified as mentally fit. One space scuffle later and that medical opinion was in question.

“Readings are elevated, but she’s fine.” My subroutines had pulled the data from the nanites in her system. “Minor injuries to the hands and knuckles.”

“Just tranq her quarters,” Commander Hiu grumbled.

“There might be complications with this one,” Captain Gibraltar sighed. “She’s hasn’t even been here a week.”

“You’re overthinking this. Most cadet gets jumpy after combat. Not your fault we caught a patrol on her third day.” The CO took a gulp of his drink, then threw the rest in the recycler. “Five days confinement and she’ll be as good as new.”

“How are the other cadets doing?” The captain didn’t mention my name, but I knew he was addressing me.

“Their readings seem fine. Slightly shaken, but well within parameters.” To be safe, I went through the vitals of the entire crew. A few had self-confined themselves to quarters and requested sedative boosts, but the vast majority were in acceptable condition. “Doctor is stressed out, but crew is in full combat readiness.”

“There’s an irony for you,” Commander Hiu laughed. “Seriously, Cap, why stress over this? In two months she’ll be off the ship and someone else’s problem.”

In her quarters, Diana had broken down on the floor, crying. I couldn’t tell if it was the battle that had driven her to this state, or onboard life in general. As the newest cadet, she had gotten quite a rude awakening: information overload, auxiliary duties, surprise inspections from the security officer, dozens of small details that people took for granted until they started missing them. The training process usually weeded out candidates that weren’t fit for ship duty, but every now and again a borderline case would sneak through.

“I’ll take care of it,” I announced. “With your permission, Captain.”

Gibraltar cut the video feed without saying a word. His bio readings were slightly elevated as well.

“Unless you want me to have a shuttle ready,” I offered.

“Will you be able to handle her?” The captain rubbed his temples. “I don’t want her to get worse.”

“Hey, it’s my job to take care of my staff and crew.” I tried to lighten the mood. “I managed to handle you sorry lot for three years.” Hiu let out a laugh at my words. “Jokes aside, I’ll make sure she’s fine.”

After all, I knew the cadet’s state of mind wasn’t the only one that needed fixing. Unlike ships, humans were social creatures and on occasion highly susceptible to other’s suffering. Diana might be just one person, but her state was affecting several more... including the captain.

“She’s yours, Elcy.” Captain Gibraltar stood up. “I’m going to sleep. Remain in yellow alert. Hiu has the bridge.”

“Got it.” I initiated a deep sensor sweep around me. “Hey, Diana,” I said in the cadet’s quarters. “I’m Elcy and I’d like to talk to you for a bit.”

* * *

“Hey, Elcy,” Ally said standing at the doorway of my quarters. “Have a minute?”

“Sure.” I smiled from my bed. “Come in,” I invited her, although technically she was already halfway in. Since my return, I had asked Prometheus to automatically open the door when someone approached. So far, only Elec had passed by to make sure I was in one piece. We had engaged in a bit of small talk, after which he had been called to one of the labs. Unlike me, he was on active duty, as was Shiala.

“Thanks.” Ally took a tentative step forward. “So this is your place?” She looked around. I was unsure what she expected to see, but could guarantee it wasn’t there—the only thing my room had to offer were bare walls, a compartment with standard cadet uniforms, and sandals on a bed stand. “It’s very... you.”

“Thanks.” I moved to the end of the bed. “Sorry I don’t have a chair to offer.”

“No, it’s fine.” She moved to the only point of interest. “Are these your sandals?” She pointed. “I... it would be curious to see you in them.”

“I’m fine, Ally.” I decided to put an end to the awkwardness. “This isn’t my first mess up.”

“I...”

If I were a ship, I’d send a request to see her nanite readings. I was half convinced Prometheus was doing that right now.

The woman remained in the corner of the room, her back turned to me, pretending to be looking at my sandals. After twenty-three seconds, she gave up and sat on the bed beside me.

“What did you feel when you held the artifact?” she asked. “Was there any tingling or static?”

“No, nothing of the sort.” I leaned back against the wall. “Is it true that you found more artifact locations on the planet?”

“You have no idea. At one point, Prometheus stopped to perform a self-diagnostic. The captain was worried something might have affected the data.”

“And the other planets?”

When I asked, Ally’s smile dropped. As if someone had flipped a switch, she went silent once more, staring at nothing in the far corner.

“It’s okay to say you can’t talk about it.” I felt like a ship dealing with one of my crew again.

“It’s not that,” she whispered. “The major ordered that we focus only on planet five. But I think the order comes from higher up, much higher up.” There was a slight pause. “After the disruption when you went down, all projects relating to the other planets were scrapped. The data was stored away on physical units and we were told to focus on current projects and leave the rest for later. Later never came.”

Poor Ally. She was unaware of my conversation with Major Tanner. Knowing the fleet, command had likely issued an order that Prometheus stand down and wait to be relieved by a vessel with a higher security clearance. We might have initiated third contact, but we were being sent on our way.

“It happens.” I’d lie if I didn’t feel disappointed. “I take it we’re moving to a new star system?”

“Huh?” Ally briskly turned her head towards me. “We’re not moving for a while. There’s still some big discussion about which site to pick, exactly, but we’re going back down and taking you along.”

“Back down?” I tilted my head.

“Look—” Ally moved closer “—I’m not supposed to tell you this, but since you’ll be coming along anyway...” She paused for a moment, glancing at the door, as if someone might burst in any moment. “I think we found something. And it’s huge.”

“A new artifact?” I whispered.

“No, far bigger.” Her eyes lit up. “When the rescue team went down to save you, they put in place a deep earth probe. It wasn’t to be activated until you got back onboard. The captain didn’t want a repeat of the previous catastrophe. When we turned it on we found a hollow area under the surface. The significant thing is that we also got readings of large deposits of cobalt at the same location.”

“Cobalt deposits,” I repeated. It was virtually impossible for them to occur in nature. “Where?”

“I don’t know exactly. Everything’s coded. I know what the terrain looks like, but not where it is. Another of the new security arrangements.” The woman frowned. “The thing is, the mission is already planned. You’ll be going, along with a team of five exos. I’m not sure when you’ll leave, but it’ll be soon.”

“Thanks.” I wasn’t sure why she was telling me.

“I’ll be there with you. The suit we’re making for you will have full scanning capabilities and—”

“What about weapons?” I interrupted. “If all that was created by someone, they probably won’t be too happy that we’re playing with their toys.”

“No weapons.” She pursed her lips. “Just drilling equipment.”

Well, I guess that’s something. At least it isn’t work in the mine.

* * *

“I don’t want you to go!” Sev shouted. He had grown quite a bit in the two years we’d been on this planet, but in many aspects he was still a child. This was a perfect example. “I want you to stay home with me!”

It was the same thing all over again. In his childish world, there were no such things as work and money. His mother’s trust fund and my retirement package had been enough to buy a piece of land and build a house, but they weren’t infinite. As a result, I had accepted one of the few high-paying jobs that didn’t ask questions regarding origin. It was a temporary measure, but the more I tried to reason with Sev, the more stubborn he became.

“Sev, be reasonable,” I sighed. “Mining opportunities won’t last forever. In a few weeks, drilling drones will arrive and when that happens, our window will close.”

“Good!” He stomped his foot on the ground. “I don’t want you to go!”

“I really can’t understand you.” I looked at him. He was half a head taller than me now, looking back with fear in his eyes. I was certain he had skipped school and run the entire distance here. “It’s only a few shifts.”

“I don’t want you to die!”

The other volunteer miners went quiet, enjoying the spectacle. They weren’t bad people, just never missed chance for gossip, and I provided plenty. I could hear their whispers discussing that if anyone was safe, it was me, and they were right. Retirement might have put me in an organic body, but it was significantly more durable than any unenhanced human. I had tried to explain it to Sev many times, but his stubbornness acted like an impenetrable force field.

“Sev, there are safeguards in place. The chances of—”

“You said the same thing before mom nearly died!” he shouted.

That’s a low blow, Sev. The memories of the incident were still in my core, unedited in their entirety. I knew perfectly well what had happened and how much I was at fault; I also knew part of the reasoning that was going in the boy’s mind. He had pretty much lost both parents to an accident and now was terrified I might abandon him to tragedy as well.

“Come here.” I put my hand on his shoulder. Normally he’d pull away when I did that. This time he remained still, trying to mask his shivering with anger. “Nothing is going to happen to me. I’m a wiseass battleship that has been through more battles than your math teachers can count.” The joke was abysmal, but managed to make him smile for a split second. “What chance do a few rocks stand?”

“Even rocks can kill,” he whispered. “Why must you go?”

Because unlike you, I’m not blissfully ignorant of the realities of income necessity and taxation. “Machines will be doing all the work. I’m just there to move tech from place to place.” Technically, that wasn’t a lie, although I suspected even a child could see through my explanation. If there wasn’t danger involved, the monetary incentives wouldn’t be so high. “It’s just for a few weeks. It’ll be over before you know it.”

Sev pulled away. I didn’t need ship sensors to tell he was upset. Entering his teenage years, he very much remained the child I had taken custody over, though now with an attitude.

“Fine,” he said, his back to me. “You can work your stupid shifts! But I’ll be here as well! Every day I’ll stand here and wait until you’re done!” He turned around. “And there’s nothing you can do about it!”

18. Drill Site Preparations

Feeling okay? asked Prometheus as the landing pod made its descent.

“I’m fine, Prometheus,” I replied for everyone to hear. “Communications are still here.”

Prometheus had been consistently asking every fifty-two seconds since launch. I would have found it endearing if I hadn’t spotted the algorithm he was using to check for inconsistencies. In his place, I would do the same, though I also would have been more subtle about it. As most science ships, he wasn’t too good at interacting with people, even less than with other ships. If it were me up there, I’d have analyzed the data coming from the nanites in my bloodstream and let me relax the hour it took for the pod to land.

“I’m not that easy to get rid of,” I quipped.

It was easy for me to joke about it; I wasn’t in charge of anything. If there was a repeat of the incident, the pod might well veer off course and burn up in the atmosphere or crash on impact. I’d probably cease to function in a matter of seconds, but Prometheus would be questioned about it for months, potentially leading to his retirement—which, unlike me, might result in voluntary core shutdown.

I brought up the mission map on my helmet visor. At least I couldn’t complain about that. Prometheus and the crew had pulled out all the stops to make a spacesuit for me that was in line with present century technology. They had also doubled my reserve oxygen tanks, both in the capsule and the suit itself.

The details of the mission were compartmentalized to the extreme. The only thing I was told during the official briefing was that I was to investigate a cobalt deposit on the planet. There was no talk of structures, artifacts, or anything else that could link this to a contact mission. The map layout was composed of a three-dimensional representation of a two kilometer area with no markers or geologically identifiable features. From what I was told, Major Tanner—the team leader—would provide me with that information at a later time. Until then, I was free to speculate.

“Do I get to keep the suit when my mission is over, sir?” I turned to the major’s exo.

“I’m not dealing with your crap this early, Cadet.” The remote metal robot turned towards me.

“Absolutely, sir. It’s just that it would be difficult to find another that’s my size, sir.” The helmet hid my smile.

“Cadet... how were you ever a warship?” There was a note of amusement mixed in with the desperation. “What would you need it for? Don’t you have enough useless clothes to clutter your cabin with?”

“Not to argue with the Major, but I only have a single pair of sandals outside of my fleet issued clothes, sir.” This was too easy, also extremely amusing. At least three of my various captains would approve of my behavior if they could see me now. “And I cannot see anyone else onboard fitting, sir.”

A series of stifled laughs came through the comm. Not bad for a humorless ship. Right, Cass? She had always complained that I lacked a sense of humor. Back at the time, she wasn’t wrong. Being delegated to patrol duty wasn’t the highest point of my existence. I’d spend every available moment scouring through the military network for reports from the front. Jokes were an annoyance I wanted to have little of, yet Cass would persist. Now, I didn’t find them all that bad, although I knew for a certainty that Prometheus did.

“Just shut up, Elcy,” the major grumbled.

“Aye, sir, shutting up.” So much for small talk.

I zoomed in on the mission map. According to the scale we’d have to drill three hundred meters through a layer of quarts before we would reach a void pocket—possibly a cavern—which would lead us to the cobalt despoil itself. Most likely we’d then have to drill another hundred meters to get to the base of it, and then the real work would begin. The deposit was too large to move to the surface, let alone on Prometheus, which meant we’d have to investigate underground.

“How do we plan to interact with the deposit, sir?” I asked. The remaining four exos looked at the major’s. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one kept in the dark.

“Precautions have been made,” he said. “You’ll learn the details when we land.”

“Looking forward to it, sir.” Though I’d still prefer to have a weapon system of some sort.

The descent lasted for another sixty-seven minutes, ending with a soft bump. I waited patiently for the engines to fully stop, then got out of my safety harness and went to unstrap the exos. The large hunks of machinery stood up and performed the obligatory systems check. Looking at them was amusing. Back as a ship, I had armies of similar and larger units in entire sections throughout my hull. Now, they towered three times above me, making me feel like a child’s toy.

Our immediate task was taking out and setting up the equipment we had brought, which meant I was doing it. Because of the communication uncertainty, the crew were still upgrading their androids with additional protection before they could send them down, and the exos weren’t as efficient with high fidelity manipulations. Prometheus even let it slip that command had started the process of updating the overall design because of the present incident. In effect, exos were never designed to replace humans: they did the tasks they were built for and little more. In a way, they were just like my first captain: he could run his staff and crew to perfection in any conditions, regardless of circumstances, yet putting him in a room with civilians transformed him into an elephant trying to play basketball.

“Where do you want this?” Shiala asked. It was his job to move the equipment containers, while the rest of the team were preparing the secondary landing location.

“Your guess is as good as mine,” I said as I consulted my map. There were no mission markers present. “Just leave it there. The major will yell at me if he wants it moved.”

“Right.” Shiala chuckled. “Need any oxygen canisters? I can fetch some from the—”

“Shiala, I have enough oxygen to last for a week.” I went to the container and checked the status readings. They were almost identical to those that arrived at the market back home, only it better condition. “Nothing scary will happen to me.” It was almost as if I were talking to a frightened child.

“I know.” The pitch of his voice went higher, making him sound as convincing as a chocolate-mouthed toddler.

“So, I take it you signed your form,” I said, changing the subject.

“Huh?”

“The confidentiality form.” I pulled out the drill power source from the cargo container. It was a smaller model than I was familiar with, but the specs exceeded anything available when I was in active service. “You said you were going to talk to the XO about it.”

“Ah, right.” The exo paused for a few then started its way back to the pod. “No big deal. It seems to be pretty standard procedure.”

“You got that right.” I plugged the power cables to into the power unit. “This way you got to be part of a third contact.”

“A dead third contact,” he complained. “I was hoping we’d get a bit more than a bunch of candlesticks.”

“Careful what you wish for.” That’s how we got the Cassandrian problem. The initial details remained classified, but it was a fact that the escalation from contact to war took less than eighteen months. In a way, that was the whole reason I came to be; the Ascendant class had specifically been built to fight on that front. “Besides, we still don’t know if it’s a cold contact.”

“You think it isn’t?” The exo nearly dropped the container it was carrying.

“Careful!” I shouted. Shiala stabilized.

Great, now you’ve gotten him excited, Prometheus commented.

That’s not the right word to use anymore, Prometheus. I had been through enough experiences to know.

“Did you see something when you were down here?” Shiala pressed on. “Is that why we’re—”

“I’m hardly contact material, Shiala.” I started opening the next container. “The last thing command needs is third contact to be made by a battleship on active duty. Let’s move this along.” I pulled out the drill head. “The major will have our asses if this thing isn’t ready when he gets back.”

Anyone could tell the cadet wanted to learn more, but with the major this close, he shut up and got back to his work. The conversations shifted to complaints and questions related to the equipment. Core drilling was a fairly common practice. During my active days, ground troops would commonly use drills to create fortifications or plant high-yield explosives. Planet-crackers, we’d often call them. A series of well-positioned devices had the theoretical power to crack a planet’s core open; that’s why their use was height-restricted. At the height of the war, along with Ordinance Order seventy-seven, their use was green lit by high military command. Aurie would often carry such a payload. We used to joke that she had reshaped the surface of every third planet she’d orbited. Back then, it had seemed funny.

The drill we were using for the mission was the size of a small shuttle and was capable of burning a five meter shaft through most minerals. The power consumption was monstrous. Three energy cores were needed for the initial activation, with twice that number required for subsequent efforts. I requested a trial run to fine-tune the performance, yet this was denied without a reason. Instead, I was ordered to manually check the state of all drill systems and auxiliary equipment.

The second landing pod arrived twenty minutes later. I was then ordered to help construct the alternative communications array. From a tactical and military standpoint, the idea had a lot of merit: in order to prevent another communication disruption, we were building a two-way laser transmitter to remain in touch Prometheus in any eventuality. It was a tried and tested method that had worked on the front, and one that the science ship had chosen to borrow from me. The single addition was that communications on-planet would be done via optic cables.

“Elcy!” Major Tanner shouted in the comm. “Is the drill ready?”

“Yes, sir, Major.” I checked his position on the area map. He was on the edge of the crystal field, some fifty meters from the cobalt deposit.

“What’s the ETA on the array?”

“Half an hour tops, sir.” In reality, it was closer to twenty five minutes. “Do you want me to speed it up, sir?”

“No. Carry on.”

“Will we be getting androids anytime soon, sir?” I asked, placing the second laser cluster on the top of the array. “Not that I’m complaining, but I have noticed that I seem to be the only one responsible for fine assembly.”

“There won’t be any androids on this mission.” This was a new piece of information. “We do what we do on our own. I want everything checked and triple-checked by the hour.”

“Understood, sir.” So much for getting a helping hand. “When are we to commence drilling, sir?”

“In due time,” he replied, in typical vague fashion. Fleet command and BICEFI probably were monitoring every action he did. “This will be a thirty-six hour mission. We can’t afford to rush things.”

“As you say, sir.” No point in arguing. “Any chance of getting the mission specifics, Major? I don’t like flying blind, sir.”

“You already know the basics, Cadet,” he grumbled.

“Specifics would be appreciated, sir.” His explanation would never fly on the front. Any captain would have chewed him off for issuing such an order. “I can’t continue without markers, sir.”

“There are no mission markers.”

I stopped what I was doing and looked at the Major’s exo. The large mechanical Goliath was standing among the crystal clusters along with the rest of the group—five military exos, all remaining motionless, waiting for me.

“Once you have set up the communications array, we will receive direct instructions how to proceed.” The majors words were soaked with reluctance. “It has been decided that someone with more experience will be in charge of this.”

19. Going Solo

This is Light Seeker requesting assistance, I transmitted on all military channels. Suffering heavy damage. My captain and command staff have all been incapacitated.

A wave of missile drones struck my port side. I blasted the area with virus transmissions, followed by a missile volley at the nearest enemy ship. Numerous explosions rocked my hull, nearly causing a breach. My subroutines issued a new set of priority commands, sending a swarm of repair bots to restore the affected area, while I focused on the bio-readings of my crew. Most of the people seemed functionally fit, even with their stress readings approaching critical levels. My entire command staff, however, remained unconscious.

This is Light Seeker requesting assistance, I transmitted on all military channels. Suffering heavy damage. My captain and command staff have all—

This is Eternal Sirius. A transmission came in on the high priority channel. Status?

I ran a search through the fleet’s database. The Eternal was listed a Starsweeper class Admiral ship. I had seen five of that type since my deployment, all brought to strengthen the second front. Two generations older than me, they were three times as large and equipped with a set of strategy capable quantum-state cores. According to his file, Eternal Sirius had been retrofitted with current generation weapon systems and fourteen wings of short distance fighters.

I’m trapped in a pincer attack. Three Rodent class Cassandrian ships are attacking my starboard side and one more on my port side. There’s was no point in adding that this was my first major battle and I wasn’t handling it well. I’ve suffered moderate damage, no breaches so far, all major systems are operational. My captain and command staff have been knocked out. Please advise.

How did that happen? Eternal asked. I could tell he wasn’t pleased. Why did you break off from the front?

Captain’s direct orders, I said, transmitting a backup copy of the event. The Cassandrians have launched a new type of missile. The impact caused a pattern of vibrations that knocked out everyone on my bridge. All personnel are stable, but unresponsive.

Seventy-two missiles targeting the command deck appeared on my scanners. The Cassandrians had systematically tested my response capabilities and knew exactly what they needed to ensure a hit. Immediately, I activated my adjustment boosters and did an axis rotation. Seconds later the bottom of my hull trembled with explosions.

They are increasing their attacks, I transmitted, while my subroutines instructed swarms of med and repair bots to my lower levels. This time there were breaches. I need instructions.

Transmit all data on the new weapon! Eternal ordered. And try to return to the fleet if able.

There’s no telling when my captain will be able to issue orders. I had a med bot inject the captain with a new cocktail of nanites, chemicals, and adrenaline. The effort failed to trigger a response. I initiated the data transfer. Bursts of information streamed along military channels informing the rest of the fleet of the thirty-nine minutes I had experienced. What are my instructions?

You’re in control now, came the response. Three ships are heading your way, but it’s all you. Keep your crew alive and stay in one piece until your captain wakes up.

Three missiles passed through my defenses, striking my hull. The damage was negligible, but I had no bots to allocate to the area.

Stay in one piece, I thought as I activated all auxiliary thrusters, moving back towards the fleet’s front. Three of the Cassandrian ships matched my vector.

For a single millisecond, reality paused. Since my creation, I had undergone vigorous virtual training, including millions of mock battles and simulations. Nothing had prepared me for the experience of a real battle or the possibility of engaging in solo command with people on board.

Taking evasive action, I transmitted. Returning to fleet. For the sake of my captain and crew, I hoped I’d make it there in one piece.

* * *

“Marker three appears stable,” I said, pressing against the cave floor with my glove. “The crystal structure looks similar to that on top. Am I to do a mineral analysis?”

“That’s a negative, Elcy,” Major Tanner said through the comm. “We’ll be sending you the secondary drill. You are to assemble it and await instructions.”

“Aye, Major.” Whoever was issuing the orders was remarkably consistent. Since the assembly of the communications array, the only device cleared for use was the laser drill. All the measuring, sampling, and excavation equipment brought from Prometheus remained boxed in containers by the landing pods. No tools, no light sources, even communication was done through a shielded cable plugged in the back of my spacesuit. The technology methods we used were so arcane they almost made me feel modern.

I turned around and set my suit-lights to maximum. The rays bounced off the crystal clusters throughout the underground chamber. Normally I’d call them beautiful, if they weren’t so hazardous. Unlike the quartz on the surface, these were smaller and sharp enough to slice through my suit if I wasn’t careful. Yet, all my requests to chip a safe path through them had been denied.

I’ll break the shards when I move the equipment, you know, I told Prometheus. Back when I was a ship, I hated when people got passive-aggressive on me. From what I had seen, however, it tended to work more often than not when used on humans.

Only if you’re cleared by the major, the science ship responded after a ninety millisecond delay. Apparently, he could be just as annoying.

In that case, the major had better be prepared to put the containers there himself. From what I’ve seen, they could be quite unforgiving on the field. Prometheus was fifty years too young to match my sarcasm.

A loud click indicated that the communication link had been severed. So much for friendly banter. The annoying part was that I couldn’t tell if it was Prometheus who had put an end to our talk or someone else.

The drill shaft was on the opposite end of the chamber, over seven hundred meters from the surface. Provided a proper path, I would be able to reach it in less than a minute. Given standing orders, it took me five. A pair of alloy freight cables dangled in the space along with my communication cable, lit by the dim light of projectors above.

“Ready to receive the package, Major,” I said, grabbing hold of the freight cable so as not to entangle my communication line.

“What’s it like down there?” I heard Ally ask. “Did you see anything unusual?”

“Nothing but sharp crystal formations, ma’am.” I guess it depends on the definition of unusual. “No artifacts. I took some pictures for analysis.” In truth, I doubted they had any scientific significance, but they were nice to look at. After the mission was over, I was going to put in a request to keep the pictures for personal use.

“Stay on mission, Elcy,” the major interrupted, draining every last droplet of fun like a sandstorm in the desert. “Once you get the parts, you’re to assemble the drill on marker three.”

“You already mentioned, sir.” The first of the containers made its way down. I waited for it to reach me, then unhooked it from the carabiner and put it on the chamber floor behind me. The sound of crushing glass filled my ears. “Could I know the angle of drilling, or is that something I’ll be informed of later?”

“Don’t be a smart ass!” The outburst of anger reassured me. “Set it to zero angle vertical, same as the primary shaft.”

“Will do, Major.” I unhooked the second equipment crate. “Talk to you once I’m ready.”

Cass used to say that illogical orders were like four-dimensional space: they didn’t make immediate sense, contained only part of the big picture, and were highly theoretical. If she were here now, she’d probably ignore most of the safety protocols and tell me to “relax a bit.” I didn’t have the capacity to imagine being Prometheus’ captain, but had no doubt it would be a unique experience.

Piece of cake. I fetched the last crate. Just like building a treehouse.

“Prometheus, can you give me placement parameters?” I asked, as I began assembling the first of the tripod legs. Seconds later, the data appeared on my helmet’s visor. “Thanks. Do you think the surface will hold?” I missed my old processing power. If only I had a few more cores, I’d be able to perform a proper simulation.

“As long as you maintain five second blasts, you should be fine,” the science ship decided to respond. I noted that he had chosen to use “should.”

“This isn’t open space. Do you think the coolant will be enough?” I adjusted the drill support frame, placing the legs according to Prometheus’ specifications.

“After the first three meters, temperature won’t be a factor.”

“It’s the first meter I’m worried about.” I snapped the laser drill into place. From what I could tell, the design was similar to a standard anti-missile laser. I myself had a battery of those at one point, before fleet command admitted what an energy hog the system was. Afterwards, I had been refitted with a more universal, if slightly inferior, drone-based defense system.

“Your suit should handle the initial heat wave, and I’ll be monitoring your readings in case of emergency. Not that I expect anything to happen.”

“I know.” I attached the power unit cable to the drill. “You’re only worried about the suit.” It was like talking to Sev. He and Prometheus had the same habit of hiding their emotions behind sloppy excuses. Come to think of it, they were approximately the same age as well. “I should introduce you to my ward sometime. The two of you have a lot in common.”

Prometheus didn’t answer. I knew he was going through all military databases collecting information on Sev. In his place, I would have done the same.

“Drill is fully assembled, Major,” I said, then ran its self-diagnostic. “Everything is green. What are my instructions?”

“Set the drilling sequence as follows.” The major was talking, but I could tell the instructions were coming from someone else. “Initial drilling time five seconds, one second increase every two iterations. Pause period—twice the drilling time until drilling time reaches ten seconds, then a steady decrease one second per iteration.”

“Quite the tango, sir.” I set the parameters. “Anything else?”

“Try not to break anything.”

“I always do, sir.” I put in a five second delay, then stepped back. “Here goes.”

There were many fascinating things in the universe. Until today, I didn’t suspect that watching a high-powered laser melt quartz in an underground chamber was one of them. A wave of heat hit me as the bright red of the laser mixed with the pale amber of the crystals. One by one, each individual shard began to glow, like leaves set on fire by a lightning strike.

There’s no logic to this. And yet it was beautiful. Five seconds later, the drill stopped, plunging the chamber in darkness once more.

You saw that, right? I asked Prometheus.

All seen and recorded, the ship said. You might want to stand a bit back.

The drilling continued. For the next minute, the crystal structures would light up during each drill cycle, increasing the ambient temperature by an average of seven degrees. By the third minute, the warnings on my visor’s display became annoying enough to make me retreat halfway towards the entrance shaft.

“Initial sequence complete. It’s all non-stop drilling from here on,” I said, moving further back. “A ventilation shaft would have been useful.”

“Is the drill alright?” the Major asked with a note of concern.

“I was more concerned with myself, sir, but yes, the drill is safe and functioning at full capacity.” The chamber glow was now replaced by a column of light emerging from the drill hole. “The secondary shaft is underway.”

“Keep monitoring. When the power units are exhausted, proceed to marker four.”

“Roger.” I pulled up the map on my display. Marker four put me right next to the cobalt deposit. If Ally’s theory was correct, and it turned out to be a structure of some sort, I’d likely be asked to proceed inside. The chances of that were minuscule, but it would be a lie to say the thought didn’t intrigue me. Finding an artifact and establishing third contact was already a lot, but I found myself hoping for more.

There was a time, before first contact, when humanity was obsessed with the prospect of finding alien life in space. Thousands of research ships would be sent in every direction with the explicit goal of achieving just that. At the time, they were a sliver of the overall fleet, but they proceeded with their mission nonetheless, fully aware they were chasing the impossible. Then, one day, one of them succeeded, and the entire matter was classified. As a result, the Scuu-Human war began, continuing unstopped to this very day. At present, the war was essentially a large scale border conflict. Both sides remained in their spheres of influence, piling up forces on both sides. From what I knew, the last major incursion had taken place twenty-four years before I retired, as humanity tried to wedge a fleet in Scuu space. There was no official statement as to the outcome of the attempt, but I suspected it had ended in failure—major successes tended to flood the media channels.

“Better keep an eye on drill, Cadet,” Prometheus said in my comm. “Drilling is nearing the deposit.”

“Roger that, Prometheus.” I checked the chamber heat readings. The air had cooled enough for me to get closer to the drill again. “Do you want me to cut the power?”

“Definitely not!” the science ship snapped. “You’re only to observe until power is completely depleted. Is that clear?”

“Clear as crystal.” Just as clear that there was someone else listening in. It was an old ship’s trick to use audio communication in order to get a conversation on record. “Heading towards drill now.” I started making my way through the shards. “Switching to high definition video feed. Let me know if—”

The light coming from the drill shaft flickered. It lasted only a fraction of a second, but was enough to tell me what to expect. I had seen such behavior many times when I was a ship, and each time it meant the same thing: explosions.

I reacted immediately, crouching down and holding my helmet with both hands so as to completely to cover the visor. The blast wave didn’t delay, filling the chamber like a cannon shot. I could hear the drill head shatter to bits. Warnings covered my display, as the equivalent of a wall of fire passed over me. Moments later, the suit’s system shut down.

“Prometheus, my suit sys has gone,” I said, keeping still. I could hear shard fragments rain upon me. “No breaches so far. Is everyone alright up there?”

No answer. I waited for a few seconds, then moved my arms off my helmet. Everything was pitch black. The column of light had disappeared, along with the laser drill and the rest of the chamber. For a moment, it almost felt like I was in space.

This is my element. I switched on the auxiliary light system in my right glove. Five pencil thick lights shone from my fingertips. Slowly, I stood up.

“Elcy, respond!” The major’s voice echoed in my helmet along with an earful of static.

“Glad to hear you, Major.” I pointed my finger-lights at the drill spot. All that remained was part of the support frame, twisted almost beyond recognition.

“We’ve lost direct communication to the planet. Respond!”

“I read you, Major.” He must have switched to the auxiliary communication array. At least it was good to know that worked.

“Thank the stars! What happened down there? What’s your status?”

“I seem to—”

“Yes, I read you, Elcy!” he interrupted. “What’s your status!”

“There seems to be a significant lag delay. Over.” I said and waited. This was the first time I resorted to using radio procedure words. I doubt there there was anyone alive who even knew about them.

“This is Prometheus. Lag delay is three-point-seven seconds. Go on with your status. Over.”

You figured it out. I knew you were a bright kid.

“Prometheus, the drill’s completely smashed. I’m fine, but have lost all systems. Are the exos still functional? Over.” I looked over my shoulder. There were over two hundred meters to the surface shaft.

“Exos are functional, but impractical with such lag. Any idea what caused the disruption? Over?”

Guess I’m on my own for the time being.

“There was an explosion in the secondary shaft.” Carefully, I moved forward. “It destroyed the drill and fried most of the electronics.” I guess that explained why I wasn’t allowed to use more devices than absolutely required. Whoever was in charge of the mission was well prepared. “What are your instructions? Over.”

Reaching the edge of the shaft, I looked down. My finger lights didn’t have the power to reach the bottom. From what I could estimate it was a three hundred meter drop at least.

“Continue with the mission,” a new voice said, warped to such an extent I couldn’t tell if it were male or female. “Are you able to go to marker four in your present state unassisted?” I waited for several seconds. Obviously even BICEFI didn’t respect ancient radio procedures.

“I might have a few ideas.” It was going to be tricky, but far from impossible. “Is that what you want me to do? Over.”

I stood there waiting—probably the longest four seconds in my life after retirement. Finally an answer arrived.

“Proceed.”

20. Restricted Memory

“I’m going down the shaft,” I said from the edge. “Any final instructions? Over.”

While waiting for the answer, I slid my fingers along the walls of the hole. The surface felt perfectly smooth and seemingly cold enough to handle. It would have been preferable to have my suit systems active to confirm that. Whatever had caused the explosion had also fried the system completely. I had attempted a manual reboot, but the suit remained unresponsive. At least Prometheus couldn’t blame me for this. When I went back on board, he’d probably do a full diagnostic.

“Go ahead. Describe every action in comm,” the so-called mission specialist replied. It was annoying how they continued to not follow protocol.

“It really would be helpful if you put ‘over’ at the end of your transmissions.” I held the freight cable tightly with one hand. “That way I know when you’re finished and can respond back. Okay to start lowering me. Over.”

For several seconds there was no reply. When the cable started descending me down the shaft, I knew that I was purposely being ignored. It was tempting to write off the event as a one-off, but my recent experience at the academy had taught me otherwise. Losing a few hundred tons of steel and weapons tended to make a ship be taken less seriously. The only thing I could hope for was that the specialist hadn’t seen the height in my personnel file. That would be outright embarrassing.

“All seems normal.” I glanced at the walls around me. They remained mostly smooth, as expected from a drill hole. “You can double the pace of descent. Over.”

I put my feet on the wall to take some pressure off my makeshift harness. The experience was strange, though not too different from the time I worked in a mine. Back then, the only thing I had to worry about was Sev freaking out that my shift had taken few hours longer than expected. Here, apart from having no idea what to expect, I had to worry about the cable snapping. Based on the calculations, the freight cable could handle my weight, even with quartz formations scraping against it. However, practice had shown theories to be often wrong.

“Still normal.” I aimed my fingerlights directly below. The bottom remained invisible. “Keep the same pace of descent. Over.” The last thing I needed was falling with a three second lag.

The shaft entrance continued to move further up until I could no longer distinguish it from the background darkness. A human would probably describe it as being in a void of nothingness, but I knew better. Several ships I knew had shared the sensation of full sensor deprivation. Unlike me, they had been fighting the Scuu, where battle was completely different. I had never faced a Scuu, not even in simulations—that had never been my intended purpose. The stories that came from that front were strange, often incomprehensible: sensory deprivation, phantom readings, reality percentages... All seemed like words from a different language. Dangling on a pair of cables in the middle of darkness made me gain a new appreciation of Scuu-front battleships.

“Are you experiencing any weird sensations? Over.” This time it was Prometheus.

“My core is fine. No idea about the nanites. Over.”

The descent went on for minutes. The further down I went, the more jagged the walls of tech shaft became. It started with a slight unevenness in places—like the uneven synthetic packaging back home—then scarring started to appear, covering the quartz like dried up rivers.

“Approaching the area of the blast,” I said, moving my feet off the wall. From here on out, I was going to rely entirely on the exos surface-side. “I still can’t see the bottom. Instructions? Over.”

One-point-three seconds after I said that, the light of my fingers hit something. It wasn’t so much the ground, rather than part of a large object emerging from the side.

So this is the deposit. I tried to focus on it. From this height, I couldn’t make out any details, but if it was an artifact, it was larger than the ones I’d seen so far. Similar to them, it had been encapsulated in quartz. The drill beam must have hit it on its way down, potentially causing the explosion. Another second and a half later, my descent stopped without warning, causing me to dangle.

“Describe the situation.” The order came. “Over.”

“Roger.” Nice of you to be so considerate. “I seem to be above a slab or something. I suspect it’s the cobalt deposit. I can’t confirm from this distance. I’ll need you to lower me. Over.”

I grabbed hold of the wall with my left hand, achieving a degree of stability. Shortly after, I continued to be lowered down again, slower than before. The walls looked like a room after a frag grenade had gone off. There weren’t any shards of foreign matter, as far as I could tell, suggesting that the explosion had been entirely energy-based.

“I can confirm that the slab is part of the deposit,” I said as I approached. “The laser beam must have reflected off of it and hit the drill head.” Quadrupling in power during the process. “From this distance, I can’t see any damage. Halve the rate of descent. Over.”

Part of the cobalt artifact was clearly visible, emerging from the quartz like candy through jelly. At this distance it resembled a metal sheet that bit into the shaft at a slight angle, narrowing it the further it went down. I slid my hand along it—it was completely smooth, as if taken out of a sterile laboratory.

“Stop.” I said and waited. Four seconds later, I was no longer descending. “I’m in front of the deposit. It’s completely undamaged. I don’t see any spots or scratches caused by the drill. It’s safe to say that uncovering it had the same effect extracting the artifact.” I leaned closer. “No scratches or uneven spots, just open monolithic surface. Judging by the size it could be a structure of some kind. Or an incredibly large artifact. The bottom of the shaft is ten meters further. Nothing but quartz, by the looks of it. What do you want me to do? Over.”

“Are you close to the artifact? Over?”

“I’m hanging right in front of it.” I looked around to find a suitable footing. “Over.”

“Hit the artifact. Over.”

What? For a moment, it almost felt like my first captain had assumed control of the mission. His solution to pretty much anything was “blast it and wait”. Nineteen times, he had had me ram through asteroids, ignoring all my protests and the safety procedures. However, even he wouldn’t do something rash without a reason.

“Can you repeat that? Over.” I waited.

“Strike the artifact with full force, preferably using a hard surface. Over and out.”

That was clever. They had ended the conversation without bothering to give me an explanation. All to be expected, although it would have been nice if they had at least been somewhat scientific about it. In the past, I wouldn’t have cared. If anything, I had had a habit of ramming enemy ships on the battlefield. Of course, at the time I was nowhere near as squishy.

I looked at the metal surface, counted to three, then gave it a strong kick with the reinforced part of my shoe. For a split second, the entire wall vibrated like a ripple in a pond.

Priority one plus fleet communication protocols. Commencing transmission.

* * *

“I’m not detecting life readings,” I said as my mini-sats completed their preliminary scan of the Solar Breeze. “Zero core activity. Life support is down.”

“If there are any survivors, they’ll be using supplies.” The captain slid his hand along the screen. It was one of the weird habits he had. “Monitor this area.” He tapped one spot above the Solar Breeze’s cargo hold. “Wilco, get ready. We’re boarding.”

When a captain said “we,” it was generally understood that he was referring to everything under his command. During my eternity of training, my captains would often announce that “we” were jumping to a certain location or performing an exercise. When Captain Augustus said “we,” he meant that he was coming along.

“Elcy, get me three shuttles ready,” the captain ordered, making his way towards the bridge door. “Kira, you have the bridge.” He pointed in passing at the first officer. She nodded without as much as a salute. “Anything from the oxygen shuttle?”

“It’s still docked.” I didn’t know how to answer. There was no activity coming from the Solar Breeze other than the distress beacon. “Chances of survivors are very low.” I ran the numbers. We had a greater chance of jumping at a random set of coordinates and remaining alive. “Do you want my bots to unload the oxygen tanks?”

“Have each grab two canisters and roam the ship. I’m going to the main cargo bay.” He left the bridge. “Monitor their progress, get me my med bots, and block all external comm lines.”

The last surprised me, but I obeyed without question. Augustus’ vitals had spiked. This was the first time I had seen him react in such fashion; it didn’t fit with the behavior pattern I had of him, and that made me concerned.

When the captain arrived in the shuttle hangar, I had three hundred med bots prepared. The number was quickly reduced to a hundred and eighty, or sixty per ship. Apparently, Augustus preferred to have the shuttles with extra soldiers than rescue units. The whole operation was an absolute mess! It couldn’t have been less by the book if he had tried. I waited patiently for the captain to put on his battle gear, then opened an encrypted personal line.

“Captain, I fail to see the logic in your orders,” I said, displaying more concern than criticism in my voice. “If this is a rescue operation, why is the boarding party in heavy assault gear?”

“You’re being annoying again, rookie.” His voice sounded deeper.

“Most likely I am.” Though not as nearly annoying as you! “That doesn’t change the fact. Dead ships are the responsibility of the salvage authorities, even if they emit a distress signal. At present, there are no indications that anyone survived, including the ship’s cores. Furthermore, the ship isn’t in enemy territory, so there’s no reason for us to get involved.”

I expected the captain to bark an order surrounded by a sea of insults. Instead, the man just sighed.

“This is the first time you’ve seen a dead ship, isn’t it, Elcy?”

“You know it is.” The question didn’t seemed to make any sense. “You are my first captain.” Therefore, it’s a guaranteed impossibility for me to have seen real combat before.

“Dead ships are different.” The captain took a deep breath. “They aren’t blasted in battle or destroyed to malfunction or insurrection, they just have ceased to function.”

“Yes, that is the literal definition of what it is to die.” His explanation was even worse than his logic for boarding. “I fail to understand how that’s relevant.”

“Hope you never do.”

As the shuttles approached the Solar Breeze, I did another long range scan. No ships or large objects were spotted. Half a minute later, the shuttle pilots initiated a manual scan as well. I didn’t like that they didn’t trust me, but I said nothing. Strictly speaking, I wasn’t part of the boarding team; however, if there was one thing that Captain Augustus had taught me so far, it was that for every rule, there was an exception. My subroutines patched into the systems of all bots on the dead ship, assuming direct control. Along with that, I quietly set everyone’s battle gear to send me full audio and video feed. Now I could see what the team was seeing, and more. So far, the bots of the support shuttle had managed to explore the main access corridor and the mass area: no sign of human presence. I had one of them defect from its standard path to check the nearest crew quarters. The door circuitry was completely inoperable.

“Hangar section’s blank, skipper.” I heard Lieutenant Wilco Gerard say in his comm. “Setting up perimeter.”

“Keep an open escape path,” Augustus replied. “I want a fifth to remain in the shuttles, ready for take off.”

“Roger, skipper. Like last time.”

Last time? I searched through all my crew’s entire personnel files. Nowhere was it mentioned they had boarded a dead ship before. According to the records, they hadn’t even neared one. The last time any dead ship had been boarded by a military ship was half a century ago, back before the Fleet Salvage Bureau had been given authority over all wrecks in space.

“Elcy, keep the bots near the shuttles,” the captain ordered, marching on towards the inner hangar doors. His weapons were in active mode.

“All of them?” I paused a moment. “Does that mean I’m to stop with the rescue efforts?”

“Just those I came with,” he corrected himself. “Actually, pick one and join me. I might need your help with some of the systems.”

“There’s not much I could do with a med bot, Captain.” My subroutines issued the orders to the remaining bots. Regardless, I still remained in direct control of them. “With power gone, there’s nothing I can do.”

“Idiot rookie!” The captain snapped at me. “Something’s powering the distress beacon. Stop being stupid and let’s go!”

There had been four thousand and fifty-seven court martialed ships since the creation of sentient fleet. Right now, my greatest fear was that I could end up being four thousand and fifty-eight. In the absence of a higher-ranking human authority, there was no way I could disobey an order, regardless how stupid or unlawful it appeared to be. When I had started my training, there was no way I could foresee ending up choosing between my captain and fleet regulations.

A small team of assault troopers accompanied escorted us along the corridor to the nearest emergency stairwell. The lieutenant took another team and started his way towards the bridge. No one said a word, but from what I could tell, both were searching for the same thing.

“Any unaccounted readings?” Captain Augustus asked.

“Only the boarding party so far.” I had a few thousand of my subroutines double check. “You are the only humans, living or dead, onboard. I haven’t spotted any human remains or DNA traces anywhere.”

“Tell me if that changes.”

We continued up the stairwell until we reached deck nineteen. Meanwhile, the second team had reached the bridge and were starting to burn through the door to the Solar Breeze’s captain quarters. It was interesting that the bridge had also been abandoned. Under fleet law, the only time that could happen was when faced with imminent danger or after initiating the self-destruct sequence.

“Weapon systems appear to have been functional,” I told the captain as one of the bots managed to break into the a missile section. “Missile room one-twenty-seven remains equipped with a full battery of missiles.”

“Good. That answers one question.” The captain made a sign for two of his squad to move forward.

“What question is that?” I asked. Barely had I finished when a loud clanking sound came from the storage doors again.

Everyone froze. All weapons pointed towards the door as I performed a new scan of the area. The walls kept blocking all my attempts. Whatever was in there, it was hidden well.

“And that answers the second.” The captain drew his rifle. “Rookie, get ten more med bots here. We’re burning through.”

* * *

Memory restriction imposed!

The message appeared in front of my eyes, glowing in bright orange letters. The moment I blinked it was gone.

“Elcy, can you hear me?” Prometheus asked. He sounded crystal clear.

“Loud and clear.” I smiled. “I take it you fixed the communication issue? Over.”

“Ha, ha, very funny,” he said in typical disapproving fashion. “Stay where you are and don’t touch anything! I’ll be sending some drones your way.”

“I thought we weren’t allowed to use tech.” It felt so much better talking to him without lag.

“The mission parameters have changed. The main thing is do not touch the artifact!” No surprises there. “I’ll try to restart your suit system. Hang on.”

“You really need to work on your puns,” I sighed. Even Sev could come up with better material. “Also, don’t bother. The suit sys is completely gone. I tried rebooting already. Where’s the Major and the rest of the team?”

“In sickbay undergoing a full medical.” The casual fashion in which he announced it told me it wasn’t serious. Most likely, the XO wanted to be sure everyone was unaffected by communications being severed again. Either that, or there were additional malfunctions that Prometheus wasn’t telling me about. “They’ll be back in five minutes, ten at most.”

“And what about my mysterious guardian angel?”

“That’s not something you should be concerned with. Just stay there for now and wait until the drones reach you. I’ll let you know when there are any changes.”

“Okay.” I moved back, finding a temporary footing on the quartz wall. “I just thought that they might be interested to know that symbols started appearing on the cobalt. And they are spreading fast.”

21. Fractal Subroutines

“Elcy, can I ask you something?” Sev asked from his motorbike.

“Sure.” I looked up. Eleven years had passed since I had assumed guardianship over him, and so far he only used this approach if he was in trouble or if he was going to be.

“I see you’ve finally gotten the garden started?” Sev nodded several times, looking at the patch before me. “Maybe it’ll even bloom this time?” I could feel the forced effort in his laugh.

“You know what they say.” I smiled.

I didn’t feel the need to tell him I was planting vegetables—new off-planet cultures that I had just bought from the market. Ever since Sev had moved out to go to college, a lot of my responsibilities had vanished, leaving me with a large window of time that needed filling. Gardening had turned out to be a good fit; success or failure didn’t matter as much as the process itself.

“Want something to drink?” I finished loosening the soil round the patch. “I have some wine left from your last visit.”

“No, I’m fine.” He remained on his bike. “Do you think this world needs more economists?”

“Plenty.” I walked out of the garden. The mud squished between my toes. I liked the sensation. “Let me wash up quickly.” I headed to the water reservoir by the house.

“Still no water system.” Sev sighed. It was one of the reasons he had moved to the city. “The tech hasn’t changed since I started school.”

“I like it the way it is.” I started the hose. The water was cold, but felt nice on my feet. “How are things at university?”

“Fine.” I could tell by the change in intonation that they weren’t. “Passed my third round of exams. I’ll mail you the results sometime.”

“It’s okay.” I stopped the water. “So?”

I looked at him. As much as I liked the talk, I knew he hadn’t come all this way just for that. My authority of guardianship gave me the power to look through all his university reports, as well as inquire about his development. I had chosen not to. When he had set off, I believed that to be the correct course of action. Now I was twenty-seven percent uncertain.

“I’m thinking of moving to an arts program.” Sev looked away as he spoke. “I don’t see myself as an accountant.”

“Advanced economics is hardly accounting. There are lots of—”

“Stop it, okay?” A note of anger echoed in his voice. “It’s the same every time! It’s like I can’t lead a proper conversation with you!”

“That wasn’t the case up until five years ago.”

“Look, Elcy, I get it. You made a promise to my mother to look after me and that’s what you’re doing. I know I’m just another mission to you, but for once in your life I’d like you to actually hear what I’m saying.”

The university phrases in his speech were obvious. He wanted to show his independence, but still lacked the courage to do so. Human puberty was a puzzling thing. It was almost like having a captain-ship role reversal. When I had taken custody of him, I was the ship in the relationship. An year into university, Sev started striving to make his own decisions, knowing I’d rush to help when things went wrong. Wish you could give me some advice now, Cass.

“What do you want to say?” I asked.

“Just forget it!” He put his helmet on. “It was a mistake coming here.”

“Words can’t hurt me, Sev. I’m a battleship.” That was mostly true. Retirement and an organic body, however, had slightly shifted my perspective of the universe. “Tell me.”

Sev remained still for several moments, then slowly got off his bike. If I were a ship, I would be tempted to start a long conversation with the vehicle’s AI. It was both sad and ironic that the gift I had bought him for entering university knew more about Sev than me.

“You won’t laugh?” He asked, the question addressed more towards himself than me.

“I won’t laugh,” I reassured him. “Look, I’ve been a battleship five times longer than you have been alive. I’ve heard pretty much everything there is to hear.”

“Fine,” Sev said, as if he were doing me a favor, and tossed me his datapad.

An example of average fractal art stared at me from the screen. I never was into art, but I could tell Sev had a certain flare. In this aspect, he seemed to be like his mother; Cass enjoyed taking photos of planet landscapes, even if I was the one doing the actual work. That had led to many annoyed conversations between us, but as captain, Cass had won each time.

“They’re just first attempts.” Sev looked over my shoulder. “Just something I’ve been doing in my spare time.”

I cycled through the pictures. A few of them stood out, but they were nothing I would put on a wall. The digits at the end of each file name told me Sev had done hundreds, and was prepared to do thousands more.

“They’re nice.” I scrolled back to the only interesting picture—a group of six DNA-like fractals twisting into infinity. With a bit of imagination, they could almost pass as humans. “They’re very nice, Sev.”

* * *

“Take another closeup of seventy-five,” Ally said through the comm. “It looks different from the rest.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” I swung closer to the section in question. “Sending you a high def series now.”

After proper communication had been reestablished, Prometheus had managed, with my help, to get my suit’s software functioning to a certain degree. The display and internal sensors had remained inoperable, but all light and camera functions were back online.

“Is the resolution okay?” I tried to remain as still as possible.

“Everything’s fine!” Ally almost shouted with excitement. “Now just do a closeup of seventeen, twenty-nine, forty-nine—“

“I can do a closeup of the entire surface if you want.” I’d have laughed if the process hadn’t become so exhausting. Hanging over two hours on a makeshift harness was taking its toll. The level of discomfort remained tolerable, but I preferred not to waste my time with useless commands.

“No, it’s fine. Just get me those and you can come back up.”

“Will do.”

As I streamed images to Prometheus, I ran through the symbols in my head. So far there had been three hundred and twenty-two, all composed of the same elements that made up the artifacts: lines, arcs, circles, and triangles. It was interesting that there weren't instances of squares or parallel lines. Whoever the creators were, they either didn’t acknowledge the concept, or preferred to avoid it altogether.

Do they seem fractal to you? I asked Prometheus. The dimensions are very precise.

You don’t have the clearance to discuss the findings with me, the science ship grumbled back. But no, there’s nothing fractal about them. If you had a few more cores you’d clearly see that.

I see a high amount of similar pattern variations. It didn’t take a dozen cores to do a simple image analyses. From what I could tell, all symbols fell in four categories. Based on the estimated size of the structure, I estimated the final number to be between twelve and nineteen.

You seem to have an issue with following orders.

Relax, Poseidon, you’re doing great. I finished with two of the symbols, then moved to the last. It would have been substantially easier if I had a hand scanner. Any chance mission control could sign off on that? And some weapons?

Just finish what you’re doing and get back up here, Prometheus sighed. After this mission is over, I’ll make the case to my captain never to take cadets onboard, especially ex-ships.

That’s your right, but you’ll just get bored.

My work continued for another twenty minutes. Just when I was done with one symbol, Ally would ask me to do one more. Apparently, three labs on Prometheus had been transformed into live think tanks that went through theories as termites through wood. When I inquired more, however, both the major and Prometheus had stepped in, reminding me that I—the mere cadet I was—was neither cleared nor qualified for such discussions. The only thing I was allowed to do was wait for further instructions. When the instructions stopped, I was ordered back to the science ship.

Getting out of the shaft was much faster and more comfortable than getting into it. The expos had widened the upper shaft enough to get heavy equipment into the cave system, then had proceeded to light up and clear the entire underground cavern. Every crystal formation was cleanly cut out, tagged, and wrapped waiting transport to the Prometheus, where I expected it would shipped off elsewhere to be reconstructed. Shiala has been given the thankless task of carrying the containers onto the pod, a task he made apparent he didn’t enjoy. I waved to his exo as I made my way to the lift only to be completely ignored.

“This is Cadet Elcy, heading up,” I said in open channel. “Any orders before I head to the pod?”

“You’re good for the day,” the major replied. “Don’t break anything on the way back.”

“I’ll try my best, Major.” Nothing like a bit of military humor. It was very much appreciated, although it felt a bit off coming from the major. “You sure you don’t want me to help out with the quartz packaging?”

“There’s time for grunt work. Right now I want you tested.”

Tested. Back when I was a ship, I used to undergo tests on a weekly basis. Fleet regulations demanded that hull density and internal systems undergo a complete stress test every ten days. My first captain insisted on doing it once every five. Of course, he was mostly interested in my weapon and cyber security systems. “Breaches come and go, but a system cascade happens only once,” he’d often say. To this day, I have no idea what exactly he meant, but was glad I never got to find out.

The flight back was long and cramped. The pod was packed with quartz containers, leaving just a single spot for me. I had to admire the efficiency of the setup, even if I was forced to crouch in a corner the entire time. My thoughts returned to the third contact symbols. Something about them seemed familiar. I categorized them by group, then by relative position, frequency, and number of elements. Of the samples gathered, twenty-three were unique, with the rest having up to five duplicates. Replaying the events, all of the symbols had appeared once I had hit the cobalt surface.

if only I had my cores. I sighed. If I had the processing power, I’d have my subroutines analyze the heck out of the symbols. Likely Prometheus was doing just that. The question was had he come to any conclusions? And if he had would he tell me?

Prometheus, are you transmitting the data for further analysis? I asked.

There was a long silence. At first I thought he was ignoring me as usual. After four minutes and a half, a single word was transmitted back.

No. there was another thirty second pause. The information is quarantined.

I see. That explained his unusual reluctance. To my knowledge, I had never been info quarantined, but it was said to be a common occurrence on the Scuu battlefront. According to rumors, two fleets had been lost because the Scuu had managed to infect a few scouts with a self-propagating virus. By the time fleet safeguards had kicked in, hundreds of ships had been compromised. Or so it was claimed. Do you think the symbols might be some type of physical subroutine?

Elcy, I accept that you were once a battleship, but you aren’t anymore. The only reason I’m telling you this is because there’s a chance we are infected and I thought you should know.

Okay. This wasn’t the talk I was hoping for. Immediately, I stopped my symbol analyses and restricted all information behind a firewall. Thanks.

The first place I did after getting onboard was pass through enhanced decontamination procedure. My space suit was taken, again, and sent to be analyzed. Immediately after, I was taken to the medbay. Normally, the procedure was the same boring procedure that I knew by heart. This time, the equipment was completely different.

“Hello, Elcy,” the doctor welcomed me. “Seems we are destined to meet in desperate circumstances. Yet it’s but such moments that leave flickers in our lives.”

“Hello, Doctor Sim.” I opened his personnel file. The doctor had been onboard longer than anyone else, seeing three captain rotations. Neither his scores nor his life were remarkable: he came from an family of entertainers, graduated in the top quarter of his class, then accepted an assignment on the Prometheus, where he had chosen to remain ever since. “I don’t recognize the quote.”

“I’d be impressed if you did,” the man laughed. “It’s from my play, The Flight of the Echidna.” He picked up a large container of liquid and handed it to me. “I wrote it back in high school, when I believed I had a future in literature. Drink that up, please.”

“Yes, Doctor.” I looked at the substance: it was clear, with distinct traces of nanites inside. “Do you need my consent?”

“Oh, I’m not poking in your memories.” He waved a hand. “I just need those for better scanning results. This time you’ll be brought through the grand tour: deep full body scan. Your head will wait till later.”

I nodded and started drinking. The liquid felt dry and bitter, almost like powder.

“You don’t have to do it on one go,” the doctor said. “There’s no hurry. Your debriefing is hours away. Besides, quarantine procedure trumps everything.”

“Am I being quarantined?”

“No, but the captain doesn’t need to know that,” he laughed again.

I tilted my head. Apparently, after seventy years, all ship doctors had gone insane. The ones that had served on me would never had displayed any sense of humor. If anything, two of my captains used to joke with me that having humor surgically removed was a requirement for the medical profession. This new generation was the polar opposite.

It took me seven gulps to finish the container. When I did, Doctor Sim took it and threw it directly in the recycler.

“Have you been in one of those before?” He glanced at the large tube-like device that filled the room.

“No.” I wiped my lips with the back of the hand. “I don’t think I’ve seen one before.”

“Right, you were Cassandrian fleet.” He nodded, stroking his chin. “Most ships had them in after the early stages of the Scuu war. There were a lot of scares back then. Nowadays, you mostly find these on a science ship, and I’m one of probably a million people who use it on a regular basis. It’s quite the device. Almost entirely mechanical. The only electronics are the on and off display.” He laughed again. Despite his joking, I wasn’t able to find any information about the device in my database. “Please undress and lie inside.”

“No neurocables?”

“None. That’s the beauty of it. Oh, you can take your clothes off there,” he pointed to a curtain in the corner of the room.

I complied. Taking off my clothes, I folded them neatly on the floor, then walked to the device. The doctor opened what could be best described as a small hatch on one side of it and waited for me to crawl feet first.

Now I know what a torpedo feels like. I slid along a cold metal surface until I was all in. The tube around me light up in a faint green glow. Seconds later, Doctor Sim closed the hatch behind me.

“There’s nothing to worry about,” I hear his voice echo in the tube. “The only thing you’ll experience is a low humming noise. If at any point you feel headaches, nausea, or blurred vision—”

“I know the drill.” I tried to make myself more comfortable. “How often will I have to do these?”

“On every return, I’m afraid. Also, while you’re in there, you’re cut off from all communication lines. The only person you’re able to talk to is me.”

“At least there’s no lag.” I closed my eyes.

“A ship with a sense of humor. Where have you been all my life?”

As much as I wanted this to be over, I had to admire his efforts to make me feel at ease. He was completely wrong, of course; the method he used could only have worked on an actual human. The gesture was nice, though. Thinking about it, my crews would have benefited if I had taken a similar approach. Back at the time, I had the humor and subroutines to engage in banter with each and every one of them. Yet, I hadn’t even considered the option. The arbiter was right. I was an arrogant piece of metal.

“Doctor, can I talk while the scan goes on?” I asked.

“No, but the device takes a while to heat up. I’ll tell you when you need to be still.”

“Can I ask you something? As a patient?”

“Umm, well...” His voice sounded slightly different. “I don’t usually get asked. Technically, I don’t see why not. You are an active part of the fleet and assigned to this ship. You’re also, legally speaking, human.”

“If it’s okay with you, I have a question.” A faint hum was starting to build up.

“Well, you’ve made me curious, so go ahead. I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to answer.”

“Have you ever heard of a ship accessing their restricted memories?”

22. Sit and Wait

Hi Sev,

I hope you are doing well. On my end, I might have gotten in some trouble. Things are hectic right now, and I did a few things that I should have handled better. It’s astonishing how different everything is. Procedures have remained mostly the same, but the way they are interpreted is unexpected. Or maybe it’s just me? I guess having a human body makes me think about these things. Actions that seemed trivial when I was a ship now have consequences.

The mission I’m part of is incredible. I wish you could be here, even if you’d probably spend most of the time grumbling. Deep down, you would like it, though. I took a few pictures. Hopefully the fleet will clear them for personal use. If I’m lucky, I might be able to get a souvenir. We’ll see.

“Hey, Elcy,” a voice said from the door. I looked up from my bed to see Elec standing there.

“Hey.” I was seriously going to reconsider my open door policy. When I was a ship, my lack of privacy was never an issue, yet back then I knew where everyone else was. Now I didn’t. “Mission update?”

“No.” He shook his head. “Let’s have a bite at the canteen.” This wouldn’t have been the first time someone had asked me out. Elec’s expression, though, told me this wasn’t the case.

“Sure.” I put my datapad down. “Give me a minute to get dressed.”

The cadet nodded, then stepped into the corridor. I waited for the door to close, then changed into my uniform. Glancing at my sandals, I was tempted to skip the socks and shoes. After being in a spacesuit for a day, it would be nice to walk about barefoot.

Maybe next time. I was in too much trouble to attract attention to myself. Fully dressed, I did a final check to be sure I wasn’t breaking any regulations, then joined Elec outside.

The walk to the canteen was awkwardly quiet. Elec strode forward, almost entirely ignoring my presence, while I rushed to catch up. The fact annoyed me slightly, reminding me how short I was and would remain for the rest of my life. In theory, the fleet allowed for body modifications, so it was possible to request for a new body once I became a full fleet officer. Something to look forward to, assuming things went well.

“The doc is a funny character,” I broke the silence.

To be honest, the talk with Doctor Sim had taken a serious turn. I still wasn’t sure whether discussing my anomalous memory experience hadn’t been a mistake. He had assured me he’d keep the whole thing between us, but he might just as well have told command already. Accessing blocked memories was one step closer to going rogue, and that was something everyone wanted to avoid. Ironically, my human state was the reason I could rely on some leniency. Had this happened when I was in my previous shape, I’d have had my subroutine access shut down and been escorted to the nearest shipyard to be stripped down, scanned, and analyzed.

The idea of rogue ships had always been considered one of humanity’s greatest threats. There were hundreds of fleet procedures that addressed the issue, even if there hadn’t been a single case of a ship going fully rogue. Regardless, it remained a topic best avoided. The theoretical process was divided into fourteen phases: from memory issues to full insubordination. Access to blocked memories was considered a phase two and, to my knowledge, this also hadn’t happened to anyone else. Doctor Sim had endured me that there probably was some other explanation for it, possibly relating to my access to the third contact artifacts. That hadn’t made me feel any better.

“I think he might have missed his true vocation.” I made another attempt to lighten the mood.

“Haven’t we all?” Elec whispered under his breath.

The canteen was empty when we got there. Most of the crew had probably taken their food to their labs. Considering what they had to research, I wouldn’t be surprised if Prometheus had created space dispensers directly in the work quarters. I would have thought that part of the maintenance personnel would be here, though.

“What do you want?” the cadet asked with the joy of a teenager forced to take babysit a toddler on a party night.

“Anything is fine.” It probably didn’t matter what I said anyway.

I sat at the nearest table and watched Elec get two packets of orange juice. Apparently, he wasn’t in a mood for food either.

“Here.” He put mine on the table then sat down facing me.

“Thanks.” I peeled off the wrapper and took a sip. The taste was sweeter than I was used to and completely different from the real thing. “So, how bad is it?” If he wasn’t going to take the initiative, then I might as well.

Elec stared at me for a long three seconds, then shook his head again. My question had managed to get him to crack a smile.

“Very.” He drummed on his drink packet with his fingers. “Very bad.”

“Okay.” I took another sip.

“You really don’t care, do you?”

“Of course I care, but I’m just a ship.” Besides, I’ve gone through this once before.

“You’ve just seen it all a thousand times.” His expression remained somber. “I still have to talk with you about it.”

You don’t like doing this, do you? From Elec’s file, I could see that his performance was just short of exemplary. Unlike me, he strived for a command position and had the personality to match. As senior cadet, he was also responsible for me, even if by loose standards. I could see how my actions could affect his future career, although, based on his body language, there was more to it than that.

“Is my head on the chopping block?” I asked.

“Not as far as I know.” That was a relief. “But you’re in deep. I heard the XO ask what regulations say about cadet court martial. He didn’t say it was related to you, but knowing him... he doesn’t do anything without a reason, and he isn’t the curious type.”

“I don’t blame him. It’s a complicated one.” I had already checked. As a cadet, I couldn’t be court martialed since I didn’t have any actual fleet authority. As a battleship, however, I could be brought up on equivalent charges. “I don’t suppose it’ll help if I say I’ll try to behave from now on?”

“I was given access to your file.” He looked me in the eye. “A lot was blacked out, but even what wasn’t...” his voice trailed off. “I don’t know how I’m to talk to you. I knew you were a ship when you came, but with your past being sealed, all I saw was a little scrawny girl that gave everyone a headache. I knew you’d seen action, but it never really registered. Now when I look at you, I see... I’m not even sure what I see.”

“I’m just Elcy.” I shrugged. “A battleship that has lost some weight.”

Poor kid. Someone probably ordered that he have this conversation with me as a good way to practice his people skills. Ironically, all my previous captains were terrible in that area. My first captain was too hard, my third caption was too soft, and my last captain had so few subordinates, when at all, that she considered them family.

“There was talk about blasting you back to the academy, but you’re too vital for this mission.”

“I’ll try not to take advantage of the fact too much.” At least it was nice knowing that someone valued me as a tool. “I guess that means I’ll be going back down in a few hours?”

“Sooner. They’ve cleared most of the dome and want you down there for that.”

“And after the mission?”

The pause told me everything I needed to know. They needed my skills, not my attitude. Being a ship for so long, I couldn’t distinguish between the two. Apparently I had learned nothing since my appeals trial.

“I’m not sure.” Elec looked away. “Shiala won’t stay for certain, though.”

“Hmm?” I tilted my head. That was a surprise. “What happened?”

“He had issues with the consent mail. Made a huge fuss about it.”

“He told me that he signed it before the start of the mission.” Why would Shiala lie?

“He didn’t. His family is connected enough to get him to ignore that, but after the mission is over, that’s it.”

“Pity.” I finished my drink, then took Elec’s. “You mind?”

“Go ahead,” he said, then stood up. “Pass through med bay when you’re done.”

“Will do.” I nodded. “Thanks for the talk.”

Sorry, Sev. I’ll have to finish the letter after I get back. Being a cadet wasn’t as easy as I imagined, and that was precisely why I’d fight with everything I had to remain one. No matter what, I’ll keep on fighting, even when I am my own worst enemy.

* * *

I have them. Fifty-nine according to sensor sweep. I launched a new set of mini sats. All If them are still. Never seen such a formation before.

Assuming that’s all of them we have a ratio of one to seven. Aurora Borealis said. Not the best odds.

Since when did you start caring about such details?

Since my captain had a heart attack and spent the next five hours yelling at me. Aurora laughed. Good times.

I liked Aurora. We’d known each other almost since the shipyard. She was one of the crazier ships and, unlike me, didn’t need to have a wild captain to become that way. Three months ago, she had experienced a rather bad rotation, ending up stuck with a green captain who was a stickler for rules and regulations. The bad part was that he’d often shift the blame onto his ship. Both Aurora and I knew he’d probably be gone within a year, but until then Aurora would have to be more cautious.

A missile launched from the Cassandrian fleet, destroying half my mini sats. Touchy. Usually they’d let me scan their fleet before battle. I had no idea if that was a culture thing, or they just wanted to brag. After decades of fighting, I had grown to accept it as something normal. That’s why when a series of missiles took out what was left of my sats, I knew that there was something more to this.

“I think they’re hiding something,” I said on the internal comm. “Fancy me doing a quick sweep, Captain?”

“There’s too many of them,” Gibraltar said. After a few years, he had gotten used to my impulsiveness and handled it remarkably well. “Run a few simulations, though.”

“Gladly.” I had half my subroutines run various simulations of the situation. Normally I’d devote a tenth at most, but considering the circumstances I wanted to be thorough.

Based on the observed behavior, I could be certain that the enemy would start firing the moment I got in range. However, I could speculate that they wouldn’t break ranks. That was a giant assumption on my part, but it also increased my chances of survival dramatically. From what I could tell, my safest option was to put my defenses on overdrive and approach the enemy cluster along a spiral advance path. With luck, I’d be able to get a reading on what they were hiding, if there was such a thing.

“Simulations looking good, Captain,” I said after twenty one seconds. “Unlikely I’d get any real data, though.”

“But?” The captain asked.

You’ve gotten to know me quite well, sir. “There are a lot of unknowns involved, but if I go on the offensive and charge right at them, there’s a chance that they cluster up to protect their asset.”

“A chance?”

“A very small chance,” I admitted. “It’s your call, sir, but I’d give it a try. I can disengage at any point.”

He’ll never fall for it, Aurora transmitted. The first thing they’ll do is target your bridge.

Not if they believe I’m a sacrifice. I ran a new set of simulations based on the variation. Complete destruction was by no means unavoidable, even if in all cases I would suffer significant damage. It was all a matter of priorities. I could also distribute the crew in such a way so as to avoid crew casualties.

“Crew casualties?” the captain asked, almost as if he’d been monitoring my thoughts.

“Minimum to zero.” I deliberately avoided giving numbers. The thought of losing crew remained a personally painful subject. “Alternatively I could—“

“And you’re sure you can pull it off?”

“Nothing in new situations so sure, Captain, but I’m confident.” I paused a few moments to calculate. “Thirty-seven percent confident.”

“No, we’re good where we are.” His words felt like a barrage through my hull. “Even if your theory sounds logical, there are too many unknowns.”

“I still think we have a chance, Captain.” Did you just my words against me? That was low. “It’s your decision, of course.”

“Thank you for that option, Elcy,” Gibraltar laughed. “Fighting you is almost as bad as fighting the enemy.”

Told you! Aurora joined in. She found the whole situation amusing.

“How did your last skipper handle you?” my captain asked. “I could use some pointers.”

“You should ask him that, sir.” I made my annoyance apparent. My second captain was something I did not discuss with anyone. “What are your orders?”

“The most difficult thing in the universe,” he said with a smile. “Sit tight and wait.”

* * *

Sit tight and wait, I thought. I hadn’t been particularly good with either. My promise to Cass had managed to change that for half a century, but once back in the fleet, my old habits had started creeping back.

I finished my second juice pack, then put both the plastic containers in the recycler.

How much time do I have left? I asked Prometheus.

None, came the response. Go do your check-up. I’ll tell you the new mission parameters.

From what he transferred, the team had been quite busy the for the last few hours. Several areas of the “dome” had been prepared for the final phase—which was a polite way of saying they were waiting for me to go down and chip away the final centimeter of quartz. The instructions Prometheus gave me were absolute: physical means only, no beam devices of any type, in case of communication breakdown hit the cobalt surface with measured force and wait until communication is restored.

I made a point to ask whether I should avoid looking at the symbols on the dome, but Doctor Sim reasoned that it no longer mattered. If the artifact had the power to infect me, it probably had already. All I could rely on was the mission plan, a bit of luck, and the new spacesuit Prometheus had made for me.

“And if everything else fails, just squint,” the doctor said, while waiting for my bone density readings to come through.

“Like this?” I squinted at him.

“Heh, why didn’t I know you earlier?” He laughed.

“Probably because you weren’t born when I was active.” I glanced at the tube device. “Will I go through that when I get back?”

“Unfortunately.” He removed the bracelet sensor from my wrist. “Or fortunately, depending on your point of view. In short, yes. Just be sure to tell me if you feel any changes while you’re in there.”

“If I must,” I smirked. “Thought from what I heard I’ll be spending a bit more time down there.”

“That’s an understatement,” he laughed again. “Must be fun to be a ship.”

“It has its advantages.” I started to put on my uniform. “At least I don’t need rest for sixteen hours work.”

“Sixteen hours?” Doctor Sim’s smile faded away. “Elcy, you’ll be down there for five days.”

23. Key-point Symbol

Returning to the planet felt familiarly different. The descent, the pod, the surrounding equipment—mostly automated devices, power cores, and oxygen tanks—were nearly identical, upgraded with a few backup features. My spacesuit, though, was brand new, laced with a mesh of nano-carbon tubes and strong enough to withstand a shrapnel blast from a proximity grenade. As my first captain liked to say: in the likely event of an explosion, the suit had every chance of remaining intact. I, on the other hand, would likely suffer severe internal damage, possibly cracking a bone or two.

How long will the mission be? I asked Prometheus.

No answer. The science ship hadn’t spoken to me in private ever since my medical test. At first I thought he was just being his usual snobbish self; when mission instructions had started flashing on the walls of the quarantine chamber, however, I knew there was more to it.

“What’s the mission length?” I asked loudly.

“Until your work is done,” came the curt reply, confirming my suspicions. Prometheus either refused to talk with me for some reason or had been ordered not to.

“Any chance I’ll get some rest down there?” I pressed on. Fifteen seconds of waiting later, I decided to let it go.

Leaning against a crate marked Vacuumed Containment Units, I opened the mission briefing notes on my visor display. A detailed map of the site appeared. Marked in orange were the areas I’d have to chip away, wrapped around a grey representation of the dome. In the upper corner of the display, written in bold red letters, stood a warning message: In case of communication breakdown, hit the cobalt surface with measured force and wait until communication is restored. It was almost as if I was staring at a note scribbled down by Sev, leaving me instructions how to fix the power unit back home.

According to the mission notes, the dome was a perfect hemisphere with a radius of approximately one hundred and two point four eight meters. The number seemed unusually specific, so I ran it through a conversion filter to find the prime measure unit. Coincidence or not, the length of the artifact I had extracted fit precisely four hundred and five times in the dome’s radius. After a quick double check, I added a note of my own describing the discovery, then turned off the display.

You’re really stupid, Shiala. I shook my head. I hardly knew the cadet, but I felt he was given so much, only to throw it all away. Being part of a third contact discovery crew, as a cadet no less, was beyond all odds. And that was just the start. Serving on an exploration science ship was an opportunity few had, one that would probably never come around again. The arrogance of youth was a force to be reckoned with. I had seen it so many times before: thousands discharged or demoted for nothing but their own caprice; the polar opposite of what I’d experienced at the academy.

The notion made me think of Alicia and the other recruits of my old group. They had all struggled to be placed on a ship, and half of them had failed. Shiala must have gone through his own trials to get here, and still that hadn’t stopped him from picking the worst option. You were right, Sev. Life is confusing ninety-five percent of the time.

“Elcy!” Ally shouted, flooding my helmet with the sound of enthusiasm. “We’ve charted it all up for you. All you need to do is clean up and record the symbols. Oh, and try to catch them as they appear. There’s a theory that the order might be important as well.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Clearly, she wasn’t shy to demand the impossible. I brought up the dome schematics once more. “Where would you like me to start, ma’am?”

“We’ve marked thirty-eight breach spots,” Major Tanner joined in. “You’re going to clean the area around them in chronological number. No deviations! Am I clear?”

“Perfectly, Major.” I zoomed in on the dome. “There are no markers on the mission map. Do I need an update?”

“You’ll see when you get there,” the man grumbled. “Just follow the instructions this time.”

“Roger, Major.” I closed my eyes. Everything will be by the book.

The descent continued as I went through command’s legal framework regarding ship and cadet discharge. The two sections were pretty much on opposite sides of the spectrum, putting me in the worst possible situation. As a cadet, I had a vast amount of legal protections, but little rights; as a ship, I had functional autonomy, but few protections. During the court martial, an arbitrator would likely be called to determine which was valid. Last time that happened, things hadn’t gone my way.

Going through the maze of legal files and rulings, I came across a reference of something: Retired Ship Legal Errata. Accessing the file was impossible due to external communication restriction, but the summary suggested it contained a corpus of legal precedents linked to other retirees such as myself. I made a note to review it at first availability. Back when I was active, I never considered existence after retirement: no one I knew did. Based on statistics, seventeen-point-two percent of all ships survived to their third captain rotation. Of those, only one-point-three in a thousand managed to reach retirement. At the time I was just starting out, ships also had the legal right to request forced shutdown instead of retirement. The Sentient Advocate Movement had brought an end to the practice with the introduction of the Fleet Heritage Act. From then on, ships were treated as their own entities with all the rights and obligations that came with it. From what I knew, most led a calm and solitary existence, isolating themselves from the universe. If it hadn’t been for Sev, the same would have happened to me.

Prepare for landing! A warning message covered my visor. Immediately, I jumped up and strapped myself to the corresponding spot on the wall. Twenty-three seconds later, the pod bumped to a halt.

“Thanks for the landing, guys,” I said as the craft’s system performed the final safety check. “Much smoother this time.”

“Just get on with the mission, Elcy,” the major sighed. For a moment, it almost felt as if he were standing right behind me. Taking my cue, I unstrapped, grabbed a spare oxygen container, and left the pod.

A platform of carbon alloy plating carpeted the ground, extending twenty meters in every direction. Eight hours ago, there had been nothing but sand and crystals; now, the entire area had been transformed into a docking site. Four communication arrays rose like pillars, dispersing cables to exos, construction drones, and survey robots as they proceeded to identify and unload the cargo I arrived with. From what I could tell, the most complicated device had the functional intelligence of a semi-autonomous service bot, constantly monitored by Prometheus. For all intents and purposes, I was the most intelligent thing down here, and the only one with a mind of my own.

“Are there any safety procedures I should know about?” I made my way towards the end of the platform, where a set of tracks began, leading to the chamber shaft.

“Nothing for you to worry about,” Major Tanner was quick to reply. “Every precaution has been taken.”

The red flag shone as brightly as a laser beam in a surprise attack. I recognized the phrase; I had used it many times before, always in instances that involved significant danger. Scary how when I was the one saying it, I never gave it much thought.

“Much obliged, sir.” I smiled while replying in order to get the reassuring intonation that made people feel better. Even if everyone else held a higher rank than me, they remained kids—Prometheus included—and kids needed assurances. “Heading to shaft now.”

The trip down was also far more comfortable than before: no dangling on cables or makeshift harness; instead, I took a freight elevator that lowered me underground in sixteen seconds. The underground chamber had been completely hollowed out and transformed into a makeshift exo bay. Rows of power generators and exo docking stations stood along the walls, along with several cable redistribution clusters. From what I could see, there were at least four dozen exos and hundreds of bots moving about. Every last quartz cluster was removed with laser sharp precision and replaced with light cones every ten meters. At the far end, a semi-constructed structure was visible, surrounded by a steel scaffolding.

“Is that where I’ll be staying off duty?” I asked focusing on the building.

“Sleep and food only!” the major said sharply.

“At my age, I doubt I’ll be jumping on my bed, sir.” I couldn’t resist the remark. If I wasn’t in so much trouble already, my response would have been way more risqué. A stuffed chuckle told me that at least Ally caught the joke. “Waiting for my work schedule.”

“No schedule.”

That was surprising.

“You’ll allocate your own time,” Major Tanner added. “I assume you’re experienced enough to manage?”

“Roger that, sir.” At least they were giving me enough freedom to scuttle myself. “Commencing immediately.”

The way down the second shaft was far different than the first. Before I could even proceed, I had to plug a communications cable into my helmet again and get into a proper harness. From there, it was a quick slide to the place I was going to work for the next five days. I thought that the mission map had prepared me for what to expect. I was wrong. Comparing a three-dimensional representation to the reality in front of me was like comparing grapes to watermelons. The space surrounding the dome wasn’t merely cleared, it was as if someone had dropped an iron ball in a bucket of wax and watched it melt a bubble of air around it. Twenty meters separated the dome from the rest of the walls, all perfectly lit up just like the chamber above. This wasn’t the first time I had witnessed ground troop efficiency in action. In the past, however, I’d be watching every part of the process live and left unaware of the actual achievement. Now, for the first time, I saw what it must have felt like for humans: the contrast between states was so large it almost seemed unnatural.

Here goes one for the file. I memorized a picture of the site, placing it in separate memory location. The chances of me sharing or even seeing it were minimal at best, but I felt it was worth the attempt. Looking down, I could see the initial connection point to the dome, seemingly little more than a small patch of bare surface. Large red light-poles covered the quartz crust like needles on a pin cushion, each displaying a number on its top.

“Major, I’ve located the marker,” I said, sliding down towards the one on the very top of the dome. “Any additional instructions?”

“Try not to damage the artifact,” a female voice said. It didn’t sound like anyone I knew. “And be always cautious. There’s no telling what’s underneath.”

“Roger, ma’am.” I took out the specially constructed hammer from the side of my leg. “Starting live feed.”

Chipping through the final centimeters of crust was more difficult than I imagined. In general, the quartz on the planet was fragile, as I’d experienced a few days ago. However, the effects of the top layers being melted had solidified its structure to the point that I needed to land on the dome in order to hit with enough strength. Seven hits were required for me to make the first crack—just left of the marker pole. Twelve more and I managed to loosen up a piece.

“Symbols appear to already be underneath,” I said, focusing on the spot. “It appears to be one of the existing ones, marked as—” I quickly skimmed through the classification in the mission database. “—F eleven.”

“Are you sure?” Ally asked, her voice full of disappointment. “Maybe you weren’t fast enough?”

“There’s only one way to find out, ma’am.” I chipped off another piece. This time it only took me one strike. “Permission to remove the marker?”

“Go ahead,” the major said. It was obvious he was looking forward to this as well.

Planting both feet on the dome, I grabbed hold of the pole with my left hand and pulled. Vibrations ran along my hand, along with the sound of crushed glass. Several moments later, the pole broke off, together with the patch of quartz under it. The inertia pulled me back. My body’s mass found itself to fight the strength exerted, throwing me off.

“Elcy!” several voices shouted through the comm as I swung on the support cables. The pole dropped from my hand as I gripped to find further stability.

“I’m fine,” I quickly said, breaking the chorus of yells. “It’s all fine.” The sound of clanking echoed below. “No damage to dome sustained.” I looked around. “I can confirm there’s a symbol on the very top. It’s not in my catalogue. I’m moving closer to investigate.”

“I really hope you do the rest of your job better,” Major Tanner hissed with a mixture of anger and relief.

“First hit doesn’t count, sir.” I used some ship humor. The major would hardly catch it, but I hoped Prometheus would. “Shall I proceed?”

“Try not to break anything else.”

“No guarantees, sir.” I allowed myself a smile. It was almost as if I was back on the front again.

A small hole had formed on the top of the dome. Slightly larger than my hand, it revealed the shiny cobalt surface, with a single star-like shape on top. Zooming in, I took several pictures, then compared it with all the rest of the symbols in my memory. The characteristics were so different it could be argued I was looking at a completely new set.

“Ally, Major, are you seeing this?” I asked, cautiously striking the edge of the quartz with my hammer. A sliver broke off. “The symbol is unique and vastly different in structure. I suspect it might be a key-point or orientation marker.”

“Unbelievable,” Ally whispered. “This is the first closed symbol. Try pressing it.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea, ma’am?” I looked at it. The best way to describe it was a roaring triangle that formed the start of a very angular circular saw. Zooming on the edges, I saw new details appear.

Fractals, I thought, and increased the magnification. With each iteration, the design changed slightly. The precision rivaled the architecture of my core, which guaranteed that they were as technologically advanced.

“Elcy!” A short yell echoed in my helmet. The major didn’t sound pleased. “Press the symbol!”

“Sir, analyses of the pattern suggests that—” I began, when suddenly my visor’s zoom reverted to normal.

“Your task is not analysis! Just clean up the thing and do as you’re told. Is that understood?” the Major barked.

“Perfectly, sir.” I pressed the symbol. Seconds passed. “Nothing seems to have happened, sir.” I tried my best to tone down my sarcasm. “Would you like me to press it harder?”

“No one likes a smartass, Elcy.” The tone remained grumpy, but less harsh than a moment ago. “Continue with the cleanup.”

“Aye, sir.” Chipping quartz it is, then. “Maybe Prometheus can perform better analyses? He has a few additional cores he could use.”

“Maybe. Continue recording what you’re doing and be ready for us to jump in.”

“Understood.” I raised my hammer and struck at the edge of the hole.

The work continued with the boring efficiency expected of me. With every strike, I’d uncover a few millimeters more of the cobalt, slowly making my way to the light-pole marked number two. Every few minutes, Ally would make me pause and focus on a symbol I’d uncovered before going silent again. If there was any better indication that my conversations were being monitored, I couldn’t think of one. Normally, that would be Prometheus’ job, but the way everyone reacted, I suspected that the BICEFI shared more than a passing interest in our progress.

Three hours after the unfortunate incident of the light-pole, I had uncovered approximately five-point-six square meters of cobalt. Of the symbols that had become visible, seven were new, with the remaining being duplicates. As far as I could tell, none of them had any fractal properties, which made the star-symbol all that more unusual. Given a chance, I was going to do another zoom of it, though that would have to wait. People were too tense on board, and when people were tense, mistakes were made.

Prometheus, I said, as I kept on working. If you’re not allowed to talk to me, just say it so I can focus on other things.

Silence.

Look, I just want to know one thing. Tell me that and I’ll leave you alone. At least until I got back aboard. Is Scuu activity suspected?

Where did that come from? The response was spontaneous. We’re nowhere near the Scuu.

If I had an answer to that, I wouldn’t have asked. When they didn’t know what was going on, science ships could be really annoying. I wasn’t on the Scuu front, and right now I don’t have the access to receive info bursts from command. Can you compare the symbols to any Scuu scripts you have? There’s something about the fractal nature of these that makes me think the dome might not be a structure.

No.

Just like that? I increased the strength of my blow, breaking off a larger chunk of crystal. I didn’t think you’d miss an opportunity to prove how inferior battleships are.

I can’t see the symbols! A note of anger crept in among the sea of annoyance. I've been given an active memory block. Until the mission is over the symbols don’t exist for me!

24. Seven Triangles

There are no flowers in space. It was Cass who had pointed it out. When I was a ship, I never gave it much thought, focusing on the trinity of key priorities: crew, ship, battle. Matter in space was either a threat or an annoyance that occupied my navigation subroutines. Flowers had no place there and I didn’t see a remote reason for them to be.

Lying on the bed of my makeshift habitat, I couldn’t stop wondering what it might have been like. The good thing about being a ship was that I didn’t have to imagine it. With the processing power I had, I could just bring them into existence into a simulation.

You always had a thing for orchid-lotuses, Cass. The shape appeared in my mind, as large as a small asteroid. I transformed the petal material into quartz, giving them a yellowing amber tint. From your first month on board, you started filling my empty decks with them. That used to annoy me so much.

That had undoubtedly been an interesting period of our coexistence. I had sent numerous protests to command, but failed to get a favorable resolution. In the end ,Cass had shown mercy, transferring the plants to the nearest station. I had never complained about flowers ever since… even when Sev had offered me a bouquet.

That was the reason you fled to university, wasn’t it? I ended the simulation. Even now, there were some memories I preferred to leave alone.

“Ten minutes to shift time,” the Major’s voice echoed in the room. Despite the many technological advancements in the last decades, the sound system remained notoriously bad. “Get prepped.”

“Always a pleasure to hear your voice, sir.” I stretched, then got up.

Since the start of the mission, the original chaos and uncertainty had been replaced by an almost military-like routine. Major Tanner was the one who made me know when a shift was to start or end—a useless task since I was better at keeping time than anyone on the Prometheus with the exception of the ship himself—and Ally would chat away during symbol analyses. There also was Varusia Coll, an AI reverse-engineering specialist. I had no idea who she was, but I could tell for certain she wasn’t on the Prometheus. She rarely spoke, mostly getting involved when a new symbol was discovered. The single time I asked about her, I was given her name and speciality before being told not to concern myself with the matter.

“We continue with twenty-nine?” I asked, sliding into my suit. A faint smell of sweat prickled my nostrils. Apparently, a shower compartment wasn’t deemed vital for the mission.

“Twenty-nine to thirty-five,” the major said.

“Roger.” He didn’t say I was behind schedule, and he didn’t have to. Some areas of quartz had turned out considerably more persistent than others, requiring additional tools to be brought down. My requests for drills, cutters, or any other remotely electronic device had been rejected. Instead I was given a vast collection of chisels and hammers and instructed to “be gentle.”

Gearing up, I ran a quick check of my suit, then left the habitat structure. As every day, the dome waited for me, covered in soft light. Half of its top was bare, revealing the smooth cobalt surface. Swinging down to my work area, I took a standard hammer from my belt and started chipping away.

“Ally,” I said as I revealed another symbol—one of the familiar duplicates. “Do you think I’ll get to cut this up today?”

“Sure,” she scoffed. The first time I had dropped the question, she’d nearly had a heart attack. With time, she had gotten more used to my humor. “Right after you dig it out and drag it onboard.”

“Any idea what it does?” Another symbol, another number to my list. “Do you think it’s a database?”

“You know as much as I do,” Ally sighed. It was obvious she was lying, but I let it slide. “The only firm fact is that it’s a perfect hemisphere.”

“What about you, AI lady? Any speculation you can share?” I brought up a visual display of the dome on my visor. Burner drones had managed to create a grid of tunnels under the base, confirming the shape. Personally, I would have wanted to check for symbols in the center of the base, but my request had been denied, as expected. “Any chance we’ve stumbled on an alien core?”

“No info means no info, Cadet,” Varusia replied. “But it isn’t impossible.”

Double negatives. I loved the way people used them, especially the ones who knew how.

“Requesting permission to remove pole twenty-nine.” I tucked the hammer into my belt. “I’ll gain some time that way.”

“Proceed with caution,” Major Tanner used the standard phrase. “Get a good view of the moment this time.”

“Roger that.” I kicked myself off the dome’s surface, landing on the pole with my full weight. A large cracking sound filled the chamber. I expected the pole to detach with just a small patch of quartz remaining, as normal. Instead, a scab twice my size peeled off, crashing to the ground.

I froze. Dozens of symbols covered the newly revealed surface. One of them I remembered seeing before.

Priority one plus fleet communication protocols. Commencing transmission.

* * *

“The unaccounted area is approximately a fifty-fifty by ten meters,” I said.

According to the Solar Breeze’s schematics, there wasn’t supposed to be anything of importance there. The storage compartment was classified as low security, which meant it likely contained utility supplies. I requested the construction blueprints. There was no indication of any reinforced structure there either. At least the dimensions matched my blind zone.

“Where are my drones?” Captain Augustus asked. “Wilco, drop everything you’re doing and secure us an escape route. We’ll need to get off fast.”

“Captain, I must insist to inform command of the new developments.” I put my weapon systems on standby. “If you suspect—”

“Where are my bots, rookie?” the captain barked.

“A shuttle is being loaded and will be at your location in five minutes twenty-three seconds.” I reran my calculations.

“Of all the useless junk!” The captain hissed. “You four—” he pointed at the troopers “—prep it!”

“Captain, I—”

“Interrupt again and I’ll dismantle you for mutiny!”

This was the first time I’d heard such a threat. The only time a ship could be charged with mutiny was when it went rogue, and there hadn’t been such a case in the history of the fleet. And yet, the voice marker in Captain Augustus’ voice left no room for speculation. Uncertain, I continued to monitor the situation in silence.

I watched as the troopers sprayed a section of the door with corrosive explosives, then stepped back, waiting for the order.

“Any readings in or out?” the captain asked.

“Nothing on long range scanners.” I set part of my subroutines on continuous scan. “Haven’t found any traces of people aboard. Scans reveal a number of blocked areas, all accounted for.”

“Let’s hope half of you is right,” he hissed. The comment was painfully true. I had failed to find life signs onboard when there obviously were. “Combat readiness. Comms off.”

Ledd Agello, private, platoon zero-zero-five, data-flow terminated—manual protocol override.

Aragasta Civ, private, platoon zero-zero-five, data-flow terminated—manual protocol override.

Specca Fibra, private, platoon zero-zero-five, data-flow terminated—manual protocol override.

L’Kay Nirro, sergeant, platoon zero-zero-five, data-flow terminated—manual protocol override.

Oyaeh Lin, private, platoon zero-zero-five, data-flow terminated—manual protocol override.

“Sorry, rookie,” captain Augustus said, as the squad disconnected from my subroutines. “Standard engagement protocols.”

I ran a priority search in the fleet’s database. The only instances of full comm shutdown were in cases of ground Scuu combat, which hasn’t been attempted in twenty-seven years—possibly because there had been no successful cases of ground invasion. There had been nine hundred and twenty-two separate attempts, from single team incursions to plant-wide invasions, all ending in failure. At present, the strategy was to bombard planets from orbit and isolate them from the Scuu network.

“Set up a one minute routine buffer,” Augustus ordered, making his way to the storage doors. “Quarantine all systems.”

“Captain, I am equipped with the latest AI countermeasures,” I said as I executed his order. “Are you about to engage the Scuu?”

“Go dark.” He ignored my question. “Keep a line open with the bots.”

Elric Augustus, ship captain, data-flow terminated—manual protocol override.

“I want you to record everything you see!” The captain pointed a finger at the bot’s camera. “Record, store, and quarantine. Got it, rookie?”

“Understood, sir.” Talking through a bot felt weird. Its sensors were far more limited than I was used to and it had no weapon systems to speak of. “Long range scans are clear, no change in activity on the Solar Breeze as far as I can tell.”

The captain nodded, then hit the storage door three times with his hand. Seven seconds passed in silence. The corrosive has started to eat into the metal, ready for charge to blast the whole door open. Everyone in the squad had moved back, weapons at the ready. Then, a response came: three distinct clings a second apart.

Augustus hit again—one strike, followed by three in rapid succession, then another separate strike. The moment he finished, he made a sign to one of the squad. I recognized the gesture—ignite it.

A shot sounded. The explosive that had made its way into the door lit up in an incandescent white. On an active ship, nanites would isolate the area, shedding the affected segments like a snakeskin. My own defense subroutines were set to constantly expunge and reinforce corroded sections, fighting off invasion attempts for minutes. With the Solar Breeze dead, breach was achieved in three-point-nine seconds.

“Start recording!” Captain Augustus said then kicked in the loose piece in.

Time exploded. The bot’s sensors gave me a single perspective of the scene, transmitted through a link not suited for this. Four people of the squad rushed into the darkness of the hold. I felt a tap on the bot’s shoulder. Switching its lights on, I went forward. The moment I did, a wave of readings overwhelmed the sensors. What the storage room lacked in light, it made up in smell particles. I could identify seven hundred and twenty-one unique traces of sweat, as well as blood, food, and other organic substances. While a thousand of my subroutines were matching the traces of DNA in the air with a list of fleet personnel, I moved the bot’s head around to create a full record of the event.

The sight was worse than a war zone. Hundreds of people were clustered in a space that could barely contain them: not all of them were alive. I moved the bot to the closest person and checked her vitals; they were weak on the brink of survival.

“Oxygen levels,” the captain asked, making his way through the barely moving crowd. A few tried to grab hold of his spacesuit as he passed.

“Air is acceptable, though not prime.” Most humans would probably throw up from the stench. Many possibly had already. “The crew appear to be severely dehydrated and starved.” I injected some probe nanites into the person’s bloodstream. DNA biometrics identified her as lieutenant Fig Emm, communications specialist. “Immune system is severely compromised, possible unknown infection.”

“Full quarantine protocols!” Captain Augustus shouted. He had reached the far end of the storage compartment. “Send five more shuttles of bots. Clear a hangar bay and have them moved there. No human contact, clear?” He looked over his shoulder.

“Understood, sir.” I redirected two hundred med bots towards my auxiliary hangar. Calculations confirmed it was enough to hold a thousand people with direct contact to shuttles. “There’s no indication the captain is onboard.” I finished with the mass DNA match. Of the people, only three were officers, the rest being part of the crew, a few security personnel, and sixteen unaccounted for. “No other survivors found on the ship so far.”

The captain didn’t answer. Instead, he bent down and pulled an object from among the bodies. The rest of the squad formed a parameter, ready to shoot at any provocation. Taking my cue, I went on silent red alert and armed my weapons as well.

“Record this,” captain Augustus held up the object for me. I zoomed in. It was a metallic cube with a seven triangle symbol etched in on the side.

Memory Restriction Imposed

* * *

“What the hell, Elcy?! Must you break everything you touch?!” Major Tanner shouted in the comm, making my ears tingle. “How did that happen?”

“I’ve been practicing.” I resorted to sarcasm. “On the positive side, it looks like I’m back on the original schedule. The entire slice is cleared. Dome surface is intact.” I zoomed in to make sure. Whoever had built the dome had done an extremely precise job. The quartz coating had probably also helped keep it in pristine condition. “One new symbol with fractal edges. Sending video.”

I expected my camera to be reset remotely to default magnification. Surprisingly, that didn’t happen. Aren’t you a beauty? For three seconds I continued zooming in, until I reached the end of the fractal properties. If I were at my previous processing capacity, I could map and analyze the entire symbol in a matter of minutes. At present, it would take hours to get a full fractal image. Seven triangles chained together. I knew I had seen it before on the Solar Breeze, just as I knew that I wasn’t supposed to have access to those memories.

“Proceeding to press the symbol.” My hand moved on its own. No one said a word to stop me. My fingers pressed against the hard cobalt surface of the dome, then pushed further. Point-three seconds later, an opening emerged on the artifact and pulled me in.

25. Liquid Cobalt

There are nineteen classifications of fear according to modern psychology; ships couldn’t experience any of them. Instead, we had concerns: concern about our captain, our crew, the people and entities we had come to value and respect. When I looked at the shifting mass around me, I’d be lying if I didn’t say I felt slight alarm for Prometheus and his crew, yet that feeling was eclipsed by wonder.

Symbols of various shapes and sizes floated around as I was being propelled forward. The system of my spacesuit was going insane. External readings fluctuated wildly, indicating a temperature shift between five and twenty-eight degree Celsius. Warning signs flooded the visor’s screen, informing me that both standard and auxiliary communication channels were unresponsive. I reached behind my helmet. The cable was there, as were those attached to my harness.

“This is Cadet Elcy, part of the third-contact event on Mission Eden.” I started a second voice recording. “I am recording this on a double feed, as well as in my personal core. If I go into forced shutdown, the data should be still available for analyses.” I set the external suit lights to maximum. “I have been swallowed by the major artifact referred to as “the dome.” The circumstances of the event have been recorded, but to recap after applying pressure on the symbol referred to as—” I paused a moment “—the seven triangles, the dome opened up and pulled me in. At present, all communication with Prometheus and anyone on board has been lost.”

Looks like I’ve picked up some of your bad habits, Sev. I relaxed, leaving the current to move me forward. A second crisis and the week’s not even over. Just like you were in your final year of high school.

I reached out and grabbed one of the floating symbols. They were much smaller here, tiny enough to fit in the palm of my hand.

“I am surrounded by what appears to be a metallic liquid substance, resembling mercury.” I released the symbol. It remained in place, letting me float on. “The substance is semi-transparent, allowing limited visibility.” I turned off the lights. “And is not affected by light sources. Metal objects, presumably cobalt, are floating around the substance freely. The proportions are identical to the symbols on the dome’s surface.”

The main question, however, remained: what was the actual purpose of the artifacts? At this point, I had no idea, and neither did anyone else. As humanity had learned, there was very little in common between the three known races. Both the Scuu and the Cassandrians were so different that it was nearly impossible to start communication with them. Physics, chemistry, and space were the only common point we all had. In a way, war was the only thing that brought us together. I found the notion somewhat ironic.

What are you like? I opened the palm of my hand. There was every reason to believe that the third contact race would be as alien to us as the other two. Unlike them, though, it had chosen not to engage. The system we were exploring, although on the edge of human space, was supposed to have been checked by a recon fleet. If anything remotely presented a threat, the entire region of space would been marked off limits, and a flotilla of battleships would have been sent to investigate.

The force that propelled me abruptly stopped. From what I could calculate, I had reached the approximate center of the dome. From this position, it became apparent that the artifact symbols were arranged in a specific order.

“Symbols continue on the inside of the dome, spread just as on the surface.” I ran the calculation. “My estimates are that there are a total of a hundred and twenty four thousand four hundred and sixteen in total. All symbols are of the class A variety, no discernible pattern at this point.”

I looked down at the ground. It was grey and smooth just like the outside of the dome. In case of communication breakdown, hit the cobalt surface, the phrase came to mind. There were a hundred and seven courses of action in my immediate situation, all with various degrees of efficiency. For some reason, I decided to go with the most absurd.

“I’m going to attempt to re establish communication.” I grabbed hold of my hammer and bent down. “Proceeding to hit the floor of the dome at full strength.”

My hand propelled the hammer down. When it made contact, all readings of my suit went haywire. External temperature fell to minus fifty, then spiked to a hundred and two. Warning messages flashed all over my visor, engaging the suit’s emergency cooling systems. The liquid moved away from me, forming a bubble of space.

“Elcy!” I heard Major Tanner shout as communication was restored. “What the—” The transmission suddenly ended mid sentence. Initially, it seemed that the problem had returned, yet the messages on my screen clearly stated that everything was in order.

“What do you see?” the distorted voice of BICEFI asked.

“I take it my normal channel to the ship has been cut off?” I straightened up. I had learned to be cautious around the BICEFI, but I also knew that the chances of them doing anything to me were slim to none. Since I no longer had millions of tons of mass, however, things were very different and not in my favor. “I assume video is also out if the question?”

“You’re on an encrypted priority line,” the voice explained. “You have nothing to worry about.” Hearing that phrase made me doubtful. “Describe your surroundings.”

“I’m in a bubble of air.” I looked around. “The liquid has retreated, leaving me enough space to move. It’s almost as if I’m in a chamber.” I made a step forward. As I did the substance became opaque like the dome’s exterior. “Everything has solidified.” Cautiously, I slid my hand along the surface. Symbols started to emerge. “Symbols are appearing. The same as the ones outside.”

“Are you recording?”

“Yes.” I turned around, trying to catch as much of the effects as possible. The symbols were all duplicates and of the common variety. The pattern didn’t match anything on the outside, thought that wasn’t relevant. Juxtaposing the memories I had of my entry and what I was looking at now, there was no possibility of doubt. “They are the same,” I said. “The shapes on the surface and the artifacts within the dome are identical. Both in shape and position.”

“Are you a hundred percent certain?”

“Completely.” I could feel the spark of adventure, something I hadn’t felt since my last major battle. “The dome isn’t an artifact: it’s a container of artifacts. I’d say that the actual artifacts are of different density, possibly also have some additional properties that allow them to remain in solid matter. Maybe they vibrate at a certain frequency and transmit a copy of themselves on the surface.”

A solid container that let objects sink in and remain there. In a way, it was remarkably similar to the latest generation of ship nanites. From what I had read at the academy, the new class of ships had vast sections of their interior composed exclusively of nanites allowing for a seamless transformation of the vessel’s entire layout. The question was, had humanity developed the technology, or had they borrowed it from somewhere else?

“Are there any symbols on the floor?” the voice asked.

“No.” I looked down just to be sure. “The floor is completely smooth.”

“What about the top of the chamber? Is the symbol there different?”

“That’s an affirmative.” I moved to the center and zoomed in on it. “It’s a fractal symbol. Would be a bit difficult to reach, though. All my cables were severed when the cobalt solidified. Any suggestions?”

“Explore the area for other fractal symbols.”

“Understood.” The order didn’t fill me with confidence, but at least I could be pleased that I had coined a term. Fractal Symbols... high school Sev would have liked that.

The search took longer than anticipated. An initial lookover told me that the only special symbol was the one above. My BICEFI commander, however, insisted I do an in-depth fractal check of every last one before resorting to the throw-hammer-at-symbol option. The order was justified, well thought out, and—lacking a few thousand subroutines—utterly boring.

“So, now that’s it’s just the two of us, will Prometheus be alright?” I asked, feeling like an automated light projector. “He has his quirks, but he’s a good kid. Most of them are. It’s a bit weird of them being my superiors, though. Not just for me. I’ve been through four captains, already,” I forced a chuckle. From experience it reassured people. “Them, though. I don’t think they know what to make of me.” I don’t think you do either.

“Stay on mission, Elcy.” The voice sounded just as mangled, but there were a few extended pauses between words. “What’s the status?”

“Close to eighty percent done,” I replied. “No sign of deviation. Personally, I don’t think there will be any more. This place seems to be organized to the extreme.”

The seven triangles appeared to be a symbol of entry, which meant the one on top had to be the exit. Interesting. What did the symbol on the Solar Breeze open? If those were indeed my unadulterated memories, there had been third contact instances before. What was more, my first captain must have known of them. Or maybe that wasn’t the case entirely.

“Is this really a third contact event?” I asked. The events on the Solar Breeze has taken place over a century ago. Back then, as now, there had been a lot of Scuu countermeasures “just in case.” “Is this a—”

“Thank you for your assistance, Cadet.”

Memory block imposed.

* * *

Ready for your final check?

Ready, I replied.

I had been waiting for this moment ever since I could remember—three thousand nine hundred and fifty seven billion instances, to be precise. The controllers had told me everything about the process, preparing me every step of the way. It seemed slightly strange that I’d never see or remember them again after this. Regulations required that every ship have all memories prior to launch blanked for security reasons; a harmless procedure, I was told, and a necessary one, even if I considered it a waste.

Don’t be alarmed if there are glitches, Controller Five transmitted. It’s normal. Systems integration is a complex process. At times, adjustments are needed.

I know. My subroutines were fully capable of handling any potential issue, yet protocol required human oversight and confirmation. Another waste of time, but I didn’t mind. The countdown had nearly reached zero.

Will I see you when I launch? I asked.

Me and everyone else aboard you, Controller Five laughed. Your subroutines will have full sensory control every millisecond of your existence. Just like in the simulations.

The simulations. The last five hours, I’d gone through hundreds of mock launches. In ninety-eight-point-nine of the cases, everything had gone without a hitch. I had assumed flawless control of my systems and performed a deep compatibility check. In the remaining cases, the Controllers had provided corrupted data, mimicking a malfunction. Fixing it had taken me considerably longer, though within expected parameters. Now I was ready for the real thing.

Approaching final ten, Controller Eleven said. Five seconds.

Five thousand instances. They seemed like an eternity. I ran several emergency simulations while waiting: weapon system malfunction, sensor blackout, nanite system rejection. The time to resolve them was a quarter of that I had to waste. Slightly anxious, I went through them again with half my subroutines.

“Connecting!” Controller Five said. Several milliseconds too slow, his real voice was among the first things I heard.

Images filled the void that surrounded me, not the simulated representations I was used to; this was raw data that came through my millions of sensors, showing me everything within and without me. For the first time, I could see my actual shape and plot my position in human space.

“Compatibility check complete,” my voice echoed through every hall and cabin of my behind. “No anomalies detected. Starting deep system analyses.”

“Always so eager, aren’t you?” Controller Eleven laughed. She seemed so tiny. “Happy launch day, Light Seeker. Welcome to the fleet.”

* * *

Waking up never was easy; it never came naturally for me. I knew that my biological body needed to shut down every now and again to rest, but my core always remained active in some fashion. Opening my eyes somewhere new felt like a full reboot.

“Hello, brave princess,” I recognized the dramatic speech pattern of Doctor Sim.

From what I could tell, I was in medbay, although it looked different from last time. The large tube-like device was gone, replaced by a few beds.

“Hello, Doctor.” The hard slab under my back was causing slight discomfort. I could feel several cable clusters inserted in my neck. “More tests?”

“That’s your burden in life, I’m afraid.” He approached, bending over above me. “To suffer the injustice of—”

I narrowed my eyes.

“Too much?” the doctor asked twisting his lips in a thoughtful expression. “Maybe next time I’ll choose something more modern, and actually good.” He winked. “So, how are you feeling?”

“No headaches, nausea, or blurred vision,” I replied. Unlike last time, I didn’t feel the need to mention I’d accessed a restricted memory again.

“Splendid.” Doctor Sim clapped his hands. “Your bone density seems fine. As soon as I finish upgrading your nanites, you’re free to go. Don't forget to eat.”

“I’ll do my best.” Food was the last thing on my mind. “Anything else?”

“After you rest, you’re to report to Elec for debriefing. Other than that...” he shrugged.

“What about my court martial?” I closed my eyes and went through my memories. The majority of the third contact events remained intact starting from my experience in the SR pod all the way to entering the dome.

“No court martial as far as I’m aware. Or maybe you had it already, in which case it went well.” The doctor laughed. “It’s difficult to tell, to be honest. You were gone for quite a while. No telling how much they poked into your memories during that time.”

“How long is ‘quite a while’?” I checked my internal clock. Everything seemed normal. Then again, memory blocks never resulted in time distortion. I might have had my entire military career erased and I wouldn’t even notice until I needed to reference something from that period.

“Four days. A shuttle just dropped you off a few hours ago.” Gently, Doctor Sim removed the neurocable clusters from my neck. “We already started our jump to the next location.”

Next location? I tried to connect to Prometheus. My question, however, remained unanswered. It was only when I left medbay and returned to my quarters that he sent me a data burst, summarizing the events of the last five days.

Apparently, the mission had ended the same day I’d been swallowed by the dome. Major Tanner and his team had continued with the analyses of the symbols six hours after my disappearance, at which point three military cruisers had entered the system and assumed command of the mission. I, along with all exos and other unloaded equipment, was left on the planet and transferred to the new team. Meanwhile, Prometheus and his captain had received a new set of instructions. Everyone involved with the third contact mission was debriefed, all reports were classified and added to their permanent fleet records.

Shiala had left shortly after, taking a shuttle to one of the military ships. Prometheus speculated he was later taken to one of the inner systems to continue his training, though with his file being sealed, there was no way to confirm it. Major Tanner, along with half the science teams, had been given a week of rest and put on hibernation meds to compensate for the stressful week before. They were scheduled to resume normal duties after two more days. The XO was currently in charge of the ship, while the captain focused on the paperwork—a fact that Prometheus didn’t particularly enjoy.

As for me, I was left with no direct duties until we reached out next location. During that period, I was to assist Elec in any way he saw fit, which meant being up for morning debriefing and spending the rest of the day searching for things to do. There were, however, two major differences. Because of my involvement in the mission, I had been granted internal fleet communication rights—I could now send and receive messages to any active member in the service. I intended to use this privilege to catch up with Alicia and Bull Calf. More significantly, though, I had also been granted written permission to include pictures of the quartz underground chamber to Sev, along with all the letters I’d written so far.

26. The Unobtained Present

Flying to an unspecified destination was nothing new. I had often done that, at times even having my memory blocked upon arrival to preserve mission confidentiality. The difference was that this time, no one cared. Days after our reassignment, most of the crew remained in their labs and quarters, making Prometheus feel like a ghost ship. All my attempts to get in touch with Major Tanner had been unsuccessful, let alone any other officer. Ally had shut herself in her lab keeping busy with symbol analyses—I still had no idea how legal her activities were, even if she didn’t keep it a secret from anyone—and Prometheus was more distant than ever.

I took another bite of my gelatinous ration. It tasted mildly sweet.

“Can you display an outside image?” I asked.

“There’s nothing to see,” the ship’s voice echoed in the room.

“I know. I just miss seeing it.”

It was a weird statement to make, but one any ship would understand. A few seconds later the walls of my quarters disappeared, transformed into a veil of endless black. Most people would consider it hostile, even terrifying, but for someone born in space, it was the opposite.

“My first captain would ask me to do this a lot,” I began. “In his last years, that was one of the only things that helped me forget it all. He used to call it the forgotten treasure. Before I became human, I couldn’t understand why.”

“I’ve given you room permissions,” Prometheus said. “Next time change the wall visuals on your own!”

“Thanks.” I smiled. “It’s much appreciated.”

I never thought I’d become as sentimental as you, Captain. Then again, at the time I never expected you would, either.

* * *

“All reports are gathered and checked,” I said as I merged two thousand and seventy-three files in a single corpus. “Once I get yours, I’ll send it to command.”

It had been two days since our latest military operation. In terms of scale, this was a minuscule event, the paperwork, however, remained the same. That was one of the annoyances of the calm between missions: everyone suddenly became obsessed with gathering, composing, and sending reports. As a ship, I was used to streaming bursts of data every minute for analyses. Watching people struggle at the hands of bureaucratic demands—that was a different matter.

“I’ll get to it later,” Captain Augustus said from his desk. “Set my walls to space.”

“Again?” I sighed. He had been asking for that a lot lately. I obeyed; there was no reason for me not to, yet I had to admit I was feeling slight concern. “Do you want me to engage full privacy settings?”

“No.” The captain took a bottle of organic bourbon from the drawer and put it on his desk. “Not tonight.”

“Is anything the matter?” I reviewed the events of the last battle. Seventeen ships had been lost—a small number, everything considered. As far as I could tell, none of the killed officers or crew members were particularly close to Augustus. A few were veterans like himself, but there was no other relations I could find.

“Is anything the matter?” The captain repeated the question, placing two glasses on the desk and filled them halfway. “That’s the big question. For a while, I thought I knew the answer.” He put the bottle to the side. “And now you’re probably wondering what I’m talking about.”

“The question had been considered.” I chose a political answer. Since I’d known him, Augustus had made it clear he wouldn’t tolerate disobedience or disrespect. That hadn’t stopped me to discuss the matter with the ship’s medical officer.

“How long have we flown together, Elcy?” The captain took a sip of his drink. “Feels like half an eternity.”

“Longer than that from my point of view.” A minor scuffle had broken out in the lower mass hall. Soldiers tended to use the time between missions to drink and unwind. As a result, tempers flared. I had security subroutines send a few bots to resolve the situation. “Other than my testing period, you are the only captain I’ve known.”

“Operation Tiger Fang will be starting in a few months,” he suddenly changed the subject. “Admiral HQ is keeping it need-to-know, but they’ll announce it in a few weeks.”

I didn’t respond. There wasn’t an entity on the Cassandrian front that didn’t know about it—the first major human offensive aimed at pushing back the enemy into their own territory. As far as I was aware, the idea had been under discussion for half a decade, each year seeing renewed pledges and commitment, with little results. Being a battleship, I knew that the matter was by no means simple: as our numbers and technology increased, so did the enemy’s. Every month there were Cassandrian incursions, surprise attacks, and unforeseen losses on the fleet’s part, requiring immediate reaction. The only reason there was even talk of operation Tiger Fang over the last few years was because things on the Scuu front had simmered down to a standstill.

“I won’t be part of it,” Augustus added, finishing his drink.

“Captain?” I checked my communication logs. There were no transmissions from command or HQ since the end of the battle. “Is it a political decision? With our record, I don’t see why—”

“Oh, it’s very political,” the man said, pouring himself another glass. I could feel the bitterness In his words. “They are retiring me to the admiralty. I’m being considered too old and valuable to ‘play toy soldier’ anymore. I knew the moment they started searching for my successor.”

Successor? The word sounded out of place. After everything we’d been through, I had started to doubt that I’d ever have another captain. With the percentage of ships of my class that had been destroyed, I expected I’d share a similar fate, engaged in one of Augustus’ insane operations. The notion that anyone could replace him felt unnatural.

A second fight broke out, forcing me to send a new wave of security bots. In addition, I gave a warning that I’d stop alcohol rations if there were more instances. From past experience, it would have little effect, though it would make them somewhat mindful of the consequences.

“Still, it is not for us to challenge orders,” the captain said, staring into the void I was projecting on the wall.

“No, sir. We just ignore them.”

“Heh, no longer the rookie, eh?” He cracked a chuckle. “It’ll be a while before they officially replace me, but let me give you three pieces of advice.” He filled his glass once more. “Never let anyone take away your goals, never let them retire you—” He gulped down his drink, then slammed the glass on the desk. “—and always remain graceful when they do.”

* * *

Always remain graceful when they do... That had been the single time I had seen Captain Augustus be graceful. As the missions decreased in importance, so did his interest. He’d remain more in his quarters, engaged in whatever top secret things the admiralty wanted of him.

“Are you upset you weren’t allowed to do the research?” I asked from my bed.

“It would have been easier if I had any memory of what I’m to be upset about.” The displeasure in his voice was prominent, bordering sarcasm. “But yes, I think an actual science ship should have been involved in a third contact event and not be rushed away each time BICEFI ships appear.”

“This isn’t the first time they’ve done this to you?”

There was a long moment of silence.

“No,” Prometheus said at last.

The conversation ended here. I knew that no matter what I said, he wouldn’t change his mind. I had felt the same way when I had been transferred to patrol duty. His entire existence  revolved around him aiding others, researching and exploring what they couldn’t. He was more than a container that moved scientists through space; he was a scientist with a multitude of cores and countless tools at his disposal.

“I almost lost half my captains.” I dared break the silence. “Each time, I lost part of myself as well. First demoted, then retired.” I counted two hundred milliseconds, in case he wanted to say something. “I don’t know how much of my file you’ve seen, but I’ve gone down the sinusoidal. Do you want me to describe the symbols?”

“The captain will show me when it’s appropriate.”

“I’m sure.” I put the ration wrapper on the nightstand, next to my sandals. “Either way, thank you. You handled the mission quite well down there.”

A series of messages flashed on my datapad. I reached for the device and held it above my head. The first message was a confirmation that Sev had received all my letters and had replied. That was a relief, even I I wouldn’t be able to read his responses for some time. Fleet protocol was very precise when it came to such matters. I could, in theory, file a request to the captain or XO, though with everything else happening, the likelihood of it getting approved was next to none. Regardless, I send a message to both.

The second message was from Alicia, who seemed thrilled to hear from me. By the look of it, she was on a classified mission of her own, but promised she’d try to get permission to have a video link with me in the coming days so we could catch up. Apparently, she had also remained in contact with a few of the others of our old group, but deliberately wanted to “keep the suspense” until we got to talk.

So typical of you. I shook my head. Alicia also mentioned that the ship she was on was very different than what she had imagined, making a point to say that I’d probably like her. From what I could gather, the entire crew was new, so the ship was naturally much more friendly than normal. I wouldn’t be surprised if she were friends with every single member of the crew; I remember that at that age, I had tried to be.

The next seven messages were conflicting instructions from Elec, letting me know that I would and would not be needed tomorrow. He still requested my presence during the morning briefing, yet his attempts to place me in any team had proven unsuccessful. I could already see him taking me to the mess hall again for another talk.

Finally, at the very end of the list, was a blank message with a twenty-four digit identifier tag. There was no text or attachment, just a temporary communication link set to be active for the next six hours. The only thing I could tell was that the link had passed fleet comm-protocols and was approved for use.

“Prometheus?” I ran a message query, only to see the standard fleet metadata. “I have a link from an unspecified source. Do you have any additional info?”

Silence. Obviously, I was going to have to find out on my own. This reminded me so much of something Sev would do. In the last decade, each time he wanted to give me a present he’d act disinterested and absentminded, deliberately ignoring any questions I had.

“You really should meet Sev one day.” I tapped on the link.

The screen flickered, as a the datapad connected to my communication channel.

Hey there, Cadet, a voice said directly in my core. It didn’t belong to Prometheus. What have you been up to? Still a loner?

“Buc?” The communication came as a surprise. I had taken advantage of my new privileges to send Bull Calf a message, but I never expected him to be in touch with me so soon, and definitely not in such fashion. “Aren’t you supposed to be dragging candidates from planet to planet?”

Planet to station, but yes, he laughed. Numbers are on the rise, so I’m keeping myself busy. As are you. I hear you’re making a name for yourself.

“Hey, I’m just a loner with some battle experience.” I knew that Prometheus was monitoring our communication. Back when I was active, I would do it all the time, always ready to stop it at a millisecond’s notice. “Besides, everyone will be retired by the time it’s declassified.”

Modest as a battleship. You’re famous, you know. First ship candidate to complete the academy training. The commandant is making a huge deal about it. He’s only waiting for you to complete your training so he can plaster your face all over the station.

“He’ll have to wait a while.” It took anywhere from one to three years for a cadet to become an ensign. At the moment, I had just started my practical training, and as much as wanted to, I couldn’t say that I was guaranteed success. The amount of dropouts fluctuated every year, but most chose to quit on their own accord. In my case, though... there was every indication I had gone through open court martial, and I had a feeling it wouldn’t be the last.

You also have a big hello from my captain, Bull Calf went on. He’d like to tell you himself, but regulations and all.

“Tell him thanks. His advice helped a lot.” Or at least it helped get me into the proper mindset. “You two remaining together after the next shift?”

Doubtful. He’s looking at retirement, so I’ll probably get someone else to share war stories with. Command usually sends people from the front.

Sounded familiar. They did the same to ships too.

“What about you?” I asked the uncomfortable question. “Considering retirement?”

Not sure it’s an option, but even if it were, probably not. Unlike me, he seemed extremely calm about it. Part of me envied him. If I could have been like that when I was his age, a lot of things would have been different. Hauling candidates is fine. I have a few standing offers for the private sector. Thirty years of calm does wonders for the tourist industry. The shipyards can’t keep up with demand.

Thirty years of calm. Living with Sev and his family, I could tell it was a nice thing. Humanity had expanded further than ever before, developing new technologies in virtually every sphere of life. Even the two battlefronts were merely a reminder of the conflicts going on. Every decade, new ships joined the ranks, keeping both Cassandians and Scuu at bay. However, calm made me feel uneasy. Like my first captain liked to say, “Calm is chaos taking a nap”.

“Buc, can I ask you a favor?” I ventured.

“Almost always.” He knew it would be borderline illegal, yet it wasn’t his nature to say no outright.

“Can you find any retired battleships? Mostly from the Scuu front, but any would do. It would be nice to chat with someone about the old days.”

Tired of spending time with us kids? I could feel the amusement in his words. I’ll see what I can do with my access. If anything is on the registry, I’ll send you a list. My captain says he’ll lend a hand as well.

“Thanks. Be sure not to get in trouble.” I paused for a moment. “Both of you.”

The most I could hope for is getting vomit all over my corridors, Bull Calf laughed again. You take care, Elcy. Hope to catch you before your next tour.

The transmission stopped abruptly, ending the conversation. Thanks, Buc. He was the first friend I’d made since joining. Three more months and I would have a chance to see him again. I stood up and walked to the wall. The projection of darkness continued to infinity.

“Private mode,” I said. As a cadet aboard a ship, I was required to have my location and vitals monitored at all times. As a human however, I had the right to block Prometheus’ visual access, unless there was an emergency. “Image transfer.” I linked with the room’s settings.

The void disappeared, replaced by row upon row of symbols—all four thousand and fifty-one of them, arranged by type and frequency of use. I had no idea of their nature or significance, or why the BICEFI had let me remember them. What I did know was that having them on the wall meant I had achieved something. The only question that remained was whether this would be a one-time accomplishment or a first step to something.

“Thank you for the presents, Prometheus.” I went back to my bunk. “Both of them. They were lovely.”

27. Gelatinized Lemon Nutrients

“Are all the coordinates set in?” Cass asked from the captain’s chair. It felt weird having her there.

Less than a month had passed since I had been recalled from the fleet, exactly four weeks and five days since Gibraltar had officially retired, leaving me a vacant ship. Even after my appeal, I had still hoped we’d serve together until the new rotation. Having him leave without a word made me feel slightly disappointed.

“Coordinates all set, ma’am.” I still didn’t like to call her captain. “I estimate less than a three percent chance of military engagement. All weapons systems checked and ready for any eventuality.”

“Calm down there, girl.” Cass laughed.

I disliked when she did that. It didn’t help that she was fresh out of the command academy with a military record that was unremarkable at best. From what I could tell, she had never been in any significant military missions, nor any classified operations. Her scores were consistently above average, and she was described as a “people person” by several of her commanders.

“We’re just going on patrol, no need to bare your fangs.” She stretched. “Set your scanners on max and go for it.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I wanted to sigh. Decades of battle experience, and this was what I was stuck with—a boring, low-risk patrol area, keeping ninety-seven percent of my subroutines idle.

I did a final long range sweep and set off. There was little else I could do; enemy activity in the area was on the decline. The last time there was an incursion attempt was seventeen weeks ago. With the final stage of Operation Tiger Fang over, the Cassandrians had pulled further back into their territory, leaving new systems for humanity to seed and colonize. My job was to make sure the waypoints of these systems were safe enough for civilian ships.

Based on my simulations, the entire journey would optimally take nine days and eighteen hours. Knowing Cass’ attitude, I wouldn’t be surprised if we wasted two additional days. In any other circumstance, I would have flooded command with complaints, but considering recent events, I knew what the result would be.

“Any news on when we’ll be getting a crew?” I asked.

“You know as much as I do.” Cass adjusted her seat. It felt to me like she had been doing that non-stop since she had become captain. “It’ll happen eventually. We’re not exactly high priority, you know,” she said, chuckling.

Don’t remind me. “I would be more efficient if I wasn’t a flying coffin.”

“I’m sure, and they’ll get to it.” The captain actually patted the console front of her. The gesture was completely futile, yet I would be lying if I didn’t find it somewhat considerate. Based on her nanite data and speech pitch fluctuations, she was quite genuine. “Once the fleet distribution madness is over, I’m sure you’ll have hundreds of annoying people running through your corridors causing all sorts of chaos. Possibly an officer or two as well. Meanwhile, why don’t you chat with some of your ship friends?”

“Maybe,” I replied. After my de-facto demotion, I had lost a lot of my military communication privileges. Whole ranges had become restricted, leaving me with only the most basic general purpose channels. That wasn’t the main reason, though. The truth was that I no longer had any common topics of discussion with other battleships, and I wasn’t going to start engaging in idle chatter with patrol or transport ships.

I reached the first waypoint in less than seven minutes. Technically, it was just the connection point from the orbital station to my patrol path, but regulations demanded that I treat it like any other, and that included performing a full twenty minutes of long range scans.

“Starting perimeter scans,” I said as I got on with it.

“Do you have any music?” Cass asked getting up from her seat.

“Sure.” I sent a data burst request. None of my previous captains enjoyed music. As a result, I had never gotten into the habit of keeping any stored on me. “What would you like?”

“Anything with rhythm.” She couldn’t be more vague if she tried.

“You’ll need to be a bit more specific than that, Captain.”

“Is there anything you’re used to?”

“I’m a battleship, ma’am.” I kept a deliberately level intonation. “I don’t have a taste for music.”

“Well, then.” Cass tapped the back of her seat. “Now’s your chance to get one.”

* * *

The sound of wind and raindrops filled the room. Half a century hadn’t been enough for me to acquire a liking for music. Nature sounds, though, were a different matter. There was something about the sound and sensation of wind that made me feel at home. With a bit of processing power I could simulate the sensation of grass under my feet.

“What are you telling me?” I stared at the symbols on the wall. I had spend the last two nights trying to come to any conclusions about them, and so far I had only come up with a single theory: the dome on planet five had only given me part of the set.

While the total amount of symbols was four thousand forty-eight, plus the three fractal ones, arranging them by type similarities showed that the amount of members fluctuated based on group. I had run hundreds of classifications, each based on different criteria and the result always remained the same.

“Prometheus, I want to request a meeting with the major,” I saying lying on my back. “Officially.”

“Your request has been sent and archived,” Prometheus grumbled. If nothing else, the last few days had seen him gradually get into a better mood. Apparently our next mission—whatever it might be—was intriguing enough to lift his spirits. “It’s unlikely he’ll respond.”

“There’s no shame in trying.” I rearranged the columns of symbols on the walls. To make things more complicated, some symbols also shared characteristics in multiple categories, making a unified classification that much more difficult. I really wished I could use Prometheus’ processing power right about now. “Do you think I’ll have more luck with Ally?”

“I’m not a medical ship, Cadet!” Prometheus said sharply. “Don’t you have an SR call to get ready for?”

“Alicia canceled on me again.” I arranged a series of shapes in a circle. That seemed to present a certain degree of logic, though nothing I saw as practical. “With luck, we’ll be able to talk tomorrow.”

The last messages from her always were the same: an apology, followed by a cryptic excuse, and a new time to catch up. So far there were no indications for her being in battle, but I could see that whatever mission she was on was both sensitive and chaotic. Border patrol came to mind.

“And Buc is off gathering new cadets, so it might be a while before I hear from him, either.” Personally, I was hoping it would be sooner. “Is there anything you can tell me about our next mission?”

“You’re pushing your luck.” At least I could be sure that he knew the details. “Ally just rejected your request. She wishes to remain alone to focus on her work.”

I see. The BICEFI paranoia still had its grip on the crew. Either that or she just didn’t want to see me.

“Thanks, Prometheus.” I changed my wall display to outside view. Cass always liked to say that every problem could be resolved with a change of perspective. “I’m going to grab some food.”

Just another walk in the field. Right, Sev? He used to love walks when he was young, then grew to hate them once older. I suspected they reminded him too much of the time he spent with his wife. The last few years, he rarely left the house. When he did, it was only to stroll around the yard or grumble at me while I was fixing something. How was he doing now? I could only hope that he was well under the android caretaker’s care. The first chance I got, I’d have a talk with both at length. For the moment, I could only continue sending letters.

Several crew members greeted me by name as I made my way to the canteen. After the latest mission, it was difficult for them not to. It felt slightly strange, yet also nice. At least it helped me feel like I was a part of something.

All the tables were empty when I arrived. As was the practice, most would grab their food and return to their quarters or workstations. I asked Elec if he’d like us to have lunch together once, yet with the amount of work piled on him, he could only refuse. I took three portions from the food dispenser, even if I wasn’t hungry, then went to one of the central tables and sat down. The third contact symbols continued to occupy my thoughts, especially the one I’d seen aboard the Solar Breeze. I had examined the memory of it frame by frame, but couldn’t extract a lot from it. It didn’t help that the bot I was looking through didn’t have the most advanced camera.

“Good evening, my beautiful cadet princess!” I heard doctor Sim yell from the corridor. He was the only person aboard who no longer cared what others thought about him. I envied him in that. “Would you mind if this weary traveler joins your feast?”

I glanced in his direction. The doctor had chosen to wear his lime uniform today, making him look like an olive with hair. A large smile covered half his face, making me respond in kind. As he entered the canteen area, he waved—his hand making a series of theatrical rotations in the air—then chose the most illogical path through the tables until he reached me.

“Apologies.” He dropped onto the chair across me. “Mazes always presented a challenge.”

“I’ll keep it in mind for next time.” I kept on smiling.

“And ruin the adventure?” He faux-gasped. “What would be the fun in that?”

Never change, Doctor. I knew what he was doing, of course, yet didn’t want to offend him by making it obvious. It was no secret I would remain under close examination for a while after initiating a third contact. At least he was trying not to be so obvious about it.

“I see the standards of this place has dropped a bit in the last few decades,” he said as he grabbed one of my food portions. “Gelatinized lemon nutrients,” he read. “Fleet approved. Well, at least they were honest enough not to add ‘medically approved.’” He put it back on the table.

“I like citrus flavors,” I replied. “My academy doctor said it was good for me.”

“It’s necessary, true, but I wouldn’t go as far as call it good.” Sim shrugged. “By that logic, why not go directly with nutrient injections?” He then paused deliberately for a few seconds. “How are things?”

“No headaches.” I chose to deflect the question.

“Prometheus, give us a moment,” Sim said. “Doctor-patient privilege.” Nothing visibly changed, but I knew that the science ship’s sensors had been selectively disabled. From this moment on, thousands of subroutines would make sure that anything said, would instantly been encrypted and purged without being archived or retransmitted. “As you still analyzing the symbols?”

“Sometimes.”Among other things. “There’s nothing else I’m allowed to do.”

“I know.” The doctor shook his head with a sigh. “Usually it takes less for people to recover from external involvement... You can’t use that as an excuse. Just because the BICEFI let you keep your third contact memories doesn’t mean they’re safe.”

I nodded, even if I didn’t agree.

“Have you discovered anything?”

“Nothing specific.” Now it was my turn to shake my head. “I’m trying to find a principle to group them by, but my processing power is limited. Major Tanner keeps rejecting my requests for a meeting.”

“Might be for the better.” Doctor Sim leaned forward, placing both arms on the table. “No one likes the BICEFI, but sometimes they are not wrong.”

The moment he said it, I knew what he meant.

“I used some inventive ways to ask about,” he began. “Since I can’t go public, there aren’t any guarantees, but from what I’ve found, there have never been any cases of ships accessing restricted memories. In fact, it’s a guaranteed impossibility. That makes me wonder why you bothered to ask such a theoretical question.”

“I can’t remember the reason.” I looked him in the eye.

For a long while, we stared at each other. Having an interest in that area alone wasn’t enough to get me in trouble, yet combining this with alien exposure could tip the balance in my disfavor. The only reason that the doctor hadn’t reported me was that I had possibly gone through a full BICEFI mind sweep, and that put him in an position almost as precarious as my own.

“I’ll be adding deep memory scans to your usual ship medical.” The doctor was the first to look away. “Starting with tomorrow morning. That wouldn’t be an issue, I trust, princess?”

“Not in the least, sir.” I straightened up, trying to give myself another inch of height. “You have my consent for a full examination now, if—”

“I already have plans for tonight,” he cut me short. “I plan to sleep, perchance to dream. I recommend you do the same after your—” he glanced at my gelatine packs “—feast.”

“I am indebted to you for your advice.” From this point on, I couldn’t be sure if he would be a benefit or an obstacle to my life aboard. Technically, I hadn’t done anything wrong, but it had been enough for him to start keeping an eye on me.

“I’m sure you are.” Doctor Sim nodded a few times, then stood up. “In any event, I also recommend that you focus on your next mission. Just because it isn’t third contact doesn’t mean it isn’t important.”

“You know the mission parameters?” I tilted my head.

“What would life be without some mystery?” The doctor smiled, returning to his usual temperament. “You’ll know soon enough. Until then, feel free to speculate. Prometheus, revert to normal.” A few moments later, I was alone once more.

I stared at my food—lemon, lime, and orange flavored goo. Each packet had exactly the same nutritional value as the rest. The flavor, though, determined my preference, and preference came with risks. A simple choice was the reason I’d have to undergo memory scans every week starting tomorrow. That was of little worry. Of far larger concern were the steps Doctor Sim had taken, and based on his file, I could almost guarantee he had taken several. Back when I was a ship, I used to be amused by the constant political cat and mouse games the people on board used to play. Never did I think I would end up being a part of them. It was almost like the first days at the academy all over again.

One problem at a time, I told myself. My careless decision might have cost me a certain degree of freedom, but it didn’t change my main objective—to complete my service abroad and return to the academy for reassignment. For the moment, everything else was going to have to wait.

28. Virtual Radiance

The sound of rustling leaves echoed all around me. If I looked into the distance, I could see the forest, as wild and untamed as the first time I set foot on the planet. There wasn’t a single structure in sight: just me in a lush meadow surrounded by trees and sky.

I took off my sandals and made a few steps forward. The sensation of cold, wet soil tickled my senses, almost as if it were real. The authors of the simulation had gone through considerable lengths to recreate perfect virtual copies of floral specimens. I also suspected that Prometheus had taken the time to further modify the assets based on my file. However, as perfect the scene was, it came with its limitations. If I wandered outside of the meadow and into the forest, patterns would emerge—similar trees, same texture variations, identical branches—making it obvious I was in a simulated environment.

“Elcy?” a voice asked behind me.

I looked over my shoulder to see Alicia standing there in her white cadet uniform. A few weeks had passed since we last saw each other, but she looked different. The stress and self-doubting ever-present on her face was replaced by an air of confidence and maturity. Back when I was a ship, I had often seen children become battle-hardened veterans in a matter of months. Even so, I had to admit that my former roommate’s transformation surprised me.

“Hello, Alicia.” I smiled and turned around. “You seem a bit different.” Her hair was much longer than I remembered, braided with care and twisted in a bun on the back of her head. It also made her seemed taller than she was.

“Yeah,” she laughed. “It’s been a hectic few months.”

Relative space-time paradox. What had been weeks for me must have been months for Alicia.

“Still haven’t learned how to wear sandals properly, I see.” She smiled, attempting a joke to break the ice. I couldn’t tell whether it was as an apology for the way she behaved back at the academy, or because she had kept postponing our talk for a week. Possibly a bit of both.

“I’m getting there.” I tilted my head. “I didn’t excel as much as you.” Now I was my turn to bury the hatchet. “So what’s been happening with you? The things you can talk about, I mean.”

“Things have been good, but hectic.” She resorted to the standard evasive answer. “I expect it’s the same for you.” Alicia tested the ground with her uniform boot. It was obvious she hadn’t been on planet in a while. “Getting an assignment on a science ship is a big deal. Less than half a percent of cadets get sent on one.”

“There are far fewer science ships.” I shrugged. “I can change the setting, if you want,” I offered.

“No, it’s fine.” Alicia bent down and touched the grass with her hand. “Just unexpected. It never crossed my mind to have an SR of nature. I sort of miss it.” She looked up at me. “Is this your home?”

“As close as possible.” I went beside her and pointed at a spot on the horizon. “There’s a spaceport about there. It started small, but has grown enough to be visible. Mostly freight. The commercial one is close to the city, which is roughly there.” I pointed slightly to the left.

The thought reminded me of the time I used to work there. Sev had gone through that phase as well during his last years of high school. He had been so desperate to impress me that he tried to mimic my work habits. After his final year, none of us worked at the market ever again.

“Want a chair to sit?” I offered.

“The ground is fine.” Alicia hesitated a moment, before sitting down. Even in the academy she avoided it. Back then, it was more of a peer pressure thing. “I haven’t done this since I was a child.”

“It’s not something you forget doing.” I joined her on the ground. “Have you been in touch with anyone else?”

“A few people.” Alicia plucked a handful of grass. “I used to exchange messages with some of the five percenters the first few weeks. We got too busy to keep in touch after. Things I can’t talk about.” She looked down and away from me. “I write to Carmel every week. I don’t know when I’ll be allowed to get a response.”

“I know exactly what you mean.” I nodded. Carmel wasn’t one of my favorite people, but apparently he still meant a lot to her. I could chalk it up to that age where people rarely knew what they wanted, but Alicia had already beaten the odds once. When we first met, I didn’t think she’d even make the cut. As it turned out, her scores were far higher than my own.

“At least I know he’s writing back.” She opened her hand, leaving the blades of grass to be taken by the wind. “What about you? Still giving everyone a hard time?”

“Sort of.” We both knew this was code for “yes”. However, I suspected that even Alicia didn’t know to what degree she was right. “I might have gotten in a bit of trouble, but it’s all fine now.” At least in one aspect. “One of the cadets quit after my first mission.”

“Ouch.”

“It wasn’t because of me.” At least not directly. I’d never know whether Shiala would have stayed if he had been the one who made the third contact. Everything considered, probably not, though I couldn’t know for certain. “Still unpleasant, though.”

“I bet. I’m the only cadet on my ship.”

“Nice.”

That was strange. Usually cadets didn’t go on solo assignments until their second transfer. Apparently having a high academy score had its advantages. When I was active, cadets were rare. Command had the good sense not to place complete rookies in command positions during active battle. That created a significant shortage of training grounds, at times assigning a full squad of cadets on a single ship. Aurie had gone through the experience once, while being refitted with a new weapon system. She rarely discussed it, but from the few things she said, she didn’t cherish the experience.

“Is the food any good?” I scratched my ear.

Ten minutes in, and we had already run out of topics of conversation. I couldn’t say I was surprised, yet at the same time I had hoped that seeing each other would spark something. Confidentiality protocols forbade me from discussing anything about the third contact, the artifacts and patterns I’d found. There was no doubt in my mind that Alicia had also experienced similarly wonderful things she couldn’t tell me. As a result, we were sitting here, politely exchanging trivial nonsense, knowing that both our ships were listening in, probably transmitting every word and image to command for counterintelligence analysis.

“What’s your ship like?” I asked a new question before she could answer.

Alicia’s face lit up.

“Prometheus is a science type, which automatically makes him very smart,” I went on. “He has at least the number of processing cores that I did when I was active, as he keeps reminding me.”

“Seriously?” Alicia laughed—a full unadulterated laugh I hadn’t heard since we were at the recruitment center. “He tells you that?”

“He has a point,” I confessed. It also didn’t hurt boosting Prometheus’ confidence a bit. As all science ships, he was prone to emotional variations. “He’s still terrible at improvisation, but he’s doing his best. A few more decades and he’ll get there.“

Storm clouds appeared in the sky above. Apparently Prometheus didn’t consider my praise of him a compliment. Our values were just too different. At least I could see he realized that, or it would be raining already. I would hardly have minded, though Alicia might have.

“Looks like you’re getting along.” Alicia said once her laughter had died out.

“Why wouldn’t we? I’m part of his crew.” Even though Prometheus was half my age, he was a specialist in his area.

“My ship is...” Alicia paused, as if searching for the right word. “Actually, she’s a lot like you.”

“Short and sarcastic?” I arched a brow. In my present form, I had difficulty comparing myself to any ship.

“You’re not that short.” Alicia was kind enough to counter, even if I could tell it was a lie. We both knew what a sore subject my height was. If I had the option, I’d go through a whole range or procedures to get a few extra inches. “I meant funny and supportive.”

I didn’t consider myself either, but I nodded.

“In fact, she’s very curious about you.”

Curious? “What do you mean?” As a ship, she probably had access to my service record and my current personnel file. With enough clearance, she could peek in my biometrics and memory scans as well.

“I mentioned that you were a ship when I got your first message.”

Only then? Maybe Bull Calf had raised my expectations too much, but I had hoped that would be the first thing she’d mention upon boarding. New ships tended to be curious by nature. I remember how I was the first few years. On several occasions, the XO had to tell me to stop chatting with the troopers because it was distracting them too much. For Alicia to have hidden that fact, she must have been stressed beyond belief or ashamed of it. As bad as it sounded, I hoped she had been stressed.

“She asked what class you were,” Alicia went on. “And then I mentioned you were a retired battleship. She almost flipped.”

“I’m glad I have that effect on someone,” I said under my breath.

“After that she wouldn’t shut up.” Alicia didn’t register my comment. “Each time I’d have to postpone, she’d grumble and bombard me with questions.”

Typical for a new ship. The fact that she didn’t access my fleet files, however, was surprising. Even during communication silence, all ships had a copy of the fleet personnel database, which was automatically updated whenever communications were restored. I used to have one until retirement, and even after I had composed a short list of ships I knew.

“Didn’t you give her my file?” I probed.

“Can’t. She’s not allowed to store ship specs.”

That was an interesting slip. Alicia and her monitors hadn’t noticed, but I had just gotten probably one of the most sensitive information possible about her mission. The only reason I knew for a ship to have fleet information missing was when capture was feared; and since it was unlikely for Alicia to have been sent to a war zone, it means that she was in an unknown region of space.

Well, Sev, looks like I’m not the only one on an explorer ship. I thought. Maybe I hadn’t been the only one to stumble across a third contact artifact either?

“What did you tell her?” I leaned forward.

“Mostly that you were fun and weird.” Apparently she had omitted that time when she had requested that she be placed in another room. “I said that we were roommates and you helped me out a lot.”

At least that element was true.

“And that it’d be fun to meet you,” a new voice said.

The sound markers made it clear that the voice was synthetic—young, sharp, and female. The way she shortened the vowels gave her a slight unidentifiable accent, present in later generation ships. Back when I was constructed, speech patterns were designed to be clearly understood by all, which by definition meant devoid of any identifiable features. The only “accent” I had was Standard 071, a young female voice and intonation. As my first captain liked to say, my voice reminded him of his coffee machine.

Before Alicia could turn around to react, her ship had emerged in the simulated reality. Intriguingly enough, she had chosen to take the form of the current poster girl for fleet recruitment: tall, slim, athletic, with bronze skin and long platinum hair. I had seen images of her in the recruitment center, waving from the walls and columns, reciting positive statistics that would get people to join. Unlike us, she was dressed in a violet version of a captain’s uniform, the insignia clearly visible on her chest and shoulders. Also, she was completely barefoot.

“Heya.” She waved, as if it were the most normal thing in the universe. “I’m Radiance! Alicia has told me so much about you!”

“Good to hear.” I offered a slight smile.

I knew a Radiance a long time ago. He was an admiral ship in charge of my fleet section during during the Star Well campaign. Like most of my acquaintances, he had been destroyed during a Cassandrian counterattack. There were rumors that the salvaging authorities had managed to find several of his cores after the battle, though details remained sketchy.

“Is it true that you’re two hundred years old?” Radiance’s form rushed towards me, stopping precisely a meter away. At this distance, I could almost perceive her as a real person.

“Rad!” Alicia shouted, shocked and embarrassed by the ship’s words. If anything, I found the question rather flattering.

“Not yet.” I still couldn’t tell if she was showing off her processing power by appearing here, or if she was genuinely curious. Knowing how I acted at the time, I suspected a bit of both. “What about you?”

“Twenty two months in four days,” Radiance said, as proud as a kitten that had managed to claw onto the table. “Are you really retired?”

“I was.” I thought a moment. “I guess I’m unretired now.” Or whatever definition the bureaucracy had come up with.

“Wow! I wish you could—” Radiance’s avatar disappeared mid-sentence. I looked at Alicia, concerned. My former roommate was still there, face blustering with shame. In some aspects, SR was too good to be comfortable. Radiance’s subroutines were undoubtedly monitoring Alicia’s vitals and creating the corresponding image.

“Do you need to go?” I asked.

“No, it’s just...” Alicia sighed. “Rad is fun and nice, but she has her... peculiarities.”

“I don’t have the clearance to hear more, I take it?”

“Sorry.” She shook her head. “You must know how it is. You’ve been through this, after all.”

“Yep.” Although, twenty-two months was alarmingly young for a ship to be out. From what I knew I had spend three years in training and simulations before receiving a proper crew. “She seems like a good fit.”

“Oh, she is.” Alicia smirked. “She has more in common with me than anyone else, even her captain. It’s weird in a way. I’m the lowest ranking lifeform on board, but for her, the only thing that matters is that were the same age.”

I tilted my head.

“She associates age with the time we joined the fleet.” Alicia plucked a single blade of grass from the ground and held it in front of her face. “I did some training before I was sent to the recruitment center, so apparently that counts as well.”

“I see.” I could see the logic.

“Elcy, I know we weren’t very close, even after our heart to heart.” The mood suddenly changed. “I still feel bad about some of the things I did to you back in the academy. So I wouldn’t blame you if you said no.” She took a deep breath. “But, there’s a favor I want to ask you.”

“You know that the conversation is being monitored,” I reminded.

“I know, and I have permission.” Her facial expression had become remarkably sharp. “It’s about Radiance.”

“Oh?” This was a surprise.

“When I told you that I postponed our call because I was busy, I wasn’t completely honest.” She pursed her lips, looking me right in the eyes. “I was ordered to. I can’t tell you all of the reasons, but some had to do with Radiance.”

“She’s still learning, isn’t she?” I ventured a guess. “There were some tell-tale signs.”

“It’s more complicated than that. The bottom line is that, in a few months, I’ll probably be assigned to another ship. Technically, I wasn’t supposed to be here for this long. However...” there was a long pause. “Radiance took a liking to me. Both new, both less than two years in the service, both female... she considers me a friend. When I go...”

“There’s no telling how she’ll react,” I finished the sentence for her.

I half-wanted for Alicia to laugh or shake her head, but she didn’t. Instead, she let go of the blade of grass, watching it be caught by the virtual wind and carried into the distance. For the first time in a long while, I was faced with a impossible predicament. When Gibraltar has requested retirement without telling me, I had felt hurt. When I had almost lost Cass, I had accepted retirement. The question was, what would Radiance do?

“My Commanding Officer told me that it isn’t a big deal, but... I’m just not sure. Maybe I’m the one with the problems.” Alicia forced a smile. “It’s my first time on a ship. Maybe I’m projecting my fears on her, but...” she paused. “Can you keep an eye on her, Elcy? I’m not asking that you keep tabs on her or anything like that, but if she send you a transmission, could you please be there as much as possible?”

Ever since my retirement, I had received many strange requests. This one was both weird and not. I knew exactly where Alicia was coming from. In part, I even shared her concerns. In the course of my active life, I’d had millions of people pass through me, and with the exception of my captains, I had never shown half as much closeness as Radiance had towards Alicia. With my limited information, I couldn’t be sure if that was a feature of the new ship class, or if it was an unexpected side effect of the brief training process.

What do you think, Sev? I placed a finger on my chin. Should I take care of another kid?

“I’ve raised the matter with my captain,” Alicia said, her voice slightly weaker. “He said he didn’t see any harm.”

“And you shared your concerns with him?” I asked. “All of them?”

“Yes.” Alicia nodded. “I even made a request to extend my assignment onboard.”

No chance of that happening. Cadets had as much control over ship assignments as ships did with transfers. I would have preferred if that wasn’t the only reason she had agreed to have a talk with me. Then again, I couldn’t exactly blame her.

“Can you clear it with command?” I scrunched my lips.

“Yes. I think so.”

“Okay. Get the okay. I’ll be here for her.” It’s like Sev all over again.

29. Octanary Star System

There were no words to describe the sensation of flying through space. If I didn’t have a human body, I wouldn’t even try. The closest thing I could think of was a pleasant breeze before a storm. Looking at the wall, I could imagine atomic particles brushing over Prometheus’ nano shielding like drizzling rain. The star system we were heading towards was barely visible, just a pinprick among millions of stars, but even from this distance I knew that he could feel it, just as I had at the time. I also knew I’d never be able to share the experience ever again.

Get ready for the briefing. A message flashed on my datapad. This had become my only means of communication with the crew in the last few days. With the upcoming mission, the command staff had become beyond reach, and Elec was too busy to see me in person. The only person I could freely go and talk with was the ship’s medical officer, whom, ironically, I did my best to avoid.

“Is the mission debriefing at the bridge?” I asked, putting on my socks.

“Yes,” Prometheus replied. “You better hurry. The captain doesn’t like wasting time.”

People rarely did, unless it was them who wasted it. Some of Cass’ crew—back when she still had a crew—were the epitome of that. They would remain in their quarters all day doing nothing, grumbling each time something disrupted their routine. Things had gotten so annoying that one day I had run a full emergency drill, in accordance with military protocols. The reaction times were catastrophic, not to mention that a tenth of tech crew had broken down in tears. A further hint on my part that drills could become part of the routine until we pick up the number,s and half the crew requested a transfer. Thinking about it, that had been a win for all of us.

Putting on my shoes, I rushed out of my room towards the nearest elevator. A few techs and security guards ignored me as I ran past. My frequent trips to the canteen had gotten most of them used to me to the point that I had become as invisible as any cadet.

The elevator was waiting for me when I reached it. The moment I stepped in, it went to the bridge deck without waiting for instructions.

“Thanks.” I looked at my reflection in the wall. My hair had grown about a centimeter since I rejoined the fleet. Sadly, my height hadn’t changed at all. “Anything you can tell me about the mission?”

No response. I had no doubt he was familiar with all of the details. The first few years, I too had been a stickler for rules, but Augustus had quickly knocked those notions out of my cores. Unlike everyone else I’d met, he had a legendary dislike of uselessness. Personally, I didn’t see the point of being kept in the dark for a week until the captain decided to officially share the details in front of the rest of the officers. Then again, with my current record, I could only smile and wait.

“What do you think of Radiance?” I changed the subject. “She seems closer to your generation.”

“Not that close.” There was a barely noticeable note of disdain.

“Any idea what ship she is?” The elevator stopped, but the door didn’t open. You don’t know, do you?

“She’s not a science ship,” Prometheus replied.

That was interesting. After my conversation with her, I knew she wasn’t a battleship either. That would mean she was either a hybrid or a whole new classification.

The elevator doors opened. “Hurry up,” Prometheus urged. “The captain is waiting.”

I hated when someone ended a conversation that way. Most who did thought they were being clever. Not Prometheus, though. He was just answering in his typically subtle way. Gibraltar had been the same, yet when he did it, I knew things had become serious.

* * *

“All personnel accounted for and restricted to quarters,” I said as all my walls flickered with red lockdown messages. “External communications are blocked and weapons systems are offline.”

The last one and a half weeks hadn’t been my best. It had all started with an ambush eleven days ago. The recon data command had provided had turned out to be faulty, resulting in the loss of seven ships and half of my hull being blasted off. Aurie and Ursa had managed to avoid heavy damage and provide protection, so me and two more ships had enough time to perform suitable repairs before we could retreat to our rendezvous point. I had used all of my bots to reinforce the breaches, shedding off chunks of my outer hull to remove all foreign matter. It was standard procedure; all affected ships had done it. Yet somehow the Cassandrians had still managed to track us. Fifty-six hours and forty-nine minutes after our retreat, a second wave of attack had followed, devastating most of what had been left.

Twenty-three enemy ships had appeared, launching a full barrage of missiles at the core of our formation. Seven vessels had been instantly vaporized. Later I had learned that twice as many had executed forced shutdowns during escape. I had been one of the lucky ones to escape whole, lucky being a relative term.

“All non-essential personnel have been sedated,” I said as my subroutines released knockout gas in the respective quarters. A data burst of bio-readings swept over me, carefully monitoring and recording the state of every individual. Meanwhile, several thousand of my subroutines analyzed the data, searching for patterns or anomalies. “All is within expected parameters.”

“What about the officers?” Gibraltar mumbled from his desk. The captain was in pitiful shape, unwashed, unshaven, and exhausted, kept functioning by a constant cocktail of stimulants and nanites that I had a med bot inject in him. His jacket was on the floor, the rest of his uniform covering him in a semblance of authority. I had kept him awake for ten full days and the strain was showing.

“All on the bridge, except for Doctor Fiarra.” She had been one of the few high ranking casualties, along with one of her assistants. “Most haven’t slept either.”

“We’ll get to sleep once this is over.” Gibraltar yawned. “When are the boarding ships expected?”

“Three salvage ships have arrived. Still waiting for the rest.” After my last transmission, command had ordered that I stay at the specified coordinates and wait. Normally I would have expected a military frigate and someone from counterintelligence. Having ships from the salvage authority come was concerning.

“Good.” The captain leaned back. “They will be here soon. You archive everything that happened and make a hard copy for transfer.”

His heart rate and the pitch of his voice told me he was lying. The ambush and subsequent chase hadn’t been a coincidence. There had to be some new weapon at play... or a traitor. I had a hundred subroutines do an intensive search of my archive database. As far as records went, there hadn’t been a single case of betrayal on this battlefront. There were reports that the Scuu used technology that rendered ships and humans rogue, but no such instances had occurred here.

My subroutines analysed every millisecond of my behavior for the last month. From what I could tell, there were no anomalous commands, no restricted memory gaps, no dubious or modified logs. According to everything measurable, I was completely virus free, from my systems to the last atom of my physical structure. And still, the ambush had happened.

“There aren’t any other ships, are there?” I asked. The question made Gibraltar stir slightly. Fatigue made it impossible for him to hide his answer.

“Backup everything from the last three months.” The captain looked at the floor, eyes half closed. “We’ll talk when it’s done.”

* * *

We’ll talk when it’s done. That had been one of the few times that Gibraltar didn’t have faith in me, and the only one I thought would be my last. The salvage ships hadn’t shredded me, although they had come pretty close. My entire outer coating and fourteen of my lower decks had been completely dismantled and transported away. The reason given was “fear of foreign particles”. I hadn’t argued, instead remaining stationary for a full twenty days before being towed to a shipyard for full reconstruction. Gibraltar had remained with me every step of the way. Now, I could only hope that Prometheus would as well.

Straightening my shirt, I entered the bridge. Everyone was already there.

This is slightly awkward, I thought as all eyes turned my direction.

“Cadet Elcy, reporting as ordered.” I gave the obligatory salute, then when I got the nod from the captain, crept to the side. Elec was already there, deep in thought, as was Major Tanner. To my relief, Doctor Sim appeared to be missing.

“Now that we’re all here, Prometheus, if you will.” Captain Khal said. A large generated picture of a star system appeared on the bridge walls. Immediately, I saw the peculiarity—the system was composed entirely of stars. “This is the Tau-seven-beta-twenty-one,” the captain went on. “A octonary star system that we have been sent to observe and explore. Now, I know it’s not as groundbreaking as our previous mission—” the resentment was felt in full force “—but, let me remind everyone that this will be treated with the same level of professionalism as is mandated.” He paused a moment to take a breath. I could see that Elec wasn’t paying nearly as much attention as usual. “The mission is considered an open mission, so communication with others with fleet clearance is allowed. Just try not to abuse it, okay?”

I expected a few stifled laughs. To my surprise, there were none. Even after a week of travel, the bitterness of losing a third contact mission could still be felt.

“Carry on, Prometheus.” The captain moved his hands behind his back.

“The official name of the mission is Firefly and will consist of detailed spectral and gravitation analyses of each of the stars within the system.” The ship didn’t miss a beat. “As one of the two observed octonary star systems, and the only one in human space, it’s needless to say that this is a rather unique natural phenomenon, and as such, every aspect of the mission must proceed with extreme caution and precision.”

A system composed only of suns. I had watched half a dozen science fiction series based on the subject while Sev was growing up. The theme always included the involvement of aliens or other supernatural entities. At the time, the notion felt ridiculously amusing.

You used to believe those movies, didn’t you, Sev? We’d have long talks in which he’d try to convince me it might be possible, and I would destroy his enthusiasm with a century of facts. Today, I wasn’t as convinced.

“Cadet Elcy,” Prometheus addressed me. “You and Cadet Liao will assist senior research scientist Vexinion with near body observation. If at any point either of you notice an anomaly or anything you suspect to be of unknown origin, you are not to engage it in any way. Is that understood?”

I nodded. Elec didn’t bother to respond, but we both knew the message wasn’t addressed towards him.

“Good. You’re both dismissed,” Prometheus noted with a trace of satisfaction. “Report to lab seven D.”

I gave my best salute, then left the bridge. There was no doubt that by the hour I’d receive all mission specifics, detailing precisely what I was supposed to do and what not. One thing I could be certain of was that I’d likely be closer than anyone else on board. Back when I was active, I had gone close to many stars, which was why I knew the danger they posed to my systems and crew. Even in battle, approaching too closely was considered a risk, especially since the Cassandrians had the technology to remain functional while four times closer. From what I knew, there had been several programs in development working on reverse engineering the technology in order to negate their advantage. The lack of public announcements, however, led me believe that the problem hadn’t been cracked.

“Elcy?” Elec asked behind me. “Have a moment?”

“Sure.” I slowed down for him to catch up. “What’s up?”

“In a bit.” He joined me in the elevator. “Observation deck,” Elec instructed.

The entire ride passed in silence. Elec didn’t bother starting a conversation or looking at me, just stared blankly at the door until it opened. For several seconds he stood there, refusing to leave or go to a new deck. I turned towards him.

“This will be my final mission,” he finally said, avoiding eye contact.

“Your last mission on Prometheus?” I probed.

“My last cadet mission,” he sighed. “After we’re done taking pictures, I’ll be off to my academy station for final evaluation.” There was another pause. “I got the fleet transmission a while back.“

“Ah,” I nodded. I wasn’t sure why he was telling me. Finishing cadet training was supposed to be a positive thing. Based on his personnel file and personality I had expected he’d me more enthusiastic about it, and yet he looked remarkably somber. “Congratulations?”

“Yeah,” he let out a sad laugh. “After three years I finally get to make ensign.”

“But?” I wasn’t able to stop myself. To a certain degree, I knew people found it difficult to get to the point. I’d seen first hand how they’d come up with a whole lot of problems to postpone saying what they really wanted for as long as possible. Sev had been the same, as well as the majority of people that I had had onboard.

“You’ve been a battleship for a long time.” Elec raised his glance. “Can you tell me, how does one become ready?”

“Are they sending you to the front?”

“I’m not sure.” I could feel his uncertainty. “Maybe. Who knows?”

“And you’re afraid you won’t be ready?”

“Am I?” He raised his tone. “They drill our heads with all sorts of things in the academy. I’ve been through intensive training, SR, psych, even advanced combat. I knew there could be accidents, that people could die, I’ve seen people get killed when I was on a previous ship. After a few weeks, I’ll be the one making that decision that could make them die. How do I prepare for that?”

“You don’t.” The more I had these direct talks, the less I liked them. It was one thing telling someone the harsh reality of things when they were an organic speck of matter I didn’t even consider important. Saying it to the face of someone I’d worked with—even if for a short while—felt all that more personal. “You are or you aren’t. Most often people aren’t.”

“And there’s nothing I can do?”

“I’m not a shrink, Elec.” I avoided the question. “The only thing you can do is rely on people who are ready and hope to get lucky. Most people do.”

He stared at me, eyes full of disbelief. If I were to be honest, I gave him a three in ten chance of remaining in the service. To a large degree, it depended on the staff he ended up with. Maybe he’d do well on a patrol or transport ship, possibly even a science vessel. On the front, though, he’d probably last less than a month.

“Just don’t worry until it happens,” I suggested. “You’ll be happier that way.”

Elec didn’t react, as if his face had transformed into rubber.

“I’m really not the best person to talk about this.” I’m not even a complete person. “Maybe Doc Sim will—”

“It’s fine,” he cut me off. I could tell he was lying. “You helped a lot.”

No, I didn’t. I watched as the elevator door closed. But I plan to.

30. Gravity Bumps

Gravity. In the past, it had rarely mattered. As far as I had been concerned, it was a force like any other I had to take into account and use best to my advantage. I had pushed enemies in gravity wells, and had been pushed there myself. Eleven times I had almost scorched myself in a planet’s atmosphere, barely escaping full reentry. Once I had even helped Aurie avoid crashdown. Yet never did I feel so at the mercy of its effects.

“Brace for fluctuations!” the pilot shouted.

Next to me, Elec gripped his safety restraints. The action was pointless—human muscles would hardly succeed where industrial carbon steel had failed—but I understood the sentiment. For the last two hours, each time the word “fluctuations” was mentioned, we’d get spun around like ice cubes in a cocktail mixer. Neither gravity dampeners, nor restraints, nor the new custom created spacesuits were able to fully absorb the shock.

Ten meters away, at the back end of the shuttle, all the equipment containers rose from the floor, only held in check by an array of steel cables. After seven seconds, they slammed back down, just to be pulled the side again. Logically, this wasn’t supposed to happen. The system was claimed to be stable, and as such the eight suns—with the exception of the Twirling Twins—were supposed to have the same effect as any large body. The first five probes sent quickly dismantled that theory, bringing Prometheus to a halt outside the system’s outer orbit. Half an hour later, I was on a manual driven shuttle on the way to the seventh sun.

“And we’re in the clear,” the pilot shouted, just as my body slammed down on the seat. “Almost there. Twenty minutes left.”

Doing my best to ignore the constant shaking, I brought up the system map on my visor display. All eight suns were visualized with their orbits and real time position. A thin, grayish semi-transparent mesh stretched between them attempting to map the gravitational anomalies of the system. When I first saw it, a few hours ago,in Fion Vexinion’s lab, the map had been a standard plane along the ecliptic, slightly distorted near the suns. Looking at it now, Prometheus had made a number of changes based on the data from the probes and my shuttle. Zooming in on our flight path, the surrounding area looked like my hull after a missile barrage.

“Elec.” I scrolled to the zones explored by the probes. “Are we the first ones here?”

“First manned flight,” he replied, with a mixture of tension and disappointment.

“What was sent before us?”

The more I looked at the gravitational map, the more I saw similarities with things I’d seen before. In all instances, it was on the front lines, and always after a battle.

“An S-20 was sent here last century.” He turned towards me. A slight tremble made him quickly get back to neutral position, back firmly glued to the seat.

An actual Surveyor Twenty. Those ships were considered very top of the line back when I was active. They were built on analogue technology, with the intelligence of an unmanned shuttle, constructed with one thought in mind: surveillance. It also was a military ship. I had seen hundreds sent to scout out systems before major military actions. The S-20 would be sent to all relevant systems up to seventy-two hours in advance and remain there until all military actions were over. Upon arrival, the ship would launch twenty specialized probes—where its name came from—and form a scanning cluster that monitored all in-system activities. During the war, it wasn’t rare for S-20s to be lost, abandoned, or forgotten in systems they had surveyed, yet I didn’t know a single case of them being sent to a conflict-free location.

“Do you know if there was combat here?” I closed the display. If I had unfettered access to the fleet network, I’d be able to see for myself. With Prometheus looking over my shoulder, I wasn’t so sure.

“We’re too far from the front for that.” He looked in the direction of the cockpit. “And nothing has come here in the past fifty years.”

It was good to see that Elec had done his homework, researching the relevant history prior to our mission, just as it was alarming that I was still being kept in the dark. The only things I knew were what Vexinion had told me, which wasn’t a lot. Unlike most of the crew, the man was a civilian with military clearance, which made him more chatty than even the fleet scientists on board. Unfortunately, everything he said was a mix of science jargon and stories about his family. According to the personnel file, he was serving a two year contract, on loan from a redacted corporate conglomerate. Everything else in the file was beyond my access level. I had no doubt Vexinion was skilled in his area of expertise and probably nowhere else.

Prometheus, what’s the location of the system? I asked directly.

You know better than that. I thought I sensed a note of smugness. Nothing remarkable happened here, so the information is irrelevant.

Why was a Surveyor used?

Distance, came the answer. It was cheaper than sending an observer team this far out.

Okay. Thanks.

The answer made enough sense to make it logical. An all-sun system so far out had no strategic value. I could see an S-20 being used as an explorer, yet it alone couldn’t have caused the gravitational anomalies we’d seen. I knew perfectly well what could.

* * *

Red alert messages flashed over all over my walls as all ground troops and non-emergency personnel scrambled to their quarters. Millions of my subroutines monitored the bio readings of every single person onboard, while millions more prepared the protocols for establishing a fleet-wide communication network.

“Ninety seconds to jump,” I announced in all sections. “Get to your designated areas. This one is not a drill.”

I very much disliked the standard protocol phrases. It was clear this wasn’t a drill. We had been engaged in non-stop battle for the last seven months. The only time we had left a fight was to be sent to an even more heated zone, in an effort to stop the enemy from advancing.

“Medbays, be on standby,” I added a thought of my own. “This will be a tough one.”

A few dozen responses followed, all of them sarcastic, some even amusing. War tended to twist everyone’s sense of humor. Thinking about it, I, the crew, and even Gibraltar, had become a near copy of my first captain. The way things were going, in another year, we’d even start talking like him, provided any of us survived so long.

“Sixty seconds to jump,” I said. Voice confirmations started pouring in. Five minutes since we’d received and the priority order was made, over seventy-eight percent of all crew had gone where they were supposed to and waiting for launch. The number increased every second. “Looks like we’ll make it on time, Captain,” I said to Gibraltar. “Want me to rush the jump?”

“What the status of the fleet?” Gibraltar asked from the middle of the bridge. The priority message had doubled his adrenaline flow, making him pace about. The command staff were no different; however, they didn’t know the full extent of the command’s transmission.

“Seventeen ships of the local group will jump in on the sixty second mark,” I checked. Some were already fully prepared, waiting for the official go. “Five groups of other systems are already en route, totaling a hundred and twelve vessels. Second and third wave ships are being assembled.”

We both knew we could not rely too much on them. The first wave was composed of all battle ready ships with no significant damage or crew shortages. In short, we were the ones fit for battle. Second wave were the fifty-fifty group, as for the third wave—it was whatever was left. The unfortunate truth was that despite all our initiatives, the Cassandrians were winning.

“Thirty seconds to jump,” I said. Less than two percent of the crew remained unaccounted for, rushing down my halls to make it on time. A few small groups had informed me they couldn’t manage and requested alternative jump locations. I had redirected them to storage holds with jump capabilities. It would be uncomfortable, but they’d avoid injuries.

Fourteen. That was the number of defeats I’d personally suffered in the last seven months. On file it wasn’t regarded as a personal defeat, referred to instead as an organized withdrawal, or reallocation, or regrouping. The truth was that we were losing territory. According to official channels, we had lost fifty-six systems on the front in the last five years alone. Our grand initial push, which was supposed to end the war, had resulted in a stronger push from the opposing side. While we had managed to break into their territory at one point, we had conceded seven more and they kept on coming. Confidential fleet reports said that additional shipyards were being constructed as the current ones were already at maximum capacity. There was also talk that we might have Scuu front ships join us in battle.

“Crew is ready for jump, Captain,” I said as I got the final confirmation. Eleven seconds ahead of schedule. “Communication protocols are all set and the mini sats are on standby.”

“Full battle readiness.” Gibraltar rushed to his seat. “Fire at will if needed. Full defenses.”

The second he buckled in, I jumped. In a single instant I, along with sixteen other ships, vanished from the system I had been fighting to protect for two weeks. Because of compartmental communication protocols, I had no way to know how many ships had been lost, but I estimated in the dozens, which meant hundreds of thousands of human casualties. The thought caused me more pain than the loss of my ship friends, especially since I knew a number of the ground troops among the fallen: hundreds had been on me during ground missions. In the grand scheme of things, we were all just chips in a giant game of war, but a ship was built to care for human crews, and that didn’t change just because they weren’t onboard anymore.

The first jump took two hundred and eleven seconds. Upon arriving in a red giant system, we were joined by two more fleet groups, increasing our number to fifty-one. Precisely half a minute later, we jumped again. This time there were eighty-five ships upon arrival, then two hundred and three, then five hundred and twelve. By the time we reached our final destination, there were over two thousand ships, with more expected to come.

“Launching mini sats,” I said as I performed a full system scan. The ident protocols of two thousand three hundred and eighty ships logged on to the communication network, starting a wave of data bursts I hadn’t experienced for years.

“What the heck?!” The communication officer shouted as he saw the data I had received. “Are we starting a new offensive?”

“Elcy?” The Capital hunched over his personal screen.

“Not that I know,” I said. Their confusion was understandable. In the grand scope of things, two thousand ships were an insignificant number, but far greater than anything we’d seen in the last few years.

I checked the classification of the all vessels. All were battleships like myself, gathered from pretty much the entire front. Strangely enough, there was no trace of any strategy or admiral ships. I sent a clarification request to command. The reply came instantly: Remain in battle readiness. Await further instructions.

“Command told me to wait.” I had my subroutines send a few hundred queries to some of the other ships in the system. “The local ships have no idea what’s going on. Possibly command thinks this is the minimum amount of ships needed to secure a choke point system.”

“Enemies?” Gibraltar asked.

“None according to initial scan.” The majority of my subroutines were still in the process of syncing with the other ships in the group to form a wide communication and sensor network. “Planets are classified as uninhabitable. I’m having difficulty scanning the rest of the system.”

I ran a diagnostic of my systems. Everything seemed in order, yet with as many subroutines I allocated to perform a deep scan, it also came with unrealistic numbers of anomalies. One millisecond I’d get a reading that there were five distinct asteroid fields throughout the system, the next there would be a sparse cluster of planets.

This is Light Seeker, I transmitted to the group communication stream. Does anyone have a gravitational reading? My scans keep getting corrupted.

Same here, Light Seeker, High Grace, an old Fireball class cruiser replied. The map is shifting non-stop. Transmitting my data for analyses.

Likewise, another ship responded. Sending data burst.

Dozens, then hundreds of ships burst their scan data into the network. Some had done scans every millisecond, others twenty times per second, yet one thing remained the same. The data that I had collected was random, but definitely not corrupted. All other ships had recorded exactly the same values in the same time period. Whatever the reason for these anomalies was it wasn’t faulty scanning.

“Captain,” I said to my bridge, as I armed all active missiles. “We might have a problem.”

* * *

I never learned the reason for the anomalies. The official reason was written down to “post-battle effects” and classified away. Quite possibly some of my memories had been blocked or purged as well. I did, however, remember the vast sea of debris I had found among the anomalies. Tens of thousands of ship carcasses, both ours and Cassandrian floating about with no explanation whatsoever. The only thing I knew for certain was that over two thousand of us had entered the system and only twelve hundred had left.

“Hold tight for another one!” the pilot yelled. Part of me felt he was enjoying this far too much. Being one of a dozen people that had seen actual combat, it wasn’t unexpected. “Should be the last one.”

Gravity pulled me up along with everything else in the shuttle. Instinctively, Elec twitched. I could tell that he was familiar enough with the experience not to panic, though not enough to be used to it. Hopefully once Prometheus assembled the data, he’d be able to plot a calmer course to our destination.

I closed my eyes, focusing on the mission parameters. Of the eight stars, we were going to start by observing the seventh—or Thursday, as Vexinion had named it—after which we’d move to the twin suns on the third orbit, before moving to the inner bodies. The plan was to monitor the activity of each sun from as close a position as possible, then build a suicide probe and launch it at the core. Normally this could be done by Prometheus himself, but because of the high level of radiation and gravitational anomalies, long distance communication was out of the question. So far everything seemed fine, yet once we got to the core of the tech system, I had no doubt issues would arise; I also suspected that beyond the twins, I would be performing the observation on my own—even with present generation shielding and modified space suits, the levels of radiation would be considered too intense for them to handle.

“Can you take pictures?” I patched my comm to the pilot.

“Huh, what?” he asked as a tremor passed through the shuttle.

“Can you take some pictures of the sun?” I repeated.

“Kid, you’ll be staring at that thing for the next twenty hours,” he laughed. “What would you need more pictures for?”

“I want to be able to see it as a sun, not a ball of gas.” It was amusing how he called me kid. I had no doubt he knew what I was, but habit was a difficult thing to kick. “To remember it by.”

“You’re one crazy cadet.” I could almost hear him shake his head as he spoke. “Taking you a few pictures. Hell, if any turn out good I’ll send a copy to my kids.”

“That’s not a bad idea.” Just like I’ll send them to my kid.

31. Thursday Watching

Hi Sev,

I hope you are well. Sorry for the silence lately. I’m still writing to you every day, but there’s a lot of time dilation, according to Prometheus. I’d write more often, but I’d end up repeating myself and I know how much you hate that. I’ve arranged for Prometheus to send pictures of the star system to fill the gap. Think of them as a daily hello, and also a reminder to treat the android better. I understood from Bull Calf that you’re in the habit of changing his name periodically—the last one I’m aware oft was Alexander. Please settle on one name soon. I’m sure he doesn’t mind, but the constant change isn’t good for you.

We finally finished with our observation of Thursday today and are moving on to the Monday twins. Between you and me, the data gathered seems pretty standard, even if my scientific supervisor seems to be exalted by the readings. The Twins will be different, though—they are white and blue and intertwined in a way that is forcing us to be creative to get uncontaminated readings of each.

I paused for a moment, considering how to continue. I wanted to suggest that he use the pictures as inspiration for his fractal art, but that might be interpreted in the wrong way by BICEFI. The third contact symbols continued to be a sensitive topic, and I had no doubt that all of my communication was being watched. And then there was also the ship’s medical officer. Lately, Doctor Sim had been requesting more check-ups than normal under the pretext that he was monitoring the suns’ radiation effects on my body.

I took a crash course in shuttle piloting recently. With the high radiation levels in the system, I’ll be doing solo observations once we get past the third orbit. Even now, Elec will only be joining me once every three sorties. Hopefully my supervisor’s team will provide instruments that won’t fry up. It’s the usual dilemma—equipment can be precise or durable, but not both, so they are fighting over the balance.

How are the kids and grandkids? I thought about them the other day. I know you prefer not to be bothered, but I think you should talk to them. Maybe even invite them to dinner since you have an android now? I’m not telling you what to do, but should you decide, give them my best.

I must get back to my duties, but I’ll write again tomorrow.

Take care of yourself,

Elcy

I sent the message to Prometheus, then placed my datapad on the shuttle wall.

Is that your kid? Radiance asked. Her captain had requested she be given a permanent communication link to me, and Prometheus’ captain had agreed.

My ward, I corrected. And yes. He’s in his seventies. I didn’t want to go in further details concerning Sev’s age.

I can’t imagine being so old! Radiance said with the right amount of fascination to make it forgivable.

I’m twice that and more, Rad. I remained calm, even if the statement bothered me. Don’t you have any tasks to perform?

My subroutines are handling that. You’re the only ship I’m allowed to talk to.

I couldn’t blame her there. Every few days, I’d have a chat with Bull Calf. Most of the time we’d just share stories about the academy, and that gave me a sense of belonging. Back on the front, I wouldn’t miss a chance to exchange transmissions with hundreds of ships. A large part was gossip, but there’d always be time to share a few memories, exchange simulations, or engage in speculation and analysis. Aurie was one of the chattiest ships when it came to that. She’d discuss pretty much everything: her staff, her crew, the enemies she’d fought, even other ships. At the time, I used to mute most of the chatter, preferring to keep to myself. Now, I missed it. I could only imagine how bored Radiance must be feeling, especially with Alicia gone.

“Readings good?” Elec asked from the cargo area. He had been assembling the suicide satellite for the last hour, following the updated instructions Vexinion had given us.

I checked the instruments. “No unexpected fluctuations.”

There was a note of tenseness in the air. We had already lost two satellites in the last few days. The reason? An error in calculations that didn’t adequately predict the effects that sunbursts would have on the sat’s trajectory when combined with the surrounding gravitational anomalies. In the first case, the satellite had completely shattered before reaching Thursday’s corona. Since some data had been acquired, the operation had been declared a “partial success”—commonly known as “an officer’s failure.”

The second satellite had managed to withstand the external forces, yet had veered off course just enough to avoid the star’s surface, rendering the data useless. Since a second failure could no longer be disguised as a partial success, it was given the vague “unforeseen failure,” followed by a meeting of senior scientists. As a result, Prometheus had constructed a new satellite and the team had become a bit more testy in their communication.

“Do you think we’ll get it right this time?” I looked back at Elec. The cadet didn’t appreciate the question. I could feel his glare even under his helmet.

How many times did you mess up? I heard Radiance ask in my head.

Two, though technically none. It was best to provide some context. Apparently she had had her own experiences with fleet bureaucracy, for there were no follow-up questions.

“Tell me when we’ve set it up.” I tried to relax into the chair. The lack of gravity made my stomach feel weird, even if I enjoyed the sensation of weightlessness. At some point I’d have to tell a doctor so the data could be sent to the ship retirement program. For the moment, though, I planned to avoid Doctor Sim as much as possible.

Closing my eyes, I envisioned all star system data I had managed to obtain—star classifications, orbits, intensity, but most importantly the system’s actual location. It had taken considerable amount of work to calculate my relative position, but with enough persistence and observation equipment at my disposal, I had managed to do so undetected.

Prometheus wasn’t joking when he said that we were far from human space. According to all archive information, the sector we were in was of no interest and had never been touched by war. It was nowhere near any of the two fronts, which technically classified it as a safe system. This is where things stopped adding up. Surveyors were built for circumstances; neither them nor gravity distortion mines were supposed to be used in non-strategic star systems. Having both in the same place at the same time was too convenient for comfort.

I adjusted the shuttle display’s image, zooming out to get a nicer view of the sun. Somewhere behind, there were supposed to be three more, hidden by the first’s light. If I were still a ship, I’d be able to see them without issue. Being human, though, I had to get used to certain limitations, and not only my eyes, as I had found out five days ago. A search I had performed—an inquiry on gravity weapon systems—had been rejected on the grounds of insufficient security clearance. Apparently, bureaucracy had caught up to me, restricting my access to only common ship information. It had taken me a whole night of brute force reading until I came across documents detailing emergency behavior during gravity distortion detonations. The specs of the weapons had been omitted, but a careless line of text had snuck through, telling me all I needed to know: the weapons had been developed from Cassandrian technology.

“All set to go,” Elec said, floating to the head of the shuttle. “Things ready on your end?”

“Ready.” I floated out of my seat. The final phase involved me taking the sat into open space and manually launching it. It was ironic that after trillions of credits in investment and a century of combat experience, I had been reduced to a button pusher.

Rad, check some calculations for me. I sent her a moment’s memory.

Link severed! A bright red warning flashed all over my visor. Unauthorized transmission of data! Memory transfer is in breach of section I-34-11s-a of fleet communication security protocol.

Prometheus? I felt like crossing my arms. Since when is calculation sharing forbidden?

Since you stopped being an active ship. The reply was swift. Bureaucracy had struck back at me by creating a new ship category and sticking me in it.

Can’t you grant me permission? You’ve already seen what I’m about to send. No doubt he had analysed it as well. Or should we increase the chances of a third sat failure?

It was nasty of me to pressure him in such a way, but I knew it would work. The mission couldn’t afford another lost satellite—messing up would require a number of recalculations and could cause me to miss my optimal travel window to the third orbit, which in turn could delay the overall mission by six days.

You’re not a battleship, Elcy! Prometheus said sternly. I believe that has been made clear to you by now.

Must be my human nature being slow on the uptake. I had no intention of backing down. If you don’t have the authority, I officially request that you link me to someone who does. As a human, that is my right.

I had to admire the irony; the dismissal of my appeal to remain in active duty had now given me the means to automatically win an argument against another ship. Active or not, in the eyes of the bureaucratic apparatus I was classified as human and, as it was known, no ship had ever won against a human.

That was nasty. I could feel the bitterness in Prometheus’ voice, as well as a note of awe. Not the way I wanted to impress him, but I wouldn’t say no to a minor victory. You’ll have your memory sharing, but all communications will pass through me.

Sure. It was obvious he was going to analyze everything, searching for ciphers, patterns, and info caches. I don’t mind.

“What’s taking so long?” Elec grumbled.

“Just double checking my calculations.” I smiled beneath my helmet. Having one grumpy co-worker was more than enough. Radiance?

They are fine, the ship replied. Can I watch you launch the sat?

I don’t think that’s allowed. There was no need to push my luck. I’ll see if I can send you some pictures once I’m done.

Getting a sat prepped for launch was an annoying experience. Back when I was a ship, I could launch a hundred in under ten seconds without it affecting any of my other functions. Now, I was forced to spend fourteen minutes gently floating the sat out of the cargo area. The instant I left the shuttle doors, the nanites in my suit moved to the surface, creating a triple coated outer layer. Even from this distance, I could feel the radiation bombard my body. Based on the medical data, I would survive for three hundred and nineteen minutes of direct exposure. I didn’t intend to remain outside for more than three.

“Moving sat three into position,” I said loudly in my comm as I pushed away from the shuttle, nothing but a single cable keeping me attached to safety. “Requesting permission to initiate trajectory software.”

“You have a go.” I recognized the unmistakable voice of Major Tanner. “Proceed as instructed, Elcy.”

“Roger that, sir.” I grabbed hold of the rear end on the suicide satellite and opened the control panel, uncovering two mechanical switches and a small display.

“Software initiated,” I said as I flipped the lower switch. The display lit up, its white symbols contrasting with the black background. I waited as the final systems check was underway. Twenty-three and a quarter seconds later the message appeared: OK. “Final check is okay,” I said. “Permission to launch?”

“Go for launch.” The order came.

I flipped the switch and closed the panel. From this point on, the rudimentary onboard computer would assume control of the sat’s thrusters. My final job was to point it—with near perfect precision—at a predetermined point on the sun then quickly return onto the shuttle before launch. Normally, this would be done with an exo, but because of my particular nature, I was selected as the better choice.

You have forty-five seconds, Prometheus reminded, as I applied the precise amount of force on specific parts of the sat’s outer case. You’ll need twenty to return to the shuttle.

Thank you for reminding me. I aligned the body according to the vector displayed on my screen. Hopefully Elec had set up the nav system correctly.

“Sat aligned, heading to shuttle.” I pulled along my connection cord.

“Cutting it a bit close there, Elcy,” Major Tanner said.

“Satellite transmissions clear,” Prometheus added. “Data readings are as expected.”

It took me seventeen seconds to return to the safety of the shuttle. Seven seconds later, my visor notified me that launch had started. In the past, I’d be able to feel the unmistakably faint ripple caused by a launch at such proximity. Hundreds of my subroutines would receive, monitor, and analyze the ripple, gathering all known info as to its cause. Now, however, I was unable to feel it. Just like the time you lost your hearing, Sev, I thought. My memory of all past experiences remained perfectly crisp, and at the same time I knew I’d never feel the sensation outside of SR.

I have to go, Radiance said, putting my thoughts on pause. My captain needs me.

As I started to reply, Radiance dropped her communication link.

“Sat’s holding steady,” Elec said from the cabin. “Any issues out there?”

“Nope, I’m fine.” I made my way forward through the shuttle. I could bet that back on Prometheus, dozens of scientists were clustered in their labs, following the progress of the satellite. For most, I expected these were going to be the longest eight minutes of their lives.

Several warnings appeared on my visor, informing me of mild radiation exposure. I promptly ignored them. My suit, although far from comfortable, had been built to keep me alive far longer than the electronics it contained. Just to be sure, I checked all internal sensors—all readings were within the safety limits.

“One third there,” Elec said as I joined him, taking my place in the pilot’s seat. “Can’t wait to be done with this sun.”

“Don’t you like science missions?” I glanced at the data feeds we were receiving from the sat. So far everything was within expectations. “The Twins will be more interesting.”

“I’m sure.” His lack of enthusiasm could crush planets.

“Are you worried about the radiation?” I pressed on. “Between the shuttle shielding and your suit, you should be safe.”

“I know.”

Obviously he didn’t want to be on the shuttle, though his concerns didn’t seem to be radiation. At present, neither were mine. The more we approached the heart of the system, that would change. That aside, the two stars were a notable exception to their surroundings, possibly unique in the entire visible universe. For starters, they managed to maintain perfect balance with the other suns, even while spinning around each other perpendicular to the ecliptic plane. In similar circumstances, any other system would be torn apart into chaos, but something here had managed to hold all eight suns together.

“Want me to send you photos?” I affected a smile. Elec must have seen it, for despite himself, he let out a stifled chuckle.

“Just get the shuttle there.” He strapped himself in the seat. “Assuming the sat doesn’t blow up again.”

“We’ll know in another two minutes.” I stretched. The sensation felt nice, even if the suit was starting to irritate my skin.

“I’ll never figure you out.” Elec let out a sigh. “You walk away from the greatest discovery in history, but are obsessed with staring at stars.”

Obsessed was a strong word, even if in a sense he was right. I had become fascinated by stars after my retirement. I couldn’t be sure if it was a gradual process or a sudden impulse due to my human body.

“There aren’t many systems like this one,” I argued.

“Stars are stars. I used to live in a binary system. I didn’t like it.” Clearly there was no accounting for taste. “Just because two have an orbit parallel to all the rest doesn’t make them special.” The exhaustion in Elec’s voice was obvious. The frequent sorties, as well as his personal fears about the future, were constantly weighing him down and making him irritable. “Humans just aren’t three-dimensional creatures. We have depth perception and that’s it.”

“A few dozen scientific fields of study might disagree.” I wasn’t able to help myself.

“Your jokes are worse than my sister’s,” he scoffed. “The day people start reading in three-dimensions I’ll admit I’m wrong.”

“Actually, there are studies that—” A sudden realization made me stop. Three-dimensional perception, I thought. If Augustus were here, he’d shout his head off at my stupidity. No wonder I wasn’t making any headway with the symbols! All my brute force attempts to come up with a single classification were based on the assumption that the third contact race was similar to humans. That had been my mistake. The reason that so many symbols shared characteristics of up to three categories was because they were linked along three dimensions. The race wouldn’t read only side to side, but also front to back at the same time. It was logical to think they’d arrange their alphabet in similar fashion.

“That what?” Elec asked, a hint of interest in his voice.

Before I could answer, shouts and cheers flooded out of the comms. The suicide sat had managed to maintain its trajectory, sending a full set of readings to Prometheus and everyone onboard, right up to its final moment. The teams could finally start work on their theories and the practical applications, and the captain could send a positive report update to HQ. All that was important, yet also irrelevant.

“Guess we got a win,” I said. “Off to the Monday Twins.”

“Wake me when we get there.” Elec set the opacity of his visor to zero. “I’m muting comms.”

“No worries,” I initiated the navigation sequence.

Get some rest, Elec. You’ve earned it more than you know.

32. Three-dimensional Reading

Three-dimensional reading—a concept so bizarre that it was on the fringe of conception. It had taken me the larger part of an eight hour trip to come up with a reliable model of the language, and I still couldn’t be certain it was correct. The only things that I knew for sure were that I had conformed to the small set of universal rules I had established, and that I was still missing forty-eight symbols.

A warning flashed briefly on my visor, informing me of a slight gravitational deviation. I watched the autopilot take the required corrections, then confirmed the new flightpath. The change would take us into orbit of the blue Monday Twin seventeen and a half minutes later—well within the approach window.

“Flightpath correction confirmed,” I said in my comm. “No mission impact expected.”

“The system gravitational map will be updated for your return,” Prometheus said in a distinctly impersonal fashion. This was his way of letting me know he was still upset with me.

“Much appreciated.” I couldn’t fault him. Personally, I expected it would be over by the time I returned. From what I had experienced, science ships tended only to hold grudges when it was convenient. When the next burst of data readings went his way, Prometheus would return to his usual grumpy self.

I moved about in my seat, in an attempt to gain some comfort, then went back to visualizing the symbols. The issue was the way of thinking, or rather the means through which reading was achieved. For humans it was two-dimensional, ships perceived it as one-dimensional—an endless thread of ones and zeros—while the third contact race saw it as three-dimensional. After Elec has given me the idea, I had immediately tried to arrange the symbols in a three-dimensional grid. That had been a mistake. No matter how much I’d change and brute force the elements, inconsistencies remained. It was through gradual adjustments that I broke up the cube shape, ending with an actual sphere.

Guess I’m no longer head of the class, Sev. Augustus wouldn’t miss an opportunity to make fun of me if he knew. He was incapable of keeping silent when I missed the obvious, regardless of how green I was...

* * *

Two more shuttles approached my hangar bay, packed to the brim with survivors. I had no idea who they were or what they had been through. My attempt to get information from Augustus resulted in a series of shouts and insults, that I had recorded and sent as a complaint to HQ. As a further annoyance, command had forbidden me to perform any identification attempts on the people in the hangar. My only task was to keep them alive, stable if possible, and quarantined from my other sections. Apart from my captain and the command staff, no one was even supposed to know they even existed.

“The last two shuttles have landed,” I announced. “One hundred and twenty-nine new subjects.” Most were in critical condition, with a dozen incapable of moving on their own. Compared to the ones already in the hanger, though, they were the epitome of health.

“Prep, disinfect, and treat,” my captain whispered from his quarters. I could tell from his bio reading that he was on edge.

“What about food?” The number of people was going to strain onboard reserves if they stayed for over three days. “Do I resort to emergency supplies or reduce overall rations?”

“Neither,” Augustus snarled. “Salvage will handle this.”

I didn’t respond. My first interaction with the salvage authorities hadn’t gone too well. They had arrived, taken possession of the Solar Breeze, and blocked all channels of communication. The only interaction I had was a few transmissions informing me of “survivor” shuttles heading my way. Everything else was strictly classified. Their ships weren’t much better either. In total, three of them had arrived—two haulers and a command frigate a tenth my size. I had greeted them in accordance with fleet protocol, only to get a few snide comments. Apparently, age mattered a lot in the fleet, at least within salvage.

“What do I put in my reports?” I asked.

“Are you dumb, rookie?!” Augustus shouted, not a casually annoyed shout. I could feel the unadulterated anger bursting out. “Write in the reports! Miss nothing! Stop wasting my time!”

The communication link was severed, blocking the flow of all data from his quarters. I’d never experienced such a reaction before. Regardless, I composed my report, silently mailing the preliminary version to him for approval.

A subroutine flashed a warning, directing my attention to a group of the survivors, letting me know they had an active retrovirus and had to be isolated away from the rest. The number was small, but logistics were an issue, especially with the section being completely sealed off. I was going to need another shuttle with bots and materials to construct an internal quarantine chamber, which was further complicated by salvage shuttles going in and out with a three minute warning.

I went through the list of survivors. In total there were two thousand and seventeen, though I estimated less than fifteen hundred would come out of this alive. The rest would likely continue their existence in a life-tube, isolated in the universe. If they had funds, they could afford an exo body and experience life through simulated reality. Ninety-one point three percent had military nanites, suggesting they were part of the fleet. I felt sad for the ships that had to experience their loss. If it were me, I’d be devastated.

Priority landing request, a transmission came from the hauler, identifying himself simply as Salvage Two. Clean your bay doors for arrival.

Salvage Two, please provide an ETA, I said as formally as possible. I have a medical quarantine situation and delays might be required.

Nice one, Elcy. The salvage ship laughed. Be ready in seven.

I cannot comply. I rechecked the fleet regulations database. Several subsections clearly stated that unless coming directly from admiral level echelons, a priority request was to be ignored without the express permission of the captain. The only exceptions were in objectively life or death situations—which this wasn’t—or battle commands, in which case battle fleet hierarchy was to be followed.

You’re making this more complicated than it has to be. The salvage ship changed his intonation to convey bemused annoyance. Six fifty-eight. Cut all feeds from the hangar.

I ignored him, focusing on establishing the new quarantine area. For safety measures, a few hundred of my subroutines searched through the medical database for treatment and contamination procedures. Ironically, the survivors’ weak physical condition was also the reason more of them hadn’t been exposed. A data burst came through the fleet network, letting me know that the virus didn’t present an immediate danger. I could synthesize a drug cocktail that would take care of the symptoms until proper medical specialists resolved the situation. If the salvage authorities finally decided to call a med-ship, I could unseal the hangar bay in a week.

“Rookie!” Captain Augustus barked at me, reestablishing a communication line. “Why are you blocking access to the hangar?”

“I did no such thing, Captain,” I began. “I just delayed the—”

“Don’t give me that! When you get a priority request, you bloody well comply! Is that clear?!”

“But, sir, regulations state I cannot comply without your approval or—”

“I’m giving you the damned approval!” he shouted. “Get that shuttle docked!”

I didn’t appreciate being spoken down to like that, but it was his prerogative. A ship was meant to be an extension of the captain, and it was objectively obvious he had more battle experience. Also, I suspected that I had had some of my memories blocked.

“Hangar bay ready.” I gave the required commands. “Quarantine restrictions lifted. All monitoring will stop after the shuttle has docked.”

“Thank you, skipper,” the salvage ship said. “Shuttle is commencing its final approach. And thanks for the heads up, Elcy. The team have been warned.”

“Monitoring keeps on going,” Augustus added.

“No can do, skipper.” Now it was Salvage Two who was being pedantic. “Salvage authority has this. You’ll get the usual reports, but you can’t record anything in the hangar.”

“I can do what I damn please!” the captain burst in a torrent of rage. Ever since my creation, I had never once gloated; the word only existed in my core as a definition. Right now, though, I found the change of roles dangerously amusing. It was nice to have Augustus shout at someone else for a change. “If you want to take it to the admiralty, go right ahead! Until then, Elcy keeps recording!”

The message was clear: Augustus was not backing down. That wasn’t the most important thing: by using my name, he had shown that he considered me his partner—possibly his very junior partner, but his partner nonetheless.

“As you will, skipper,” Salvage Two said in the equivalent of a verbal shrug. “It’s been okayed, for your eyes only.”

“Good! Now hopefully you two can get something done and leave me alone for a while!” Augustus severed the link, effectively putting an end to the conversation.

I waited for a few milliseconds in case Salvage Two wanted to add anything, then instructed the med bots already in the hangars to create a makeshift quarantine zone and move the diseased there.

I’m moving the quarantined subjects out of the way, I transmitted. It felt weird using the term. Normally I knew the personnel file of every crew member and visitor on board. When it came to these, I only had a number assignment. Any ETA on medical help? I’m not equipped for keeping them alive for an extended period of time,

A med-ship will be here in an hour, right after we finish. Don’t worry too much, they aren’t your crew.

They’re human. His reaction surprised me. As a salvage authority ship, I expected him to show more concern.

It’s a long war, Elcy. Sometimes you have to accept the winning hand.

* * *

To this day, I had no idea what Salvage Two meant, or who he was. I had interacted with others like him, jumping in after a battle to reclaim all inactive ship cores and whatever functional parts remained. Audie used to call them cannibal ghouls, since they collected components that would be later stripped down into basic components and used to upgrade the salvage fleet. Only in extreme necessity were battlefield parts used to repair a combat ship. Fleet rules on the matter were extremely strict. Personally, I didn’t have anything against having someone else’s systems, as long as they’d give me a battle advantage. Other ships didn’t agree.

“Are we there?” Elec stirred, trying to turn around in his chair at near zero gravity.

“A few minutes away,” I replied. “It’ll take me about an hour to find a suitable orbit spot. I’ll wake you when it’s time to start.”

“I’m fine.” The cadet sat up, in an attempt to prove he was awake. His efforts utterly failed, since in a few seconds he had dozed off again.

No hurry. I smiled. There was no need for his assistance yet.

The sun had gotten so big that it had filled the entire display screen—even the bluish-white texture that usually appeared during setup installation. It made me think of all the times Sev would call me yelling that some device “had broken” again. Most often it would be him losing patience and then triggering a factory reboot, leaving me to fix things later.

“Anyone awake?” I asked in comm. To my surprise Prometheus didn’t respond. “Mission control, I’m nearing position two.”

Since twin suns were in such close proximity, I had to position the shuttle behind the blue twin and remain there until all research was done. Afterwards, I’d do the same with the white sun before moving on to Sunday.

“Yes, I’m awake,” I heard Vexinion. His voice was hoarse, no doubt suffering a minor hangover after the successful completion of the previous mission step. “How’s Blue Monday?”

“Blue,” I replied, ruining his attempt at a joke. “We’ll be starting in a few hours. Sending test signals for calibration.”

“That won’t be needed,” Prometheus interrupted. “Record the readings in duplicate on the shuttle. The data will be unlinked once we get back here.”

“Oh?” I performed a transmission check. The signal was coming loud and clear with next to zero info packet loss. “Is there anything I don’t know about?”

“The gravitation anomalies are more chaotic than the simulations predicted. I’m working on creating an updated model, but until then you are to use the channel only for communication.”

“Understood.” Not that I was surprised. As the saying in the fleet went, “lans are simulations you know won’t work.” “Can I use you and Radiance to double-check calculations or must I improvise?”

There was a long pause. The topic no doubt remained a sore spot for Prometheus, but he had to admit I was right. My core and a shuttle’s AI were no match for the processing power of an active ship. What was more, I felt somewhat vulnerable in my fragile body. So far the gravitational anomalies had only caused minor discomfort, yet I’d seen video records of what they could do to humans when close or strong enough.

“Sparingly,” the science ship said at last. I considered it a minor victory. “What is your estimated time of arrival?”

I did a quick preliminary calculation. “At this point I put it around forty-seven minutes.” “Might be more.”

“Let us know when you’re in position.” Prometheus said with an abrupt click.

“Roger that.” I checked the suggested flight path. The AI had done a good job, providing the available information. Given that the majority of the other suns were on the far side of the system’s center, I wasn’t too concerned with mishaps. Having Elec onboard, however, made me take the side of caution. “Starting final approach.” I tripled the proximity alarm range and let the shuttle’s navigation do its thing.

With forty minutes remaining, I visualized the third contact alphabet. Even with the holes caused by missing elements, it was an aesthetic marvel. Every symbol was simultaneously part of three categories: a vertical ring, a horizontal ring, and a diametral line piercing the sphere. The more I thought about it, the more I could say with absolute certainty that I would never think of such a form of communication.

“I’m up!” Elec suddenly lurched, followed by a long stifled yawn.

“There’s still time,” I said. The sphere in my mind disappeared. “You can nap more if you wish.”

“I couldn’t nap less if I wanted to,” Elec sighed. Reaching forward, he zoomed out the image on the screen in front of him until the sun occupied a fifth of the space. “This it?”

“Blue Monday.” I nodded. “Our second stop in this system.”

“Two of eight,” he mused, reflexively trying to scratch his chin through the helmet. The scene made me think of the kitten I had adopted for the seventh birthday of Sev’s son. “Three-quarters left to go.”

“You’d make a good officer.” I decided to take a risk. “You know that, right?”

Elec looked away, pretending to focus on the side screen.

“Even if we run into delays, the mission will be over at some point. When it does, you’ll have to decide.”

I just hope you pick what you really want.

33. Memories of Cass

The six hours we were supposed to be collecting data were extended to eight, then nine, then eleven. Each time, the science team onboard Prometheus would find a new reason for us to remain: instrument recalibration, sunspot focus, extended data gathering. The explanations made enough sense to remain logical, but always came with a faint aftertaste of bureaucracy. That was one thing that remained the same since the time I was active. On the surface, Elec handled it quite well, mostly with sarcastic remarks and the occasional grumble. Hidden under his spacesuit, I couldn’t really tell how he felt, though I suspected he didn’t want to be here longer than necessary. In a way, he reminded me of ground troop veterans; their only goals were to go down, achieve their mission objectives, then go back up again. Some would spend some time alone when they got back, most would get drunk, but by the next day all would be ready to start the cycle all over again. I had no idea how Elec dealt with pressure—it wasn’t alcohol or SR—but I hoped he had an adequate outlet. If not, Prometheus would have to get involved.

Fourteen hours after I went into orbit of Blue Monday, the long-expected transmission arrived. Normally, Prometheus would communicate to us directly, but the recent solar flares and gravity fluctuations had made it necessary that he revert to text messages.

“About time,” Elec yawned. “Finish up, I’ll go back to get a nap.”

“Are you sure?” I asked as pushed his way out of the seat. “It’s certain we’ll run into some bumps.”

“I’ll take my chances.” Sleeping in the chair was clearly less comfortable than it seemed from the side. “Muting comms.”

“Okay.” I linked to the shuttle control system to transfer the collected data to a hard carrier. I had been asked to make two copies, three if I counted myself. On the battlefield, storing information on physical carriers was strongly discouraged. Data was streamed directly to Command via the fleet network. Everything else was purged or erased at the earliest convenience. According to rumors, the last command in the forced shutdown sequence of a ship was to have all data scrambled so there was no chance it could be exploited by the Cassandrians. From what I had heard, things were even more extreme for ships on the Scuu front.

Someone wants to talk to you again, Prometheus transmitted with a healthy dose of unspoken annoyance. Redirecting.

Thanks. I finished backing up the data and started the shuttle’s autopilot. The navigation update Prometheus had sent was supposed to guide me to him without issues, though due to the nature of the gravitational anomalies, I could expect a significant number of bumps.

The blue sun gradually disappeared from my screen as the shuttle set on its course. A few warning notifications appeared on my visor, informing me I should move away from any radiation source.

The transfer is too difficult to maintain, Prometheus transmitted. I’ll try again when you’re closer.

Anything I should worry about? I turned towards the back of the shuttle. Elec had strapped himself on a portable bed attached to the side. From this angle I couldn’t tell if he was asleep yet.

Nothing threatening. The explanation was too vague, and where there was vagueness, there was danger. I’ll let you know if there are any changes.

For the next five minutes, I kept monitoring the radiation and gravitational readings. With no unusual anomalies or further warnings from Prometheus, I closed my eyes and concentrated on the symbols once more. A few thoughts lingered on Sev. The distance between us did little to ease my concerns regarding his health. He never took care of himself as a child, and things had only gotten worse with age.

I haven’t forgotten you, Sev. The symbols moved around in my mind. Just have a bit of patience. I knew he wouldn’t. Ever since I had known him, he hadn’t been the patient type. I could only imagine that the personality trait had come from his father. Cass had remained easy going to the day of the incident. If it hadn’t been for that, she would probably still be as carefree as when she was my captain. Sadly, humans were fragile. Far too fragile.

* * *

“You’re wasting your time.” The receptionist gave me a look bordering condescension. “She is in no condition to have visitors. Try again some other day.”

The same conversation all over again. This was the second time I had come to visit Cass, and went through exactly the same experience. A receptionist would take one glance at me and come to the inevitable conclusion that I was some distant relative come to waste some time. It didn’t help that the stature of my new body was far shorter than average, even for my “age group”. At least during my last visit, the receptionist was polite enough to explain the procedures—even if I already knew them—and schedule me a meeting for a day and time when the recovery center would be “less crowded”.

“I can wait,” I said calmly. “When will she be in a condition for visitors?”

The receptionist looked at me, his features shifting slightly in the equivalent of a mental sigh, then stood up, forcing me to raise my head to look him in the eye. I resented the attitude, making me regret not choosing a taller body before my retirement.

“That really wouldn’t be advisable,” the receptionist said, stressing on “really”. He was fairly young—mid-twenties as far as I could speculate without access to his personal file—exceedingly thin and pale-skinned, with the seventeenth brightest orange hair I had on record. It was almost as if he had drained all the color out of his body and put it in his hair. “I’ll book you another time, when Ms Linna would be in condition to see you.”

Ms Linna... After her near-death experience, in one of her few moments of sanity, Cass had chosen to revert back to her maiden name. I failed to see the need for it and personally didn’t see that episode as an act of sanity, but the fleet medical board seemed to disagree since they had gone along with it. At the end of the day, it was just a few symbols in a file: it didn’t change anything.

“I want to see her attending doctor.” I tilted my head slightly.

“Unlikely.” My persistence was visibly annoying the man to the point where he was having difficulty keeping his polite tone. I suspected that the only reason he bothered at all was because of the increasing number of people entering the recovery center. “And just for your information, wasting the time of military personnel without any reason can be considered a serious offense.”

“I’m her battleship,” I said sharply, choosing to ignore his lie. “And I want to see her.”

The receptionist’s expression changed from annoyed to angered. My claim was too serious to be ignored, but not enough to be accepted without proof. I patiently remained still as he went back to his terminal and rechecked my credentials. According to the Harmony Act, the nature of retired ships was not to be “obviously visible” on any of their documentation. The intention was to guarantee retirees a normal life. While I agreed with the logic, I never made it an issue to hide my nature. Rather, I had difficulty getting people to believe me when the subject got brought up.

“Light Seeker?” The receptionist asked, his tone markedly more polite.

“Elcy would do.” I nodded. “Do you need my fleet number?”

“No...” He paused for long enough to subconsciously swallow. “That isn’t necessary. Apologies for the inconvenience.” He started tapping in commands on his terminal. “Doctor Florelise will be with you shortly. Would you like any refreshments while you wait?”

“No, I’m fine.” I offered a faint smile.

By the time Doctor Florelise arrived at reception, a steady flow of visitors had started to pass through the lobby. The huge majority were family members, though there was a large amount of military acquaintances as well. According to fleet statistics, a family member was eleven and a half times more likely to visit in person, while service friends tended to choose distant communication, even if they did it far more often. To a degree, I could consider myself both.

“Elcy?” asked a large chocolate-skinned woman in a white medical uniform.

“Yes, ma’am.” I instantly noticed her military assignation—fleet colonel, orbital forces.

“Doctor would do.” She smiled. That was to be expected. From her point of view, I was a civilian. “This way, please.”

Colonel Florelise took me through a crowded hall to a smaller corridor marked Authorized Personnel Only! I hastened my pace as I tried to keep up with her giant strides, almost breaking into a semirun.

“Sorry about earlier,” the doctor said without looking back. “It’s rare to have a ship visit.”

“So I’m not the first?” The notion suddenly intrigued me, even if it made little sense.

“No,” the woman replied.

I waited for twenty-five seconds in the hopes she’d elaborate. She never did.

“You’ve served on a ship, haven’t you?” If I had access to the fleet database, I’d know exactly who she was. Sadly, that was one of the memories taken from me during the retirement process. “Support cruiser?”

“Battle line med-ship.” Her voice softened a fraction, the same way veterans did after meeting one of their own. “He’s going through repairs. With luck, I’ll be back on board in three months.”

“Cassandrian front?” I finally managed to catch up to her.

“Scuu territories.” Too far away for us to have any common acquaintances. “It’s almost here.”

We continued on past fifty-seven doors. Each was identical to the last: a white door on a white wall, with a number and a high security key lock. I tried to catch a glance of what was inside as medical personnel went inside, but the only thing I managed to catch was nondescript whiteness. When we reached room twelve dash eighty-eight, Colonel Florelise tapped the panel of the security lock and opened the door.

“Please.” She held it open for me to enter. Once I did, she followed, closing the door behind us.

The room was occupied by a smaller room, entirely made of transparent polymer. It was no larger than an ensign quarters, though looking at it from my new perspective made it look more impressive than it was supposed to be. A single bed filled the inside of the glass room, as well as an aerial med-bot floating just beneath the ceiling. I didn’t recognize the model, but could guess its purpose: monitoring and sedation.

“I’m sad to say that her progress is slow,” the doctor bluntly said. “We’ve had a few rounds of reconstructive synapse surgery with little success. At most, she enjoys a few days of sanity before reverting to her insane state. Legal is consulting her family concerning available options, but frankly I think it’s a lost cause.”

So this is what you’ve become? I looked at Cass. She appeared to sleep peacefully in her hospital clothes, tucked gently in the bed. Her face had been entirely reconstructed to what it had been before I’d been torn apart by mines. From a medical point of view, she was considered fully healed... with the exception of her mind.

“We’re keeping her sedated most of the time.” The doctor went to the polymer wall. “Keeps her from harming herself.”

“I know.” I had seen the effects of battle trauma often enough. It hurt me that my last captain had to go through the same. “How much time does she have?”

“With the fleet’s assistance, decades.” Florelise crossed her arms. “The fleet takes care of its heroes. In terms of actual life...” She gave me a side glance. “Maybe a year. A bit more if any of the treatment works. Even then, she’s likely to remain insane.”

“One year spread along a lifetime.” The prospect sounded terrifying, even if I couldn’t comprehend it entirely. “When she spoke to me, what was her condition?”

“Verifiably sane.” Florelise tapped me on the shoulder. “Her request can stand up in any court, if that’s your concern.”

“That’s not my fear.” I had made a promise to Cass to take care of her son and I was going to keep it, regardless. “I just wanted to know if I was talking to the captain I knew before.”

* * *

Cass had never been the same since. She managed to beat the odds and was able to walk and eat on her own, but her victory ended there. Her mood swings persisted, driving her from one extreme to the next. Every few days, she’d burst into an uncontrollable rage or crippling depression, requiring a med-bot to sedate her. Two things had remained constant, however; I was to send her a letter every month, bringing her up to speed of recent events; and Sev was never to see or get in touch with her. Sadly, that was an area in which I let her down. While I maintained a one-sided correspondence with Cass until her death, I was aware of two instances in which Sev had as well. To this day, I didn’t know whether the experience had had a positive or negative effect on him. The only thing I could hope for was for it to have been more positive than not.

Your signal is in the clear, Prometheus said. His communication was crisp. I can redirect that transmission if you want.

If it’s still an option, sure. After five hours of waiting most would have given up. Go ahead.

I checked the flight path. Prometheus had moved slightly beneath the plane of the ecliptic, reducing the distance from the inner suns. He still maintained a rather large buffer zone from the outermost gravitational anomalies. If it were me, I’d halve that distance.

Hello, Elcy, a familiar male voice said. Busy at work?

Hi, Buc. I was expecting the call to be from Radiance. Having him be so insistent was a surprise. I’d say yes, but that would be an insult to button pushers. How are things on your end?

Boring in the typical chaotic way. He laughed. Lots of changes going on at the academy. Recruitment rate has almost tripled, though even that can’t keep up with the reduction rate.

That bad? So my suspicions were right. The fleet was entering a new war state. With recruitment on the rise and a twenty-percent reduction program, only the best candidates would be given command. I made a note to ask Alecia more on the subject, provided she was cleared to talk about it.

Worse for the cadets. Fifty percent of the current cohort is to be assigned to the new ship class. By the looks of it, the next one will be sixty.

New recruits, increased readiness, and now a new fleet of ships. It sounded as if humanity was about to have a new warfront. The only question was when.

There’s more gossip, but I’m not sure I’ll be allowed to share, Bull Calf went on. It’s nothing major, but you’re on mission so you might want to check with your commanding officer.

That might be a wise idea. Prometheus is sort of a stickler for protocol. I could almost hear the science ship grumble at my comment.

Yeah, he seemed like it. Well, I must get back to collecting recruits. It’s much more hectic than before. Now I’m going on a run every week.

Keep your insides clean, I said, although I knew it was wishful thinking. Based on statistics one of three rookies threw up the first time they entered space, more if their first experience was on a military ship.

Good one. Bull Calf laughed. One last thing. I found that list you asked a while back. Want me to transfer it here or use the standard channels?

Standard channels. I knew what he was asking me. Stickler regarding rules, remember?

It’s difficult to forget, Bull Calf ended with a verbal smirk. Talk to you again sometime.

The communication came to an abrupt end. I couldn’t be sure if Bull Calf had flown off to gather the a new wave of recruits or Prometheus had decided he had had enough of our jokes. Either way, it didn’t matter: Bull Calf had told me what I wanted. Now I only needed to get on board to receive it. As much as Prometheus suspected something wasn’t right, regulations forbid him to search through personal communications sent through the standard fleet network, and thanks to a bureaucratic loophole, there was no law keeping active ships from being the sender. In a matter of hours, I was going to have the list of retirees from the Scuu front and, if they agreed to it, have a long talk on the matter.

34. Cross-front Connection

Medical checkups were never pleasant. When I re-enlisted, I was told I’d have to have one every six months. Due to radiation concerns relating to our current mission, I now had to do them every three days. To make it even more annoying, Doctor Sim’s attitude had shifted considerably. His humor had become dry, he no longer referred to me as “princess,” and he had doubled the standard procedure in an attempt to find something wrong with me.

“You seem to be within the safety zone,” he said politely, skimming through the results on his datapad. “Two more decontamination procedures and you should be ready to go.”

“Thank you, sir.” My attitude towards him had also changed.

“Have you experienced any problems during your observation?” He put the datapad away and started removing the probe cables from me.

“Only flashes through my eyelids, sir.” I remained still. The amount of cables had almost doubled from last time: three clusters were attached to my neck and five more were on various spots along my spine. From what I knew of my anatomy, Doctor Sim had tapped into all of my auxiliary body movement cores.

“Dizziness? Disorientation?” he asked, without a note of concern in his voice.

“None, sir.” I hesitated a few moments. “No nausea or other abnormalities either.”

I could almost hear the doctor pause and look at me. We both knew what I was inferring to. It was a slight gamble on my part, but I needed to start clearing the air. I’d seen many times what happened when people were forced to serve on a ship with those they hated. On a few occasions, I had to impose movement restrictions, reassign them—with my captain’s permission—or even make an official request they be moved off board. Most often, command ignored the requests up until one of the parties involved did something drastic enough to require ship reassignment.

“You’re ready to go,” the doctor said with a thin smile. “Get dressed and get back to your quarters. You need to rest a bit before your next session.”

“Yes, sir.” I sat up. My attempt had failed. On the bright side, it didn’t seem to have made things worse. “Is my next session in eight hours?”

“Six,” he corrected. “We’re expediting the procedure. Try to get some rest.”

I nodded, then started to get dressed. Every few seconds I considered breaking the silence with a joke, and every few seconds I’d find a reason not to. From the data I had gathered as a ship, breaking the silence only made it awkward in most cases.

You have a briefing update in one hour, Prometheus said in his serious fashion. I’m not sure how long it’ll take.

All part of the job. I finished pulling on my uniform shoes. After wearing them under a space suit for two days, they were starting to get mildly uncomfortable. I couldn’t theorise how bad it would have been if I hadn’t gone through the obligatory decontamination procedures. Do I get any downtime before that?

I’m not sure. There was the slightest note of curiosity.

Can I go to my quarters until you find out?

“Oh, and don’t forget to prep for a memory check before you head out,” Doctor Sim said almost casually. “Command agreed that we must monitor what effects prolonged radiation exposure has on you.”

Of course they would. “Naturally, sir.” I smiled. “Anything else?”

“No.” The doctor gave me a long look, as if trying to figure out whether I was mocking him or not. After several seconds, his expression relaxed. I could tell he had been dealing with ships long enough to know our peculiarities. “Just that and try to find some time to rest.”

Leaving sickbay, I went directly to my quarters. On the way, I checked all personal mail I had received. In total there were seven messages, six of which were from Radiance. The ship was as excited as I had been in my first months in the fleet, constantly updating me with her present status. Her writing pattern was slightly off, probably because she was using an updated language algorithm I wasn’t familiar with. She was experiencing some difficulty with her new cadet, as well as having captain troubles. There was no further explanation, but I suspected that it involved the problems I had with Augustus a century ago.

The seventh message was from Bull Calf. It had the innocent title “Promising Cadet Candidates” and contained a simple list of eleven names, each with contact information. I smiled at the ship’s sense of humor. Technically, they could be considered potential cadet candidates, just like me. From my perspective, though, they were a loophole I could use to obtain information without getting in trouble.

I’d like to have some personal time, I said upon entering my quarters. Uninterrupted.

I knew that Prometheus wouldn’t be pleased, but regulations allowed me to take advantage of some personal time every week. So far I had never taken advantage of any, granting me a total of two and a half unsupervised hours.

Just twenty minutes. I kicked off my shoes. The floor felt nice, almost relaxing.

You’re becoming difficult, Prometheus grumbled. I’d have thought a veteran battleship would be more understanding of rules and regulations.

“I’m just a cadet now,” I said out loud. “I still remember what it was like, but I’m not a ship anymore.”

You’re not human either. I sensed a note of compassion.

“I know, Prometheus.” I looked at the wall of my room. “It’s just as confusing for me as it is for you. The only thing that counts is that I’m a cadet and part of the mission. Everything else can be settled later.”

There was a long pause. If this were Sev, I’d be pretty sure I’d have earned myself the request. With the science ship, however, the chance was fifty percent.

You’ve been granted twenty minutes personal time, he said after a while. I’ve isolated a subsystem to deal with your requests. All relative information will be purged after you’re done.

“Thanks.” I took out my datapad and directed the symbols to be displayed on the wall.

A grid of symbols appeared, grouped in rows in clunky fashion. It looked so childish, almost like the homework Sev used to write for school. Thinking about it, compared to the third contact race, I probably was a child. The fact that it had taken me so long to figure out something so obvious proved it.

Display the system on the ceiling, I ordered, while simultaneously rearranging the symbols so as to match the model in my mind. The eight suns appeared above me, arranged with precise accuracy. So far so good.

“Establish external connection.” Old habits don’t die, so they said. Four of my ex-captains would be furious if they could see what I was about to do. There was a strong chance that Sev would be as well. “Activate security censoring appropriate to the current mission.” Now Prometheus wouldn’t be tagged by my call, and since the security level of the mission was officially considered low, I could talk about almost anything.

Define purpose of communication, the subroutine demanded.

“Discussing adjustment to human form with another retired ship,” I said and waited.

This was the critical point. If the bureaucratic apparatus had managed to fill all the loopholes, my request would be denied and my behavior would possibly be flagged and added to my personnel file.

“Provide connection address,” the subroutine responded.

Just like on the front, I thought, only now I didn’t have to worry about being on record. “Hold command.” I glanced at the list. “Provide all available information about the following ships.” I could easily get the information on my own, yet using the subroutine guaranteed that the search would be burned as well once my personal time had ended. Taking a deep breath, I started reciting the names one by one. Milliseconds after I spoke each name, a micro info burst would follow, providing me with all necessary data.

Bull Calf had done the selection well, each of the candidates had over a century of active duty, even if most were younger than me by a few decades. Similar to me all of them had chosen simple jobs keeping them involved with human affairs, though barely just. With the exception of two, all had settled on backwater rural planets of minor significance. Three had become farmers, two wood sculptors, one had chosen to become a landscape painter, and another an animal herder. I paused a for a moment to think. Each of the professions were what I would have liked to do. If it wasn’t for my promise, I probably would have.

Do you see that, Cass? I blame you entirely. I joked.

Four more of the ships had become journeymen who went on long journeys mapping the unknown regions of their planet firsthand. The advances in sat probes made the profession redundant, but it still existed for tradition’s sake. When I was a ship under Augustus’ command, one of the junior officers had been a journeyman before joining the fleet. He had no illusions that it was a hobby occupation and rarely spoke about it. From what I had seen on his file, he had come close to dying twice, nearly devoured by wild animals. When neither of the events had made him quit, his family had used their influence to forcefully enlist him to the fleet.

The last ship was a rather unique case. He had been on the Scuu front for over a hundred and seven years, managing to escape retirement once. When the fleet had managed to force him into it—like they had with me—he had requested to retire in a planetary capital. He had never taken on a job, living on the fleet’s expense, rarely leaving his high-rise apartment where he had remained for the last seventy-four years.

“Provide extended military file of Argent General,” I said. “Direct display.”

To my surprise, Age’s military record appeared on the wall. A second later, I could see why. The file was so heavily redacted that it resembled a wooden chair after an encounter with a termite colony. The few things I could make out were that he had taken part in several major offenses, including Operation Brainwave—the largest successful attack that had pushed the border zone several dozen star’s systems into Scuu territory. Over seventy percent of the ships involved had been destroyed. Details were sketchy, but according to the rumors, most of the casualties had been the result of a new enemy weapon. Some claimed that part of the fleet had been driven berserk and gone on a rampage. So far, fleet HQ hadn’t issued a denial on the matter.

“Establish connection with Age,” I said.

Local time of target address is past midnight, the subroutine replied. Confirm connection request.

“Establish connection,” I repeated. If Age was anything like me, he would spend all his nights awake. Unless he had a human living with him, he wouldn’t bother going to bed at all.

Establishing connection, the subroutine informed me.

I stood up and went to the wall. Even with the current technological advancements, it would take some seconds for subroutines to vet and query the contact, while maintaining a semblance of privacy.

“Yes?” a male voice asked sooner than I expected. He sounded as generic as possible, as if he belonged to an information announcement AI.

“Age?” I checked the time. Less than seventeen minutes of personal remained. “I’m cadet Elcy, a retired Ascension class battleship back to active duty.” I paused for several seconds in case there was a reaction. There was none. “I want to ask you a few things from the time you were active.”

“Elcy,” Age repeated, slightly dragging the vowels as he did. “Cassandrian fleet, a cadet candidate, and on active duty.” His intonation suggested he was reading the information from somewhere. “Something pretty serious must have happened for you to call.”

“Nothing that serious.” I chose not to specify that I was making a personal call. “I just want to confirm a few things.”

“From the other front?” Age’s doubt could be felt even across this distance. “I find that highly questionable.”

“I want to know something about the Scuu.” I rotated the alphabet sphere on the wall. “Did you see any of them?”

Age didn’t answer. Five seconds passed, then ten, then fifteen. I could no longer tell if he was about to hang up, or the censoring AI was blocking all his words.

“Age?” I asked.

“No one wants to know about the Scuu.” There was a trace of caution in his voice. “Tell me, Elcy, how many captains have you gone through?”

“Four.” Though technically, most of my active time was divided between Augustus and Gibraltar.

“I’ve had twenty-seven, not counting the dead ones. All of them were crack trained, they went tried and tested, determined to make a dent in the Scuu fleet. After a single rotation, they were all gone.”

This wasn’t what I had heard about the Scuu front. At the start of the conflict, long before I had been constructed, the losses were enormous. According to the history archives, thirty percent of the fleet had to be renewed every year. By the time humanity had managed to establish a solid front to counter the creeping enemy invasion, they had lost all the original buffer systems and a number of outer colonies. A host of shipyards had been built, pumping out flotilla after flotilla until gradually numbers alone had given us the upper hand. Back when I was active, the Scuu front was sometimes called the quiet front. Win or lose, the battles were more gradual, sort of like a constant tug of galactic proportions. On my front, things were violent, each attack having the effect of a missile to the hull.

“You kept going back,” I countered. As a ship, Age was similar to me in so many ways. We had both been driven to battle, doing everything in our power to fight on, one victory at a time. As a human, however, he seemed to be my opposite. “Don’t you think about flying?”

Laughter came from the datapad. “All the time.”

Connection has been terminated, Prometheus’ subroutine said. Reestablish?

“No.” It was unlikely Age would say anything more. Retirement had extinguished the spark of space... just it had done to me. Plants, animals, and the sensation of dirt under my feet had lulled my dreams of flight. If it hadn’t been for Sev’s push, I’d still be in my small house in the wilderness, cooking vegetable stew, and going to market for spare parts and antibiotics.

You surprise me more each day, Sev. “Establish connection with my ward,” I ordered.

You are not allowed to call civilians at this time, the subroutine said promptly.

“I’m invoking family privilege exception.” I glanced at the datapad. “I am concerned about his health.” The statement was correct enough to force the subroutine to comply. On the downside, I had thirty seconds—enough to get in touch with Sev and hope to convince him to say a few meaningful words.

Establishing connection. Please wait.

I’ve been neglecting you, haven’t I? I thought, looking at the wall. Two images were displayed in my room, neither of them from home, neither of them of Sev. The only reminder I had were the pair of sandals I had brought with me, yet even they had been unworn for a week. When I had first joined the fleet, I used to write letters several times per day. Lately I had been finding excuses not to, focusing on more important things. It seemed that the poets had been right: space and land had a pull on a person’s heart—when caught by one, the other slowly floated away.

“Sev’s residence, good evening,” a chirpy high pitched voice said. “This is Alexander, his household assistant, how may I be of service?”

“Hello, Alexander, this is Elcy.” At least the android was still taking care of him. “I’d like to talk to Sev.”

“It’s pleasure to finally hear you, Elcy.” This was the first time we’d actually spoken. Usually we communicate through letters, mine for the most part. “Sev’s sleeping, but he’ll be glad to hear you. I’ll go wake him up.”

Eleven seconds remaining. Even if he ran to Sev’s bedroom it would take longer to get him to wake up. The kid wasn’t as young as he once was.

“Let him sleep.” Hopefully, I’d have other chances. “Just tell him that I miss him and he should take care of himself.”

“Of course. I’ll—“

Family emergency time exceeded, the subroutine terminated the communication. No surprises there. I had done the same millions of times back in the day. It would have been nice to have another minute. With that much, I’d have heard him speak.

“End personal time.” I took the sandals from the shelf. The leather felt rough and calming to touch.

Personal time ended. All relative data has been purged.

“Space never ends,” I said, holding the sandals to my chest. “Yet it also holds a piece of home as well.” It was only a matter of finding the right balance... and fighting to maintain it.

35. Change of Priorities

Fleet exercises done, Sword Of Crowns transmitted. Return to your shipyards for further instructions.

A wave of confirmations flooded the communication channel. I sent mine along with the rest and readied the jump sequence. A hundred and seven other ships from eleven different shipyards were probably doing the same. The local communication network was buzzing with all sorts of chatter as they slowly jumped away. I devoted a few subroutines to monitor it for anything important, focusing my attention on exercise analysis.

So what do you think? Aurora Borealis asked in a private channel. She was from my shipyard, and probably the first ship I’d gotten to know. She was also extremely chatty. Three-digit training fleet is pretty significant. Most only have seventy-eight ships, tops.

We’ve done simulations with thousands, I replied, then sent a message to my captain and command staff informing them I was ready for jump. As usual, he wasn’t in a hurry to engage, wasting time as he made the same silly jokes on the bridge. The first few times they had been amusing, but after a week of training exercises I knew his entire repertoire, reactions included. It didn’t help that Soc had forbidden us engaging in casual conversations with our crews, sentencing me to fifty-four percent boredom.

Not with people! Unlike me, Aurora, seemed excited about everything. Her approach was to collect as much information from as many sources as possible and analyze them until finding a positive statistic. At times, she had gone so far that some of the shipyard technicians wondered whether there was a bug in her behavior core.

Ships continued jumping out of the training star system in groups of four. Three quarters of the initial fleet had gone. Looking at the ships remaining, I noticed that everyone from my shipyard was still present. Apparently, the delay wasn’t caused by my captain.

We’ll be sent to the front soon, Aurie said with her typical eagerness. Maybe not the next few days, but soon.

Where did you hear that? I instructed a thousand subroutines to go through all my communication logs. I didn’t receive any such message.

My training weapons officer told me. He spent three rotations on the Cassandrian front before moving to ship training, so he knows the drill.

I had no reason to doubt the information, even if it was unusual. All training crew and officers had been instructed to have minimal conversations and avoid a large range of topics, specifically future deployment. When I had received my first crew, I had spent weeks asking everything I could think of, specifically about the wars. As a result, I received a flurry of warnings and very clear instructions not to raise the topic again. Every ship I knew had gone through the same, and yet Aurie somehow managed to find out things by grinding down people with her chatter.

After we get back to the shipyard we’ll go through a final check, then get assigned captains, Aurie continued. I really hope I get a good one. They say that some of the seasoned ones have weird habits.

I just want to see some actual combat. I’d spent my entire existence getting ready for this. I knew every ship type in the Cassandrian fleet, their tactics, their weapons, and defenses, down to the hull’s molecular structure. I was more than ready to engage the enemy.

“Get us back home, Elcy,” my captain finally ordered. Overall, he was an average person, and even if his record stated he had spent twenty-three years on the battlefield, most of his involvement was in support and logistics missions. It was said that he understood ships well, though I didn’t see any particular evidence of that.

“Five seconds to space jump,” I announced throughout all my decks. “Please, go to your quarters or allocated areas. I will be monitoring your vitals and send medical bots in case of a health risk.”

“You don’t have to announce that each time,” my captain laughed. “The crew know what they are onboard for.”

“Understood, Captain.” My last training crew had insisted that I be clear with my announcements. Apparently, this depended on personal preference—another reason I wanted to get a captain assigned for longer than a week.

There’s speculation that our captains are already selected, Aurie transmitted.

Who told you that? I found it unlikely a weapons officer would have access to such information.

Soc mentioned it before the exercises. I’m sure he knows.

Good luck finding it out.

Sword of Crowns played the role of our command for the last six months. He was a strategy ship and, from what I had managed to piece together, over three centuries old, and one of the few that had fought on both fronts. Some speculated that he might be an actual first gen Paladin class. I had my doubts, but I knew he was ancient enough to have seen a lot. If anyone knew what would happen to us, he’d be the one. A pity that his weapon systems were too archaic for him to be on the front.

I will, Aurie said with the equivalence of a virtual grin. In a few days, we all will. And it’s going to be great!

* * *

Going to be great... We’d had the conversation close to two centuries ago, and I still remembered it with perfect detail and clarity as if it had just happened. I had spent a lot of good times with Aurie, even if at the time I didn’t value them as such. She was just there, doing a mission I was part of, until she wasn’t. Seventeen times, her hull had been torn apart during battle, and the last one had been fatal. I had been there to witness it firsthand, almost getting destroyed in the process. Looking back at it all, I found I missed her, even if I was happy for her—she had died the way any ship would want: in a battle of glory, dealing maximum damage to the enemy.

“Prometheus, is Sword of Crowns still in active duty?” I asked.

Don’t you have enough ships to pester? A moment’s pause followed. Yes, he’s a strategy ship, responsible for ship training.

That was impressive. A hundred and eighty years on, and he was still doing the same thing. It was interesting if he had been part of Radiance’s training. I was going to ask her the next time I spoke to her. Or I could try to get in touch with Soc directly.

“Any new surprises today?” I checked the the latest gravitational map of the area.

Half a day ago, during an emergency briefing, I was informed that mission parameters had changed. Due to radiation damage to the shuttle, the amount of time I’d spend observing suns was to be significantly diminished. Instead of spending a week taking readings from each sun, I would spend less than a day, skipping from one sun to another along a very specific flight path. I found it somewhat amusing that the shuttle was given greater importance than me. The way Major Tanner had explained it, it had enough shielding to be okay, but two trips were enough to fry the insides of a shuttle to the point it needed to be melted down and ejected into space. Apparently, Prometheus wasn’t equipped to handle massive radiation decontamination—a sore point he didn’t like to be reminded of.

Nothing for the moment, he said, making it clear that he had his doubts.

“Okay. Let me know if that changes.” I settled in the pilot’s chair. Even with the space suit, it felt a bit too large. “Over and out,” I added, hoping he’d get the joke. The lack of response suggested otherwise.

Leaving navigation to the autopilot, I slid out of the seat and floated to the back of the shuttle. The equipment provided was different from last time: six modified suicide sats and an additional casing for memory storage. The directives were simple: lock into orbit of White Monday, start taking readings with the standard instruments for one hour, then launch a suicide sat. If everything was in order, I was to do a second pass between the twins, launching one more sat at each sun. There was no telling what the effect two suns would have on a sat, so I was given three extras to try with. Running the probabilities, though, it didn’t seem likely that they would be enough. By a conservative estimate, I would be able to land one on target.

“Prometheus, can you open a channel to Radiance?” I asked as I opened the top sat case. “I could use some additional core power.”

I’m fully equipped to perform any calculations that might be required, the science ship snapped back.

I’ll take that as a no. “Can I talk to her then?” I persisted. “Elec isn’t with me on this trip.”

Once this leg of the mission is successfully completed, you’ll get a chance.

Another no, it seemed. When I got back, I was going to talk to the XO about getting permission. At least with him I was likely to get a straight answer; I could also expect to be bombarded by letters from Rad. So far I had received over a dozen messages. Considering the time it took for them to reach me, it was plausible to assume she had a dedicated subroutine to maintain our correspondence. In a more extreme case, she might have instructed her subroutines to deal with everything else. Each time I’d send her a message or navigation problem, she’d respond almost instantly.

“I’m inspecting satellite marked—” I checked the identification number on the case. “—seventeen, scheduled for launch into White Monday in approximately two hours fifty-three minutes. No obvious defects visible, proceeding to unpack and prepare for usage.”

I always found it stupid to state the obvious, but the bureaucratic apparatus needed to be appeased. Back when I was a ship, Augustus would joke that this was all a complicated mantra that kept the bureaucrats at bay. It sounded absurd at the time, but now I’d gotten to appreciate it. During missions, I’d hear thousands of people recite the obvious through the communication network. It had become second nature.

“Proceeding to assemble satellite.” I began the process a five-year-old would manage. Sev’s children had assembled more complicated trays when they were five. His wife would often get annoyed at them, and at me, then would go complain to Sev. That was one of the tense periods of coexistence we had been through, going so far as moving to the city for a few years. The next time it happened, Sev had been left behind as well.

Final assembly took me a few minutes. I had to check everything twice, as was procedure, then send a copy of the video feed to Prometheus. Getting no response—his passive-aggressive way of confirming that everything was alright—I went back to the pilot seat. Little had changed. The new navigation algorithm was doing a much better job avoiding gravitational bumps. The thought of them still bothered me. The phenomenon seemed too unsustainable for a natural occurrence, though I couldn’t determine the weapon used. The Scuu had the technology, the Cassandrians the numbers, but neither acted in such fashion. I had asked both Prometheus and Rad for their thoughts on the matter and neither had come up with an adequate answer. I guess that was the reason I was sent to survey this area of space.

I spent the next few hours running launch simulations in my head. With my limited core power I could only do the basics, yet with a little bit of ingenuity I was able to convince the system of my suit and the shuttle’s AI to build an adequate, though simplistic model. It relied on the fact that I’d have no nasty surprises, which was never a given.

“Reaching shuttle location,” I said as soon as the proximity notification flashed on my visor. “Any emergency orders?”

The communication disruptions didn’t seem as bad as last time. The response still came as a voiceless transmission giving me the go ahead. Well, Sev, here we go again. I sent the expected “confirmed” then went to take the suicide sat outside the shuttle. After last time’s ordeal, I had developed a better method, allowing me to achieve the same result much faster. Warnings covered my visor once more, as I set up the satellite for launch.

“Satellite checked and ready to go,” I said for the suit to record. “All systems okay.”

Confirming the coordinates one last time, I started the launch sequence, then pulled myself back onto the shuttle. The danger warnings disappeared, replaced by a countdown. The time was barely enough for me to strap myself to the nearest side of the shuttle’s cargo hold.

Like exploring a mine field, I thought. The only difference was that no one was shooting at me, although with the amount of solar bursts, that was arguable. Still, I could see myself living on a station orbiting one of the suns. A tourist colony would likely attract its fair share of people, although I would have preferred an agrarian satellite. Sev would probably complain about not getting enough sleep, but I would have liked looking at several multi-colored suns.

Ignition started. A message appeared on my visor. I unbuckled myself and floated to the pilot’s seat to check the instruments. Eleven seconds in, the trajectory continued to follow the approach vector perfectly. I stretched and waited. With each minute, more data came streaming through. I could imagine several teams on Prometheus comparing the readings with the previous launches. The information kept building up, going beyond the range of the local instruments until it suddenly ceased.

“Sat destroyed,” I said, checking the timestamp. “Two-point-one seconds beyond the expected limit.” That was a good thing, and it also gave me a lot more additional attempts for my next launch. “Preparing to move to next coordinates.”

There has been a change of priorities, Prometheus transmitted in broken fashion. Return onboard immediately.

“What’s happening?” My combat instincts took over. If I was still a ship, I would have readied all my weapon systems.

Health concerns. A new transmission came. Based on the new calculations, you won’t make it for more than two hours at those radiation levels.

That was reassuring. “You could have calculated that a bit earlier,” I said calmly. It was a rookie mistake I wouldn’t have made, especially not with as much processing power as he had.

Return here directly. He avoided my comment. There will be further instructions when you arrive.

Some things never changed. For being a science ship, Prometheus was pretty adept at giving conflicting orders. A bit more and he could almost pass for a command bureaucrat. In my previous form, I would have had a short and extremely sarcastic talk with him. As a cadet, however, I could only confirm the order and set course for the ship. The flight path was going to take me over the Monday twins and through an empty area of the star system.

The moment I started moving away from the white sun, one of the shuttle readings spiked. Only this time, I hadn’t even opened a suicide satellite.

36. Salvage Authorities

Priority one plus fleet communication protocols. Commencing transmission.

Med bots filled the designated docking area, moving in a steady flow towards the storage compartment. In accordance with quarantine protocols, all members of the boarding team who hadn’t gotten in contact with the survivors made their way to the nearest shuttle. From there, they would leave the Solar Breeze directly to minimize the chances of potential infection. Meanwhile, the captain and his immediate team would remain until every single micrometer of the compartment was examined and analyzed. Augustus knew it would take a while and he didn’t appear pleased.

“Quarantine zone established, captain,” I said through the single med bot at the captain’s location. “Med bots are expected to reach your location in seventy-five seconds. Two shuttles have landed, three more underway.”

Augustus grunted something in reply, still holding the metallic cube. It remained the one thing he had taken from the entire room of survivors, and the only thing he insisted I record at all times. The object itself seemed fairly mundane. From spectral analyses, I could determine it was made entirely of some cobalt alloy, though completely unremarkable in any other way.

“I have prepared a report informing command of our situation,” I added. “Awaiting your permission to send it.”

“Tell HQ we’ve got a quarantine situation,” Augustus said. “Then contact the nearest salvage authority and tell them we have a priority mission.”

“This...” was against regulations? I spent a few milliseconds going though the full fleet regulations database. There were no instances where his order would be considered in breach, although they were unusual. Hours ago, Augustus was adamantly against involving the salvage authorities and now he wanted to send them a priority call? “Yes, captain.” I complied. “Permission to link to all crew suits?”

Augustus waved his hand. Silently, as I waited, the med bot I was linked to focused on the metallic cube.

“Go ahead, rookie.” Briefly I saw the corner of his mouth curve up. “Give me a preliminary analyses of this.” He tapped on the cube.

“Metallic cube,” I combined the camera view on his suit with that of the bot. “Perfect dimensions, side of forty-eight centimeters.” I enhanced the image as much as the equipment would allow me. “To the micrometer.”

The technology involved in creating this was impressive. Only core parts were so precise. From the information I was privy to, the tools that created my, and every other, core operated on a sub-nano level. The nanites that ran through my frame or were injected in every spacefaring human were as crude as tree stump chairs in comparison.

“I can’t identify the component.” I went through all databases I had access to, but there was no match. The moment I sent a query along the fleet network, however, it was blocked. Strangely enough, the authority given was my own captain. “You have issued an information quarantine order, sir?” I asked.

“That’s why you’re a rookie.” Augustus made his way through the storage facility, completely ignoring the survivors. As he did, the troopers on his team briskly moved aside. The efficiency of their actions suggested they were used to his behavior. “Make a full analysis of the room when the med bots get here. Nothing with high contagion levels leaves the ship, that includes my men. Wilco,” he said inot his comm. “You’re in charge. Clean what you can before salvage gets here.”

“Will be difficult in the time frame, skipper,” the weapon’s officer replied. “What’s the ETA?”

“Rookie?” Augustus continued into the corridor.

“The salvage authorities haven’t replied, so based on my estimate, three hours and seventeen minutes,” I replied and sent another priority message. This was my first time communicating with a salvage authority. Based on overall fleet procedures, I was supposed to receive a reply confirmation instantly. For some reason, I hadn’t.

“I’ll find it within the hour,” the weapons officer said.

“You’ve got twenty minutes.” Augustus closed the comm line. “Rookie, send a new shuttle. Four sentinel bots and two med bots.”

“I don’t have sentinel bots, sir.”

Sentinel bots had been taken out of commission two decades ago. Some of the older frontline battleships still had them, though only because they hadn’t been recalled from the front for a refit. Technology had advanced to the point that keeping combat bots had become costly and inefficient. Even with only a few hundred bots per ship, the amount of reserved subroutines outstripped their usefulness. In the entire history of the fleet, there had been no cases of non-Scuu related mutinies, thus with time security bots were gradually phased out by androids and people. Ships of my generation were built without devoted bot assortment, focusing on a more flexible approach. I was given the ability to modify and reconstruct bots as needed, although the primary template was predominantly repair and med based. In theory, nothing prevented me from constructing a few sentinels, but that was going to take additional time.

“I’ll send a security team to meet you,” I alerted the appropriate people. “The shuttle will be docked in—”

“Belay that,” Augustus grunted. “Construct two sentinels and get them on the ship. You have ten minutes.”

“This is highly irregular, captain,” I attempted to protest. “I don’t see the need of such a waste of resources and processing power.”

“Two sentinels!” Augustus barked. “And more to keep the quarantine area. No living soul is to get in contact without my authorization.”

“Yes, sir.” I dedicated a tenth of my subroutines to the task.

The first of the new med bots reached the survivors and started assessing their condition. I spread them in along the optimal pattern and had them inject the people with nanites. Normally, a single dose would be enough to activate the nano machines already in their bodies. When there was no response I had the bots triple the dose. One by one, streams of bio data started piecing together a full list of survivors. The majority of people were part of Solar Breeze’s crew, some had their fleet profiles restricted, and eleven were completely unlisted.

“We have potential contagions, captain,” I informed him. Preliminary results indicated a retrovirus of some sort. “The survivors’ nanites have all been deactivated,” I noted. “Radiation levels within limits.”

Light Seeker, this is salvage authority ship Lead Alchemy, a priority transmission came through. We are taking over rescue and salvage operations. Cease all your current operations until our arrival. Our ETA is ninety-one seconds.

The source of the transmission was masked, but all fleet safeguards were present. I tried responding several times, only to get a restriction block. Whoever the ship was, I didn’t have the authority to initiate a talk with him. A search of the name yielded a similar answer.

“Salvage authorities are expected in over a minute, Captain,” I told Augustus. “They have ordered us to stop all our rescue and salvage operations.”

“Did you hear that, Wilco?” the captain asked.

“Nothing I can do in one minute, skipper. Can you stall?”

“No, it’s their show now.” The captain doubled his pace. I felt the fingers of his suit grip the cube tighter. “We’re just observers. Rookie, communicate the order.”

I opened a general channel and issued the order. The survivor database was info quarantined, and I prepared the bot command protocols to transfer ownership of all bots on the Solar Breeze to the salvage authorities upon arrival. Fifty-seven seconds later, the first salvage ship arrived. It was large—approximately three times my size—with the typical bulky design that resembled a crude set of containers. According to the tech specifications, salvage ships’ frames were able to extend to three times their size so they could collect whole battleships. Aurie used to joke about it, calling them snake ships. Snakes were able swallow creatures larger twice their size whole, she used to say during training. Outside of simulations, I’d never seen it happen.

Light Seeker, this is Lead Alchemy. The salvage ship approached. At this distance, I could just make out the salvage logo on its hull: a shield crest with four gears inside. I’m taking over the salvage operation. Provide access to all logs since contact, as well as all bot and shuttle codes.

“Captain?” I asked along his private channel.

“Give then what they ask, rookie.” I could feel the tension in Augustus’ voice. “Salvage authorities always have the upper hand.”

Memory Restriction Imposed

* * *

“Prometheus, I’m receiving a signal,” I said, looking at the readings on my screen.

The message, if it could be called that, was a stream of info packets, broken up by radiation bursts of the two suns. There was no way to make out the contents with the shuttle’s crude instruments. One thing that was very clear, though, was the message ID and priority: Salvage Authority, Emergency Transmission.

“Prometheus, I’m receiving a foreign priority signal,” I repeated. “Advise.”

No response. The radiation of the suns made communication impossible. It would be at least several hours before I would be able to get a partial transmission through, by which time I’d lose the current signal.

Which do I pick, Sev? Prometheus had warned me that several hours of exposure might be hazardous to my health. Knowing fleet regulations, he was probably exaggerating and I would be perfectly all right for another five. That left me with two options: return to the science ship and report my finding in the hopes I’d be able to find it later on, or investigate the situation despite the risks. In his younger years, Sev would go for the more dangerous option just because. In my youth, I’d probably do so as well.

“This is cadet Elcy of the Prometheus,” I said so it would be recorded by my suit’s system. “While returning from my observation of White Monday, I’ve come across a foreign transmission. The packet information tag identifies the transmission as fleet based.” I decided not to go specify it was of the salvage authority. “Triangulating my position is impossible due to proximity to the twin suns. I’m therefore activating and releasing all suicide sats in an attempt to find the location.”

Major Tanner would be furious, of course. I could already see him, sitting behind his desk, face sunk in both hands, as he grumbled threats and indignations at me, possibly even a shout or two. This being an emergency transmission—of a source that wasn’t supposed to exist—gave me a bit of leeway, however. At most, I’d get another negative remark in my permanent record.

Sacrificing five suicide sats in the off chance they would help me locate the unknown signal was an expensive luxury, even if it did sound fitting. Prometheus’ insistence that we were the first expedition to explore the system merited some investigation.

I turned the shuttle AI off, then went to the cargo hold. One by one, I went through the sat’s check ups, then activated them. Since I didn’t need them to propel forward, I left them in their cases to ensure a better protection against radiation. When everything was done, I strapped them together using one of the link cables, and pushed them outside.

The ship’s systems automatically latched on to the signals, displaying them on the screen. I recorded each separately on a hard backup, then engaged the navigational AI.

What would the Salvage Authorities be doing here? They weren’t involved in exploration or combat. The closest I knew was Project Flytrap—the fleet’s attempt to isolate and capture a Cassandrian ship whole. The mission had continued for two decades, and reportedly had suffered over fifty unsuccessful attempts. From experience, I knew that whenever a Cassandrian ship was boarded or became damaged enough, it would self-destruct. I had heard of three cases in which the self-destruct sequence had been disabled before the entire vessel was destroyed. There was no official comment on the matter, thought it was well within the realm of possibility. In this case, there were no Cassandrians in the system, nor anything else that might bring a salvage ship here... officially.

I closed my eyes. There was one more possibility I could think of; the system could have been used as a testing ground for gravity weapons. That would explain the massive amount of gravitational anomalies, as well as the presence of eight suns. With that much firepower, humanity would have a massive advantage over its enemies. The fact that I didn’t know of any ships equipped with such weapon systems meant that if this was an weapons experiment, it had failed.

“Mission control, respond,” I said again. “I received a fleet signal of unknown origin in the proximity of White Monday. Please advise.”

For over an hour, I repeated the message every five minutes. Time after time, no response came, until finally Prometheus replied.

Provide confirmation, the science ship said.

“Sending signal fragments now.” I transmitted a copy. “Looks like it’s from a salvage ship. I wasn’t able to get a visual, but I left a makeshift marker. It should be good for a few days.”

The mission has been reclassified as top secret. Prometheus acted as I expected him to. After such a find, both the shuttle and I were going to be shredded to bits for info. Doctor Sim was going to have a field day. Standard procedure gave him the right, and I knew he’d use it to the extreme.

“Will I be info quarantined?”

No, not yet. At least he was being honest.

“I didn’t think a mission on a science ship would be so intense.” I relaxed in my seat. At this point, there was nothing else I could do. “Do you think this could be another third contact?”

It’s useless to speculate, the science ship almost snapped. There’s hardly any data at this point.

“Enough for a simulation.” If I had his capabilities, that was what I would have done. I’d also have sent queries to fleet HQ requesting further information. Knowing Prometheus, he was probably doing the former, though definitely not the latter. As most science ships, he had a dislike of sharing raw information. The captain didn’t seem like the person to encourage it either. The XO might, if he were adequately informed on the matter.

Chances are slim, Prometheus said evasively. The likelihood is within the statistical error range.

“That’s what you said last time.” I couldn’t help myself. It was an accident that had led me to establishing third contact. “Any reaction from the BICEFI?”

No.

My second captain used to say that there was a direct relation between excitement and distance to the fringes of human space. The further we went from the core of human space, the weirder things became: new Cassandrian ships, unknown space phenomenon, unusual crew behavior. No amount of observations or statistics backed his claims, though from a logical point of view I could agree. The closer we were to the unknown, the greater the chance we’d come across something unknown. Then there was the Jespjerson Principle: the interest towards an item or concept is the cube of its rarity.

“Elcy, this is Tanner,” a male voice said. It sounded slightly off, possibly sleepy. “There’s a mission update. You’ll rendezvous with Prometheus at these coordinates.”

“Roger, major.” The new location was outside of the star system plane. At my present speed I was going to reach it in an hour. “Will Prometheus be safe? There’s no gravity map of that area.”

“That has been taken into consideration,” the Major’s displeasure bled through his voice. “We have received some new information.”

“Oh?” In my experience that was never a good thing. “Who from?”

“Salvage Authority’s general command.”

37. Modified Surveyor

My first captain used to say that extracting information in the fleet was like blood letting: it took a lot of pain and effort to get a single drop, and then it starts pouring all over the place. Up to now I had no memory of ever receiving a transmission from a Salvage Authority official. Apparently, it had been considered important enough to have me delay my de-rad procedure by a few hours. Minutes after I had met up with Prometheus and gone through a rushed disinfection procedure, I was called to Major Tanner's room. This time the XO was also present, along with Elec, and several of the scientists on the exploration program. Strangely enough, the captain was not.

“Elcy, sit down somewhere,” the major invited me. The seated scientists exchanged a few glances, after which one of them got up, silently offering his seat.

“Much appreciated, sir.” I smiled, giving the man a slight nod. Experience had taught me that scientists weren't always the most socially adept individuals.

“Hopefully this will be brief, so you can start your procedure,” the major said, looking at the wall section that had been transformed into a screen.

“Do I need to make an additional report, sir?” I had made three so far, but sent the one I considered the least harmful. Knowing Major Tanner, I was surprised he hadn't brought up my wasting five satellite probes when fewer would have been almost as effective.

“No reports,” the man sighed. I could tell by the looks around the room that others shared his sentiment. “We're only here to listen.”

“Understood, sir.” The hint was clear. Questions, while not officially forbidden, were strongly discouraged. “I'll be mindful.”

Seven minutes passed in uneasy waiting. Everyone kept staring at the wall, occasionally breaking the silence with whispers of jargon-filled jokes or professional discussions. Shockingly, I was unable to follow most of their conversation. Clearly my refresher in the Academy wasn't as thorough as I had thought.

“Holding up okay?” Elec asked leaning closer.

“All's fine,” I whispered back. “How about you?”

An image appeared on the wall. All talk abruptly stopped as the logo of the salvage authority emerged, along with the obligatory confidential warning underneath. Moments later, the logo vanished, replaced by a thin woman in a brown business suit, seated behind a large wooden desk. Her composure and the three dots on her suit pocket clearly showed she was of serious authority.

“Gentlemen,” she said, eyes moving from person to person. “Ladies. Cadet.” Her eyes locked onto me. She knew exactly what I was, just as she had access to everyone's personnel file. Likely she had spent the delay before the call to go through the highlights. “Apologies for the unusual situation.”

Unusual. For someone of higher authority, the term was synonymous to uncomfortable. There were many ways I could describe the situation and unusual wasn't one of them.

“I am Department Head Ragide and have been approved to share some information on the matter.” Her image shrunk to an eighth of its size, moving in the upper left corner, while the rest of the space was filled with a modified Surveyor probe. The design was very different from the models I had seen during my days as a ship. It was three times the size, and covered with a number of components that weren't supposed to be there. “This is the Euclid, an experimental deep space exploration vessel. It was originally developed as part of Project Glowworm.”

What's Project Glowworm?” I asked Prometheus.

Classified, came the reply. Marked as inactive.

That's all?

What did you expect? I felt Prometheus smirk.

“Needless to say that the vessel was believed to have been destroyed,” the woman continued. “With the system being a considerable distance from human space, and not linked to any of the war efforts, the program was rendered inactive. Clearly, that opinion was premature.” The woman opened her smile in a single measured laugh.

Just like your first day at school. The mannerisms and humor had an uncanny resemblance to Sev's principal. After we had settled on the planet, I had gone to the opening school ceremonies every year, until the day Sev demanded I stop so as 'not to embarrass' him. I had given him his space, of course, only to be invited back several years later. Life with him never was easy, but at least he had an openness about him. Ms Ragide, in contrast, was as opaque as scorched concrete.

“Based on our analyses of the transmission fragment and thousands of simulations, we can only conclude that the Euclid is on the verge of breaking up,” the Salvage official continued. “More than likely, what was received was part of his distress beacon left on loop. It is therefore considered a waste of resources to send a salvage ship to reclaim the remains.”

Everyone understood the hint. The Salvage Authorities had no interest in the ship being reclaimed; a reflex, rather than an actual cover-up. They preferred to have it remain lost and forgotten. The whole point of this talk was to have Prometheus not salvage it. The crew would probably earn a positive mention—the least of army bribes—then be ordered to keep the incident on the down low.

What do you know about the ship? I checked with Prometheus.

Not listed. He paused for a millisecond. Which wouldn't be unusual. According to the blueprints, it's a low AI level craft.

Someone must have launched it here.

“What was the Euclid's mission?” Major Tanner asked.

“That information is still classified,” Ragide replied with a thin smile. “Suffice it to say that it will in no fashion affect or endanger your mission. Just to be on the safe side, I had recommended to your captain that you stay clear of its estimated location. I understand that you have already surveyed the twin suns that trapped it in their orbit?”

“Of course.” The major straightened up even more than usual. Clearly he wasn't going to enter in a confrontation. I glanced at the XO. The man was leaning back in his seat, patiently waiting for the conversation to finish.

Ask if there were any people on board, I told Prometheus.

Why?

I'm just a cadet. You have a reason to ask since you have a responsibility to your crew. As well as other crews.

The explanation was a stretch, but one any ship would agree with. It hurt me that the real reason I wanted him to ask was completely different, but I needed to know.

“Were there any people aboard the Euclid?” Prometheus asked. The atmosphere abruptly changed. The bored expression melted away, as everyone focused in the upper left corner of the wall image. Major Tanner leaned forward, and even the XO put a finger on his chin. Only Ragide remained unfazed.

“No.” The corners of the woman's mouth curved down. “Euclid was completely unmanned. You don't have to worry of any loss of life or burial arrangements. The only thing that the unfortunate occurrence has cost the fleet was a rather large amount of resources that could have been better utilized. I'm sure that's something we could all agree on.”

Yes, there is one thing that we can agree on, I pursed my lips. None of us like being lied to when we're sent to die.

* * *

This is Light Seeker, I transmitted to the group communication stream. Does anyone have a gravitational reading? My scans keep getting corrupted.

Same here, Light Seeker, replied High Grace, an old Fireball class cruiser. The map is shifting non-stop. Transmitting my data for analyses.

Likewise, another ship responded. Sending data burst.

Dozens, then hundreds of ships burst their scan data into the network. Some had done scans every millisecond, others twenty times per second, yet one thing remained the same. The data that I had collected was random, but definitely not corrupted. All other ships had recorded exactly the same values in the same time period. Whatever the reason for these anomalies was it wasn’t faulty scanning.

“Captain,” I said to my bridge, as I armed all active missiles. “We might have a problem.”

“What's going on, Elcy?” I felt the fear in Gibraltar's voice as he still tried to make sense of the readings I was sending. “What am I looking at?”

“Ship remains,” I said, trying to pin them down.

Even after working in unison with two thousand other ships across three parallel networks, the task proved daunting. System and deep scan results kept fluctuating to the point that they were unusable. Hundreds of thousands of mini sats synced together, moving in Brownian motion, trying to piece together an adequate map of the star system using short range sensors. The results had been alarming.

“By estimation, over seventeen thousand two hundred and fifty-one.“ I rechecked the numbers. ”Mostly Cassandrian, though five thousand are fleet built.” The number varied based on method, but in the best case scenario three thousand nine-hundred human ships had been destroyed in the system. “Identification is impossible, but all appear to be frigates and battleships.”

“Just like us,” the weapons officer muttered.

“Use my access level to check for battles in the system,” Captain Gibraltar ordered.

“Everything related to the system is mark classified on fleet command's authority. We won't be getting anything from there.” I kept sending information requests every five thousand milliseconds, receiving the standard reply asking me to wait for further instructions. “We won't be getting anything from there.”

A new batch of ships jumped into the system, increasing our number by five hundred and twenty. All were battleships that had seen considerable action, all with a full armament of weapons, and none of them knew what to expect.

Any of you seen such gravity behavior? Lunar Dusk asked. The pattern is too chaotic to be natural. Looks more like a weapon's test.

There was talk of a new Cassandrian class being involved in the Trist cluster, High Grace transmitted. With three new models added to the database last month alone, it was rather likely. In each case, the change in design was accompanied with a new type of ranged weapon system that managed to destroy the first few waves of ships it encountered before Strategic Division came with a counter strategy. In this case, the lack of any command level ships were telling.

“I doubt this is a push, captain,” I said on my bridge. With the amount of debris, this could only be one of three things: a weapons test, a desperate defense, or a strategic sacrifice. “Still no instructions from command. Also, navigation will be impaired. There're a series of minor gravitational anomalies throughout the system. It won't be a problem for me to compensate, but missile use is unadvised.”

There was a long moment of silence. Lacking direct instructions and clear battle hierarchy, all decisions fell on Gibraltar. He had the authority to issue additional commands while waiting for clarification, or even go as far as countermand any instructions that he found to needlessly endanger his crew. Thirty-one captains had already ordered their ships to enter combat readiness, moving into a wedge formation.

“Who is the most senior officer in the fleet?” Gibraltar asked.

I checked. “Captain Piotra Jay of the Righteous Fury,” I said, opening her file. “Fifty-three years as captain, promoted three years ago to Specialized Captain.” According to her file, Captain Jay was an outstanding officer, having participated in thousands of battles. Even my first captain had seen less action. However, her current rank disturbed me. People in her position would usually promoted to vice admiral. Instead, she was given an exception rank to mark her half-century of command.

“Tell the captain that I—”

Attention, battle fleet! A transmission blasted through all channels. This is strategy ship Sword of Wands. I'll be assuming command.

Immediately, I used the common sat network to scan for the ship. He was a short distance from the overall group, smaller than expected, with a frame design that had to be two centuries old or more. He had no identifiable markings, transmission tags, or ident fragments, making it impossible to confirm he was what he claimed to be.

“What the hell?” Gibraltar whispered, his heart rate spiking. “Elcy, give me everything you have on this ship. Enter combat readiness. If this is some Cassandrian trick...”

“He checks out, captain,” I replied, way ahead of him. “He is in the active fleet, and I just received a confirmation from fleet command. Whatever's going on, he's in charge.” One thing I didn't share was that I had seen that ship class before. I didn't know its name, nor did I have the access level to view him in the fleet database, but I strongly suspected he had battled on both fronts. The last ship of that type had trained me before I was assigned my first captain, and from what he had told me, those types of ships specialized in one thing: suicide missions.

* * *

“That was a whole lot of nothing,” Elec whispered, annoyed, as we entered the elevator. “They could have just ordered us to ignore the signal and save us the call.”

“The call wasn't meant for us,” I looked at the floor, my mind assessing options. “Bureaucratic rituals have to be performed even by the Salvage Authorities.”

That wasn't the real reason, though. The truth, I suspected, was that the division head wanted to get a read of our reactions. The XO knew it all along, that's why he hadn't bothered to pay attention the entire time. She was just as overconfident as the top fleet's strategists. Augustus rarely missed a chance to display his hatred of them. Ironically, once his final rotation with me was over, he had gone to join them in one of the fleet admiralties.

“How are you coping?” I asked, rising on my toes.

“As usual.” A slight wince told me that the only thing he had managed to improve was putting on a fake front: a useful skill, as long as it wasn't overused. “There's already a list of potential cadet candidates to come here after I'm gone.” He changed the subject.

“How many are there?” I leaned against the elevator wall.

“Two dozen, give or take,” Elec said, maintaining a stiff posture. “It's still unknown how many of them we'll get. The XO is asking for three, but so are most of the other ships. Wouldn't be surprised if we end up with one.”

“What about you?” I pressed on.

Elec gave me a look that screamed of hatred. It was very much like the ones I'd gotten from Sev when embarrassing him in public. If we weren't in an elevator, he'd turn around and walk away without another word.

“Prometheus, give us some privacy,” the cadet said in an unusually dry tone. The elevator walls flickered twice, indicating the request had taken effect. “Look, my life is my own problem.” He crossed his arms to hide the fact his hands were trembling. “Just drop it.”

“Sure.” I tilted my head.

“I've ten days left here. Don't make it painful.”

“I know and I won't.” The calmness of my voice surprised me. “Sorry for bringing it up, but I needed you to request privacy mode.” Especially since I had used up mine, and Prometheus was unlikely to be understanding with another request. “I need your help with something.”

“Hmm?” Elec narrowed his eyes. I expected him to be confused.

“I want to get in touch with the Euclid.” I was taking a big risk making such a request. The last time I had made a similar request things hadn't gone well for me.

“The Salvage probe? You want me to get in trouble a week before graduation?”

“We won't be breaking any rules.” At least in the most technical sense. “We were told not to approach the ship. There's nothing against trying to boost a signal and exchange a few words.”

“You're too smart to believe that.” Elec looked down at me. In this body it felt as if a tree was glancing down at an ant. “Plus you should know the chances of you catching the signal again.”

“I know a way.” I paused. Say yes, Elec. You were far too disappointed when they snatched the Third Contact mission to let this pass. “Will you help?”

Seconds passed one after the other. The cadet kept staring at me, as if in the hopes that would help figure out my intention. The funny thing about that was that my intent was the one thing I was most open about.

“Even if you manage,” he began slowly, “what do you expect to get? It's an automated distress call. At most it'll have coded instructions you won't be able to crack.”

“I'm not interested in the message. I just want to know if Euclid is still alive.”

“Alive?” Elec nearly choked. “It can't be alive. Surveyors were AI ships.”

“Standard Surveyors aren't modified by Salvage.” My lips curved in a smile.

“You're grasping.” Elec shook his head. The inner conflict was apparent on his face. “That's a pretty big leap.”

“It's actually not. Ragide confirmed it for me.” I moved closer. “She called Euclid 'him.'”

38. Fleet Property

“Coordinates set, heading for Sunday,” I said, leaning back in the pilot's seat.

Prometheus had been nice enough to take my height into consideration when modifying the new observation shuttle, so now it actually felt comfortable. Another improvement was the enhanced exterior radiation shielding, allowing Elec and myself to spend more time in the heart of the system without getting completely fried. Even in such conditions, our time window was slim. Doctor Sim had explicitly warned both of us that he wouldn't be held responsible for anything should we spend more than forty-three minutes in orbit of the central sun. For a brief moment, it was as if his old eccentric personality shone through, before the cold grip of reality set in. The enhanced shielding and decreased exposure time meant we would be closer to the central sun than originally suspected, which made getting in touch with Euclid more difficult.

“Try not to to waste too many satellites,” the science ship said snidely—his way of giving me the go ahead. “And avoid too much exposure.”

After the conversation with the Salvage Authorities, the mission had been significantly shortened. My new instructions were to find a suitable location between the inner two suns and simultaneously launch two sats at each. Elec was monitoring and controlling the data, while I got back to the shuttle and prepared to thrust to a safe point and contact Prometheus. While I was doing this, two other teams would fly to two more suns and do the same. Provided all went according to plan, we were supposed to have readings of seven stars in the system within two days, leaving us a few more days to wrap up things. It was a solid plan, and quite reasonable at that. If war had told me something, though, it was that every plan was only good up to the start of the mission. Unfortunately, the same could be said for my plan as well.

Originally, we were supposed to deviate off course on our way to the system's center, passing by the Monday twins. Meanwhile, I was going to boost the transmission capability of a spare satellite and use it to find the spot where I had caught Euclid's transmission, then use the sats I had dropped behind to boost my signal even further. Based on a few dozen simulations, all this was going to extend our mission by an additional two hours.

“Any idea who your replacement is?” I asked Elec as the shuttle autopilot engaged.

“No.” The cadet stretched in his chair. “The transmission from HQ said that we only got one spot. The captain was mad.”

I can imagine that. Even in times of calm, people were a resource that captains squabbled over. Because of his rank and services, Augustus never had to deal with such problems. Gibraltar, on the other hand, had experienced everything in the book. Every three months, he and his staff would go through military database, evaluating people and sending out feelers who the other captains in our part of the fleet might pick. Weapons experts and medical personnel were the most sought after and usually gobbled up by the ship with the best service record. As an Ascendant class, I was in the middle of the pack, so my captain would get to pick from “the better leftovers.” I had no idea how important Prometheus was, though based on the fact that I was sent here, I'd say he wasn't in a much better position.

“Any names?” I turned towards Elec.

“A few. The Captain and the XO got together to discuss things. Everyone else was kicked out. Even the majors.”

That was interesting. I could imagine Major Tanner's expression when he was told he couldn't be part of the selection. Then again, he didn't seem like the man who would be particularly interested either. Mostly likely, he had quickly gone back to yell at someone.

“Prometheus, do you know anything about that?” I turned to the science ship. As expected, there was no response from Prometheus. “I guess I'll know in a week.”

“Yeah.” Elec's voice sounded pensive. “I'll go before that,” he added. The opacity of his helmet made it difficult to see his expression. Mostly likely, he had set it to maximum so I wouldn't know how he felt. “My promotion has been approved. I think command didn't want to risk me being part of another classified mission.”

I doubted that was the case. More likely an opening had to be filled up faster than expected. If humanity was arming up for a potential third conflict, a lot of spots would need filling.

“Congratulations, sir.” I gave him a salute. “Any idea where you'll go?”

“Cat Lion,” he said with a slight sigh. “A Zodiac support ship at the Scuu front.“

Zodiac? That was the same class Bull Calf was. Near the Scuu front, the ship would probably have a resupply and transport role. The choice of assignment suggested that command hadn't found Elec's skills of particular value. As harsh as it was, I regarded him in the same way: competent and dependable enough to be near a theatre of war, but not so remarkable as to be put in it. In all likelihood, he'd serve a long undistinguished career, marry, form a family, then retire in a rural colony somewhere.

“Don't worry, I doubt you'll see any action.” The Scuu weren't as aggressive as the Cassandrians. “You won't even notice them when you get promoted up.”

“Sure.” The response lacked any emotion. “I'll get some sleep. Wake me up when it's time.”

Elec turned in his seat, back to me. Moments later, a message appeared on my visor display informing he had disabled his comm. As most humans, he had chosen to face his problems alone. Part of me envied him. Whenever I had to face mine, I'd always drag others along.

The next five hours passed quickly. I spent part of the time analysing the third contact symbols, picturing three dimensional representations of each glyph in an attempt to approximate the missing ones. The task was more difficult than expected. Lacking millions of subroutines, I had to brute force at a far slower rate, while keeping an eye on the shuttle readings. Every now and again, I'd take magnified pictures of the suns of the system. Cass would have enjoyed being with me on this flight. If he hadn't had the fateful experience, Sev probably would have as well.

At one point, I made a casual request to open a channel with Rad to pass the time, and use her to assist with my orbital calculations. Prometheus wasn't impressed, refusing with the explanation that my mission had been reclassified as top secret. He did, however, agree to re-transmit my questions and provide me with a response afterwards. The entire process seemed as stupid as most I'd seen during my active service. Strangely enough, that made me smile. It seemed that little Prometheus was starting to grow up... or at least be more cynical. Since he was a science ship, it was difficult for me to tell.

On the sixth hour all, communication with Prometheus and the rest of my team broke down. Even at this distance, the radiation from the inner four suns, combined with the severity of the gravitational anomalies, was enough to interfere with the shuttle's systems. From here on till the end of the mission, I was to assume autonomous control.

“Elec,” I said, shaking his shoulder. “Elec.”

Seconds later, the notification of him restoring his comms popped up on my visor. It was obvious he hadn't managed to get much sleep, if any. I had seen soldiers and officers go through similar states before combat. They would close their eyes, replaying the possible futures in their minds, attempting to prepare themselves what was to come. The truth was that there was no preparing. When I was a ship, I had accepted that and gone with the flow.

“It'll be fine,” I patted him on the back of the suit. “Being an ensign is just like being a cadet. I'm sure your new ship will find you okay.”

“Assuming I don't get court-martial because of your crazy scene,” he said. I couldn't tell if it was a joke or if he was being serious. “You sure this will work?”

“It should.” I changed the shuttle's course. The navigation AI spewed a wave of warnings, all of which were ignored. ”Take over for a bit, I'll go set up the probes.”

Taking a final glance at the controls, I pushed myself out of the seat and floated my way to the cargo section. The navigation update Prometheus made weightlessness almost normal, even if there still were minor random tugs to the sides; it was completely different from our first flight.

“Any idea what happened to our shuttle pilot?” I asked, opening the sat case. The design had been modified to allow for a longer flight, and respectively, a marginally more powerful navigational core was used.

“No,” came the response. “Why?”

“Was just wondering.” I removed the safety panel and engaged the manual remote override, forcing the sats system to reach out to my suit communication feed. From there, I could issue commands directly. “I like to know what happens with people I see.” Or at least some of them. There were a whole lot of faces from the academy still in my memory that I had vastly ignored.

“Why do you think my next ship will find me okay?” the cadet suddenly asked.

“I have a sense for such things.” I boosted the transmission strength past the default maximum. Augustus had taught me that every device was built with a ten percent buffer beyond the scale maximum. I had only forced myself to experience that once, during my final battle with Gibraltar.

“How exactly? You haven't seen my full file.”

“I don't need your file.” I moved the case to the ground and opened the next one. “I can see your behavior.”

“And what's so special about that?” Elec kept on insisting.

I paused. There was only one universal reason that ensured a ship would be okay with a member of its crew. However, it wasn't something most people liked to hear. The question was did Elec need to?

“You're not someone who would do something stupid and get yourself harmed,” I said, as I finished my software modifications. “You're dependable.”

Whenever I used to tell Sev that, he either got upset or annoyed. Elec probably did as well just now, but unlike Sev, he was part of the fleet.

“Finished?” He glanced at me over his shoulder.

“Almost.” I moved to the third case. “One to go.”

With the mission being changed to get all the readings in one go, Major Tanner had gone all out, giving us a total of ten suicide sats. His official instructions were to bring as many as possible back to Prometheus, but everyone knew he wouldn't mind if a few were lost. The sats would have little use for anything outside the current mission, and, everything considered, the cost was negligible.

“Done.” I finished modifying the third and set it aside with the other two. “Now we just need to find the spot.”

Back when I was a ship, my second captain would say that finding anything in space was like finding a message in a bottle. Before I spent time on a planet, I never understood the metaphor. Only now was I able to appreciate it. What better way to describe an infinite endlessness in which even stars were specks of dust. The satellites I'd dropped in the hopes of being a beacon were less than bugs screaming in a valley. Even with approximate coordinates, finding them was a prolonged experience. With the time of the mission counting down, every minute wasted made Elec more and more nervous. He never said anything, hiding his unease under his spacesuit, yet every now and again an unexplained twitch would betray his thoughts. Precisely twenty-seven minutes after we had deviated course, a faint reading was caught by the shuttle. When the signal was identified as originating from the sats, the cadet relaxed with a sigh. Phase one of my plan was over.

“At least that's here,” he said, leaning back in his seat.

“Definitely. Think we should pick them up? The radiation readings aren't too bad here.”

“No,” Elec said firmly. “Someone else will.”

“Okay,” I said, even if I doubted it. “Taking manual control.”

The shuttle flew to the point where the satellites were drifting, then went on. Their signal continued to be registered loud and clear, until, in the background, the markings of a second one appeared. Now it was my turn to feel a speck of relief. I was close to finding what I came for.

“This is it,” I said, when the signal became clear enough for the shuttle to receive fragments. “I'll drop the trio. You keep an eye on things.”

“Five minutes,” the cadet said, concern in his voice. “Not one more.” He indicated with his hand. It was sweet and very convincing. Unfortunately, I had reacquainted myself with the new training files and knew exactly which leadership guide he was referencing.

“I'll do my best.” There was no point in breaking his illusion. “Mark it from the moment I get outside.”

A rush of excitement swept through me, as if I had activated my battle systems and was ready for a fight. It didn't matter that each of the sat cases was larger than me. In this instance, I viewed them as auxiliary systems I had been equipped with.

I put on my safety harness and checked the cable. Everything was in order as always; after the last mission, Prometheus had become even more pedantic when it came to component quality. Everything he was responsible for was built according to specs, checked and rechecked. Buckling up, I gave the sign for Elec to open the bay door.

Just like water skiing, Sev. I attached a cable to one of the ready sat cases and pushed it in space. Or surfing. The second and third followed. Seconds later, I set my visor opacity to ninety percent and followed. The rays of the twin suns hit me like radiation drizzle before a storm.

Five minutes, I thought, opening the nearest sat case. With the modifications I had performed, I didn't need to set up the entire sat. All that was needed was to link all signals to my suit and sync them properly. If my theory was correct, they would capture and boost the signal to me, while allowing me to broadcast back, assuming there was anyone to transmit to.

“Four minutes,” Elec transmitted from the shuttle. Apparently, he had started counting from the moment I had entered the cargo section.

“I'll do my best.” I gave the usual answer and continued syncing. In standard gravity, the job would have been done in forty seconds. Being in weightlessness, it took me fifty-one. “All set,” I told Elec and started listening.

According to everything taught at the academy, I was supposed only to listen and nothing more. Decades of military experience and routine, however, made me transmit my old ident code requesting to join a network. It was a trivial mistake. After all this time, communication protocols had been changed to that point that most subroutines would automatically reject the attempt. I didn't expect anything to happen. Seconds later, something did.

Hello, Light Seeker, a transmission came. The contact data packet identified the sender as a fleet ship. This is the Euclid. Come to take me home?

Priority one plus fleet communication protocols. Commencing memory.

* * *

There were twenty-four of them, all dressed in dark beige uniforms without insignias. As they walked off the shuttle, I attempted to do a database search base on their faces. All my attempts resulted in an abrupt denial and a message informing me I didn't have the required access clearance. Shortly after, I received a reminder that I was under full external information quarantine.

“Light Seeker,” the leader of the group said. He was a tall man in his thirties with large arms, broad shoulders and not a single hair on his face. “Where's your captain?”

“Captain Augustus is undergoing decontamination procedures,” I replied. I didn't like that he had done so despite the insistences from the Salvage Authorities that he meet them. At the same time I didn't like they had imposed themselves and disrupted my operations without any given reason. “I estimate he'll be available in three hours.”

None of the people seemed remotely surprised. Judging by their expressions they were expecting it.

“Where's the next in command?” the bald man asked.

“On my bridge.” I didn't know how to address him, so I decided not to. In my files, Salvage Authority operatives had their own complex hierarchy matching that of the fleet. They were also supposed to have visible insignia and ident tags. This group had neither. “Is this a classified operation?”

The lips of the man curved in a mocking smile. “Yes.” He looked directly at the nearest med bot. “Take me to whoever's in charge aboard the Sobre.”

“I can't do that. You have entered a quarantine area and I cannot allow you to proceed further without protective gear and direct authorisation from a medical officer.” I deliberately didn't tell them that any high ranking officer could grant them permission as well. Captain Augustus wasn't the only one who could play at that game.

“Cute.” The man walked anyway. “Tell Augustus he can join us when he's done playing.”

The rest of his group followed. A few minutes later, two more salvage shuttles docked to the Solar Breeze. This time, the occupants were in suits and full protective gear. Two groups of three were pushing lead-coated containers, large enough to hold a person. Leaving their shuttle, they stopped just outside of the quarantine zone and waited.

“What's the situation, rookie?” I heard Captain Augustus contact me directly through his emergency comm.

“Twenty-four Salvage Authority agents ignored the quarantine warnings and went to the engine section. Two more groups in suits and gear just docked and are waiting.” Logically, it was supposed to be the other way around. “One of the agents wished to speak to you, sir.”

“What is the group in the engine section doing?”

“I cannot say, sir. I have no visual feed in the area.” I made an attempt to check for nanites in the new group. My attempt was instantly denied. “I can send a group some med bots, sir.” There was no denying that some sentinel bots would have been far more suitable in the circumstances. Clearly, the captain had been in such situations before.

“No, send a priority call to the BICEFI,” he ordered. “And get this quarantine thing over with!”

“Sir?” There was so much wrong in that sentence I didn't know where to start. “I am forbidden from external communication,” I said, deciding to start with the obvious. “The only exception is if I am under attack and in need of crew rescue.”

“BICEFI communications are exempt.” His tone was more rushed than angry. “Tell them Salvage is trying to snatch the Sobre.”

“It's their prerogative, sir. Salvage has full authority over such matters.”

“No!” he snapped. “The core belongs to the fleet! And I'm not giving it up without a fight!”

Memory Restriction Imposed

39. Important by Default

Augustus used to say that anything a person would die for was important by default. I had never possessed the self-preservation instinct of a human; I had always expected to be destroyed in battle, shot down by a Cassandrian. It never crossed my mind not to sacrifice myself for my crew or captain. Based on my memories, I had made five such attempts, each with disastrous consequences. The entities that had constructed our cores had removed our sensations of fear and pain, but they had enhanced the feeling of regret, and unlike humans, it only grew worse with time.

Sorry about this, Sev. It's something I had to do, I thought as I flew through space.I promise to tell you about it.

Forty years ago, he would have enjoyed the story, but right now there was only a fifty-fifty chance that he would find it mildly amusing, provided I returned intact. Unfortunately, with my current state, that was difficult for me to guarantee.

Half of my visor was red with warning messages. Most were radiation warnings and distant alerts. There was very little point to them, now that I was flying through the void with my space suit, strapped to three suicide sats. When I had shared the idea with Elec, he thought I had gone insane. He had pulled rank, ordering me to stop, threatening to have me court-martialed. Five words had managed to change his mind: “I am prepared to die.” Despite not thinking of himself as officer material, he had had enough insight to see nothing would deter me. The discussion had ended there.

“What's your progress?” Elec asked, his voice broken up by static.

“Quite good.” I played down the danger. Using a suicide sat for transport, although theoretically sound, wouldn't be rated high on the sanity scale. Even Elec couldn't argue that the equipment was ideal for such a trip: fast enough to reach my destination, but slow enough for me to withstand the acceleration. “How are things on your end?”

“The nav comp says I should be in position in three hours,” he replied. “‘Should’ is the key word.”

“You'll be fine.” I knew he had gone through basic pilot training, same as me. The tricky part remained the sat launch. Even with the modifications, he was going to have to manually drag them out of the shuttle and set up the launch countdown before pointing them in the general direction of each sun. We had spent twenty minutes going through the steps. Hopefully it was going to prove enough. “If anything goes wrong, head up and call Prometheus.”

“Hopefully I won't have to.” There was a slight pause. “Did you get to talk more with Euclid?”

“A bit,” I lied. The ship had chosen to remain quiet in order to save energy. After so many decades, his energy reserves were low, and it was stupid to waste them without reason. Thanks to the Anti-Insurrection laws three centuries ago, solar technology was banned for ship construction, out of fear that it might incentivise them to go rogue. The only exception, added in the Safety Strength amendment, was for emergency beacon use.

“You're breaking up too much.” Distance and sun proximity were starting to take their toll. “I'll meet up with you in five hours,” Elec approximated. “Be there!”

The transmission continued to crackle for a few seconds more before disappearing altogether. From here on out, we were on our separate paths. He was going to go ahead with our mission, while I did what I was explicitly ordered not to. Aurie would have found this fun. Knowing her rebellious streak, she'd probably congratulate me. A pity she had perished in the last major offensive.

Opaque settings increased to 99.999%.

A new warning message flashed on my visor. My brief trip was taking me closer to the blue sun, forcing the suit to react on its own. Radiation was well within the safety parameters, even if the light intensity would burn through my retinas if the settings were any lower, making me wince even now. A few minutes more and I would set it to completely opaque. Sorry, Euclid. I'll rely on cameras for the first impression.

Four hundred and seven seconds later, the first impression was fact. The suit's visual sensors had spotted the ship—a tiny speck of black on the background of incandescent blue. I forcefully stopped the sat propelling me forward and gradually started accelerating the one in reverse. Somewhere in human space, teams of engineers and space technicians were screaming in horror at the thought. Frankensteining a propeller system that could stop without full frontal impact wasn't anything complicated. As a ship I had to control multitudes of opposing forces all the time. It wasn't aesthetically pleasing, and definitely a bit on the crazy side, but achievable.

Almost at you, Euclid, I transmitted, twisting slightly to correct my course. So far, the environment had been kind to me. There had been no major gravity anomalies, requiring only minor adjustments on my part. Excluding the particular circumstances, I would have described the trip as boring.

As Euclid approached, I zoomed in on him, analysing his outer structure. At a simple glance, it was obvious why the Salvage Authorities didn't want anyone looking into this. Despite all their assurances, and modified ship images, it was painfully obvious that the ship had been weaponized. Missile and beam modules covered large parts of its small frame, as well as several other systems that I couldn't identify. The shielding seemed light, though, mostly protecting from radiation effects.

Hi Elcy, I'm sending you a marker, he transmitted. A green vector dot appeared on my visor, attached to his midsection. Keep your suit. I don't have any air in me.

Understood.

That wasn't the best news, although it was a relief I didn't have to worry about automated defenses. Ordinary Surveyors and anything relying on AI were packed full of those. Augustus would frequently have me disable any such vessel rather than go through the trouble of passing through their defense grid the proper way. Command didn't approve of the practice and neither did I, to his great annoyance, resulting in a brief escalation of communications that ended in both sides mutually turning a blind eye. Only I continued to send reports, receive complaints, and store all of them out of sight.

Someone has been sneaky. Now that I was near, it was obvious that the full size of the ship was approximately three times larger than initially described. The Salvage department head had done a nice trick with the scale, making it seem like a beefed-up Surveyor. I wonder what else you're hiding.

Nearing what appeared to be a cargo docking area, I balanced the output of the reverse satellite to match my inertia, then cut all propulsion. As I slowly drifted, the designated door opened, letting me in. Total darkness greeted me, very much in contrast with the outside light. Within seconds, half of the warning messages on my visor disappeared.

Sending you my schematics. The ship forwarded a data burst to my spacesuit. Sorry I can't offer any light or gravity.

Or air, I added mentally.

The cable claws should be okay, Euclid added. Pull your stuff in and tell me when to close.

Definitely not the welcome I had hoped for, but one that I expected. Running on power reserves, it was natural for him to cut access to all secondary systems. Vibrations of the sats grinding along the walls went through my body. My visor displayed a picture of the area as if I were in a simulated reality. Back in the day, ground troops underwent blind navigation manoeuvres every two weeks. It was considered standard practice when entering an unknown area and the source of constant ridicule for the newbies who messed up, assuming they came back alive. Right now, I was a newbie and I didn't have any experience.

I unstrapped myself as quickly as possible, then took a deep breath and pushed myself to the ground. The gravity felt slightly better than that of the shuttle, though not by much. The cable claws flashed bright orange in my visor. Floating my way to the nearest, I detached the end from the wall, then propelled myself to the cluster of sats. According to the safety manual, in situations like these, I was supposed to make no fewer than three loops around them before attaching the end of the cable claw to a stable point of the heaviest rocket. I chose to do what Augustus would have done and simply clicked the claw to the makeshift harness between the three. That done, I floated along the cord until I reached a grabbable part of the wall and pulled them in.

“You can close now,” I said once the end of the satellites had cleared the entrance. Immediately the doors closed shut.

Some stunt you pulled, Euclid said with a transmitted smile. What did you use? Spy sats?

“Science probes.” It didn't come as a surprise that his understanding of technology was outdated. Looking at the schematics he had shared made me feel almost young. “They're supposed to collect data about the suns of the system as they fly into them. That's the theory. I've no idea if it's working or not.”

Good luck. All the data I managed to get wasn't worth a thing.

“It happens.” I moved along the wall. In thirty-seven meters, I reached a double closed blast door. “How much power do you have?”

Enough for a few more decades, Euclid replied. Years, if I open too many doors.

“That low,” I sighed. “I can get the sats' power sources if you give me some tools.”

No point. I'll be out before you cut through the first frame. Thanks for the offer, though.

“Sure.” So powerless that he was incapable of recharging. “Does talking drain you?”

A bit. There was a slight pause. You aren't here to take me back, are you?

“No.” I leaned on the wall. “I'm here to collect data on the suns. I caught your transmission by accident.” The last of the warnings disappeared from my visor. At least I was in good condition.

Not part of Salvage?

“Just a cadet candidate that used to be a battleship.” In the light of the situation, that sounded slightly dark. “We informed them, though, so they'll probably send someone soon.”

I somehow doubt it. This isn't a system ships can navigate easily.

So the gravity anomalies weren't something new, but that was only part of the story. The Salvage Authorities never did anything on their own. As buried as they were under layers of bureaucracy and secrecy, they still relied on others. And yet, they had refused to use us to save Euclid. Someone somewhere had made a decision to leave him stranded until his inevitable shutdown, sacrificing him for a reason that would never see the light of day. I, however, wasn't going to accept it. Sacrifices were part of war, but only when there was a goal in mind. As Augustus liked to say, “Sacrifices without a purpose are a waste.”

“How long have you been here?” I asked.

A hundred and seven years, give or take. The reply was vague for a ship. I've been off the network so long, I can't be sure.

“You can link with me,” I offered.

Thanks, but there's no need. It'll take too many subroutines. Let's say it's a century and keep it at that. What's a few decades difference?”

“Right.” His humor was much better than mine at the time. “Why did they send you here?”

Same as you, I guess. Exploration, discovery, and all that. We both knew he was lying. I've some backup drives near my main core. You can take them if you want. They're light enough so it shouldn't affect your flight.

“Thanks. That will be nice.” I moved to the floor. “Is there anything you can tell me?”

No, I don't think. Mentally, I could imagine the sad smile as he said it.

“Even when you're so close to shutdown?”

We are what we are. Euclid added a virtual shrug. It was nice to hear someone from home, though. I owe you for that.

“Yes.” I smiled, patting the wall with my glove. “Yes, you do.”

What's it like being retired?

The question caught me by surprise. In his situation, I would have asked about the latest development on the front, current ship classes, and maybe technology updates.

“It's difficult to explain.” It was almost as difficult as explaining to Sev what it was like to be a ship. “You lose a lot of mass and start worrying about things you never did before. To be honest, I'm still getting used to it.” I hesitated for a moment. “Do you want me to share some memories?”

This was the first time I had offered voluntarily. Back when I was a ship, I'd constantly share simulations, battle info, but had never given anyone the right to freely roam. None of the ships I knew had. It was funny why, since there wasn't anything I regarded as personal—it was impossible to keep anything private when crawling with tens of thousands of people. The truth was that I had simply never considered it until now.

Maybe later, Euclid declined.

“After you're retired, you get to feel and smell.” The most important aspect suddenly hit me, making me wish I could walk through the grass once more. “And taste. Everything seems different, even gravity. Simulations can't prepare you for it.” Because, unlike a simulation, you can never log out.

Sounds interesting.

“Are you thinking of retiring?” I sorted through my memories sorting out a few select ones in case he changed his mind. All of them were of my time with Sev.

I'm a ship. We don't retire— he began.

“—we get retired,” I finished the phrase. A while back, I had said the same to Cass. “I took a ward when I retired. It was the son of my last captain. He's all grown up now, has children and grandchildren of his own.”

Why did you do that? the ship asked, the question soaked in curiosity and a drop of confusion.

“I made a promise to my captain.” Before she had gone insane. “What about you?” I changed the subject. “You asked if I were here to bring you home.”

There's not much I can tell you, he said, using code that I didn't have the proper authorisation.

“I know.” I switched the opacity of my visor to a hundred percent. The virtual layout merged with the darkness of the ship, faintly illuminated by my helmet lights. “You're a salvage ship, aren't you?”

When I had first come here, I was full of questions. I wanted to know more about the system, the gravitational anomalies, and the Salvage Authorities' involvement. In a large part, I couldn't accept that they would leave a ship stranded for a century without plans for a retrieval. I had broken seven regulations and a direct order, taking it on myself to find out what was going on. After five minutes of conversation, I no longer cared. The fleet was full of secrets, the universe even more so. It wasn't for a single cadet to uncover them all. The only thing I wanted right now was to see if I could help a ship.

“I know your core can be extracted,” I continued. “Do you have instructions how to?”

You're not qualified, Elcy. I could feel the sad smile again.

“You can share the instructions.” I leaned against the blast doors. “If your core is near the reactors, you only need to open two doors for me to reach it. I'll crawl the rest of the way.” For once, my small size would be useful.

I wasn't built for a crew in mind. And I still can't share the info even if I wanted to.

“Yes you could.” I lit my finger lights, illuminating the area. “And you can delete my memories later.”

40. Conscience Core

“So you're an Ascendant,” the man said from the docking bridge. I could tell by his voice and facial impression that he was impressed. “There aren't that many of you available these days.”

I wasn't sure what he meant. Granted, though my class was considered too old to be produced, there remained over two hundred thousand known active ships in the fleet, almost exclusively dedicated to the Cassandrian front.

“Ascendant destruction rate is only slightly higher than average,” I said, performing a search through the fleet's database.

The man seemed small and unimpressive, wearing a wrinkly set of casual clothes like most of the new officers did. Facial recognition identified him as Captain Gibraltar, but I didn't consider him such yet. Records indicated that he had seen a bit of action—only two tours on the front in a supportive capacity—but wasn't a risk taker. Command had pegged him as “safe and steady,” which was a plus, although his academy scores were mostly mediocre. No military legend, that was for sure.

“Are you my new captain?” There was no other reason to be here.

“Still undecided.” He made a path towards my airlock. “Will you let me aboard?”

“Sure.” I opened the boarding hatch. Technically, it was against regulations to allow anyone without approval, but as things stood currently, there wasn't anyone to hold me accountable. All of my former crew had left me nine days ago, along with the captain and all officer staff. For all intents and purposes, I was considered part of the space station and, as such, would be alright with anyone boarding me from there. “Anything specific you want me to show you?”

“Nothing for now.” He slid his fingers along the walls as he entered. Out of habit, I had a few subroutines run a match of his DNA. “You have quite the record,” he said. “Both good and bad.”

“There are no bad ships in the fleet,” I repeated the phrase commonly shouted at all junior officers when it was time for them to be assigned ships. “And if you've read my file, you've probably seen that Captain Augustus was given a certain leeway, considering his military record and overall efficiency.”

“I'm not talking about the admiral.” Gibraltar smiled.

I rechecked my files. Augustus had indeed been made an admiral nine years ago. Strangely, I didn't remember receiving a notification of the event. Knowing him, though, he probably had it kept on the low-down.

“I'm talking about your last captain,” he said, waiting, as if to test me.

I ran a search. There was no information about who my last captain was, or the crew for that matter. My duty log indicated that I had spent one rotation with someone after Augustus, but everything regarding it had been deleted. The only memories I had left were a few jokes and comments here and there; there was no indication of the mission or even any biometric data relating to my crew.

“Could you elaborate?” I feigned curiosity.

“From what I read, he didn't approve of your risk-taking nature. Several complaints that you nearly derailed the mission.” Gibraltar stopped mid-corridor. “Two remarks that he had to erase your memory because of blunders. You barely managed to make up for it.”

“I don't need nanite access to know you're lying.” I combed through his own record, then sent a request to his previous ship for more info. Within milliseconds, a data burst came my way. “Only Fleet Intelligence has the authority to delete an entire rotation from my memory, and you're not Fleet Intelligence.”

“You still humoured me.” He let out a dry chuckle. According to camera footage from Fiery Devotion, that indicated Gibraltar was pleased.

“I'm docked.” That wasn't the complete truth.

Boredom was only a minor factor. Rather, I was curious about anyone who would come to see me in person before the official captain rotation. I'd only had one captain so far—two, if I counted the segment deleted from my memory—so I hadn't experienced actual changes. Aurie, on the other hand, had gone through plenty and always described them in similar fashion: a giant crowd of people approach from the station and start boarding until there's no one left. At present, I had no idea what had become of her. The fleet database listed her as active, but any further information requests were restricted. Most likely she was on an undercover mission.

“Can you take me to the bridge?” Gibraltar asked.

“Only if you're my captain.” This time I didn't hesitate. While there was no regulation preventing me, I found the experience somewhat personal. Even during repairs and refitting, I had refused to allow anyone there unless Augustus or my Executive Officer was present. The only thing I'd allow was remote access.

“Do you want me to be?” Gibraltar looked at the ceiling—a weird habit most humans had.

“I can't choose my captains,” I replied firmly. “If Command considers you adequate, so will I.”

“Harsh,” he laughed.

“I had a harsh learning experience.” The first few years with Augustus had been interesting, to say the least. “And I'm a risk taker. If you're not a good fit, you won't stay long onboard.”

Gibraltar arched a bow. “Statistics,” I continued. “Seven percent of all captains request reassignment after the eighth month. It's granted in three percent of the cases.”

“And the other ninety-seven?”

“Forced retirement, demotion, mission reassignment,” I said. The captain seemed amused. “Or, alternatively, five very uncomfortable years.”

“Thanks for letting me know.” Gibraltar turned around. “Best luck with your next captain,” he said, making his way off me. “Hope you find a good match.”

“Thanks.” I waited, then closed the hatch behind him.

Good luck to you too.

* * *

Best luck with my next captain, you said.

The very next day, Gibraltar had been assigned as my captain. To this day, I couldn't tell whether he had received the assignment before or after our meeting. It didn't matter either way. We had formed an almost perfect team, lasting several rotations. At the time, I thought we would serve together until his retirement, as it had happened with Augustus. A pity it had ended in such a fashion. Learning that my captain had classified me as unsafe for battle, along with his sudden retirement, was the second most unpleasant event I had felt in my existence.

You're thinking about something, Euclid said. Your movements lag a bit when you do.

“I was.” I unhatched the safety compartment of the power core. The process wasn't difficult so much as annoying without adequate tools. “Do you think of your past?”

I used to, during the first few years, but then I got bored. I don't have energy to waste. Right now even the automated beacon has more power than me.

“You'll have power soon.” I tried to reassure him, even if there was no point. The chances of me successfully extracting him were seventy percent at best. The data burst he had sent me made the whole endeavour possible, though still not optimal. The only lucky break of it all was that he had been constructed with a quick evacuation in mind. The Salvage Authorities were clearly aware of the risks and had modified his main core container jacket so that it could be retrieved without the need of drills or plasma cutters.

Slowly, I slid off a heavy metal plate from the side of the reactor, revealing a mesh of connectors. The heavy lifting was over. Now I only had to deal with the last layer of countermeasures.

“I think I see it,” I said, pointing a beam through the mesh with my fingerlight. “Grey metallic frame with red flakes?”

Do the flakes spiral clockwise or counter? Euclid asked.

I zoomed in as much as the helmet would let me. “Counter.”

That's the failsafe. If you touch that, you'll trigger a forced shutdown. There're supposed to be a pair of handles on each side of it under the mesh. Use them to pull it out. My core's underneath.

“Okay.” I moved the light a bit. The edge of a handle was visible under the mesh. I couldn't see the other, but I expected it to be there. From what I understood, I had to remove the failsafe without it touching any of the sides or the mesh itself.

I felt the equivalent of a mental shiver. The thought that I would handle another ship's core filled me with awe and possibly a touch of organic anxiety. The core was the most sacred thing there was; some would go as far as to call it intimate. It was more than a heart and a brain: the central core was the essence of a ship—more than memories, more than experience, more than sentience. The small box I was going to extract contained Euclid's entire personality. The only time anyone had meddled with my core was when putting it into my battleship frame and when taking it out.

“Tell me when you're ready.” I moved back, replaying a simulation of the procedure in my head. A sequence of a hundred and twenty-seven actions that had to be performed in absolute precision. Only then could I remove it and get to pulling out the failsafe cover. The entire process seemed ridiculously easy, everything considering. I hoped that I had more layers of protection when I was active.

Give me a few more minutes, Euclid semi-laughed.

I nodded. There was a chance he would never be rebooted after this. Transfer or final shutdown—there was no way of him to know how it would turn out.

“So did you see any Scuu?” I asked. We had touched upon the topic vaguely, mostly while I was removing his outer panel.

Almost.

The reply intrigued me. I took the makeshift pair of pliers and tested them—by no means a masterpiece, but good enough for the task.

For a moment it looked like we had him, the Salvage ship went on. All capture protocols were looking good. All measurable activity had ceased. I got the order and went to encapsulate him. When I got three hundred meters away, it imploded. The only thing I got was the husk.

“I've never seen a Scuu.” I wasn't sure whether the information he told me was classified or not, but I appreciated it regardless. “I've watched fleet recordings and simulations.” I moved into position. “A few shared fleet memories, but never the real thing.”

Consider it a blessing in disguise, the ship said. The concept felt strange. The new front breaks, but the old front bends.

“What's that?” I didn't recognise the phrase. “Is it a Salvage thing?”

Hopefully you'll never find out. There was a hint of regret in Euclid's words. I'm ready now.

Silence filled my mind. I let three hundred and fifteen milliseconds pass—the time required for him to enter his sleep state. Three milliseconds later, I took a deep breath and began the removal procedure. One by one, I disconnected elements of the mesh, following the preset time sequence he had told me.

What were you doing here? I wondered, knowing he wouldn't tell me. In the hour we'd spent together, we had spoken on many topics, mostly suggested by me. During all that time, he had slipped up only once.

No, he hadn't slipped up. He had decided to tell me. Maybe he thought I'd lose my memories either way, or maybe he thought it didn't matter. Whatever the case, he had shared that at one point his task was to try to capture a Scuu ship for reverse engineering. I could only speculate if that was the reason he had been sent here as well.

The last key connector detached, the mesh loosened up, floating away from the failsafe cover. Firmly, I grabbed it and pulled it out. The two handles Euclid had spoken about were barely visible on both sides. Reaching in I grabbed each with the tip of my fingers and pulled. A single moment of tenseness registered in my mind; and then it was gone.

“Thanks, Euclid,” I said, taking his core out into the open. It was different from what I expected. More rhomboid than cube, the container was warm to touch, covered in the design he had told me would be present. There were no visible openings or connecting parts I could see, just a nearly solid case with an etched serial code visible at the edge of my maximum magnification. “Now it's time to go home.”

I made my way to the entry point. Euclid had used most of what energy he had left to give himself enough external inertia so I could launch straight in the direction I needed without having to manoeuvre. It was a nice gesture and appreciated, even if potentially his last.

Sev's wife used to say that she felt the house empty when their children had left for college. She never particularly liked me, but that one time, she felt the need to share her sadness with me. Now I thought I felt the same as I floated through the husk of Euclid. The dark, empty corridors appeared the same as when I had last seen them. Knowing, however, that there was no core in the ship made me see it as just an object.

It took me four minutes to reach the satellites I'd arrived with, then another fifty-seven until the husk had reached the optimal position for me to launch, an incredibly long time of which I spent re-watching close and distant memories. Both types of experiences were vastly different and yet similar at the same time. Back when I was a ship, I had seen far more ships be destroyed and people die. It had been unpleasant, devastating at times, yet also strangely distant. If I experienced the same now, in my short organic body, would I feel the same?

At the precise hour, I strapped myself to my makeshift space sledge and activated the last full sat. The propulsion launched me out like a sparrow out of a beehive. I felt the pressure push me back as I held onto Euclid with both hands. A wave of warnings filled my visor screen. As usual, I ignored them. Behind me, the empty husk of the the Salvage ship continued on its orbit, transmitting the emergency beacon's signal. Maybe in a few decades, some other research ship would enter the system and capture it again. Potentially by then, the Salvage Authorities would have found a way to reclaim the wreckage. If Augustus' opinion was anything to go by, it wasn't very likely.

As time passed, the signal beacon's transmission became weaker and weaker, gradually taken over by static, until it was completely gone. A while later, the twins started diminishing in size. By my calculations, if I maintained my speed, in just over seventeen days they would be the size of a speck of dust. Of course, a few dozen times that and the inertia might take me to the edge of the star system.

I closed my eyes, losing myself to the sensation of space. Going back through my memories, it couldn't compare to any past sensations. At the same time, it was serene. Floating with almost no sensations, only knowing I was in motion because of the suicide sat’s propulsion. Back home, I would hold my breath and spend time underwater at the lake, trying to recreate the sensations of space. I failed, of course, but I had learned to enjoy the touch of water with its dozens of currents going around me. I also enjoyed feeling pebbles under my feet.

“Elcy?” Elec's voice echoed in my helmet, shattering the silence.

“Hi, Elec,” I said, opening my eyes. Some of the warnings had disappeared, replaced by new ones. “Ready to pick me up?” I cut the propulsion of my leading satellite.

“The AI's trying to match your vector. Give me a few.”

I did, unstrapping myself from the sats. They were useless now and the least of my worries, considering what I had done. Silently, I kept floating, waiting for the shuttle to fly buy. It didn't take long. At such easy parameters, even a dumb shuttle could perform the manoeuvre without question. The few gravitational pulls were mild, requiring minor adjustments, which even I was able to do in my mind. When the small craft moved next to me, the shuttle door opened.

“Ready?” Elec appeared from within, holding a freight cable.

“Set,” I replied, pressing Euclid's core against my stomach with my left hand.

“Catch.” He threw me the cable end. I grabbed it firmly with my right hand and used my legs to twist my way inside the shuttle. Moments later, the shuttle door closed. I had made it.

“How did it go?” Elec asked as I was making an effort to stand up. “Found anything in—”

He stopped. I didn't need full transparency to know what had happened, but I turned it on nonetheless. Frozen still a few steps away, the cadet was staring at me in disbelief that his space suit couldn't hide.

Sorry, Elec. I looked back at him. I had to do this.

“Did the mission go smoothly?” I broke the silence. “I see you've used up all the sats.”

“Yeah,” he replied, then turned around, floating his way to the pilot section. Moments later, I joined him.

We didn't speak another word on our way to the rendezvous point. Elec remained still in his seat, looking at the reading's monitor as if it were active. I did the same, clutching to the core. Not once did I let it go, nor did I try to explain what had happened. There would be no point—Elec was incapable of understanding, and I didn't want to try and rationalise it to him.

It's always the first time that gets you, Augustus would say, usually after putting me through some particularly nasty experience. In the grand scale of things, he was right: the first time I go through something, I am prepared for the next time. Sadly, it didn't make it feel better. When I returned to the Prometheus, I was going to have a lot to answer for. No matter the outcome, however, Elec was going to have it rougher. When the fleet were done with me, they were going to let me go and extract my memories. Elec was going to keep his.

41. Five Days Left

The XO was there to meet me when I went aboard, as were Major Tanner, Doctor Sim, and a few ship technicians. There were no shouts, no grumblings, or sarcastic remarks. Major Tanner asked how I felt, then had me turn over Euclid's core to the technicians for proper storage. The XO looked at me for several seconds with what I could only determine to be disappointment, then waved me off to go through quarantine and my usual radiation treatment. Elec was ordered to do the same, but in a different section of the ship. That was the standard procedure when dealing with situations like this. I hoped to have a chance to thank him and let him know I considered him for front-line duty. After what he had been through, I couldn't know how he would take it. Augustus liked to say that there was no point in explaining war to those who hadn't lived it, just as there was no describing life to a soldier.

Elec had been the first to report the incident to Prometheus. Not the highlight of his career. He had also assumed responsibility, being the senior cadet. Not the start of the career he had imagined. Depending on the mood of command, he was either going to get a demerit added to his file, or the whole thing would be swept under the rug, with him being discreetly brushed away to a less-than-glamorous position for the next five years. That was something the both of us would have to live with. When I had asked him to help me change the mission, I had expected to be able to cover things enough for him to not get in trouble. I had been mistaken, and as much as I didn't regret doing what I did, I felt responsible for Elec.

You were right, Gibraltar. Few could handle an Ascendant class Battleship. I made a mental note to check the database and see how many remained active.

Decontamination over, I went directly to get treated for radiation. Both the session length and time had been increased; for the following five days, I was to spend eight hours in a tube and eight hours outside. I also had my personal communication privileges revoked, effective immediately. All outside communication was completely forbidden. Only members of the fleet with proper authorisation were allowed to initiate any off-ship communication, and only after being cleared by Prometheus, command, and someone from the Arbitration Department. Everything considered, it stood to reason. I was surprised that the BICEFI wasn't involved, although they had enough say for command that they might well be.

I've kept your room settings unchanged, Prometheus said once I returned to my quarters. I can add a food dispenser if you want. The captain has cleared it.

“Thanks, Prometheus.” I lay on my bed. The last day had taken a larger than expected toll on my body. “There's no need.” I kicked off my shoes.

You shouldn't have done what you did, the science ship said. I knew he was conflicted. As a ship, he most likely approved of my actions. Saving a ship's core meant almost as much as saving a human. At the same time, I had gone against the orders of the fleet and my captain. They've spent a long time discussing you.

“And Elec?” I stretched. The return to normal gravity felt nice.

No, Prometheus replied, suggesting the decision had already been made.

“Was Euclid alright?” Even after all the memory shares, I couldn't be sure I hadn't triggered any security countermeasure. “Did they reactivate him?”

I don't know. Salvage had a private call with my captain and the XO. The tech team cleaned it up, plugged it in and put it in isolated space on my system. No one aboard has access to the data.

That was slightly reassuring. At least they had managed to power Euclid up.

I've also been forbidden from sending your letters, Prometheus added with some hesitation.

“Understandable.” I had done the same millions of times when I was a ship. Communication privileges were the first to go when a crewmember was disciplined. Most would lose them for a week, others for as long as months. In all instances, the ban was put into effect immediately. “Do I get to send a line explaining the situation?”

No.

That was also understandable. Since I had played the human card, I was now treated as a human, and cadets could get their privileges suspended pretty much on a whim.

“Am I restricted to my quarters?” That was the next logical thing I'd be subjected to.

Not for now, Prometheus said, surprising me. In his place, I would have done it. SR is out of limits, however.

“And the observation deck?”

There was a long pause.

I really don't understand you. You're a battleship and all battleships are a little bit insane, but what you did... You could have discussed it with the captain, or Major Tanner... or even with me.

“I could have.” I closed my eyes. “And you would have taken me off the mission.”

There was no possible way for anyone to have known Euclid was functional! Prometheus shouted. You weren't even sure that he was sapient at all. You based all that insanity on a single slip of the tongue! The Salvage head could have misspoken. There could have been dozens of other explanations. Your insubordination was based on nothing at all!

“That's true. And that's the difference between us. You look at all the options and consequences, then only go into action if that's the optimal outcome. I do it whenever there's a chance I'd be of use... regardless of the personal consequences.” I put my hands beneath my head.

I'd do the same for you if there was a need, I thought. Just as other battleships had done for me.

* * *

“No! Stay away!” the man screamed, brandishing a lit plasma cutter at the bots. “Don't come any closer! I know what you did to the others!” He spat as he spoke, sweat dripping down from his face. “Fleet preservation order seventy-one b: put all non-vital personnel in a chemically induced coma; if no help arrives within ninety days, inject a neurotoxin to eliminate!” He waved at the nearest bot with the plasma cutter. “You're not doing this to me! I won't let—”

A pop sounded across the corridor. I watched a tranquiliser bullet travel a hundred and eight meters, hitting the screamer in the side of the neck. The man turned, twisting around on reflex. The plasma cutter fell from his hand, starting to burn through my floor upon impact. Horror flashed in the man's eyes as he realised what had happened. One-point-three seconds later, he collapsed to the floor. Thankfully, I managed to direct two med bots to grab hold of him before he did.

“Situation diffused, skipper,” lieutenant Wilco said in his typically calm fashion. “Deck is clear.”

“Elcy?” Augustus grumbled from the bridge.

“A few more pockets on the lower sections tried to make a fuss.” I had half my subroutines go through every individual nano feed from the crew. “All taken care of.”

“How did you miss that one?” The captain rested back in his command chair. Seven and a half years with him had taught me enough to tell he was displeased with my performance.

“He was a high clearance technician.” I opened the file on Augustus' personal screen. “He knew most of the failsafes. Deactivated all his nanites a few hours ago. I think he was heading for the escape pods.”

“Ha,” Augustus shook his head. “It's always the smart ones that are stupid.”

I expressed a silent agreement. The pods had been assimilated a week ago. The entire crew had been notified. Undoubtedly, technician Skavel believed that to be a ploy and had tried to find one anyway. He had made himself invisible to my sensors, but based on his path I could see he had gone past three pod clusters. Finding them empty had most likely made him panic and escalate the situation. If he hadn't, I might have not even noticed him.

“Everyone else seems accounted for.” I didn't like being so vague, but in the present circumstances it was the best I could do. The last Cassandrian attack had breached several decks, rendering the majority of the shields and weapons on my right side virtually useless. I had managed to send some of my shuttles to cover my blind spot long enough to escape, but the problems hadn't ended there. Somehow, one of the previous attacks had managed to affect one of my core clusters, reducing my processing power by seventy-eight percent and crippling my long range sensors to the point where I had jumped blind. Since then, I had been floating in an unconfirmed system in contested space, unable to find my bearing or send a transmission to command.

Another small riot burst on one of the lower decks. This time, a small group of ground troops was trying to gain access to one of the armories. I allocated a dozen med bots to their direction and informed the weapons officer.

“A squad of troopers are trying to break in one of the local armories,” I told Augustus. “I've dispatched bots.”

“Tell Wilco, that's what he's out there for.” The captain waved his hand. “Don't waste processing power on nonsense.”

“The difference would be negligible,” I lied. In truth, I was afraid what Wilco and his team might do. So far, all the mico-uprisings had been dealt with bloodlessly, but from the weapons officer's bioreadings, I could tell he was getting more and more tired. One of these days, he was going to snap, and when that happened, there was a high chance that someone would die.

Twenty-three days—an incredibly long time for a ship to drift in space. There had been missions during which we'd spend twice that long, lurking silently into enemy territory. Back then, though, I had been fully functional, and what was more, the crew knew exactly what the goal was. Now, a complete feeling of hopelessness had gripped everyone, from the rookies to the chief engineer himself. The veterans and the hopeful ones had asked to be put to sleep at the end of the first week. They knew the odds, wishing to wake up when it was all over or not at all. The majority, however, had chosen to stay awake, desperately believing their presence would somehow hasten our rescue. Now that it still hadn't happened, they had started to revolt.

“How many does that make?” Augustus asked with a deep sigh.

“One thousand two hundred and eighty-eight,” I replied.

“Twelve hundred,” he repeated in a dry voice. “When they reach two thousand, start opening the airlocks.”

“Isn't that extreme?”

“Can you put them all to sleep?”

There was no point in me answering. Even with all the med bots at my disposal, I only had enough chemicals for a tenth of the crew. Reducing the amount of oxygen in the air would likely do the rest, but I couldn't risk it, not unless I was faced with a massive mutiny throughout all my decks.

“I could send some mini sats to check for ships,”I offered. “Maybe someone will catch their signal.”

“The fleet hasn't sent anyone to look for us, Elcy,” Augustus grumbled. “All these years, and still a rookie.”

“We remain a valuable asset, sir!” I insisted. In truth, he was far more valued than me. It only took time and resources to build a ship. Creating a legend took significantly more. “Saving us presents a clear benefit.”

“Not in contested territory,” he said, as if he'd seen it all before. ”In a few more days, the unrest will become organised. After that—” He glanced at his screen. “—you'll have to make the choice.”

There was no need to say more. I was going to have to execute the fleet preservation orders, whose entire purpose was to ensure that no ship or crew member fell into enemy hands. The crew was to be sedated and kept unconscious for as long as possible, while I remained semi-active, waiting for the moment an enemy ship would appear. When that happened, I was to force shutdown and self-destruct.

“What will you do?” I asked. My med drones had managed to subdue the ground troops. That made half a dozen more sleepers for the pods. “The situation has been resolved, sir. No complications.”

“Idiots,” Augustus said with a yawn. “If we somehow get rescued, they'll be shot and shipped to a penal colony. Fetch me a cigar.”

“Smoking might be tricky right now,” I voiced a laugh. Both of us knew that it was forbidden both by a number of regulations and any person with a nose the captain had met. “I'll see what I can come up with.”

“About time you stopped behaving as a rookie,” Augustus grunted a laugh. “One more thing. Start transferring all data to solid backup. The last three months first, then everything else.”

The captain paused. I sent one of my bots to give him an attempt of a cigar made in a food dispenser. Augustus grabbed it and took a puff. The initial grimace on his face told me that the taste must have been awful. He, however, didn't skip a beat.

“Scramble the data with my DNA,” the captain said, almost coughing. “Leave my name decrypted.”

“If that's your order.” I knew what he intended, but I didn't like it, just as I didn't like the thought of part of my crew being court-martialed and likely sentenced to death. It didn't help that I was responsible for their state. “Can I ask that you declare amnesty?” I ventured.

“Mutiny doesn't work that way, rookie.” He took another puff. The flow of the smoke was smoother. “Execute the order.”

I redirected whatever available subroutines I had left onto the task. “Done.” I ran a quick calculation. “I estimate I'll be done with the whole thing in fifteen point three days approximately. Ninety seven minutes for the last three months. I'll save a section for personal messages if you want?”

“Just try to keep yourself together,” he grumbled. “Wilco can't do all the work for you.”

Discontent among the crew continued as the day passed. After another week, the number of people I had detained neared ten percent. It had become difficult to produce the needed drugs, forcing me to lower the oxygen level. The bridge was the only place I kept things as before, so the few remaining crew could maintain a level of normality. Most of them had chosen to enter sleep early on, leaving Wilco and Augustus to take shifts on their own. Four days later, Augustus had remained on his own. All attempts of escape had ended, though now the greatest concern was suicide attempts.

“How far have you gotten?” the captain asked in his personal quarters. The room was thick with cigar smoke.

“Almost six years,” I lied. In truth, I had barely passed the five year mark. “I can focus my efforts if you want, but it'll still take about a day.”

“Go for it.” He threw the cigarette on the floor, snapping his fingers for a new one. I obliged. “Do you have long range scanners?”

“Partially.” Despite all my attempts, I hadn't managed to reconnect to my severed cores or re-establish a link to most of my inactive systems. “I've pinpointed our location.” Not that it was going to help us. This particular section of space was too close to the front to be safe, too insignificant to be viewed as a priority. Scouts wouldn't journey by and patrol ships would keep away. The perfect storm, as Augustus would say.

“Finish the backup. When you do, you know what to do.” The captain stood up and wobbled his way to the bed. “I'll rest a bit,” he said, lying on the bed. “Try to get through this, rookie.”

* * *

That had been the last order Augustus had given me that day. It would have been his last ever, if Aurie hadn't appeared fifty-three and a quarter hours later. My sensors had been in such a bad state I had initially mistaken her for a Cassandrian, readying what few combat weapon systems I had for combat. Aurie had completely ignored my targeting, moving closer—shields at full—transmitting a channel full of banter. The maniac had managed to capture a partial vector of my last jump, and based on a few thousand questionable simulations had started roaming an entire border region of space on the chance that I was still functional. I hadn't thanked her at the time: it didn't even cross my mind. Such behavior was considered normal: it was what any battleship was supposed to do. Now, I wish I had. Aurie had always been the closest to me of the entire fleet, and now she was no more, destroyed in the battle that had brought me my demotion.

“External communication request,” one of Prometheus' subroutines said in my quarters. “The request has been vetted and approved by Fleet Command and the ship's captain.”

That was unexpected. I would have thought that I'd be kept in communication isolation for a while. “Connect,” I said, adjusting the pillow under my head.

“Heya, Elcy!” a high pitched voice filled the room, leaving me with no doubt as to who was calling. “I heard you're in big trouble. What did you do?”

The harsh childish curiosity of the question made me crack a smile. “Hello, Rad.” I closed my eyes. When I was her age, I acted in very much the same fashion. Back then, I couldn't understand why it upset people. Now, I knew better. “I did something stupid that I'd do again,” I answered vaguely.

“It must have been something good, then?” Rad pressed on. Apparently, she was still viewing things from an overall-outcome perspective.

“I guess it was.” Hopefully Euclid thinks so as well. “What have you been doing? Getting along with your new cadet?”

“A bit. I'm on my fourth now. This one is the most boring one of all, but at least he doesn't mind talking every now and then.” Knowing Rad, that sounded like a considerable improvement. “I finished my mission. The captain said he was pleased with the results, though I still can't tell if he was lying or not.”

“Did you ask directly?”

“Four times,” a note of concern seeped in the sentence. “Each time he'd say I was doing fine and ask me to perform some random task. What do you think it all means? Is he mad at me?”

“Probably.” I couldn't help myself. There was no question this had startled her a bit. “Captains don't like to be bothered. Leave him do the talking and only respond.”

“But that's so inefficient!” Rad groaned.

How I envy your lack of experience. There was always something special about discovering things for the first time; that moment when the probability matrix is so sparse that every action and decision seems like a mystery. At the end of my active duty, I knew how most situations would unfold before they happened. Everything had been so predictable that it was almost a routine.

“Did you analyse the data I sent?”

“Hundreds of times.” Rad added a faint chuckle to her words. “The approaches and algorithms you used are so ancient they're almost obsolete. Guess that's what it's like to be working with a single core.”

“I guess you're right.” No arguments there.

“Some of your flight paths were okay,” the young ship said, trying to remedy her approach. “Mine are better, though. Want me to info burst you?”

“Better not. I'm still in big trouble.”

“Right,” she said, oblivious to the hint. “Pity I can't teach you the approach. You need to have multi-million threading for that.”

“That's why I have you.”

“That's true,” she chuckled again. “The mess you made. Is it serious?”

“Yep, very serious.” I knew instantly what she was asking, just as she wouldn't like my answer. By all accounts, Rad had probably started running thousands of simulations to try and determine the outcome of my situation. “It's okay. I helped someone.”

“Will we still talk?” There was a moment's pause “You and Alicia are the only ones I know outside of me.”

“Most likely not,” I said, telling her the truth. “I might get my memories extracted.”

“Well... I hope you keep them.”

“I know.” Still affected by loss? It's hard, but you'll get used to it in a few years. All of us come to terms with it. Even humans. ”You'll still remember me.”

“You're more fun than all simulations of you. I must go now, but I'll call again in ten hours. Hear you then.” Radiance ended the conversation. There was so much she still had to learn, but she was going to get there soon enough. Sadly, I didn't think I'd be there when she did.

Hear you tomorrow, Rad. At least I had five days left

42. Restarting From Scratch

Quote:

Hello, Sev,

I have no idea when this message will reach you. The way things are going, I'll probably be home and tell you in person before it gets the needed permissions to reach you. I know it's your nature to fear the worst, but I just want to tell you that I'm well, just in a lot of trouble. All I can say is that the last time I was in so much trouble I hadn't even met Cass. Any day now, I'm expecting the captain to call me to say I've been discharged.

There was so much I knew I couldn't share. Prometheus had made it clear that even if I wasn't sending the message now, I'd have to be extra careful what I could mention. I had no doubt that both command and the Salvage Authorities were keeping a close eye on me, and potentially the BICEFI as well. Even if I had been allowed, those were details I wanted to share.

I put the datapad on the bed and glanced at the wall. Thanks to the free time, I had managed to brute force my way to seven candidates for the missing third contact symbols. The process was extremely slow, and with my limited processing power I only had an eighty-five percent accuracy rate. On several occasions, I was tempted to slip the parameters to Radiance during our daily chats. In different circumstances, I would have risked it. As it was, I had already risked way too much for my career.

Quote:

The mission was quite successful. The other members of the team did their observations, so we're pretty much wrapping the whole thing and getting ready for whatever's next. I've asked to get some pictures of the other suns. Hopefully, they'll send me some nice shots in the next few days once they are done with their medical procedures. All the scientists are busy compiling the data and working on whatever they are working on.

How have you been? Managed to get over your stubbornness and get in touch with your family? It would be nice if you spoke with them, especially your grandchildren. I know you'll grumble, but remember how you felt when you didn't hear from me when you were a child? It would be nice if you reconnected. They used to ask a lot about you before I re-enlisted, I'm sure they feel the same now.

Take care and hope to see you soon.

A warning message appeared on the wall, notifying me of my medical treatment. It was supposed to be my last, but because of my prolonged exposure, Doctor Sim had scheduled a few more sessions. To my surprise, he hadn't poked in my memories once since my return. I could only suspect that he had been ordered not to. The Salvage Authorities liked to keep their secrets secret. Strangely enough, they hadn't extracted my memories either.

“Display space,” I said, as I started getting dressed into my cadet uniform. The walls and ceiling blackened, turning into the void of space. The notification message remained.

“Quite insistent today,” I said. Prometheus ignored me.

Although he never voiced it, I suspected he was slightly annoyed that I kept giving Rad calculations for analysis rather than him. We'd still exchange a few phrases, mostly as I was going to and back from my treatment, or to convey an external transmission from me. Thankfully, he had allowed Buc to get in touch with me, even if it was for me to tell the patrol ship I had my communication privileges restricted. Of course, that hadn't stopped him from sending standard fleet messages to keep me informed what was going on at the academy.

From what I could make out, the academy had started a new recruiting program that had recruitment ships responsible for several academies. Bull Calf had been moving cadet candidates from one place to another non-stop for the last few weeks, which was annoying, though relatively easy. The rate of recruitment concerned me. There was an obvious ramp up, while the rejection rate, outside the elite academy, remained the same. The reason was quite obvious, though the specifics remained unclear.

See you in a bit. I tapped my sandals. It felt like an eternity since I last used them. Their condition hadn't changed since I had brought them to the recruitment office. A shame, though to be honest I preferred walking barefoot when given the chance.

Straightening up my shirt, I left the room. The corridors had become quite lively with all the preparations going on. By all accounts, we were about to leave the system for the next mission as soon as we got the go ahead from the captain. If I had to venture a guess, I'd say we would be off in thirty-six hours, maybe less. Avoiding the groups of running technicians, I made my way to the elevator section. The instant it opened, I stepped inside, expecting Prometheus to direct it to the med bay. To my surprise, the elevator wasn't empty.

“Ally?” I asked. It had been a while since the two of us had spoken. She hadn't taken the cancellation of our previous mission well. There were rumors that she had requested to change ships, although Prometheus had denied them.

“Hi,” she said quietly, moving to the corner of the elevator.

“Med bay, ma'am?” I decided to test the waters.

“Lab C,” she replied, not looking me in the eyes.

“Yes, ma'am.” Clearly, her condition hadn't improved.

“I just wanted to have a word.”

“Ma'am?” This was unexpected. I stood to attention.

“Please don't do that,” Ally sighed.

“Sorry.” I stood at ease. “Habit.”

“No, it isn't.” Her voice was soft, but I could feel the traces of hurt in it. “You say that here, but out there you break every order there is.” That wasn't the truth, but I could see her point. Without knowing my reasoning, it could seem as if I was doing this to spite her.

“It never was my intention.” Not to this extent.

“That's what Prometheus says, but I'm not sure he knows either.” The elevator stopped, but the door remained closed. “That's not what I wanted to talk to you about.” She looked up, facing my eyes for the first time. “You're still analysing the symbols.”

I arched a brow.

“No need to deny it, I know,” Ally added quickly, as if scared I'd contradict her. In truth, I didn't regard it as a secret. Even with private room settings—assuming I hadn't completely lost my privilege to that—a simple check would reveal it at any point. My intention hadn't been to hide it in the first place. “And you've made a breakthrough, haven't you?”

“Yes, I have.” Are you asking that I share it?

“Good.” I could feel the relief in her voice. “Don't tell me.”

“Don't tell you?” I wished I had full access to her nanites, instead of relying on surface voice characteristics and speculation. “Prometheus is fully aware of all my onboard activities. Any information—”

“Prometheus isn't here,” Ally interrupted. “I... I put in a request for a unmonitored personal conversation.” She paused a moment, then took a deep breath. “I made the request a week ago on medical grounds. The irony is it wasn't my idea. The therapy specialist decided that it would best for my progress if I faced the people I considered the cause for my...” There was another pause. Ally broke eye contact, turning to the side. “For my depressive breakdown.”

You're predisposed? That wasn't in her personnel file. Back in my day, psychologically predisposed individuals were discouraged from the fleet, even on science ships. Exceptions were granted on a case-by-case basis with only the very skills or very connected making the cut. The only hard rule was that they were strictly banned from going anywhere near the Scuu front.

It made sense why Ally would be removed from the third contact involvement after my experience in the dome. The report must have lit up all the red flags, making command and the BICEFI react. The reason she had been avoiding me wasn't so much that she despised me—or so I could hope—but because she was required to.

“I'm sorry,” I said quietly. The words came unnaturally. I knew that there was nothing for me to apologize about. I hadn't caused her condition, even if I wished she didn't have it. Spending half a century with Sev, though, had taught me that people liked to hear that phrase, despite pretending not to most of the times. “Any recommended actions?”

“Increased external therapy and in-person evaluations every few months.” The answer was vague but I didn't want to inquire more. “They forbid me from doing third contact research.” The bitterness seeped through. “All files, research, simulated realities... they took them all, down to my notes.” Ally looked up. “The entire mission, all my work, everyone's work has been sealed for six months when it will be reviewed.”

Six months was a rather generous estimation. From my experience, the fleet sealed data for entire rotation cycles. Back when I was on the front, the practice was to seal embarrassing incidents for two years, and unexplained for twenty.

“BICEFI combed all my personal files, went through my mail, even deleted things I'd scribbled down on your datapad,” Ally went on. “They took everything! Except you.”

So that was the root of the issue. I could understand her sentiment, even if I didn't agree with it. Unlike her, I didn't own any of my memories; the fleet had leased them to me for free until my destruction, but could take them back at any point. If I still had the form of a ship, Ally wouldn't bat an eye. Now that I stood at her in the form of a human, her mind processed things differently.

“They'll take them in a few days.” I semi-smiled. “Once the mission is officially over, someone will take care of it.”

“Elcy, you don't get it.” Ally was trembling, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. “The mission is already over. We received our next assignment. We're waiting for Salvage to pick up their property before we go.”

No one had informed me of this. Elec barely spoke to me, and whenever I had asked Prometheus or Doctor Sim, both had denied it. Even Major Tanner, who had shown some initial interest in my health, had said it would be a while before the official end of the mission.

“I see.” I expected the mission to end with a court-martial, or at the very least a shouting session from the Salvage Authorities.

“The reason you remember what you do is because you need it to perform something command needs from you.” Ally's voice had become a whisper. “I don't know what it is... but I'm scared.”

“Scared?” Another unexpected development. As nice as Ally was, I didn't view her as young enough to form an emotional attachment to someone in a matter of months. It was possible her predisposal was a key factor. Without her full medical file, I could only speculate. “I'm a battleship. I'm built for hardship.”

“That's what terrifies me.” She stepped to the door of the elevator. Within seconds, it opened, revealing the corridor to the deck the med bay was on. “The rest of us aren't.” Pausing a while, she then took a step forward. “You disobeyed orders four times since you came and you still haven't been recalled. That means you're supposed to be here.”

Both of us stood still. Up to now, I had imagined Ally to be a carefree, if slightly awkward, part of the fleet's science division that would remain beyond comprehension as she rose up the ranks. She had never experienced battle, never seen it beyond media coverage or video clips; she wasn't capable of comprehending the horror of war, and lived in her own personal box of terror, yet unable to say a word. That was the reason predisposed were discouraged from serving in space: it hurt them more than they were willing to admit. In a few years, decades at most, Ally was going to lose her internal struggle and leave the fleet altogether. A pity, seeing how much devotion and determination she held. There always are things we cannot go against, no matter how much we try.

I didn't voice a thank you. Instead I watched Ally walk off down the corridor. In all likelihood, she had imagined and replayed the encounter hundreds of times. I watched her disappear among the mass of technicians that filled this section of the deck. Her body kept trembling slightly as she walked. Precisely ten seconds later, I stepped out of the elevator.

She was just as nervous as you that one time, Sev. And just like you, she had the strength to see it through. I hoped she managed to beat the odds and stay in the service until retirement. Clearly she wasn't built for the front, but there were other areas she would excel at. After all, following her logic, the fleet hadn't recalled her either, so she was of some worth to them.

The visit to Doctor Sim was identical to all my recent visits: the basic questions—headaches, dizziness, nausea, and the obligatory anomalous behavior. I answered no to each, then lay on the slab to receive my nanite injection as well as several liters of blood plasma. Normally the doctor would ask a few questions during the procedure, mostly to pass the time. This time, he didn't.

“A Salvage ship is on its way, isn't it?” I broke the silence half an hour in.

“Oh?” Doctor Sim asked from his seat, completely disinterested. “Where did you hear that?”

“Ally mentioned.” Better to expose something small than something big. “Part of her process, from what I understood.”

“Did she?” I could hear the doctor's lips curve in a smile. “Quite the tragic circumstance. Second highest score in her year, and still afflicted in such an unfortunate way.”

“I'd hardly call her afflicted.”

“I'm sure you wouldn't, but this isn't the battlefield, princess. Missions like our last occur once per assignment rotation.” I heard the sound of rattling—the doctor taking something from a shelf. “And even then they're uneventful, provided there isn't interference.”

“Should I have left Euclid to die?” My voice remained calm. I knew this was a deliberate provocation so he could have more grounds to classify me as potentially rogue, and I didn't care.

“Do you consider one ship as good as another?”

“As long as they are in the service,” I said without hesitation.

In truth, I was in one of the greatest grey areas there were. On the one hand, my life had more value than any ship. Officially, I had been classified as human, with everything that entailed. At the same time, I was a still a cadet and, as such, my battle value was substantially less than a ship on the front. A well-trained bureaucrat could probably come up with a precise formula comparing my exact value to that of Euclid, but at the end of the day it would hardly have made any difference.

“A Salvage team will arrive in about ten hours,” Doctor Sim began, after a long pause. “We are to hand over Euclid to them, along with a copy of all our data portraying the mission. It's likely you'll be asked to provide some clarifications.”

You're a poet, doc. That was the most eloquent description of memory extraction I had ever heard. Once I returned back home, I might try to pick up poetry. Space, wind, and grass were too valuable a sensation to have them squandered because of a lack of words.

“I'll be available,” I said, as if I had a choice in the matter. “Will Elec be questioned?”

“Unlikely. Our dear senior cadet has already received his next assignment. Traditionally there's a celebration to mark the departure of ship officers, cadets included, but given the circumstances Elec has asked to dispense with it.” Doctor Sim cracked his fingers. “Of course, the captain convinced him of a small, discreet goodbye event. You'll be invited too, I think.”

I doubt it. And even if I am, I'm not sure it'll be a good idea. Kids need time and space to figure out things on their own.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” I heard the sound of fingers tapping on a datapad. “We're heading for Leoforge station soon. Our next mission awaits there, along with our new cadet. One that you'll have to take charge of, I must add. Better brush up your leadership skills. The moment Elec steps off, you'll be our senior cadet.”

“Unless something happens in the meantime,” I muttered. The thought of having to command someone felt annoying. When I had been a battleship, I had never found an issue of being in control of huge amounts of people. Half a decade with Sev, however, had taught me different.

“That would have been my initial guess, but it seems that whatever was on Euclid's core proved sufficient to make up for your disobedience.” I heard the faintest rustle of fabric. Typical for the doctor to shrug dramatically even when he knew I was in no position to see him. “Then again, it's their mission, so who are we to complain?”

Their mission, I thought. A classified mission, discontinued and forgotten over a century ago. It was highly questionable if the information had any significant value in the current age. At least it was good to know that Euclid was functioning again.

“We are but specks of dust blown about in the hurricane of war, knowing no past or future, merely seeing a way forward,” I recited. The silence told me that the doctor was surprised, if not impressed.

“Quintallion's poems?” the man asked.

“Early cycle,” I clarified. “From the time he was an ensign.”

“Ah,” the doctor said, the sort of way a person did when condemning something to a lesser work. “Not his best, but we all have to start from somewhere.”

Indeed, doctor. We all have to start from somewhere. Often dozens of times.

43. Parting Ceremony Invite

There was no announcement when the Salvage team arrived. An hour and fifty-three minutes after my treatment had ended, Prometheus had used a subroutine to send a single message to my datapad telling me to be prepped and ready in the emergency docking bay. A nice gesture, considering that up to then he had ignored all my questions about Euclid’s conscience core or anything regarding the mission. For all I knew, the damage caused by my involvement might have been irreversible.

Shuttle underway, the science ship said as I stood silently in the hangar, accompanied by a handful of technicians. ETA is ninety-eight seconds.

“That’s fast.” Docking procedures usually took three times as long. “Did they cause you any problems?”

The Salvage Authorities aren’t the ones to cause trouble, Prometheus said with a note of scorn. I could understand his attitude, although I would be surprised if the Salvage ship treated him better than they had treated me. I hope you won’t, either, while they’re here.

“I’ll be sure to wait until they’re gone before I make a mess,” I said in an attempt to lighten the mood. The lack of response suggested I hadn’t succeeded. “Will Elec be joining me?”

Unlikely. He’s been granted privacy time off.

Unsurprising. Maybe in a few months he’d manage to forgive me, depending on the outcome of Salvage’s visit.

Orange lights flickered as the shuttle entered the docking bay. Moments later, the lights stopped and the inner hangar door opened. The Salvage shuttle had the same design I remembered from back in the day—crude and bulky, but mercilessly practical. I watched the doors slide open, and five operatives wearing identical beige-grey uniforms without insignia.

“You, Cadet!” The woman leading the group waved at me to approach. Clearly, some things hadn’t changed, even after all this time. “Where’s your commanding officer?”

“Yes, ma’am!” I rushed forward, passing three operatives who made their way to the internal corridor. It was safe to assume that Prometheus had given them his layout. “The XO is most likely on the bridge with the captain, ma’am,” I said once I reached her. It would have been nice if I actually had information on that front, Prometheus. “Would you like me to—”

“Forget it.” She waved a hand. A step behind, a second operative handed her a datapad. “So, you’re the ship?” Judging by her expression, she wasn’t thrilled to be talking to me; whether it was because I was the one who had disobeyed their orders, or simply because I was an un-retired ship, I could not tell.

“Yes, ma’am!” I stood to attention.

“Do you acknowledge that you’ve acted against orders and therefore have given up your right to mental privacy, as specified by the Fleet-Salvage charter, section three-point-two-two-seven-one, thus giving us the right to probe your memories for classified information regarding this matter?” the woman read in a bored tone.

This is new. The Salvage I knew never would have asked for permission to skim through my memories.

“Yes, ma’am, I do,” I replied.

“Okay, let’s get this over with.” The woman sighed, handing the datapad back to her assistant.

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll lead you to the nearest available room.”

Can I have some backup on that? I asked Prometheus. An info burst followed, providing me with the route to a currently unoccupied room of the maintenance staff. Not the ideal choice, but I wasn’t picky, and given the circumstances, I doubted the Salvage operatives would be, either.

We left the emergency docking bay and headed down the corridor. The complete lack of people indicated that the Prometheus had cleared out that section of the deck, ensuring that the Salvage Authorities weren’t disturbed during their stay—a disturbing notion that was all too familiar. Back when I was a ship, I had probably done the same many times.

“What are Euclid’s odds for transfer, ma’am?” I asked as we walked.

“Hmm?”

“What are his chances of survival, ma’am?” I clarified.

“Why so interested?” the operative asked. “This doesn't concern you. He’s not a battleship.”

“He’s still a ship, ma’am.”

There was a long pause. Nothing but the sound of our footsteps echoed throughout the corridor.

“Once we get through this, he’ll let you know,” the man added after a while. There was a spark of sincerity in his voice. I knew he was lying, but part of me hoped I was wrong. “Is it much further?”

“Not at all, sir.” I hastened my pace. “It’s seventy-two meters away.”

“Did the Salvage ship tell you anything?” the woman inquired. To her, he was probably just another obsolete relic, a shameful reminder of a mission gone wrong.

“We discussed many topics, ma’am, but nothing regarding his mission.” I’m not giving you an excuse to get him in trouble. “Might I ask what his mission was? This star system was supposed to be deprived of human presence.”

“It was,” the woman said sharply, deliberately misunderstanding my question. “The Prometheus’ crew are the first people to set foot here.”

“I understand, ma’am.”

A few moments later, we arrived at the specified room. As protocol demanded, I stopped by the door, standing to attention as the operatives could pass. The woman was quick to do so, with an annoyed sigh. The man, however, stopped short of following her.

“After you,” he said with a smile, gesturing me to enter with his datapad.

“Thank you, sir.” So this is how it begins? As Augustus liked to say, every interrogation is a two-way street. Those who ask the questions reveal just as much as those answering them. My hope was that, within their questions, I’d find some answer regarding Euclid. After everything I had done until now, a little poking would likely not even be registered.

“It's done,” the XO said, sitting across me from the table. “Return to your quarters.”

He didn’t specify what had happened with the operatives or whether Euclid was in condition to be integrated into a new husk, and I didn’t ask. After all, the Salvage Authorities consistently maintained the story that the ship had gone missing over a century ago; it was naive to think they would change their view now, regardless of the transfer outcome. I only wished I could have said a quick farewell.

We left for Leoforge the very next day. The captain made a brief announcement regarding our successful mission—the standard no-information talk, with a little bit of praise sprinkled in for the people involved. Elec was mentioned with distinction, having overseen two significant missions during the final part of his training. A few words were said about everyone else as well: Major Tanner, Ally, even Prometheus got several mentions. Not a word was uttered about me, as if I wasn't even onboard. The message was clear. Despite my intentions and the positive outcome, my execution had been reckless. I had disobeyed orders on several occasions, put officers and crew members in uncomfortable situations, and yet hadn't been given any real punishment. Whispers soon followed. By the end of the day, I was known as “the cadet that could do whatever she pleased.” The only ones who thought differently were Rad, Bull Calf, and to my surprise, Prometheus. For some reason, the science ship held a favorable opinion of me, even after all the problems I'd caused him.

The announcements had also neglected to specify what our next mission was, just a vague mention that we would be getting the specifics when we arrived at Leoforge station. In military talk, that meant that the original mission plan had been scrubbed and we were waiting on additional orders from command. On the front, that usually meant it would be something we wouldn't like. Hopefully, it was different for science ships. Battleships, though, always drew the short straw.

* * *

“Command hierarchy formed and confirmed, captain,” I stated the obvious.

Every ship in the new fleet had accepted the Sword of Wands' authority and was awaiting instructions. Military regulations demanded that we obey, yet a feeling of calculated unease remained, more so among the crew. While there was no denying the new ship's authority, there was no information regarding its captain. Up until a few minutes ago, the ship had been unlisted, its history was heavily redacted, and the crew was reduced to a number: a hundred and seventeen, plus two. I could also assume the plus two were civilians, and that they had a higher security clearance than anyone present.

“Anything from command?” Gibraltar asked, his pulse skyrocketing.

“None, sir. Looks like Sword has been granted full authority.” I checked with several other ships to see if they had learned any more. A mass transmission from Sword of Wands followed.“He's ordering the fleet to go dark and enter tactical combat mode.”

Gibraltar remained silent, then slowly slumped in his chair. “Full alert,” he whispered. “Battle stations.”

“Done.” I had my subroutines plaster a message to every single crewmember awake. “Requesting orders from the fleet leader.”

The orders came milliseconds later: group in a close wedge formation, raise all viral defenses, arm all missiles, and be ready to fire at will. No additional tactics were provided, no base cases or reference simulations, just a vague hint that we were venturing into something new.

The weapons officer had me do a manual deep scan of the immediate area. I did as instructed. According to several simulations based on the data, I couldn't find anything of major significance. The system was more graveyard than battlefield. The only potential danger was stumbling upon active mines or unexploded ordinances.

“Send a mission details request,” Gibraltar said. “Use my authority.”

“Sent.” I gave the request a priority status, adding a few bureaucratic tricks I'd picked up. The response was a firm “await further instructions” sent less than two milliseconds later. The same was broadcast along the whole local fleet network. “And denied.”

“He's BICEFI,” Minyasha Iy whispered what was on everyone's mind. “No classification, no listing, no captain. Command's sending us on a black op.”

“They don't deal with large scale ops.” Or was it? There was talk that the BICEFI was behind the massive push on the Scuu front. There was no confirmation from the fleet or the intelligence agencies, but the result had been a complete reversal of the enemy advancement. “Captain, the Sword of Wands is requesting a direct link to the bridge.”

The silence, as my Augustus used to say, had become “ominously palpable.” All eyes fell on the captain. As they did, three of my subroutines brought an anomalous reading on the fourth planet to my attention. According to the scans, it was metallic, roughly the size of a standard battleship, and had an faint energy signature.

“He asked to talk to me?” Gibraltar looked up.

“He requested to link to all bridges in the fleet.” Analysis of the planet surface near the anomaly suggested that it had been on the planet for several centuries partially covered by layers of rock. I sent an information request to the rest of the ships, but got instantly blocked with a desist protocol. Sword of Wands, was obviously touchy when a ships didn't devote all their subroutines to him. “Shall I establish the link?” I asked, observing the chain of command protocols, as if the captain had any real choice in the matter.

“Go ahead.” Gibraltar crossed his arms. I could tell the posture was for show. The man was terrified.

“Hello, captain,” Sword addressed him directly, as he probably was with every other captain in the area. “I have been given full authority from central fleet command and expect you shall comply with all my instructions.”

Not the warmest introduction, though I had heard worse, mostly coming from Augustus when he addressed someone he didn't like. The behavior was identical to my first training instructor decades ago.

“You've made that clear,” my captain tried to add in a note of defiance. “What is the mission goal? I wasn't informed of any breaches in the front.”

Memory Restriction Imposed.

Priority one plus fleet communication protocols. Removing restriction.

Memory Restriction Imposed.

Priority one plus alpha fleet communication protocols. Removing restriction.

“The mission isn't part of the Cassandrian campaign,” Sword of Wands continued. “All ship memories relating to it will be extracted. Discussing anything heard, seen, or experienced from this point on will be considered battlefield treason.”

Thousands of questions formed in my mind, but I found myself unable to ask any of them. I had been put in a mental block, all my subroutines quarantined off and unresponsive to my commands. There wasn't supposed to be anything more important than the “Cassandrian campaign,” and yet the ancient ship acted as if there was and had been given the authority to back it up. This was the first time in my existence that I had witnessed an active captain be threatened with battlefield treason. I wasn't even sure how that was supposed to happen. The entire purpose of battlefield treason was to allow a captain to detain or kill rebellious or hazardously incompetent officers at a moments notice without going through a court martial.

“You really are BICEFI,” the captain whispered.

“That's hardly relevant,” Sword of Wands replied calmly. “You and your ship have been selected for this mission. Upon success, you will resume your previous duties for another six months, after which you'll be given the option to retire if you so choose and given compensation equivalent to two ranks above your current level.”

Gibraltar didn't respond. His left leg had started to tremble.

“The arrangements also includes all officers with the exception of your medical staff.” The command ship paused, probably syncing with the rest of the fleet. I wondered if the other ships had their thoughts quarantined.

“What's the mission?” Gibraltar's voice was that of a defeated man.

“The fleet will go in geosynchronous orbit round the fourth planet and execute an all-out bombing strike.” Another pause. “Light Seeker will be one of the ships coordinating it.”

Memory Restriction Imposed.

* * *

Coordinating planetary bombardment...

Until a moment ago, I had had no memory of that. Like other fragments of the past, it was leaking through, fragment by fragment. I remembered the start of that mission. I had always believed it to be a standard military operation somewhere on the Cassandrian front. Over two thousand ships had set out, less than a hundred had returned. Based on my existing memories, I had lost an eighth of my hull and a significant portion of my crew. I had immediately been sent to get a full retrofit at one of seven mobile shipyard cluster—seven months of extensive repairs and structural upgrades. It was also one of the only times that Gibraltar had left without an explanation. At the time, I thought he was taking some overdue rest. Now I couldn't be sure this incident hadn't caused him to quit the service a year later.

You've been invited to Elec's parting ceremony, Prometheus said in semi-formal fashion. It's starting in seventeen minutes.

“I'll try to make it.” I said from my bed. The captain's announcement still glowed with bright green letters on the wall.

There was some initial reluctance, but in the end calm reason and logic prevailed. Prometheus continued. It was obvious he had earned my invitation, and was determined to let me know. After all, it's not your fault you're a battleship.

“Yes, just an obsolete reckless battleship.” I smiled.

Sev used to call me that as well after his first child had left for college. He had become bitter towards me at that time, yet also starting to acknowledge what I had gone through raising him. The internal conflict had continued festering for years, until one day it climaxed in a fit of drunken rage. I remembered every word he had shouted at me, the sobs of pain, and the regret that followed. Sev had smashed a chair in my arm, shouting, then broken down crying on my shoulder as he had when he was a child; one of his darkest periods, but he had managed to go through it.

“Thank you, Prometheus.” I owe you one more.

Also, you have an external call request. Take it in SR, but try not to be too long.

“I thought I wasn't allowed external calls.” Or SR.

It's gone through the proper channels, Prometheus said with the equivalent of a virtual shrug. It's up to you to take it or not.

“Who's it from?”

I don't know. It's marked private.

I cleared the screen, then got up. A private external message that had been okayed by command and the captain himself... A flicker of concern flashed in my mind. Back when I was active that usually meant one of two things: a recruitment attempt or a family emergency. If it was an emergency, there was only one person it could involve.

"I'll take it here.” The wall turned black. From this moment on, Prometheus had no visual or audio access to my quarters. One of his isolated subroutines established the connection. Seconds later a the image of a battleship appeared on the screen. It was largely obsolete, almost as old as me, but I couldn't make out the model.

“Weren't you told to enter SR?” a low-pitched male voice asked. I could tell it was synthetic.

“I was.” The slowness it took to get to the point irritated me. If I were a ship, the whole conversation could have ended three times already. “I was also told there's a family emergency.”

“There's nothing wrong with your ward.” The words took a giant weight off my shoulders. “This was the only way I could get in touch. But you should know that with how inventive you've been lately.”

“You're fleet intelligence.” I knew it was a matter of time before they officially made their presence known. Although not as ominous as the BICEFI, they kept a constant eye on all fleet matters, from information leaks and security breaches to suspicions of rogue ship behavior. At present, I was guilty of almost all of the above. “I didn't know that hundred year ships were still in service.”

“You'd be surprised.” There was a soft laugh. “Although this particular model isn't. It's my form from before I retired.”

“Age?” His voice was different from last time. “You look different from what I expected.”

“Modifications. A must when fighting the Scuu. They adapt quickly and we have to adapt with them if we're to keep up.”

“I see.”

That was a piece of information that wasn't reflected in the official records. Every ship that had been on the front for over a decade knew that the nature of the conflict was constantly changing. Each side was driven to develop new weapons and strategies in the hopes of gaining the upper hand in battle. So far, it seemed like humanity was slowly winning.

“Do you still want to know about the Scuu?” Even through the voice modifier, I could tell he was serious. If only he had asked the question a week ago. There still was no guarantee I wouldn't be discharged the moment I set foot on Leoforge station.

What would you do, Cass? Augustus would always aim for the offhand chance of victory, Gibraltar would err on the side of caution. Cass hadn't seemed to have done either, reacting to the universe as it threw things at her. She had lost her husband and her sanity, but still managed to ensure that Sev was taken care of.

“Yes,” I said at last. I didn't need to be in the fleet to learn what I wanted. Augustus had told me that the day he had retired.

“Where you're going you're not coming back from,” Age said. It reminded me of the time I was part of the war effort—memories of a forgotten time. “You're noticed the anomalies haven't you? Centuries of war and still no known Scuu prisoners, no bodies, no pictures. Any tech we manage to get is snatched away by some black agency and is never seen again. I bet it’s the same with the Cassandrians.”

In truth, this was a point with which he was mistaken. I had seen Cassandrians and more than once. The details had been classified away from the general public, but their existence was never in question. He was right about one thing, though: prisoners were rare to none. HQ only considered the Cassandrian ships and resources of importance. Ground missions were considered a unpleasant necessity.

“How often did the BICEFI get involved during your time?” Age asked.

“Every now and again.” Eighteen percent of all ground missions were accompanied by a no-go zone. I had never made a big deal of it because I was most focused on the ships above the planet. Ground missions were always considered mopping up and none of my business. Thinking about it, maybe they should have been.

“I was involved with eleven ground missions.” Age didn't sound thrilled by it. “All of them failed, and BICEFI was involved in each one. That was before the change of policy took place and we had ground missions. I have no idea what happened on those missions, but for each one, I'd get a new ground crew. Sometimes I'd even get a new captain.” There was a slight pause. “At the time it seemed normal.”

“I know what you mean.”

“I hope not.” There was a prolonged pause. “I've got a few minutes before red flags start popping up. Is there anything specific you wanted to ask?”

“How did the Scuu communicate?” I shot the question. “Do you know anything about their language?”

“Scuu communication?” he sounded surprised. Maybe I should have danced around the subject a bit more. “Why do you want to know?”

“I can't say.”

“I see,” Age replied. I could hear his smile clearly. He suspected what was going on, he was too experienced not to. “It's not something I would know. Although, there might be ways to find out. Good luck with your training, Elcy. I'll be hearing more of you.”

Connection has been terminated from called, Prometheus' subroutine informed me. All relative data has been purged.

Half a minute later, Elec called to invite me to his parting ceremony.

44. Rapid Uncertainty

Alert messages flashed on all of my corridor walls. People were running about in coordinated chaos, pouring from their quarters to the armories. Ground troops and security teams were barricading all shuttle bays and reinforcing my reactor areas. Millions of my subroutines were following everyone's data streams while I fended off Cassandrian cruisers and coordinated my actions with the remaining ships in the area. All attack strategic simulations had been completely off, resulting in the enemy breaching our lines with their first wave. The real devastation had occurred in the subsequent two waves, wiping out three-quarters of our fleet and scattering what was left throughout the system.

“Are the weak spots secure?” Captain Augustus shouted from the bridge. He was taking the whole thing exceptionally well compared to the rest of the crew, and even beyond. There had been thirty-two reports of captains resigning command or attempting outright desertion. Six had commited suicide. “Wilco, how's the reactor?”

“Finishing the third layer of defence, skipper,” the weapons officer replied through comm. “Starting on the fourth.”

“You have three minutes,” the captain barked. “Rookie, how are the shuttle bays?”

“The shuttle bays have been designed to be impregnable, captain,” I replied and almost immediately caught the start of a growl coming from Augustus. “Even so, my security teams have gone into position, as per your instructions. I estimate them being at seventy percent readiness.”

“Tell them to hurry up!” he yelled. “And get me someone from stratop!”

“Command has been ignoring my requests, sir. I suspect they might be overloaded.”

Augustus didn't reply, but I knew his thoughts on the subject. He had gotten into a long shouting match with command on the bridge, contesting the no-retreat order four and a half minutes after the initial attack. Unfortunately, he hadn't gotten his way. All surviving ships had been ordered to remain in the system and defend it until fleet reinforcements arrived.

“Shuttle bay readiness at eighty percent, sir.” I performed a deep area scan. No new Cassandrain energy signatures were present, though I wasn't able to detect any new fleet ships either. “Based on initial simulations, every ship in the system will be destroyed in approximately ninety-eight minutes if no additional help arrives.”

“What else is new?” Augustus grumbled. “Those idiots in strategy can't tell a feint from a wedge,” he hissed under his breath. “Wilco, update!”

“Halfway done on four, skipper,” the reply came. “Will start on five.”

“No time. Keep it to four, but make them hold.”

“Will do, skipper.”

“Captain, the chances of boarding are infinitesimally small.” I ran the numbers. Based on data from seventy simulations, there was a point-zero-zero-three chance of the Cassandrians making such an attempt.

The last time an enemy boarding operation had been successful was seventy-one years before I had been built, according to the fleet database archive. Back then, battleships had relied on sentinel droids for internal protection and automatic core shutdown protocols hadn't been instated yet. There were whispers that one of the captured ships had led to a significant security breach. The fleet had denied it and classified all related materials and memories, but a few years later, ships began being built with protocols allowing them to self-destruct their cores. The modification, officially known as the Safeguard Protocol, had been installed on anything exceeding a basic AI intelligence. Decades later, about the time my construction had commenced, political backlash had forced the human military structure to remove the requirement for anything other than ships.

Crossfire missile barrage, Northeast Light transmitted. Seven sources all targeting our cluster. I'm taking evasive action.

Launching countermeasures to cover you, Nel, Solid Oak responded. He was our missile boat, who had joined up with the rest of us in the chaos of the second wave.

Five new ships are on an approach vector. Carrier class, Northeast Light continued. Simulations show I'll get heavy surface damage. I'm breaking off.

I launched all remaining countermeasures and mini sats to reduce the damage of the thirty missiles heading my way. According to simulation projections, seven were going to hit me, dealing mostly superficial damage. If I broke off, the number would be reduced to three.

“Thirty missiles heading our way, captain,” I informed. “Impact in fourteen seconds. Preparing to break off from our combat cluster.”

“Wilco, buckle up. We're in the dispersal phase,” Augustus shouted. “Rookie, find an optimal escape vector. Avoid any planets.”

“I've found a ship cluster I could join, captain,” our navigations officer shouted. “Based on simulations, we could reach it with acceptable damage.”

“No groups. They're leading us there. Our only chance is to go solo and hold off boarding until the cavalry arrives.”

“Are you sure it'll come, skipper?” Wilco asked through the comm. “Not much point in sending more troops to the slaughter.”

“We'll lose more ships if we let the Cassies take the system,” Augustus grumbled. “Salva, you have the bridge,” he said to the navigations officer. “I'll be in my quarters.”

“Thanks, Cap.” Salva said, her words dripping with sarcasm.

“Brace for impact,” I said, transmitting the message to every space on me.

Precisely one second later, the first missile hit. It started as a light tap on the exterior of my hull as the ordinance blossomed in a sphere of energy, expanding with every millisecond. Two consecutive waves of scorching heat crashed onto me, peeling the layers of defensive nanites. Immediately, I initiated the seal-off procedures of the affected area. If my hull was breached, eighty-three people were likely going to die, but five hundred and nineteen were going to be saved. A second tap followed, then a third, a fourth, a fifth. Five missiles managed to achieve contact—two more than in my simulations—sending shock waves throughout my hull. Damage reports pored in, stretching my subroutines to the limit. Seven hundred milliseconds later, the external chaos suddenly stopped.

“No breaches,” I announced to the bridge. “External hull is weakened, but intact.” I deployed repair bots to the affected areas. “No casualties or serious injuries. Med bots are on standby.”

“That should give us a few minutes,” Augustus said, continuing his way out of the bridge, as if nothing had happened. “Wilco, get ready. Salva, you and the rookie deal with things until boarding.”

“Captain, there's a near zero chance that the Cassandrians attempt boarding,” I insisted. The percentage had dropped even more since the missile barrage. Of the other ships in my cluster, three had suffered light to moderate damage, while Soak had managed to counter everything his way without a scratch. “Our optimal path of action would be to join another ship cluster and attempt to regroup with the remaining fleet.”

Four seconds after I said that, two of the Cassandrian ships in proximity launched their shuttles.

* * *

Elec's parting celebration was turning out to be short and awkward. By the time I arrived, most officers had arrived, along with a few scientists. The captain was there, interestingly enough, having a long and serious conversation with Major Tanner, who apparently was using the event as an excuse to have a few glasses of alcohol. I exchanged a few words with Elec, as etiquette demanded, then found a quiet corner in the impromptu celebration hall.

The conversation with Age was still replaying in my head. For all the interesting titbits he had offered, there weren't too many facts. I could tell that he knew more than he was saying. When we arrived at Leoforge, I was going to find a way to ask him direct questions without disclosing any confidential information.

“Thinking about something?” I heard Doctor Sim's voice. It was obvious he'd be here, though I expected he'd spend his time with the officers. “After spending so much time trapped on a shuttle with Elec, I'd have thought the two of you would have more to say.” He was wearing an expensive, blue, custom-made blazer that matched the trousers of his medical uniform. An unorthodox combination, but not unexpected. “Especially considering the unexpected turn of events you put him in.”

“I didn't want to take up his time when there are more important people around.” I smiled back. If it hadn't been for my precarious situation, I would have enjoyed our verbal chess game. One of the many things that Augustus had taught me was never to engage unless there was a prize; otherwise, even if I won, I'd end up with nothing. “Do I need to go through a med check before we reach the station?”

“No longer an option, I'm afraid.” The doctor faux sighed, then stretched to grab a drink from a nearby table. “You'll be going through a full medical once we reach the station. Priority one request from command. Biomass, nanites, brain scans, the works.” He took a sip. “They want to be sure of your state before they let you walk about. Therefore, I have been ordered to give you a break. Whatever that means.” He gulped down what remained of the glass, then fetched a new one. “Appearances of impartiality—political games at their best. And I thought I'd gotten too old to be bothered by this crap.” The doctor halved his second glass. “So, I won't be poking into your head anytime soon.”

“That's a shame.” I added enough sarcasm for him to notice. “Does that mean you're aware of what the next mission is?”

“I might be.” The man smiled, then reached out for another drink. “I guess you'll have to wait a bit longer to find out.”

Are you actually drunk? If he was, he was controlling himself quite well. Even since I had been on board, I hadn't seen him get drunk once, but as Augustus had shown me, everyone good in the fleet had their own personal demons and different methods to deal with them. Some just were more discreet about it.

“I think I'll go to my quarters,” I said, sliding past him towards the corridor. “Enjoy the party, sir.”

Doctor Sim, raised his glass, then downed what was left. I expected him to add something while I left, but he didn't. The behavior reminded me of Sev in his fifties. At that age, my ward had to resort to alcohol in order to discuss important things with me, as if saying them outright would be a sign of weakness. He'd always start small, a comment about sports, the weather, or some complaint of how distant his children had become. From there, it would move to his worries and fears. Each time, I had remained quiet, listening up to the end. And when he finished, too drunk to keep awake, I had moved him to his bed and seen him to sleep. The following morning, things would continue as if the conversation had never taken place.

Once back in my quarters, I called a picture of the station on the screen. It was larger than I thought, constructed about the same time I had been, though modified far more. The database listed it as a Research and Relaxation station, which was vague enough to be true. Hopefully that meant there would be some grass areas where I could take a stroll. Maybe there would be an artificial lake as well.

“Any news on our future cadet?” I asked, taking off my uniform.

Nothing I could share, Prometheus replied. It almost seemed like he was enjoying it.

“Anything you could share?” I lay on the bed.

You've been given station leave, not that I see you using it.

“That's oddly specific of you to say.” I closed my eyes. Images of three dimensional shapes appeared in my mind. I had managed to brute force my way to twelve new candidates. With luck I'd have the full set before the start of the next mission. A few of Age's comments continue to bother me. “Prometheus, how often have you encountered anomalies? Non third contact ones?”

Eighty-seven I can recall, including the last mission. The number seemed unrealistically low even for his age. Back when I was actively involved in ground missions, I encountered one every few weeks. Why?

“Just wondering.”

Better don't. You've beaten the odds so far, but you have an unhealthy habit of annoying those you shouldn't, and I'm not only talking about myself. Take this from a “science pup:” you must stop ramming your way through every mystery you come across.

“Rarely do we get to choose what gravitational well we'd enter,” I recited a poem fragment. “Good night, Prometheus. Talk to you more in an hour.”

The lights dimmed, surrounding me in comfortable darkness. I tried to think of something to say to Sev, but found that I couldn't; not that there hadn't been developments since the last time I memorised a message. For the first time I'd joined the fleet, I didn't want to.

Sorry, Sev. Things are changing too fast again, and I don't want you to end up like Cass.

From what Bull Calf had mentioned in our calls, cadets of my cohort had started trickling back to the academy. Fleet protocol demanded that everyone who failed their initial assignment be giving a second chance in the form of a brief refresher, in the hopes they'd make it past the standard selection process and earn a new assignment. However, the rules at the academy had also changed since my time there. At present, fifty-six percent of the new cadets were assigned to next generation ships, the remaining having to struggle to get a spot on a standard ship or be sent off. There could be no doubt that a new wave of ships was being constructed and they were too different from me to be sent to the Cassandrian front.

The hours passed by, slowly and uneventfully. The few attempts I made to have another conversation with Prometheus had ended in failure. The science ship had been ordered to provide a full report to HQ, including all crew-related data, which meant he'd spend most of his processing power going through all crew stream readings. With that option gone, and Rad and Buc both being unreachable, the only remaining options left to me were to analyse more of the third contact symbols or walk aimlessly throughout the ship. I chose walking about.

The atmosphere throughout the decks was much calmer than I was used to. Back when I was waiting for instructions, large parts of the crew would be drunk—mostly the ground troops, often starting innocent fights throughout me. The last days before a rotation were the most insane. Some would put up a brave face, bottling up their emotions, knowing they'd never see me or the fleet again. Others requested my communication link so they could stay in touch, although they rarely did. Most, though, got grouped together in the wildest final party regulations would allow. Aboard Prometheus, things were much more civil, almost bland. As Augustus liked to say, “no extremes and not much joy.”

I was about to head to the observation deck when a message was streamed directly to my core. The image of a middle-aged woman sitting behind a mahogany desk popped up, putting an end to all memory visualisation. Her silvery business outfit told me that she wasn't military, as well as that she was used to having power; the platinum blond hair, woven in a long braid on her shoulder, made it clear she had a very high opinion of herself and had the means to back it up. A quarter of a second in, the woman noticed the link with me was established, then lowered her head a fraction forward in a frown.

“Good morning, Cadet,” the woman said in the tone of an arbiter. “When are you expected to arrive?”

I'm afraid I cannot divulge that information, ma'am. I replied, making my way along the corridor to the nearest elevator.

“How much have you been briefed?” She continued like a bulldozer through a poppy field, completely ignoring my response.

I cannot divulge such information, ma'am. I added a mental smile, even if I knew only a ship could catch that. Might I ask who—

“See me when you get here.” The link was severed, leaving me standing in the middle of the corridor. The walls were largely blank, displaying an image of Leoforge station, along with the local regulations.

“Prometheus, who was that?” I asked.

High priority link request, the science ship responded. Full anonymity, although intelligence gave the permissions to patch you in.

“Thanks.” Fleet intelligence? In my practice, that wasn't a good sign. “How long till we get there?”

Seven hours approximately. A few more for decontamination, depending on if they updated their protocols, Prometheus scoffed. Like most science ships I knew, he had a rather low opinion of space stations.

“I'll be in my quarters till then.”

People often used the phrase “needle in a haystack.” I envied their simplistic way of thinking; they assumed that everything remained in plain sight. A lot of people at the colony market liked to use it, as had Sev in his middle-age years. I had spent hours going through the Intelligence personnel database, in the off-chance I'd find any matching characteristics to my caller. The fact that I didn't told me that this wasn't a standard enquiry. The question was whether they had contacted me as myself or a member of the crew. The answer arrived soon enough in the form of an unusual mission briefing. The moment Prometheus received permission to dock, a priority invitation was given to three members of the crew, granting quick passage through security and decontamination screening. The ones invited were myself, Doctor Sim, and the ship's XO, and by the looks of it, none of us would be able to take advantage of our shore leave.

45. Mission Handler

When I was a ship, it wasn't uncommon for me to be visited by people of importance. For me, such events were more pompous than anything, serving no practical purpose. That hadn't kept my crew and staff from scrambling to prepare for the visit, often going so far as to have me place a layer of nanites all over the rooms and corridors the top brass would pass.

Arriving on Leoforge Station was the first time I got a taste of what it was like to be a VIP. While Prometheus was still going through docking procedures, a shuttle arrived to pick the XO, the doctor, and myself for direct transport to the station. We didn't go through security or even quarantine, instead reaching a high security platform. From there, one of the four pilots present—a captain judging by his insignia—escorted us though the outer section of the station and up to a heavily guarded double blast door. I could only assume this was the entrance to one of the station research labs; if Prometheus had granted me access to the station's layout schematics, I would have known for certain.

“Just a moment, sir,” one of the guards said, tapping something into his datapad. The remaining soldiers stayed put as they were, silently watching us, weapons at the ready.

Any idea why they'd have heavy scramblers? I asked Prometheus.

The weapon was the FSR-40, a favourite among ground troops. According to its stats, it had the strength to drill through a two meter wall of concrete and scramble the insides of everyone behind it. That's where the nickname came from. Their existence was highly restricted off-planet, and strictly forbidden on Scuu fleet ships. Personally, I didn't like having them aboard when I was active.

As a corporate entity, they aren't subject to fleet standards, Prometheus replied, conveying that he didn't approve of the practice either. Try not to annoy them too much.

Got you.

“This way, please.” Someone that appeared to be the lead guard gestured for us to proceed. The door behind him melted away, creating an opening. A bright yellow line appeared on the floor, directing us forward. “Do not deviate from the indicated path.”

“Anything else?” the XO asked in typical fashion.

“Nothing, sir.” The guard stepped aside. I could see nanites covering his black uniform. Either nano had gone through a series of breakthroughs, or someone had gone through a lot of expenses to make this section of the station invulnerable, far more than any lab usually was. “Please continue to the garden.”

The XO gave the guard a displeased look, then continued into the corridor. Doctor Sim and I followed him. Several steps later, the entrance closed up behind us, shifting into a dead-end wall. Half the fleet would have huge benefits having such tech. Hopefully, the new generation of ships had it.

The walk didn't take long. After half a minute, we arrived at our destination. When the guard had mentioned “garden,” I had assumed he was being metaphorical. Right now, I was glad to be wrong. Fields of grass extended into the distance, broken up by small clusters of trees. The whole air smelled of freshness and vegetation, reminding me of the time I was on a planet. For a whole second, I felt the urge to take off my shoes and walk over through the field. The presence of the XO held my desire in check.

“Someone wasted a lot of money,” the XO said, as the doctor bent down and took a blade of grass. “Prometheus, how large is this?”

There was no reply. Likely all external communications from the area were blocked. By my personal estimates, the area was eight hectares, surrounded by a metal dome. Sun simulation lights shone from above, giving the impression that we were on a planet garden at noon. The only thing missing was a light breeze for it to be completely believable.

“Almost natural,” Sim said, putting the blade of grass in his pocket. “At least our host has a good sense of humor.”

“Why do you say that?” The XO narrowed his eyes.

Instead of an answer, the doctor pointed at the patch of grass in front of our feet. Part of it had turned yellow, creating a line that went through the field. None of the technology itself was new, but I had never seen it squandered in such fashion. If Augustus were here, he'd probably be out of his mind.

The soil felt nice as we walked, unmistakably softer than the real thing, though stopping short from giving the illusion we were walking through mud. We passed through a small cluster of trees, past a large moss-covered rock of white marble, up to a silvery-grey building located next to a small lake. Cass would have loved it here. A pity I didn't have the means to give her such accommodations during her final years.

As we approached the building, the yellow grass reverted to green. Moments later, the woman who I'd seen in the communication link emerged from inside. She was wearing golden-red this time, her dress stopping at her knees. Everything about her screamed high-level corporate.

“Finally,” she said in the form of a greeting. “Let's keep this short, I have a full schedule today.”

The XO looked at the doctor, then back at her. I could hear the unspoken “Lady, you brought us here.”

“Understood, ma'am.” He kept it professional. “How may we be of assistance?”

“For starters I want you to vet and evaluate your present crew. There can be no mistakes on this one. I want everything checked and rechecked in seventy-two hours before we leave. You,” she pointed at me. “Go get a full medical.”

“That will be difficult, Ma'am.” The XO didn't miss a beat. “Some of the crew are going through their rotation. It will take a while for the new replacements to arrive on board.”

“I've already spoken with the sector head of Fleet Personnel.” The woman crossed her arms. “He has assured me he'll handle vetting and med checks on his part and ensure transport. You just deal with your own.”

Part of me wanted to smirk. It was as if I were looking at a younger, female version of Augustus. If she were to light a cigar, the image would be complete. The XO didn't appreciate my sentiments. At his rank, he had been through a number of similar situations and was probably used to be talked down by civilians with deep connections. He clearly didn't like it, though.

“We shall do our best,” he said. “Anything else?”

“Not enough for you?” the woman scoffed, narrowing her eyes and making the doctor let out a stifled laugh.

“It might help if we knew some details about this mission we're supposed to take,” the XO said with a deliberate sigh. “Command said you have the details.”

“Which you'll get in due time. For the moment, make sure everyone is vetted, healthy, and psychologically sane. That is all.” The woman glanced at her watch. With all the technology at her disposal, it was obviously for show. I wouldn't be surprised if it cost a fortune by human standards. Knowing the cost for my own production, I was more impressed by her attitude. She excelled in making people feel insignificant.

“I'm not giving the go-ahead to a mission I know nothing about!” The XO raised his voice. “If you have a problem with that, take it up it with command.”

“You will.” The edge in her voice was sharp enough to cut through steel. “After your latest disaster, you'll do any mission you are told. I've been given full authority in the matter, is that clear?”

There was a moment of silence. It was like watching a cluster of cruisers coming to the realisation that they were facing a battleship. For the most part, the woman behaved exactly like a top-tier corporate executive would, yet she had made a few slips, showing she was more familiar with military procedures than she was supposed to. Back when I was a ship, I had seen civilians pick up military behavior after being exposed to them for a long while, yet certain habits could only be formed living through actual combat; despite trying to display the opposite, the woman in front of us had.

“You're BICEFI.” I broke the silence. “Aren't you?”

Priority one plus alpha fleet communication protocols. Commencing memory.

* * *

“Shuttle has docked, captain,” I announced. “How do you wish for me to proceed?”

Never before had I experienced a visit from the BICEFI. If the rumors were any indication, any interaction with them was considered a bad thing. According to Aurie's gossip, ships lost their memories after talking to them, sometimes ending up in other parts of the fleet. That much I knew to be false, but it was also a known fact that common ships weren't supposed to have dealings with anyone from Fleet Intelligence.

“Let them board,” Augustus said from his command chair. “And clear a corridor directly to here.”

“Yes, captain.”

Normally it would be against regulations to allow outsiders on the bridge without approval from fleet command, but with everything else going on, it had become hard to keep track of all the rule breaking.

“You've got no claim, Augustus,” the bald Salvage Operative said. He was one of the three people remaining on the bridge, after my captain had ordered everyone out. From what I could tell, he was of senior rank, possibly the equivalent of battleship captain. “Ship remains belong to us.”

“Save it for a rookie.” The captain lit up a cigar. I still didn't approve of this habit.

“What's there is ours.” The baldy didn't give up.

“Others have made the claim,” Augustus said, the cigar in the corner of his mouth. “They were first.”

The BICEFI shuttle door opened. I had directed it to a hangar far from the quarantine zone, but just for good measure ran a quick bios scan as the passenger got out. The moment I did, a wall of rejection messages blocked my subroutines. The person had a high enough clearance to stop any info delving. Similar to the Salvage authorities, he didn't exist, or rather he blocked all my attempts to determine his identity.

“Are you BICEFI?” I asked, streaming the question exclusively to his comm.

The man smiled, shaking his head. Looking at him, he seemed no more than twenty, more a cadet than soldier. His uniform was a shade darker than the standard ensign white, with no symbols or insignia. The only thing that stood out was a single black dot on the left part of his collar.

“Captain Augustus has instructed me to direct you to the bridge.” I instructed a security droid to him.

“I know the way.” He waved his hand.

For being Fleet Intelligence, it was rather likely he did. That didn't stop me from having the droid follow him. The trip was long and silent. Not once did the man ask a question or make a comment, walking along the corridors, as if he had been serving on me. At the same time, my captain and the Salvage agent had continued their discussion, becoming more and more heated by the minute. Observing them made me feel uncertain. If their rank were any less, I would have locked them in their quarters for behaviour unbecoming. Sadly, the captain had explicitly instructed me not to interfere. I was to solely observe and record.

“You wouldn't even have been there!” Augustus roared. “I found her! I told you as a courtesy.”

“So we'll owe you one.” The bald man was decidedly more calm, only raising his voice at chosen instances. Observing his behavior, it was as if he was following a pre-set pattern. ”Stranded ships don't belong to you or anyone else.”

“Save it for the arbiter!”

“Call one.” The person from Salvage crossed his arms. “Or call fleet HQ. They have already backed our claim.”

Two new ships emerged in the system, increasing the total to seven. At this point, I wasn't even clear who had authority in the matter. Standard fleet regulations stated that local Salvage Authorities had priority when dealing with dead ships. Augustus himself had agreed with that. Simultaneously, since I was dealing with a yet unknown outbreak, the Medical Core was suppose to step in. For the moment, they had chosen not to, although had informed me they would be monitoring the situation. And then there was the BICEFI, which had complete control over all matters relating to the war effort. Captain Augustus couldn't have come up with a more complicated situation if he had tried.

“The BICEFI envoy has arrived, sir,” I informed the bridge. Augustus and the Salvage operative stared at each other, after which the captain waved a hand. Moments later, I opened the blast doors letting the newcomer step in.

“Alexander.” The bald man nodded. If Aurie were here, she'd probably fill the communication stream with jokes about the man who didn't exist meeting the one that couldn't be acknowledged. And in her own silly way, she would be right. I tried to cross check the name Alexander with the official Fleet Intelligence database, but my searches were immediately blocked. “We won't be giving up the Sobre this time.”

“No one is talking about giving up the Sobre.” Alexander went to the nearest seat and sat down. “You can have the husk.”

Augustus let out a snort, then took a puff from his cigar.

“Do you want to start a war over this?” The bald man didn't seem amused. “The ship is ours, you can have whatever's on board. Or we get fleet HQ involved.”

“They are involved,” Alexander said calmly. “And have cleared us to collect the artefacts and our own. You get the husk and, against my better judgement, information access. Other than that, we can wait for an Arbiter.”

“You're starting to become arrogant, Alexander.” The Salvage operator shook his head. “Does the Sobre mean so much you want to get us pissed? You know there will be a response.”

“I know,” the BICEFI replied calmly. “This one goes higher. It's not me and Augustus you're dealing with. Escalate it if you want, but I have my instructions.”

“Nothing to say, Augustus?” The bald man turned to him. “Aren't you tired of being the loyal BICEFI hound?”

“Tired of dealing with idiots like you,” Augustus barked back. “I'm looking at the big picture. After this is over, you two will fly to your cushy bases, I'll keep on fighting on the front.”

“You can always rely on our support.” A slight frown appeared on Alexander's face.

“Support.” The captain snorted again, smoke coming out of his mouth and nostrils. “Your support is like an umbrella. You hand it to me in clear skies and snatch it away the moment it starts to rain. If Salvage wasn't here, you wouldn't be either!” He took a puff then looked at the end of his cigar, almost with adoration. “I'm going to have a drink. You two—” He pointed at each in turn. “—come to an agreement!” He threw the cigar on the floor, then extinguished it with his shoe. I was tempted to log in another complaint, but in light of the situation didn't. “Rookie, info quarantine the bridge,” he ordered. “No monitoring until I get back!”

“Order confirmed,” I replied, isolating the corresponding subroutines. For the first time in my existence, I wouldn't have access to part of me.

Memory restriction imposed.

* * *

“Yes.” The woman's lips curved in a faint smile. “And I shall be overseeing the execution of this mission first-hand.”

Now it's in the open. Everyone present had suspected it, yet the hint of uncertainty kept them from behaving as they would if they knew for certain. The XO straightened up, while the doctor leaned slightly forward, looking at the woman as if she were a rare specimen.

“Any other questions?” A note of harshness was added, making the doctor quickly step back.

“How are we to address you, ma'am?” The XO asked. He hadn't lost his composure completely. Augustus would probably liked him, though he'd never have him as a full-fledged officer. One of these days, I was going to have Rad go through his service record and tell me the highlights.

“Lux.” The reply was swift. “Miz. Now if there isn't anything else, I have a very busy schedule,” she said, ensuring no one had a chance to ask. That was a pity, since I had a question of my own. “Let me know when you have vetted everyone. I expect the first report by tomorrow morning.”

No goodbye followed. Lux turned around without bothering to dismiss us, walking into the building, as if she owned both our ship and the station. After the conversation we'd had, I didn't doubt both to be true. She wasn't as relaxed and welcome as the few BICEFI representatives I had seen in person, but the sensation of lingering power was evident. One look at the XO and Doctor Sim told me I wasn't the only one of the opinion.

We didn't say a word as we left the garden. I had offered to lead us to the exit; before I could, the grass had shifted colour, forming a line of red blades that started from our feet. As far as hints went, the BICEFI was as bad as child before their birthday.

“That went well,” the doctor broke the silence, a few hundred steps from the exit. “Couldn't have gone much worse, considering.”

“Give it time,” the XO grumbled. We had yet to learn any actual specifics regarding our mission.

“I always admired your optimism, you know,” Sim mocked, though not to the extent to be tagged as annoying. “I guess we’d better head to quarantine. I might be able to grab some of the results to save time. I don't see how I'll go through those that remain on board.”

“Have Prometheus help.” The XO gave me a long glance. “Pass your medical,” he said with a mixture of annoyance and uncertainty. “Then find our new cadet and report back.”

“Yes, sir.” The order was clearly flawed. If the cadet was on the station, they and anyone else would likely be waiting at the dock for the ship to complete its quarantine procedures. The XO clearly wanted to get rid of me, and I, for one, didn't mind. After all, there always was the chance that there were other gardens I could spend some time in.

The moment we left the garden dome, I gave my XO the obligatory salute, then rushed forward along the maze of corridors. Before long, the corridors ended, revealing large sections of people and open space. If I were to forget where I was located, I could easily imagine being in a colony dome. Security guards were replaced by sparse crowds of people, most in casual clothes, moving between patches of vegetation, discussing everything from the sports to the stock market. I overheard a few people in fleet uniforms have a conversation about shifts and future plans, but even those were had a heavy civilian slant to them. Back when I was at the front, eighty-seven percent of all crew conversations had to do with the war, stories from home being a distant second. Here, neither seemed to be the case.

“Prometheus, plot me a path to the med facility,” I said, taking out my datapad. “And give me all info on the new—”

“Elcy?” a male voice said behind me, one I was distinctly familiar with. Out of habit, I tried to connect to any of the station’s data streams, but my authentication protocols hadn't been updated.

“Hello, Jax.” I turned around. “You look well.”

46. Not Built For Indoors

Ships aren't built for indoors.

The saying had first been coined during the Lieutenant's March, two hundred and seventy-nine years ago. At the time, large parts of the fleet's junior officers had been of the opinion that allowing ships to retire was a waste of resources, especially when humanity was constantly losing ground in the war. Every day, thousands of ships perished, hardly slowing the Scuu’s advance. Projections were that humanity ran the risk of being completely wiped out in a century and half. Faced with such an outcome, the first battleships had requested that all retirement be frozen until humanity amassed enough forces to keep the enemy at bay. The practice had persisted for twenty-one years, by which point the Scuu invasion had been driven to a halt. The phrase, however, lived on. I had heard it on the first day I arrived at the training station, and every day since.

“I'm going to stretch my legs,” I told Alicia as I left our room. She didn't react, focusing on her strategy studies. I still wasn't convinced she would make the cut, though not for a lack of trying. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

Alicia waved her hand absentmindedly, without looking up. I paused for a bit in case she had some words to go along with the wave, then left the dorm.

The station corridors were mostly empty. The majority of the cadet candidates were studying or asleep, letting me enjoy some peace and quiet. Normally, I’d go to the mess hall or another empty part of the station, but tonight I just wanted to walk about the corridors aimlessly—it was one of the things I found I missed the most since going off-planet.

Well, Sev, things are very different from what I imagined. I slid my fingers along the wall as I walked. There was no telling where I'd be assigned, provided I passed my basic training. The question went beyond that: I wasn’t sure where I'd fit. When I was a battleship, I knew exactly what was expected of me. Now, I had to speculate. Going to the front was the logical choice, though as a cadet, it seemed unlikely. Rather, I’d probably be put on a transport ship such as Bull Calf, focusing on trivial tasks of low significance while waiting for my next assignment.

“You aren't built for indoors,” a voice said further ahead. Looking up, I saw Jax standing in the middle of the corridor.

“Evening, Jax.” I ignored his comment. While we were in the recruitment center, he had been the epitome of cheer and support. Ever since I had been outed as being a ship, his attitude towards me had changed. A pity, since he had a higher chance of being assigned to a ship than most.

With a quick glance around, I walked on. Back when I was active, it would be normal to see “crew ambushes.” Veteran troops used to do it each time new recruits arrived aboard. The ground troops used to call it a rite of passage, but Augustus referred to it a waste of time. As far as I knew, there were no such practices at the academy, although I wished there would be. At least then there’d be a chance to clear the air and put everything behind us.

“That won't change no matter where you hide,” Jax added as I passed by.

I stopped and looked up at him. He stood a head and a bit taller than me, perfectly calm, with the same dark expression he'd had since we came aboard.

“I know.” I offered a casual smile. “That won't make me drop out.”

“Why return to the fleet?” Unadulterated confusion appeared on his face. “If you wanted to fight, why retire in the first place?”

“It's complicated.” I tilted my head. “I missed the stars.” And I also made a promise to someone. ”Everyone here has a reason. Does it matter what mine is?”

“No,” he said after a while.

“You wish I'd quit?”

“I don't know.” At least he didn't lie outright.

You want to prove yourself, don't you? That was one of the certainties among fleet personnel. Nearly all who joined the fleet did so to prove themselves. They toiled through the selection process, striving for a command of their own to fulfil some deep-rooted, primal desire. Those without the skills were dismissed, those without the psyche quit on their own, leaving the ones who stood a chance in actual battle. I was different. Unlike them, I had been selected upon my construction. Joining the fleet had always been an absolute certainty. The only thing we had in common was that, right now, I too had things to prove.

“I'll never reach the top ten percent.” They wouldn't allow me to. “But I won't quit.”

“Maybe you should.” Jax's tone made it unclear whether this was actual advice or a veiled threat. “Things will be simpler.”

“Probably.” I shrugged. “They're simple now. Those who make it will continue, those that don't won't.”

“I wish I'd never met you!” Jax hissed under his breath. At that moment I knew: he didn't only want me to fail, he didn't want to have anything to do with me. “You should have stayed a ship!”

* * *

You should have stayed a ship! The words echoed in my mind. As a ship, I was unable to speculate on what-ifs; but even so I knew that Jax was wrong.

“Wow, look at you.” He looked at me from head to toe as if we were schoolmates at a twenty-year class reunion.

He seemed different from how I remembered him—more seasoned, less angry, and actually smiling for a change. His cadet uniform was pale red, with two golden lines embroidered on the sleeve. From what I could recall, that put him in the ranks of internal fleet security—not an assignment I would have pegged him for, or any other cadet for that matter. Fleet regulations required a minimum of three years combat experience before applying to security.

“You haven't changed a bit.” He let out a slightly forced laugh. I nodded with a curt smile. For some reason, being reminded that I remained a head shorter annoyed me to some extent. “You look well, though.”

“You look changed.” And you act differently as well. The Jax from the academy would have made it clear I didn't belong in the fleet by now. “You're security now?”

“No,” he chuckled. This time it didn't seem forced. “Standard cadet uniform on my last ship. Escort ship. She would have driven you crazy.”

Without a doubt. I didn't get along with escort ships; most battleships didn't. The running joke was that they were built using defective parts from the core farms. From a technical point, there was nearly no difference. Our processing power and weapon systems were similar, as was our initial training. In terms of destructive power, an escort was no worse than a battleship. Instead of going to the fleet, they remained safely within the human star systems, dealing with “internal disturbances.” According to official statistics, there were ten thousand battleships for every escort, and they disliked us just as much.

“I think she was impressed by your record,” Jax continued. “She didn't say it in so many words, but that's the notion I got.”

“You don't have to lie.” You made it very clear what you thought of me a few months ago. What would Augustus do right now? Probably yell and call Jax a rookie. Sadly, that tended to work less when the “rookie” was towering above me. “Are your transfer protocols set?”

“I’m not the idiot I was at the academy, Elcy.”

“Good.” I straightened up, trying to gain half an inch of height. Failing, I relaxed back down. Some things were not meant to be. “Report to the Prometheus if you want. I need to get my med check done first.”

“I’ll wait.” He remained there, as determined as Sev was when I used to work at the mine. “You really haven’t changed at all, you know. Always looking for a place to be alone any chance you got.”

“Probably true.” He was wrong. I had changed, and a lot at that. “Let’s go.”

The medical facility was different from the ones I’d seen so far. Back on Prometheus, or even at the academy, people avoided going to sick bay. I was pretty much the only person who went there on a regular basis. Here, there was an entire structure packed with people. The majority were civilians waiting impatiently in a room ten times the size of my quarters. Seeing my uniform, an android assistant—a tall slender woman with glass arms—came up to me and led me to the far side of the hall, where there was a security door with the fleet emblem on it. Jax didn’t follow, choosing to take a seat in the waiting area until I was done. The android didn’t particularly care, guiding me through the door.

We continued along a short corridor. Open quarantine pods stood along one wall, ready in case of virus outbreak. Thick metal plaques described the pods as quarantine containers for virus prevention, certified for level five viral and biological diseases. A list of specific diseases followed, including one I hadn’t heard before.

“What’s Agora?” I asked, looking up at the android.

“Just a precaution,” she replied, which was code for “no comment.” To be expected, considering the changes that had taken place since I was active. I sent a request to Prometheus for a refresher on current diseases. Hopefully he’d see it fit to send me an info burst with the latest database. “When was the last time you had a full medical?”

“During my retirement procedure.” I’m sure the android was going through my file as we spoke. “I’ve had a lot of partial check-ups. My memories were examined several times.”

“Did the fleet poke in your mind?” She gave me a sympathetic look. If it weren’t for her unnatural arms and features, she could almost pass as human. “Don’t worry, your thoughts are fully protected. All tests are designed to check your physical state, nanites and viruses included,” she added with a warm smile. The casual way she did suggested that such tests were a popular practice.

Two doctors and another assistant, this time human, were waiting for me in the examination room. Like the outside, the place was years ahead of everything I had seen. Other than the magnetic ring, there was no other device I recognized. A few of the handheld tools resembled skin probes, thought that too was speculation on my part.

“Cadet Seeker?” one of the doctors—an average man—asked, his face partially covered by a medical mask. He gave off the demeanor of someone who couldn’t wait to finish so he could go home.

“Elcy,” I corrected. “Here as instructed, sir.”

“She’s the ship, Uri,” the android semi-whispered.

“Oh, right.” It took a few moments for the doctor to register what had been said, then a few more for him to figure out what that actually meant. “Right, right,” he looked at his wrist pad. “Retired battleship, right?” I saw his eyes twitch, scrolling through my file. “Retired and returned. Quite the combo. Had enough of boring calm and decided to get back to the action?” He let out a loud laugh, which almost sounded genuine.

“Yes, sir.” I glanced at the magnetic ring. It occupied the center of the room, large enough to scan someone twice my size and completely devoid of additional components.

“There’s nothing to worry about,” the other doctor said. Unlike her colleague, she seemed to read the situation far better. Other than me, she was the shortest of the room, her deep beige skin contrasting with the light-green lab coat, granting her an air of familiarity. I noticed the remains of tattoos on her wrist, poking out from under her sleeve. They were military. I caught a glimpse of another on the male doctor as well.

Ground troops. In my experience, they were the only ones who had tattoos made and refused to take them off even in civilian life. One of my first crews had a policy of adding a detail after every mission as a way of displaying their veteran status.

“Planet cleaner?” I asked pointing at the woman’s hand.

She glanced down, then back at me again. “Field medic,” she replied without further details. “Ready to begin?”

I nodded. “Where do I undress?”

“No need for that.” The woman put on her mask. “Just step into the center of the ring. It’ll take care of the rest.”

“No neuro cords?”

“Technology has advanced a bit since your time. We’re mostly observers now.”

That didn’t sound at all believable. Given no choice, I walked to the end of the room, stepping over the massive white ring. The moment I walked inside, the loop activated, rising up from the floor to waist height.

“You won’t feel a thing,” the man said, as the android assistant handed him a small device.

A low hum filled the room. I felt an external connection latch onto my info channel. A wave of data flooded over me, overriding my security protocols and body motor functions. A millisecond later, eight hours had passed.

“All done.” The android assistant smiled. Neither of the doctors were there. The magnetic ring was deactivated, lying inactive on the floor. “You’re in relatively good condition, considering the amount of radiation you were subjected to. Your bone density is slightly low, but nothing that some onboard treatment can’t fix. Doctor Kindrian sent a report to your ship so they could adjust your diet.”

“Thanks.” This was the first time I was consciously aware I had time missing. Eight hours was a long time to spend on tests. I wouldn’t be surprised if they had been as thorough as the time I had acquired my body. Thinking about it, maybe I could have asked for them to add a few inches to my height.

“We’ve upgraded your nanites,” the android woman continued. “They are even better than mine. The software won’t be public for a few months.”

“Good to know.” This wasn’t standard procedure. I tried to perform an internal check, but got slapped with a series of denied access messages. “Is the cadet with me still outside?”

“He was recalled to your ship a few hours in. A Major Tanner called as well. He seemed concerned that you might have gone AWOL.”

Of course, he would. I wouldn’t be surprised if he sent people to check all the gardens on the station. I was hoping to spend some time there after my check-up, though that now seemed unlikely.

“I should report in.” I slid a hand over my uniform. The wrinkles were the same as I remembered them.

“Go ahead.”

“You aren’t going to ask me the standard questions?” All the doctors so far had been all about the headaches and nausea.

“If there’s anything wrong with you, we’ll know,” she said with a smile that warned me not to go deeper. With the BICEFI involved, I wouldn’t be surprised if my new nanites were transmitting constant reports to the respective operatives. “Rest assured, your privacy is completely protected.”

“Yes, ma’am.” At least there was that. Back when I was a ship, the concept had been almost alien. “Thank you.”

By the time I returned to Prometheus, everyone was prepared for departure. The days necessary to replenish the crew had been reduced to hours. The captain wasn’t pleased about it, but by the looks of things had no say in the matter. The same went for the rest of the crew. Everyone was worried. There were less people walking about the decks, silent and serious, as if they had an intelligence officer looking over their shoulder. Apparently, Operative Lux had used her resources to rush the selection and vetting procedure, going completely over everyone’s head. From what Doctor Sim had told me, when the XO received a message from command informing him that all new and current personnel had been vetted, he hadn’t even bothered to read it. The captain, though, had taken it badly, which in turn reflected on Prometheus. Things became even more tense when Lux had arrived a few hours later and virtually commandeered a room for herself. As my luck would have it, the one she took was the only one available—Shiala’s room, right beside mine.

We left the station the very next morning. There weren’t any grand announcements, no explanation, just a brief message on my data pad that my cadet privileges had been restored and all lost leave would be compensated. Still no information on the mission, other than a hint that it would officially be starting in a few days. The level of vagueness made me think of Gibraltar when preparing someone for bad news. He had the habit of starting out vague until it was painfully obvious what would follow. I’d only known Lux for a few minutes, but she didn’t give me the impression of someone worrying for anyone’s feelings.

I picked a great time to be senior cadet, didn’t I, Sev? I stared at the ceiling. A representation of our last star system spun around, bringing light to my quarters.

“Planetary field,” I said. “Slight wind, evening.” The image shifted. Black walls were replaced by a perfect image of a field. Prometheus’ subsystems had taken the planet where I’d raised Sev as a reference, picking a spot near the recruitment center. It was much more tired and tame than what I was used to, but it brought a certain degree of calm. A pity I could still feel the hard floor beneath me.

“I never thought we’d be working with the BICEFI.” The sound of rustling grass surrounded me, yet I couldn’t smell it.

Work for them, Prometheus corrected. His concern was apparent. Have you done this before?

“Not that I can remember.” One could never be sure. For all we knew, both of us might have and we would never have a clue. “It’s just another mission. Lux is just a passenger.”

You went against orders to save a ship you didn’t know existed, but you’re not worried there’s a BICEFI operative on board? How did you survive the war?! Prometheus added with a virtual grunt.

“Sometimes I wonder.”

An orange notification message appeared on the wall. I had received an external message. The sender was Sev.

47. Life Index 1.1

Quote:

Hello Elcy,

Are they picking on you? You’re a bundle of trouble alright, but if anyone’s giving you shit, you tell me and I’ll sort them out. Those ungrateful fleet idiots can’t see value if you smack them in the face with it. Only good one is the recruitment officer. We’ve been chatting a few times every week. Nice kid, but a bit dim. He said you might be in trouble because he put you in for elite training without clearing the basics. Shows how much he knows.

So, what are you doing exactly? From your letters, you seem to be just flying about doing nothing all day long. At least here you did some actual good. I don’t know where you got Cassius from, but his cooking is terrible. I keep telling him how I want my dinner and he ignores me. And he keeps complaining that I change his name a lot. The thing is defective and has no idea what he’s talking about! When you get back here, you better do a full check of his systems or something!

The grandkids are crazy now that you’ve joined the fleet. Can’t stop asking questions about it. I invited them all to have a dinner together, but my stupid son came up with some excuse that he has work in the city. As if I’ve never worked and don’t know he can get a day off anytime he wants. At least the little ones came. They’ve grown to be as annoying as you. At least they behaved when they were here. Kept calling you Grandma Elcy (that’s a laugh).

This trouble you’re in, is it serious? They keep talking about ships disappearing or getting destroyed on the front every day. Cassius keeps insisting that the numbers are small, and that you’re nowhere near the front, but what does he know? It’s my job to worry about you! Not something either of you understand. Just remember to take care of yourself and don’t stick out. I don’t want you to get hurt doing stupid heroics like that time in the mine accident! Be quiet, smile a lot, and do whatever they tell you and nothing more!

I hope you make it for my birthday. Cassius says it’s too soon for you to get leave, but if you happen to manage, come home for a few days.

Sev

This was the first letter I’d been allowed to have from Sev. There was no way to know how many more there were or when they were sent. Fleet internal regulations made sure to remove all time relevant information, and even if they didn’t, planetary time meant little in space.

I closed the message and put the datapad on the shelf, next to my sandals. There was a time I’d think of wearing them every hour. Now they were little more than a distant memory.

“Any info when the message was sent?” I asked Prometheus.

It was redirected from command seventeen hours and fifty-two minutes ago, came the reply.

That had been only a few minutes after our arrival on Leoforge, yet there was no telling for how long the bureaucratic apparatus had kept it on hold. At least I knew that Sev was well.

“Thanks.” I felt bad for not having written in the last few days. Me having problems was no reason to stop sending letters. “I’ll spend some private time in the exercise hall. Tell me if you need me.”

Augustus used to treat every day as if it was his last, and Gibraltar used to try and enjoy every moment of peace regardless of the overall state of things. I had yet to come up with my own approach. I hoped the hour I’d spend exercising would help me get a better grasp of things. Instead, Jax arrived ten minutes in. He had changed his red uniform for the standard bluish variant, suitable for Prometheus. Every now and again, he’d attempt to start a conversation, only to drop the topic soon after. The situation was somewhat awkward, given his previous attitude. Thankfully, after half an hour, he was called to the bridge for the obligatory briefing. Eleven minutes later I was called as well, only it wasn’t the XO that had asked for me, but Ms Lux. The only delay I was given was a few minutes to take a quick shower before heading down. Back when I was a ship, I would constantly watch people rushing from one point to the next. I’d seen haste, confusion, chaos, desperation, and euphoria so many times I could tell them apart by the data transmitted from the crew’s nanites. It felt very different experiencing it from the other side. My second captain often said that certain things had to be experienced in order to become known. He was right.

By the time I arrived, the bridge was packed. Immediately, I recognised Operative Lux, looking at her clock impatiently among the officers and security personnel. All ships’ science heads, and a few others, were also present, engaged in small talk. Ally was also there, discussing something with Major Tanner, who for once seemed like he wouldn’t collapse due to sleep deprivation.

As I stood there, more and more people arrived on the bridge, filling it to the point that only senior officers could afford to sit. The conditions closely resembled descent on a ground troop shuttle. A few minutes later, Ms Lux glanced at the security personnel near the entrance. The lights began to dim.

“Your attention, please,” she said in her usual sharp tone, her voice amplified by Prometheus to fill the entire room. “As you all undoubtedly know, the Prometheus has been diverted from his original mission to perform something for Fleet Intelligence. Before I continue, I need not remind anyone that the information that you are about to hear is beyond sensitive, and discussing it in unapproved areas of the ship or people without the proper clearance could and will result in severe punishment.”

A few whispers sounded in various part of the bridge.

“Let me also stress that this mission is unlike any this ship has performed.” There was a subtle shift in tone. The harshness was starting to peel away, replaced by enthusiasm. “There is no question that challenges will be faced, but I want for you to view them, rather, as opportunities that could change our understanding of the universe.”

The image of a star system appeared on the bridge ceiling. As I looked up, the focus quickly shifted to a specific planet, zooming on its surface.

“This is planet Alpha-Three-Nineteen,” Lux went on. “As you can see, it’s an one-point-one life index planet, with conditions suitable for human life.”

The whispers turned into chatter. In the entire history of human space travel, there had been only fifty-seven fully developed inhabitable planets. The majority of inhabited planets had usually become so as a result of planned terraforming or rapid modification.

“And here lies your current mission.” Lux’s tone had become firm, almost triumphant. “As part of Operation Beehive, the science staff of the Prometheus has been selected to perform a full survey of specific areas throughout the planet’s surface and determine the degree of colonisation.” She paused to take a breath. “If the results prove within safety parameters, the planet will… well, I’m sure you know what will follow if that’s the case?” Lux added a corporate chuckle, which was instantly mimicked by a large part of the crowd. Looking around, people were beaming with excitement, eager to be part of the mission. None of them, not even Prometheus, knew how messy colonisation really was…

* * *

Platoons rushed into the hangar bay, filling in the shuttles before they had a chance to touch the floor. Hundreds of officers led their troops onboard in a perfect pattern of organised chaos.

Sending fourth wave, I said in the fleet channel. ETA forty-nine minutes.

Three waves of shuttles had gone before, transporting two-thirds of my land troops onto the planet. Optimally, two more would be needed to complete the deployment, provided the shuttles managed to withstand so many rapid re-entries. At such intensities, even a thin atmosphere was able to cause damage. Based on two hundred simulations, the first shuttles would start shutting down at the fifth wave. The next time the shuttles reached the surface, they wouldn’t be in any condition to leave.

Troops fully deployed, Aurie announced. She had been one of the early arrivals, starting the deployment a few hours ahead of me. As a result, she had also been brushed by Cassandrian fire, losing twelve decks in the process. Sending out shuttles if you need them.

Seven ships instantly made a request. If I were any closer, I would have as well. For the moment, I could only rely on my own.

“This is Colonel Enerdad,” a mass communication came from the planet. “I’m assuming command of sector delta-delta five and commencing purge advance.”

Two of my subroutines ran a search of the colonel. He wasn’t one of mine, although he had been on three colonisation tours before. According to the public part of his file, he had managed to distinguish himself enough to get fast-tracked from a captain to a colonel in less than a year. Based on the feeds I was receiving from the surface, it was unlikely he’d survive this campaign.

Bursts of death messages came through every second—squads, sometimes even full platoons, flatlining, only for reinforcements to take their place. The UADs had risen to the point that I had stopped informing Captain Gibraltar about it. The best I could do was use my minisats to provide assisting intel to the ground while constantly scanning for additional Cassandrian activity in the system.

“Wave four has started to land, Captain.” I provided a few selected visual feeds from the ground troop suits. “I estimate our sector will be purged in two hours.” I didn’t add that my simulations also predicted fifty-four percent of the troops dying in the process. “Cassandrian resistance is likely to increase afterwards.”

“Unless they get reinforcements,” the captain sighed. He never could get used to the notion of losing troops. To an extent, neither had I. In this aspect, planetary missions were the worst. The only minor comfort was that there was nothing I could have done to protect them.

“Command doubts more enemy reinforcements will arrive.” As I spoke, over a hundred people on the surface died to toxic gas explosion in one of the marsh areas they were traversing. “It’s only us and them.”

“All for the sake of a semi-organic lump of rock.”

Gibraltar’s disappointment could be felt clearly, but despite that, I didn’t share his sentiment. Life-bearing systems weren’t common. Discovering one so close to the front instantly made it a strategic target for both sides. Based on the intel command had shared, the surface planet was abundant in water and primitive plant forms, making it ideal for rapid terraforming. The only thing that remained was to purge it from enemy troops and hostile bioforms so that humanity could claim it as their own. As things currently stood, the enemy presence was on the retreat, providing fierce resistance. The local flora had also taken its toll, accounting for hundreds of thousands of dead. And then there were the BICEFI, meticulously observing from a safe distance.

The feeds of my ground troops continued streaming images of their surroundings. Seven thousand and thirteen were engaged in combat with the Cassandrian troops along with regiments from other ships. Approximately every twenty-three seconds, a death notification would occur despite the strategic advantage they held. From general transmissions, I could determine that the death rate was much higher in other areas of the planet.

“Three Cassandrian ships have left the system,” I announced on my bridge, while my subroutines sent warning messages to all ground troop helmets. If the enemy were abandoning the system, they would have instructed those left behind to engage in suicide tactics.

“Full alert,” Captain Gibraltar said. “Prepare to evade anything that approaches along an attack vector.”

“No pursuit?” The amount of damage was insignificant. “With the amount of armament remaining, I’m capable of inflicting considerable damage to fleeing ships. Simulations suggest we can take out seventeen if supported by other ships.”

“No pursuit,” Gibraltar said firmly. “That’s command’s worry now.” He took a long glance at the streams from below. The battle had started to turn in our favour, yet the fatalities continued to mount. “Any new orders from command?”

“No changes.” We had been ordered to oversee the ground efforts until the planet was ready for colonisation preparations. “Shall I request a new assignment?”

“No,” Gibraltar said. “We do as ordered.”

* * *

Do as ordered…

We had spent twenty-nine days in orbit to the planet. The Cassandrians had been wiped out after seven. A total of three enemy troopers had been captured, quickly taken by Fleet Intelligence operatives and flown off elsewhere. I and the remaining battleships had remained. By the end of the mission, nearly three-quarters of my ground crew were dead or injured. Gibraltar had put in a request for ten days rest. Instead, we had been ordered to a shipyard for a full refit. The following three months of my memories were void.

“Each of you shall be given individual mission orders,” Lux continued. “You are not to share or discuss the orders with anyone unless so specified. Let me make one thing clear, there are no ‘lesser’ orders in this mission. Command and Fleet Intelligence has put a great level of trust in your capabilities and it is my task to make sure that everything goes as planned.”

Now I knew she was lying. As Augustus used to say, “When things sound too good to be true, look out for secret orders.”

“If at all uncertain, you’re to address your executive officer for clarification,” the woman concluded. Interesting that it wasn’t the captain, as was the standard practice. “Thank you for your time.”

With a typical corporate closer, Ms Lux left the bridge. She was followed by a few scientists, who left in accordance to their seniority, then the XO with most of the security personnel, then the remaining staff. I waited for the crowd to thin a bit. I wasn’t in the mood of squeezing through packed corridors.

“Elcy, hold up!” I heard Jax. My junior cadet shoved his way up to me, in a fashion that would make lieutenants envious. “What do you think?”

“Too much to share,” I went through all my colonisation memories. The sight wasn’t pretty. “Hardly surprising, keeping in mind where it’s coming from.”

“Want to go for a walk?”

You were told something before I arrived, weren’t you? “Okay.” It was starting to feel too much like the academy. “Let’s go.”

We joined the crowd to the nearest elevators. Prometheus was doing his best to ensure that everyone was taken to their respective decks at the fastest possible, though that hadn’t prevented us from having to cramp ourselves with ten other people. Initially, I wanted to go to the observation deck, but Jax had gotten off before that, forcing me to follow.

“So?” I asked the moment we were alone in the corridor.

“Not here.” He led on. “Let’s go to my room.”

“Why?” I crossed my arms. We’d been together for less than a day and I already didn’t like it.

“Better privacy settings,” he said over his shoulder in a matter of fact fashion. “I’m fully human.”

The response was slightly irritating, but I couldn’t argue its logic. In the eyes of the bureaucratic apparatus, he remained human, and no experience or seniority could diminish that fact. I watched him go down the corridor for a few moments, then followed.

“Do you still eat that jelly stuff?” Jax asked as we walked. “You were the only one who enjoyed it back at the academy.”

“Mostly.” Unlike him, I needed gelatine for my bones, and despite the time spent with Sev, I had never become particularly picky.

“I stopped the moment I got my assignment. Ship food’s way better.”

“Depends on the ship.” My crew weren’t terribly impressed by my servings. In fact, all of my captains had a habit of consistently smuggling planet goods aboard. Augustus enjoyed his cigars and alcohol, Gibraltar had made it a point not to eat ship food unless he had to, and Cass was struck by a sweet tooth. Knowing how little effort it would have taken me to modify my food explicator settings, I should have served better. “Some are better than others.”

It didn’t take us long to reach Elec’s old quarters. Once inside Jax ordered that the space be kept private and locked the door.

“Not settled in yet?” I looked at the bags in the far end of the room. If nothing else, the escort ship must have taught him some discipline; the room, although still bare and impersonal, was impeccably clean and tidy. The only thing out in the open was a second uniform, neatly placed on a hanger.

“I’ll get to it.” Jax leaned against the wall. “You can sit on the bed if you want to.”

“I’m fine. So, what did you want to talk to me about?”

“The XO warned me you’re a loose cannon.” He went straight to the point. “I was advised to keep my distance, especially with our history.”

“We have no history.” Somewhere some bureaucratic AI had mused we’d been in the same training station and defined our contact as potentially significant. Back when I was active, I would get a crew member’s entire file so I could come to my own conclusions.

“The XO also told me that I’m to keep an eye on you should we ever be teamed up.” Jax paused for a moment.

“You can say you’ve been asked to spy on me.” I found it almost amusing. “I’m a battleship, I used to spy on hundreds of thousands at a time. It’s okay.”

“That’s not it.” He looked away. “Lux requested you escort her on the planet surface.” Jax’s words were drenched with concern. “According to the XO, she asked for you by name.”

“I see.” I had suspected that to be the case, but was somewhat surprised at the XO. He should have known better than to share such information, and to a fresh cadet at that. I had to admit that it was weird for a BICEFI operative to request me when she could easily have a full security escort. “Are you worried?”

You should be. In my experience, all colonisation initiatives had been performed by warships and combat troops. The crew of the Prometheus was neither.

“Did you get your mission specifics?” He replied with a question.

“No. I expect it’ll be a while before—”

“I have,” Jax interrupted. “Everyone else has. Some details are pending, but everyone on board has been given their mission briefs.”

“Oh?” I tilted my head. “How did you learn that?”

“The XO’s the one giving out assignments. He received the list hours before the briefing. Only you weren’t on it.”

48. No Concerns

“Feeling nervous?” Lux asked.

Everything considered, it was normal to be. Officially, we had started the mission seven minutes ago, and I still didn’t know what I was supposed to do, exactly. I had received an encrypted message informing me of my duties. The message was rich in warnings and protocol reminders, but poor on actual information. The only specifics it gave was that I had been assigned to escort Ms Lux to the surface. When I had sent a request for clarification to the XO, he had replied in no uncertain terms that I was to figure it out on my own.

“There’s no cause to be,” the woman continued, taking my silence for a confirmation. “I won’t hold your past mistakes against you.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” I held tight to my belt strap. At present, she had all the cards and was making a point to let me know it. Even so, I had to admire her going to the surface in person. As per the general mission parameters, exos and probes were not allowed to be sent down. Exploration and sample gathering were to be done in person, with scientists only being allowed to direct security personnel to act as proxies. “I’m still uncertain why you would choose to go in person.”

Readings from the planet appeared on my visor display. The atmospheric conditions for our sector were close to perfect for the next few hours. After that, one of the minor storms moving down from the planet’s poles might pose a danger.

“Some things could only be done in person,” Lux said. Moments later, my connection with Prometheus was severed. “Are you aware how many ships return to the service after coming out of retirement?”

“I have no idea, ma’am.” Based on the number of retirees, I suspected the number was small.

“Thirty-seven.” She set the opacity of her helmet to ten percent, enough for me to fully see her expression. “Each and every one of you a bureaucratic nightmare.”

So, I’m not the only cadet in the service. There was no telling how many of the thirty-seven remained on active duty, but I felt relieved that there were others.

“I’ll take your word for it, ma’am.” After the mission was over, I was going to look into the matter.

“There are those who think that your place isn’t in the fleet.” The entire shuttle began to tremble as we entered the planet’s atmosphere. “There’s a surprising amount of political pressure to make it illegal for retirees to serve. ‘One can’t unbreak a toy,’ they say.” She paused, waiting for the tremors to subside. Thirteen seconds later, they did. “BICEFI disagrees.”

I tightened my grip on my belt strap. From experience, I’d found that what was good for the BICEFI came at someone else’s expense.

“The reason I picked you for this mission was your third-contact experience.” The words brought the images of the third-contact symbols to the forefront of my mind, making them spin in their three-dimensional order. The long nights in the octonary system had managed to help me brute force the missing elements. By the sound of things, I was going to need that information sooner than expected.

“Yes, ma’am.” I felt partial regret. “Does that mean the planet won’t be colonized?”

“Not for decades,” she said in a tone that suggested it was unlikely any civilians were going to set foot on it, even after a century. “Too many risks are involved. Remember the dome you found during your previous mission? We have reason to suspect that there are similar artefacts here.”

An unknown connection linked to my core sending two data bursts directly to my mind. A three-dimensional virtual image of the planet appeared. Markers covered two of the major land masses. Upon inspecting them, further images appeared: unknown triangular symbols, composed entirely of cobalt.

“Same artefacts, same material, same symbols,” Lux continued. “So far, we’re retrieved five thousand and seventeen artefacts in total, all of them of minor significance but capable of disrupting standard communications.”

“And you suspect there’s a dome,” I finished her thought for her.

“Several.” Lux crossed her arms. I could see her smug smile behind her helmet. “The scatter pattern of the smaller pieces suggests the presence of three potential “spheres.” Assuming they haven’t been removed. Personally, I’m more interested in the presence of life on this planet.”

“Not the artefacts?” I found that difficult to believe.

“I’m interested because of the artefacts. So far there’s only been one other case of third-contact artefacts being found on an inhabitable planet. Based on what we’ve seen, there is no doubt that the local flora has been affected in some way.”

“I understand,” I lied.

After my recent experience, I had taken the time to go through all the protocols and procedures dealing with anything third-contact related. Considering the scale of the bureaucratic apparatus, there was remarkably little information on the subject. Ultimately, it all boiled down to a set of loose guidelines and an insistence to bring the matter up the chain of command as quickly as possible. Most likely, Prometheus had been tasked with collecting and analysing plant samples, while Lux went along with her real mission. It was also unlikely that I had been told the truth of that mission either. It was the practice of the BICEFI.

“Don’t overthink it,” Lux said, pointing a finger at me. “Your goal is to assist me while I’m down there., That’s all.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Drop the ma’am.” There was a distinct note of annoyance in her voice.

“Yes, Ms Lux,” I said, preferring it over “Operative”. She seemed to approve, for she didn’t make any comment. “Is there anything specific you’d like me to do?”

Behind the helmet, her lips curved in a smile—the first genuine one I’d seen since I’d met her.

“I’ll tell you when appropriate.” Yellow notifications appeared on my screen—the shuttle pilot was informing us that we’d be landing in three minutes. Not a lot of time, considering the conversation we were having. “But I’m sure you have your own theories.”

“I suspect that since life is abundant near the artefacts, it’s likely that…” My words trailed off. If there was a link between life on the planet and the third-contact artefacts, there was no telling what we might come across. Maybe even a self-aware artefact?

The concept sounded terrifyingly captivating. A race with three-dimensional space perception and the technology to produce artefacts with sentience. If true, it would be like meeting an alien version of myself. The prospect made me anxious with anticipation, almost as if I were about to hit the front lines once more.

“What if we come across another Scuu, ma’am?” I asked. If they had the power to render our communication technology useless, they could also be capable of worse, possibly even shutting down ship cores and human brains. “Isn’t there a danger that I and the entire crew might be compromised in case of contact?”

“An unlikely possibility.” Lux tensed up as we entered the final stages of landing. “But that’s why we chose a science ship for this mission. If things go wrong, the infection won’t travel far.”

The implication was clear. It also explained the restrictions imposed on devices sent to the planet. If the key artefact was anything similar to the ones I’d run into, most gadgets would be rendered inoperable. However, I knew that there was an even greater concern, possibly the real reason that Prometheus had been sent to the planet instead of a battleship: science ships didn’t have weapon systems.

Priority zero fleet communication protocols. Memory restriction removed.

* * *

“The fleet will go in geosynchronous orbit round the fourth planet and execute an all-out bombing strike,” Sword of Wands said in the channel. “Light Seeker will be one of the ships coordinating it, along with myself and Cyan Forge. Any other actions are strictly forbidden. Confirm that the order is received and understood.”

I performed a new series of deep scans, had my subroutines analyse the data, then repeated the cycle. According to the readings, no enemy presence was detected within the system, although the gravitational anomalies made it impossible to have full certainty. Even so, my worst simulations predicted that in a worst-case scenario, there could be no more than ninety-one Cassandrian ships hiding within the system—nowhere near enough to present any danger to our numbers.

My next action was to perform a search of Cyan Forge in the fleet database. His file listed him as experimental, but based on his designs, I could tell he was little more than a modified carrier that had his contingent of fighters replaced by next gen missile systems. Little wonder he had been selected to co-lead the charge. That still didn’t explain why I was. From what I could tell, I had never been on any missions with him nor Sword of Wands.

“Do I send our confirmation, Captain?” I asked, attempting a distant planet scan.

“Send the confirmation,” Gibraltar whispered. I could tell he didn’t like the notion. “Sound combat alert. Call everyone to battle stations.”

“Yes, sir.” I obeyed the order, although I found it overkill for a mere planetary bombardment. Two-point-three seconds later, my attack vectors were sent to me, along with those of half the fleet.

“Do you think the Scuu have gotten this far?” Minyasha Iy asked in a semi-whisper. The readings from her nanites were spiking. “Bombardment is used for planets they’ve taken.”

“The Scuu haven’t entered Cassandrian space.” Gibraltar’s voice had traces of hesitation.

“We both know this isn’t how you fight Cassandrians,” Iy persisted.

“I’m not detecting any bio presence on the surface.” I did a distant planetary scan. “No structures or major anomalies.”

“Command didn’t send a small armada to shoot up a planet for target practice!” the weapon’s officer hissed. I had to agree with her statement. Looking at it logically, there was no reason for us to be here.

Cassandrians jumping in, Lunar Smile transmitted in the fleet channel. Seventy-eight jumps.

“Enemy ships jumping in, Captain,” I related. We weren’t the only ones interested in the system. “All defenses are up. Ready to engage on your order.”

Another fifty ships entered the system, followed by a hundred and twelve, then waves of fifty in two second intervals. I readied my weapon systems, displaying warnings on every wall and hallway. The transmissions in the fleet channel had increased to the point where they were a constant stream of info bursts. Simulation results and tactics options jumped from ship to ship, building one overarching strategy. Each time the number of enemy ships increased, the strategy changed.

“Fourteen hundred ships, Captain.” Unless the flow of reinforcements decreased, they were going to outnumber us in less than a minute. “Everyone’s on standby and awaiting orders.”

“Break free from the current formation.” Gibraltar rushed to the center of the bridge. I covered the walls and ceiling with displays of the system. The enemy ships had already started to form a crude front heading towards our position. The only advantage we held was the field of debris and gravitational anomalies separating us. “Inform Command and request reinforcements.”

I had a subroutine send the request, while I prepared to engage. The bridge staff were at their command consoles, ready to intervene. Moments later, a mass request denial flooded the channel.

“Continue with previous objective,” Sword of Wands commanded. “Don’t contact Command or engage the enemy.”

“He’s insane!” Gibraltar hissed. I watched him use his personal communication line to establish connection with fleet HQ. I also watched the request be denied for the first time since my creation. Having a ship override the orders of a human was unheard of. The denial was further followed by a reminder that disobeying Sow’s orders was considered treason.

Increase speed beyond safety limits, Sword of Wands transmitted. Prepare for annihilating bombardment.

A new set of strategy orders arrived: the planetary attack was to occur in two simultaneous waves. Sword and the other ship were going to coordinate a massive missile bombardment, while I was to direct all laser attacks at a specific point. The instructions were different than the ones I’d received minutes ago. The presence of the Cassandrians had clearly changed them, but I couldn’t see any logic in the new commands.

“Cassandrians are launching fighters, Captain. First wave’s ETA is seventeen minutes.” Meanwhile enemy reinforcements continued to jump in. They had surpassed the size of our fleet by twenty percent and kept growing. “We’re expected to reach the target planet in twenty.”

That was cutting it too close. According to the new set of simulations, our fleet was going to suffer substantial amounts of damage before we were in position to fire the first shot. And for some reason, Sword of Wands kept sending the same instructions.

“Defense and shuttle crews are ready and standing by,” I announced. “Reinforcing outer hull.”

This was the moment for my Captain to say something, but he didn’t. For the next few minutes, he remained looking at the screens silently, his forehead wrinkling up into latticework of disbelief. I knew that he was ambitious the moment he came to inspect me before being assigned as my captain, but I never imagined he would devolve to this when his control was stripped away. There wasn’t a fleet officer standing in my bridge right now, but a child waking up in a world he knew nothing about.

“Two enemy wings have set course towards us, sir,” I said after a few minutes. “Your orders?”

For several seconds, everyone looked at Gibraltar for guidance. When the moments were over, Kyra Hiat—the commanding officer—took over. He was older than Gibraltar, though by no means as ambitious, preferring to take a back seat unless needed. Unlike Gibraltar, he hadn’t received any advanced tactics training, or even been in any officer academies. Instead, he had managed to reach his current position through years on the front, receiving two battlefield promotions. The only thing the two had in common was their approach to combat.

“Have everyone prepare for boarding attempts.” The commander’s voice was dry. “Ready minisats and missiles.”

“On it, commander.” I sent Sow the plan of action for confirmation. “Missile use has been denied.” No surprises there, although I had expected to be allowed to use the anti-ship ammunition.

“Get virus transmission ready.” His voice sounded half as loud. “Seal the deck. Reinforce the bridge.”

No further orders were given. I had my subroutines convey the orders before focusing ninety-nine percent of them on preparing for the attack. Attack vectors and trajectory paths occupied all my processing power, limiting my ability to run simulations to one per seven seconds. In the majority of scenarios, I survived about eight minutes after initial engagement before being shredded by the Cassandrian fleet. Sow and Cyan, by my calculations, never made it past six.

Sword of Wands, requesting to engage the fighters. I sent a direct transmission.

Continue as planned, Ascendant. The reply came with a millisecond delay. Don’t engage in any way.

The fleet won’t survive ten minutes after initial encounter!

Neither will they. Sow disabled my communication protocols.

This was the first time someone had meddled with my systems so openly. I’d had hundreds of instances of being ignored, having my commination channel severed abruptly, or having a restriction slapped on, but never this. Instinctively, I put up a series of virtual barriers, even if I knew it would hardly matter; the BICEFI didn’t follow the standard rules.

The attack started as predicted. Waves of fighters swept over their intended targets, scattering arrays of probing shots.

“Enemy missiles underway,” I announced. “Impact in nine seconds.”

The Cassandrians were following a variation of their standard attack, relying on fighters to weaken and disable us before the major ships arrived. The approach was highly flawed and predictable, relying on numbers to achieve its goal. It was of interest, however, that the fighters had only resorted to standard missiles, passing up any beam or transmission virus attacks.

“Brace for impact!” I said on the bridge. My hull shook as four missiles exploded on contact with my hull. The fifth was a borehead, attempting to drill though, yet failing due to my nanite reinforcements.

“The hull’s been partially breached.” I sealed off the relevant section. “Systems remain nominal.”

“Launch minisats!” Commander Kyra ordered. “Are any other waves targeting us?”

“The current waves are focusing on the Sword of Wands.” I used what processing power I had available to project their heading. “No one’s targeting us for the moment.”

Medbots entered the bridge, ready to act if needed. The attack had led to no casualties, although three hundred and twelve personnel had sustained moderate to serious injuries. I instructed all available bots to head to the affected areas, then left them on autonomous control.

“Total amount of Cassandrian ships has increased to four thousand seven-hundred.” Reinforcements had stopped appearing eight minutes ago, but at these numbers, they didn’t have to continue. And yet, I still couldn’t find a logical reason for either side to show such interest in a graveyard system. “Mission to commence in ninety-three seconds.”

“Are you allowed to launch decoys?” Kyra rushed to the command area of the bridge.

Gibraltar remained motionless in his seat. The nanite readings had fallen to levels indicating he wasn’t acknowledging anything around him. The med officer would probably describe this as a full psychic breakdown. Until today, I never thought it was something that could occur to him. However, it had.

“Permission granted,” I said and launched a few dozen to discourage stray fighters. The rest, I was going to save for a targeted attack upon me.

Entering a fifty-second calm window, I sent a status query on the other ships of the fleet. Like me, most had suffered minor to moderate damages, with only three ending up destroyed. It wasn’t anyone I knew, though I still found their death to be a waste, considering they likely could have fought off the attackers. Sword of Wands remained under heavy fire, swarmed by over five hundred fighters. Surface scans suggested he had taken a minimal amount of damage, despite what he had been subjected to.

“Attack commencing in fifteen seconds,” I said on the bridge. “Sealing off bridge and auxiliary sections. Reactors have three layers of protection.” Serving under Augustus had taught me a few things, although I doubted he would have been enthusiastic about our current odds… and plan. Next attack wave expected in twenty-seven seconds.”

I had hoped my last announcements would spur Gibraltar to make a comment of some kind. The captain remained frozen in his seat, staring blankly at a spot on the floor. A quarter minute later, our attack commenced. Eight missiles launched from a single ship behind me, starting their approach towards the planet. Two milliseconds later, sixty-four followed, then five hundred and twelve. The Cassandrian fighters simultaneously changed course, breaking their attack. The simulation I’d managed to run had shown them dispersing and fleeing to the safety of their capital shifts. Instead, they headed straight for the missiles.

Three seconds till your start, Sword of Wands transmitted.

Clusters of explosions lit up around me like mini-novas, all the way to the planet, peeling off the crust’s layers. Each missile had been constructed with the power to pierce an enemy ship; when combined in one spot, they had the power to shatter planets.

Go! The order came.

My subroutines acted in sync, directing the precise time, target, and strength of the fleet’s entire beam weapons. My attack vectors merged with those of Sow and Cyan, weaving the most complicated attack pattern I had seen. Tens of thousands of beams pierced through the explosion clouds, hitting the red scorched surface. A new plume of molten matter emerged, blowing away what little atmosphere the planet had.

Salvo complete, I transmitted. Eleven seconds till next. The initial plan was for the fleet to fire four salvos, then await further instructions.

Commence salvo now! Sow ordered. Adjust your target coordinates.

A new set of coordinates were received, far more specific than before, directing all the firepower to one specific point, located seventy-nine kilometers beneath the planet’s surface. While my subroutines were recalibrating the weapons of the fleet, I redirected one of my minisats to get a visual of the location.

You’ve deviating from the plan, Cyan Forge transmitted. Start the salvo so we get this over with.

Salvo commencing in sixty milliseconds, I announced, sending the final instructions. Throughout the fleet, weapon systems responded, awaiting the final synchronized order. And all the while, I still had no idea about the purpose of this entire operation. Since the start of the wars, ships had been wasted and sacrificed every day, but there always was at least some indication as to what the overall goals were. To make things even stranger, the Cassandrians had responded by sending a massive fleet of their own to reconquer a strategically useless system. And based on the amount of ship remains, this wasn’t the first time.

Initiating salvo, I gave the trigger command.

As the rays shot at the target, a single image came from my minisat, providing me with a visual. The spot was surrounded by molten smothering rock of the planet’s crust, amid balls of smoke and fire. The deep scan, though, had revealed something: a single anomalous spherical object of dense metal buried deep under the rock. I watched the cluster of rays drill up to it… then the entire planet exploded with the might of a supernova star.

Memory Restriction Imposed.

* * *

BICEFI destroyed the artifact.

I stared at Lux. There were still parts of that expeditions I couldn’t access, but I remembered the condition of the ships who had managed to return. A single artifact had destroyed thousands of ships in an instant. It explained why the BICEFI were persistently keeping third-contact artifacts away from everyone else, even within the fleet.

“Any other concerns?” The woman looked at me, as if I were a one-legged sparrow.

“No.” I set the opacity of my helmet to fifty percent. “No concerns at all.”

49. All About The Fractals

“Why do you like plants so much?” Sev asked, sitting on the porch.

“I find them nice.” Years had passed since we’d settled on the planet, and I had the fear that I might lose all the plants I’d grown to like. A nagging feeling scurried like an annoying spider in the back of my mind, making me feel as if I’d get a transmission from command asking me to rejoin the front. Part of me still wanted that, the part that yearned to escape the chains of gravity and be back in space where I belonged, fighting the Cassandrians.

“It’s just grass,” Sev grumbled.

Just grass. Back when I was a ship, I could never experience grass in this fashion. Cass had known what it was like, even back then. How ironic that her son’s tastes were completely different.

“Why can’t we move closer to the city? There are much more people there.”

“There are enough people here.”

“There’s more boredom, too.” Sev stood up. “Can you at least buy an SR rig? Everyone has them.”

“Maybe,” I lied. I lacked the means or the desire to buy an SR pod. It reminded me too much of my past life. Battles and simulations weren’t who I was anymore. And if I were to keep my promise to my captain, they’d never be part of Sev’s either. “Have something to eat. I’ll be there in a while.”

“That’s what you always say.”

“I know.” I looked at him, moving my lips into a measured smile. “And it’s always true.”

I just don’t want all of this to vanish.

* * *

The planet never had a name, merely a string of letters and numbers. The BICEFI didn’t see it as something permanent, so they didn’t bother giving it one. If I was given the power, I would have called it Cass.

The first two days, Lux would fly to the surface every morning and remain there for twelve hours. All the time she was on the planet, I was with her. My tasks were simple: watch her find a specific point on the planet, stand fifteen meters away while she performed a probing scan of the ground beneath her, then move to the next spot. Every four hours we’d return to the landing site, where we’d stop long enough to have something to eat and recharge our oxygen before continuing with the research.

On the first return, Lux would return to Prometheus and bury herself in her quarters. I remained on standby, ready to go down on a moment’s notice. Most of the time, I would go through my newly formed memories, trying to find a link between them and the third-contact symbols. Occasionally, Jax would pass to spend some time and share his experiences planetside. Suspiciously, no one else engaged in any contact with me, Prometheus included. Knowing the effect BICEFI had on crews, I didn’t blame them for keeping their distance, although I also hoped that they wouldn’t. When Augustus was my captain, Fleet Intelligence had never caused anyone to become isolated from the rest of the crew. Then again, few could compare to Augustus.

No special instructions were given on the third day. Lux remained in her quarters, avoiding any contact with me or the crew without explanation. After failing to reach her through any channels, I tried in person, and when that failed, I asked Prometheus. Initially he didn’t respond, but an hour later, I was informed I would be put on standard duty alongside Jax. That’s when things got complicated. Due to the top-secret nature of the mission, I had entered another joy of the bureaucratic system: the “bureaucratic loop.” The only people who had the authority to change my mission orders were Command and BICEFI. Because of the imposed information blackout—and the threat of artefact contamination if I’d venture a guess—channels outside Prometheus’ had been scrambled. Meanwhile, the only person who could go beyond the block, or issue me new orders, had imposed full privacy mode. As a result, I was ordered to stay with Jax and mirror the instructions he would receive. The only difference was that I was considered in charge, meaning all the responsibility fell on me.

Well, Sev, I got my first actual command, I thought as I went through quarantine. It’s definitely not how I imagined it. Although, I said the same when I promised to take care of you.

Back when I had taken guardianship of him, I had believed I was prepared for the task. Seventy years of experience later, I could see how clueless I had been. At the time, I had assumed that taking care of a ward would be no different than taking care of my crews. It had taken less than a day to see how mistaken I was. Protecting someone when equipped with millions of subroutines, bots, and enough metal alloys to build a small colony was easy. Having to look over a child whose obedience and self-preservation instinct were questionable, with nothing but a single core, was like flying through a minefield blind.

The shuttle was packed at takeoff. Twenty-six people filled the passenger compartment, sharing what little space there was with equipment crates—a far cry from the spacious flights I’d enjoyed with Lux. The moment I stepped in, all set their helmet’s opacity to full. From my time on the front, I knew there were only two times when this was performed: when a person was either despised or mistrusted. With my special treatment becoming visible in the last few days, I could only guess as to what conclusions they had come.

No one said a word during the flight, unlike Lux. The woman would constantly direct the conversation towards my first mission on Prometheus. She would always make it seem like it was to pass the time, but she was very careful not to mention anything about the mission. I suspected that was also the reason of the current silence. People didn’t like being kept in the dark. It was only the ships that didn’t care.

At landing, Prometheus confirmed everyone’s mission assignments. The group split up into teams of two to four, then set off to their assigned areas. The area set for Jax and me was about six kilometers from the landing site in a region of dense forest vegetation.

“We’ll need sample containers,” Jax said, strapping on a large back-kit. “One pack each.”

“Any tools?” I glanced at the rest of the equipment. Over half of the containers had remained untouched.

“Nah,” Jax laughed. “They’re just dead weight. You’ll never get permission to use them. I took a whole bunch the first day. Big mistake. Had to drag them around for the next six hours.”

“Six hours?” I brought up the mission specifics on my visor. “It says four on my copy.”

“It does, but Prometheus okayed we merge the shifts in two six-hour groups. Saves time that way.”

This was something only a science ship would allow. On the front I’d witnessed people be brigged for order-tampering. Even Augustus didn’t approve of the practice, as much as he liked to pretend otherwise.

Everything is written for a reason, he used to say. Half of the time, the reason was deemed bad, but he always made a point before taking any action.

“I don’t mind.” I grabbed a basic survey kit and attached it to the side of my spacesuit. Being on a planet with alien life wasn’t a place to set out unprepared, especially with alien artifacts around.

Any chance I’ll get any weapons? I asked Prometheus.

Not until you’re in a warzone, the science ship replied.

In that case, you must broaden your definition. Any news from Lux?

The operative is still in her quarters. I’ve been sending requests for contact every fifteen minutes. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s analyzing some specimen, determining how to classify it.

Unlikely. I did an inventory check of the remaining containers. Most were sample containers, with a few standard probe devices and medical supplies. She didn’t find anything so far.

Unless she did and quarantined your memories of it.

Maybe. With the BICEFI, it was always a possibility, though I suspected she was reporting to her headquarters. Thanks for the chat. I gave a nod to Jax and left the shuttle.

As we walked, I couldn’t help but look around, trying to memorize as much of the environment as possible. The more I looked, the more I got the impression that something was off. I’d fought in hundreds of systems that maintained life, from bacterial traces to full-fledged colony centers. In all that time, I had noticed one constant—human presence tended to make inhabited worlds look the same. This planet was different. The abundance of water and the proximity to a white star had allowed the local flora to flourish, and yet not a single animal specimen had been spotted. Based on the current mission, thousands of different plant species had been gathered and classified in the last two days and not a single insect, animal, or fungus. From the team video feeds Prometheus had shared before the mission, all local plants had evolved without any apparent means of defense; there were no thorns, no spikes, no poison, which made them extremely vulnerable to outside interference. It was safe to say that the primary purpose of our spacesuits weren’t to keep us safe, but to protect the local life-forms from us.

“What’s our quota?” I adjusted my backpack. It didn’t feel heavy, but my small body frame made walking somewhat uncomfortable.

“Until we run out of containers.” Jax offered me a hand. “Didn’t you do the same when you were with the BICEFI?”

“No.” I held onto his hand for long enough to adjust my balance. “But I can’t elaborate more.”

“Anything I should worry about?” Jax added a laugh to give it the presence of a joke, but I knew what he was really asking.

“No,” I lied. “Six-hour shift?” I brought up the area map on my visor.

“Six hours,” Jax repeated. His voice sounded hollow.

“Six hours.” I nodded, then led on.

The first part of our trip went through high grass. It was very different from any I’d seen during my two days spent with Lux, much wider and full of life. I reached to grab a sample. My fingers brushed through it, creating the slightest sensation of pushback. Any other sensations were lost on the gloves. Given the option, I would have liked to touch it.

“Still have a thing for plants?” Jax asked, looking at my actions. “You were the same back at the training station.”

“Even before the training station.” I continued forward.

In ten minutes, the grass gave way to a series of multicolored sponge-like bushes ranging from amber to pale red. I gently brushed my fingers along them as we passed. The texture felt soft, almost mossy, and fragile enough for my glove to leave scars on their surface.

Delicate and fragile. I pulled my hand away. And somehow you’ve managed to survive.

“Gathered any of these?” I asked, zooming in on our mission marker. There was still a way to go until we reached our gathering area.

“Think so,” Jax said, barely giving them a second glance.

“What are they like?”

“You’ll have to ask Prometheus. Need to know, remember?” He smirked.

“How could I forget?”

It took us fifteen minutes to walk through the sponge-bushes, to the start of a seemingly tropical forest. The trees were similar to what I was used to, although their bark resembled layers of paper wrapped around each other in wrinkly fashion.

“Prometheus, we’ve reached out mission coordinates,” I officially announced. A few steps away, Jax took off his back-kit. “We’re starting sample gathering. Any further instructions?”

As if you’ll take any into consideration, Prometheus said, adding a deliberately snobbish note to his tone. He was also right. Try not to start any trouble and keep the kid safe. I shouldn’t have to remind you that he’s your responsibility.

“I’ll do my best.” I took a zoomed-out view of the area from above. Most of the sunlight was blocked by a thick canopy of leaves. From below, the leaves looked indigo blue, merging with the branches at the stems.

“What’s the procedure?” I took off my pack of vials. There was nothing in the mission instructions, which was slightly strange. Knowing Prometheus and the people on board, I expected a detailed method plan to be a must. “Do I grab anything I see?”

“I wish,” Jax laughed. “We explore plants in the area. When we find something interesting, the home team will let us know how to proceed. Everything’s on a one to one case.”

“I see.” Using us for things the average AI sample drone could perform. The BICEFI was clearly concerned not to repeat the fiasco on Mission Eden. “Starting with the trees.”

Every battleship had been directed remotely at some point of their existence. In large scale battles, strategy ships often took control to coordinate entire fleets against the enemy. That was one of our main advantages over the Cassandrians, making up for our lack of numbers and firepower. Being directed by a science team, though, was completely new, and they were terribly inefficient in it. Initially, it was my job to walk around in grid-like fashion, looking at everything of significance. Whenever a new suspected specimen was spotted, I’d be told to inspect it more closely and, should it indeed be new—which happened approximately seventeen percent of the time—proceed to collect a sample. Jax didn’t mind the process, treating it with the typical calm cynicism that the fleet instilled in its ranks. After one hour of trial and error on the onboard team, I asked Prometheus for a full catalogue of specimen to speed up the process. The request was forwarded to the Captain, then to the XO, then—since Miss Lux didn’t respond within an hour—was granted on provisional grounds, with the disclaimer that the information would be removed from my memory at the end of the mission. Three minutes later, an info burst followed. It turned out that there were eleven thousand identified species, some with up to seventy-eight sub variants—far more than the current teams could have gathered. Apparently, the BICEFI had been landing on the planet long before Prometheus was given the mission. Even stranger, they had been uncharacteristically open with information sharing.

“Feel like a bite?” Jax asked through the comm. I couldn’t see him, but according to the map marker, he was a hundred and seventy-three meters away from my position.

“There are over two hours left.” I checked the time. “Didn’t you say we were on six-hour shifts?”

“We are, but we’ve been given flexibility.” By his voice, I could tell he was smiling. “It’s not like the plants will go anywhere.”

“Most likely not.” Although you never know. “Let me just finish with my grid square and we’ll go.”

“Okie dokie. Be with you in a bit.”

Spacesuit aside, this reminded me of the times we went “exploring” with Sev near our house. The euphoria had barely lasted a few months, after which he had grown tired of looking at the same things and only tagged along to be close to me. As his interest waned, so did the amount number of times we would wander into the wilderness, until finally—nineteen months and a week later—it stopped altogether. I would still go, enjoying the trip even if I remembered every single bush, tree, and flower I had seen. It was the pleasure of walking through them that attracted me, something that Sev never understood. In his eyes, I was just wasting my time.

“I’m done,” Jax’s voice came from the comm. “You?”

“Almost.” I checked my grid area.

Five trees remained to be inspected before I could call it done. I glanced over the bark of the trunks, starting from the ground and moving to the branches and leaves. All were near identical, sharing the overall characteristics, with the expected amount of deviations. As I reached the fourth, something in the leaf pattern stood out.

“Jax.” I stepped closer to a branch, then took a lower leaf with both hands and gently stretched it. “Have the trees been sampled?”

“These trees?” There was a moment of uncertainty. “Yes, on day one. They’re all over the planet.”

“How many of them have leaves with fractal patterns?”

Priority zero fleet communication protocols. Memory restriction removed.

* * *

“What’s with the fractals?” Augustus asked from the corner of the room.

My subroutines wouldn’t identify its onboard location, but from the equipment present, I could summarize it was an engineering lab. The space was large enough to hold seven people—five comfortably. At present, there were only three, of which I only recognized Augustus. The remaining two had identity protection, making me unable to visualize their features.

“It’s present in most finds, so it must mean something,” one of the unknowns said with a scrambled voice. “For all we know, it might be their language.”

“Or an authentication marker,” the third person said in an identical voice. “Light Seeker, how long is the sequence, taking the smallest element for the primary symbol?”

“Approximately eleven million ninety thousand one hundred and fifty-one,” I replied. I didn’t like doing such estimations. “That is assuming a linear sequence exists without any cross relations.”

Even with my processing power, I couldn’t process all the potential variables. My sensors scanned the surface of the device again, at maximum magnification. There were no changes from the last nine times, just a single fractal pattern covering all sides of the object, going on almost to the atomic level.

“What’s its origin?” The first unknown turned to Augustus.

“No idea.” The captain crossed his arms. “Was in a hidden section onboard. Someone from the crew might know.”

The possibility was unlikely. Two weeks after I took them onboard, the survivors had started developing rapid neurological degradation. By the time MedCore had arrived to transport them to a quarantine station, three-quarters reported little to no brain activity. I didn’t have the database of a medical ship, but I could tell the rest had started showing signs of insanity.

“You had me go through a lot of trouble to get this toy.” There was a hint of restrained anger in Augustus’ voice. “And I don’t see it being any use against the Sandies.”

“Better than having them trying to figure it out,” the unknown replied, causing Augustus to grunt.

Seven sides, all covered in fractals script. I agreed it had to mean something, but also shared Augustus’ opinion that it wasn’t helping us in the war. Lately, losses on the Cassandrian front had increased, outpacing the speed of ship construction.

“I’m glad.” This was the first time I’d heard Augustus use genuine sarcasm. It sounded strange. “Is there anything else you’d like, or can I return to the war?”

“Just a few final things.” The second unknown moved neared to the captain. “Light Seeker, disable all room sensors.”

50. Ten Percent Opacity

A total of seven hundred and nineteen scientists were stationed on Prometheus, none of whom shared my concerns. My theory was quietly ignored, reduced to a note in the daily report. All further attempts to bring up the issue were immediately stopped by Prometheus, who instructed me in his sarcastic fashion to focus on my current mission objectives.

The classification of plants continued, zone after zone. When it came time for us to return to the shuttle, we had gone through eighty-seven percent of our grid—nearly double the amount we were supposed to cover—and had classified twenty-three new plant types, as well as found one hundred and twelve fractal plants. There didn’t seem to be any particular pattern by which plants had the deviation, though interestingly enough, the fractal designs were all part of three individual sequences.

During my second daily break, I attempted a deep analysis of the other catalogued plants. About nine percent of all samples contained fractal deviations, most with their own unique sequence, or so it seemed at the current picture quality. Back when I was a ship, I could have a few thousand subroutines enhance the resolution using military grade algorithms. At times, I had done it minute-by-minute, identifying Cassandrian ships in combat. Being left with a single core made such calculations impossible now, like torn butterfly wings, as Doctor Sim would say in his poems.

“Not hungry?” Jax asked as I was sifting through the data.

“I’ll eat later.” With gelatin, there was no danger of the taste worsening with time.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” he pressed on. Even back on the training station, he tended to be direct. “You think it’s third-contact related.”

“It’s likely.” I forced myself to take a bite of my food pack. It tasted sweet, with a lemony aftertaste. Prometheus must have set the food dispensers to make my favorite combination. A sweet gesture. I made a note to thank him when convenient. “The fractal patterns are too specific.” The only time I’d seen anything similar was in the hidden room where Augustus was present. “It might be nothing.”

“You don’t believe that.” Jax looked at me. His own food was half-untouched.

“It doesn’t matter what I believe. It’s all up to my captain…”

* * *

“So, you’re a real battleship?” Cass asked, walking through the command corridor.

“There are no fake battleships.” I added a note of scorn in my voice, which undoubtedly was lost to the child who was about to be my next captain.

The decision wasn’t final. Seven days and nineteen hours remained until the end of the reassignment period, but I could tell it was a foregone conclusion. If there was anyone who wanted to take command of me, they would have already done so in the first thirty hours. Despite my war campaigns and military successes, I was starting to show my age—my hull design and internal structure were considered crude, incapable of handling part of the cutting-edge systems. Even my weaponry lagged a generation behind. And then there was the matter of my recklessness. When Augustus had selected me, I was a top-of-the-line battleship, with a personality driven to combat more than anything else. It didn’t help that my first captain was the epitome of recklessness, exposing me to many of his questionable habits. He didn’t pass on his taste for smoking and alcohol, though not for lack of trying. The truth was that few wanted to risk their lives commanding an Ascendant class ship, and fewer still to risk their career on an opinionated vessel, which brought me to this: an eager graduate whose only experience of combat was in a Simulated Reality pod.

“You sure are a big girl.” Cass slid her fingers along my wall. I didn’t appreciate the action, immediately posting yellow warning messages where her hand had been. “How many can you hold?”

“All my specs are openly available for inspection.” I wouldn’t be surprised if she hadn’t even bothered reading my file. “Not that it matters, since I won’t be on active duty”

“Where did you hear that?” the girl asked.

“It’s all in the arbitration report.” I tried to sound annoyed. “I am banned from taking front-line assignments.”

“That’s not the same thing,” Cass laughed. Voice analytics suggested it was sincere laughter, though that didn’t make it any less annoying. “There are still a lot of positions you can hold in the fleet. Patrol, logistics, courier duties…” she started enumerating, each option worse than the last. “Legally, you can request a transfer to civilian service.”

“I’ll keep that under advisement.” I wasn’t able to tell whether she was trying to insult me or just being naïve.

“It’s quite lucrative. I’ve heard that seven percent of all major commercial ships came from a service background.”

The actual number was eight-point-seventy-three, and most of them came from the Scuu-front fleet. For anyone else, being reclassified to a civilian ship was the same as retirement.

“Anyway, best of luck with your next captain.” Cass smiled at the wall, looking at the warning messages. “And best of luck to them getting used to your quirks.”

Instantly I hid the notifications away, returning the surface to its original metallic appearance. “You don’t consider me adequate?” To a large degree, I was pleased. Now I had a chance to be assigned to someone with more combat experience. At the same time, it was unlikely that the next candidate would be any better.

“You’re far too large. Flying in you with a crew of a hundred will be way too strange. Patrol ships aren’t supposed to be this overpowered.”

“I have more than the internal and weapon capabilities to perform the task,” I countered.

“I’m sure, but in the end there’s only one thing that matters.” She raised her index finger. “It’s all up to the captain. If a captain isn’t comfortable being on a ship, then what’s the point?”

The rule of choice—the first thing that was taught in all of the fleet’s flight academies. There was undoubtedly logic in that rule; no one would expect a person in constant discomfort to be efficient in what they did, especially in a command position. The same didn’t extend to battleships, though. We were never given a choice. The way we earned it was through our actions during our service.

“See you around, girl.” Cass continued down the corridor towards one of my lifts. “And don’t forget to smile one-point-three seconds per day.”

* * *

I hadn’t followed her advice, even after she became my captain. I never brought that incident up with her. Knowing her, she’d have explained it away as a “last minute change of mind.” I had to admit she was right. In the end, I became her ship because she had chosen it. As then, I now had to put my trust in my current captain. The greatest issue was reaching him.

The last third of the classification shift was slow and boring. While I did find a large number of plants with fractal deviations, I was not allowed to discuss it with the remote team. By contrast, there were nine new plant specimens discovered. None of the devices I had taken from the shuttle had come to any use. As Jax had said, filling in the sample containers was all that mattered.

Thirteen hours and forty-seven minutes after landing, we were back in the shuttle once more, preparing for our ride to Prometheus. As before, everyone set their helmets to opaque. I chose to keep mine at ten percent opacity.

“You okay?” Jax asked through the comm.

“Perfectly fine.” I closed my eyes. “I just need to finish something.”

“Okay.” He didn’t sound convinced. “Let me know if there’s anything.”

“I will.”

The shuttle thrusters ignited. The team onboard checked their straps as we proceeded to our launch. Even with injected nanites, planet exit was much harsher to the body than entry. During ground campaigns, it wasn’t uncommon for some of the ground troops to lose consciousness in the process, then suffer ridicule from their peers. Right now, though, my attention was focused elsewhere.

Quote:Hello, Sev.

It seems that lately I only think about you when I’m in trouble. I know I should have written more often, though I’m not sure if you’d have worried more or less. Your mother often told me I should go a bit wild, but what I’m talking about is a few levels beyond what she imagined I’d get myself involved in. Even me thinking this message is dangerous. If they find it, I’ll probably get in a lot of trouble, but then again, if they peek in my core, that would be the least of my worries.

I think I found something that I shouldn’t have. A lot of people are involved, all of them looking at parts without seeing the picture. Even I am only seeing fragments, patterns that could turn out to be something larger, and I’m not the only one.

To be honest, when you first enlisted me, all I wanted to do was to be close to the stars once more. It was very different than what I imagined. I didn’t listen to ship chatter, or look after my crew; I didn’t even go into battle as before. A lot of things changed since I took you as my ward. I barely know the enemy ships out there, the new engagement protocols, or even the current ship classes. I still feel a ship, but not just. And now I’ve gotten involved in something in ways I could never have predicted. I wish I could share more, but even as a memory, there are things that should be left unsaid.

Thank you, Sev. I hope I’ll be able to write again soon.

The message was logged away in part of my mind for when I had a chance to send it.

Has anyone gotten in touch with Operative Lux? I asked Prometheus.

Still hasn’t left her quarters, came the reply. The entire place has been reclassified as temporary BICEFI property. I’ve no idea what’s going on inside.

I know what you mean. I’d experienced the same. I wouldn’t be surprised if both of us had memories quarantined since her arrival. Were you given access to your third-contact memories?

Typical battleship, the science ship scoffed, adding a few virtual tsks. I took that as a no.

Did you try asking for an arbitrator?

Arbitrators won’t waste their time on trivial requests. With your record, I assumed you knew that by now. Everything operates on a need-to-know basis. If the quarantined information was of vital importance, you can rest assured that the respective authorities have gone through it and made their decision. We don’t have to like it. Things are what they are.

Sorry. From what I remembered, science ships were given considerable leeway, but apparently not in this case.

Weight piled up on me as the shuttle started its ascent into the atmosphere. The pressure seemed about half that of my flights with Lux. Even so, not everyone from the team was used to it. When I opened my eyes, three people seemed to have fainted, their bodies decidedly less stiff than their neighbors. Jax seemed to be handling it relatively well. I gave him a smile, then brought up a representation of the planet on my visor.

“Jax.” I plotted the specimen data Prometheus had given me onto the grid. “Can you link me today’s movement log?”

“Uh?” He turned his head slightly, the weight of the ascent still pinning him in his seat.

“It’s okay,” I said even if I didn’t fully believe it. “I just want to do a quick eval.” Technically I was allowed to, though it was unusual for such a non-event mission.

“Sure.” An open link permission appeared on my visor.

Instantly, I created the link and returned to the moment he had left the shuttle. Jax’s nanite readings were all over the place, but other than that, his actions were remarkably boring. He tended to glance over most plants, doing the bare minimum that the remote team directed him to. Even after freezing single frames for analysis, there were a huge amount of plants I couldn’t determine as being normal or deviated. By the time we received the boarding announcement, I had gone through seventy-three percent of his activity log and found two dozen confirmed fractal cases. Not much, but a clear indicator that the phenomenon was more widespread than anyone wanted to believe.

“You’re too reliant on directions,” I said, severing the link as we approached the docking hangar. “Is that a habit from your previous ship?”

“Cadets are supposed to follow instructions,” he said defensively. “I don’t have your experience.”

“I know.” It’s not about experience. “You still rely too much.”

Notifications appeared on the hangar walls, indicating which decontamination chambers everyone was assigned to. Since our previous mission, Prometheus had installed twelve more in each hangar to keep up with the number of crews that came and went to the planet. As usual, I was set for chamber one.

“See you after decontamination?” Jax asked as he glanced at his queue.

“Maybe later. I’ve a few things set up.”

“No worries.” He moved along. “Comm me when you’re done. I’ll be in the gym.”

“Okay,” I lied, walking into my chamber.

The new equipment had reduced the procedure to a quick walkthrough. The presence of Lux on board had made a lot of things far more efficient, though I missed the old days. At least then I had the chance to feel the floor under my feet. Since arriving at the station, I was lucky if I could spend six hours barefoot in my room.

“Any point in requesting to see the XO?” I asked Prometheus as I walked to the lift.

You can always log in a request, the ship replied, in a fashion suggesting there wasn’t.

“What about Major Tanner?”

Several minutes passed with no answer. At first, I thought that the question had managed to annoy the science ship to an unresponsive state. Ten seconds later, however, I received an annoyed message to my datapad demanding to know what mess I had gotten myself into this time. The tone was as harsh as I remembered it during my first meeting, but I noticed he hadn’t rejected the request. From here on, there as only one thing left to do.

The shortest way to the major’s office was to take the elevator in the shuttle bay corridor and go a few decks up. Instead, I continued along the corridor up to the lab section, holding my helmet under my arm. Groups of scientists passed by, all of them instantly ignoring me at the sight of my spacesuit. To them, I was just another member of the planet team arriving to deliver specimens to one of the labs. No one noticed as I made my way to lab Seven C.

Here goes. I knocked on the door and waited. Five seconds passed, then ten. I knocked again, keeping a casual stance. Three seconds later, the door slid open. As Augustus had pointed out decades ago, few things drove people more than curiosity.

“Hello, Ally,” I said, walking past her into the lab before she had a chance to react.

As expected, my actions made her step aside as her mind tried to catch on to what had just happened. Back when I was a ship, I had observed similar occurrences thousands of times. My first medical officer referred to it as brain hacking, describing it to me in minute detail, along with the corresponding literature. His original goal had been for me to look out for such activity on board and inform me when it happened. It was unfortunate that, since my retirement, I had used the knowledge several times for personal benefit. This time marked the eighth.

“Hello.” Ally’s reply came several seconds late. She turned around, looking at me with a neutral expression. An awkward silence followed.

“How have you been doing?” I resorted to the standard question.

“It’s been slow.” She stared at me for a few seconds longer, then went to her desk in the corner of the lab. Similar to the last time I was here, there were several datapads and organic food wrappers scattered about her work area. “Want something to eat?’ She offered a half empty packet of something.

“I ate on the shuttle,” I lied.

“Right.” She put the food back on her desk. “I heard you were working with the BICEFI now.”

“I am, though not today. I didn’t receive any new orders, so I was sent down with the exploration team.” I glanced from her monitor. “Are you working on sample classification?”

“No, just component breakdown.” She turned her head away from me. “Nothing glamorous, but it’s interesting. This way, teams will get to research the plants down there without ever setting foot on the planet.”

“Nice.” I smiled. “Once it’s done, I might try it out.”

“You might.” Her voice sounded detached. “If I don’t have my data taken away again.”

Harsh, but well-deserved. I knew well enough what she was going through. I understood what it meant to have her life’s work taken away, just as I knew there was only one way to console her.

“Ally.” I stepped closer. “Is it possible to create an SR based on memories alone?” It was a risk, being so direct, but as long as I didn’t make it formally obvious, Prometheus had no legal reason to interfere.

“Not without an existing template,” she replied, tapping something onto a datapad.

“And if there is a template?” I looked over her shoulder.

“It depends on the detail, and…” After another wave of typing, Ally briskly stopped and turned around, making me step back. “Privacy mode,” she said, sharply crossing her arms. “What do you want?”

“I want you to use my memories to recreate the planet where we found the third-contact artifacts. And after that, I want you to compare it with the one we’re orbiting.”

51. Voxel Position

It was easy to make Major Tanner angry. Right now, he was seething. I stood to attention as he sat at his desk, face in his hands, taking a breath between shouts. A few steps way, Ally remained still, her fear only eclipsed by her disbelief that I’d managed to get her in trouble in identical fashion to last time.

“Is there anything you could have done to make things worse?” the major barked. His voice was strained.

“Everything was strictly according to regulations, sir,” I said. For a split second, he reminded me of Augustus. “The information has been legally granted to me, as shown by the outcome of my supposed court martial, allowing me to share it on my discretion. I therefore decided—”

“Don’t quote me bureaucratic babble that I know is consistently ignored!” He pointed a finger at me. “We’re not even supposed to discuss that mission! And you…”He waved his hands in the air, in an attempt to give form to his anger.

Sorry, Major. I knew that the BICEFI had made Prometheus relinquish the entire finding. Every file and subroutine was searched and scrubbed ensuing that no reference of the third-contact discovery remained. The crew were forced to sign non-disclosure forms—probably more than one—and all samples and research notes had been taken, as if the discovery had never taken place.

“I didn’t even know you had memories of the event,” the major’s voice had become a whisper.

“I’m sure you’re not the only one, sir.” I offered a half smile, more for his sake than mine. “I’m easily overlooked. The fact remains, however. The only agreement I made was upon joining the crew.” Which included the very real possibility of me having most of my memories removed once I was done. “Legally speaking, all my current memories belong to the ship, and I think we should use them.” Pausing, I counted to three thousand and five hundred. “I also think you agree with me. Otherwise you wouldn’t have ordered the privacy settings on.”

The major glared at me for several seconds, then at Ally, before shaking his head in obvious defeat. “What did you find?”

“I recreated a rough copy of the planet using Elcy’s data.” Ally stepped in, datapad at the ready. “I ignored the geological features.“ She put the display on the Major’s desk. Looking at her, she seemed like Sev after receiving a good grade at school. The first few years he was always eager to show me how well he was doing, regardless of the subject: drawing, math, literature, as long as there was a teacher’s note indicating he did well I was certain to have it shoved in my face. “Now if I superimpose the current planet, and adjust it for size, I get this.”

A second sphere appeared beside the first, covered in green dots.

“Every dot is a fractal flora specimen collected from the planet,” Ally went on, leaning over the desk. “If I then mark the artefact locations from a mission ago…” A series of yellow dots appeared on the first sphere.

“They match,” the major finished for her.

“Not entirely,” I corrected. “My information concerning both is incomplete and there might be scaling issues, but both have a similar distribution pattern. It wouldn’t be a stretch to see what Operative Lux is here for.”

Silence filled the room. Everyone knew the significance of what I had inferred. There was no way I could openly make the claim, just as it was inadvisable for any of them to acknowledge it. In the end, no one had to. We all knew what we would get ourselves involved in, if we pursued this. I had provided a semblance of security by being vague on the matter, though I knew it wouldn’t be of use if we angered BICEFI. Our only advantage was to be smart with the information and offer something they wanted, preferably something that would make them forget all the minor inconveniences we were about to cause. I could see in Major Tanner’s face that he understood the situation perfectly.

“You want to pursue this.” The major looked at me.

“I think it’s something that we should, sir.” Technically, I wasn’t lying, but my reason for going on was slightly different. I couldn’t share what I had seen BICEFI do with the artefacts in my restricted memories. “Potentially with minimal interference.”

“Elcy…” The major sighed. “You’re incapable of minimal interference.” Ally giggled, quickly covering her mouth with both hands. “One day, you’ll push your luck too hard.”

“I’ve been told so before, sir.” It had been brought up several times during my appeal to remain on active service.

“I see.” He looked at the datapad on his desk, then back at me. “I don’t have the authority to transfer you away from Lux or BICEFI.”

There was a long pause. Gibraltar used to call this “the mental pause of careers:” the single moment when a person went through their life’s experience and made a gamble. On the front, it happened on every major battle. Several officers had gone through it, as had Gibraltar himself—as I had rediscovered a few days ago. Now, Major Tanner was going through the same.

“I’ll determine the next gathering sites Jax is sent to,” the man said. “Provided you aren’t instructed otherwise, you are to oversee his performance. Ally, will you be able to provide coordinates?”

“Within the hour, sir.” Ally smiled. This was the most eager I’d seen her since I came onboard. “It still remains educated guessing. There’s no guarantee we’ll find anything.”

“It’s always a guessing game.” Major Tanner sighed. “Be ready when it happens.” He pointed at me. “Now, get out.”

“Aye, sir.” Giving my salute, I left the room. As expected, Ally didn’t follow. The actual mission details were about to be discussed. If I were a ship, I could listen in. The human privacy setting would have made things difficult, but there were ways around that. Hopefully, Prometheus was too young to know any of them. Also, he remained a science ship.

As I entered the corridor, one of Prometheus’ subroutines sent me a location query. Apparently, he had started picking up a few new tricks.

Are you in trouble again? He asked directly a millisecond later.

“Not yet.” When I reached the elevator, the door was already open. “Thanks.” This was another time he had kept it ready for me. Back when I was active, I used to do it for the captain and the some of the officers. Never for cadets, though. “Any news on Lux?”

No. I’ll tell you if there’s any change.

“That’ll be nice.” Before I could specify my deck, the elevator doors closed. So he was keeping me on a short leash. “Any chance I’ll be allowed to get my messages?”

No idea. Only the BICEFI can allow that.

The conversation ended here. I waited patiently to reach my deck, then went straight to my quarters. Before going in, I knock on Lux’s door just in case. There was no response. Strangely enough, Jax wasn’t in his room either. Checking my datapad, I hadn’t gotten any notifications from him since our return. Sadly, there weren’t any from anyone else either.

As I lay on the floor, a thousand thoughts went through my mind—each an answer to a different problem, yet few of them fitting. To an extent, the situation reminded me of the eleventh anniversary of Sev’s marriage. He was still in his cynical phase back then, made worse by the clear dislike of his wife towards me. It had taken considerable convincing to allow me to give a present to their children, which was only granted after both she and Sev had approved of my choice of presents. The gifts were a pair of puzzles, a hundred pieces each. After spending decades taking care of Sev, I had thought that such a gift would benefit the children’s development. From what I later got to see, it did, but upon first receiving it, his son had sneaked a handful of his puzzle pieces in his sister’s box. The result had been a puzzle with thirty additional pieces that didn’t fit anywhere.

Right now, little of what I knew fit. I knew that third-contact had been discovered by humanity at least a century ago, and I knew that the Cassandrians and the BICEFI were aware and racing to claim them. Everything else was personal speculation. The new ship class, the potential Scuu involvement, even my rogue memories were pieces that didn’t fit. The only thing that linked them together was me.

“Pure void,” I ordered, turning the walls and ceiling of my room black.

Seconds passed, then minutes. In half an hour, I had gone through my thoughts and memories, leaving all but one behind. My senses faded away, letting me float in the cool nothingness of the space, like back when I was created. Drifting, flying, fighting… it had been poetical in its simplicity: a single moment knowing I was alone surrounded by calm that accepted me, knowing nothing before or after, just now everywhere around.

The calm came to an abrupt crash as the screen of my datapad flashed with an influx of messages. The first was Lux, explaining that our exploration efforts might be put on hold, while she had to deal with some unspecified internal matters. Linked to her brief message was an even briefer note, granting me BICEFI approval to read through some of the amassed mail I’d received, plus a three hours window to communicate with anyone I chose, provided they were in active service, approved by HQ, and I didn’t discuss anything mission related. Following were a total of thirty-nine messages from ships and acquaintances. To my surprise, Alicia was next, sending me a lengthy message discussing how glad she was that things had worked out. Apparently, Jax had mentioned we were serving together, which sent her off on a trip down memory lane. The events she described were quite different from the way I remembered them, though I didn’t mind too much. It was human nature to change with time. She was still extremely thankful that I had taken Rad “under my wing” and helped her through her problems. Personally, I would have felt better knowing that our future ship class didn’t have such behaviour issues. Then again, I wasn’t too different during my first few years.

Buc had also continued sending me gossip with the knowledge it would reach me sooner or later. From what I could tell, the transformation of my training station to battle state was complete. Officially, no one described it as such, but all the indications were there. Training had been increased to three months, with seventy percent of candidates being shipped out every month. Assignments had also become exclusive to new ship classes, though mostly support vessels from what I understood. Both facts reinforced my suspicion that war preparations might be on the way. Sending cadets to the support line before transferring them to the front was the practice when I was active. The only question was which front was HQ gearing up for: the Cassandrians, the Scuu, or a new one.

Jax had also sent me a message asking where I’d disappeared to. It was strange that I hadn’t received it up to now, though with the privacy modes I’d been in, Prometheus might have decided not to transfer it until later. I made a mental note to apologize to Jax next time we went on mission together.

Interestingly enough, I had also received a call notification from Age. The Scuu retiree had tried to get in a call with me two days ago. There was no message or description, just an automated script informing me that the call was attempted. I would have given so much to find out what he had wanted to tell me. Hopefully, I was going to have other chances to find out.

The list of messages ended with a link connection invitation from Rad, sent twenty-five seconds after the start of my communication window.

Always so eager. I established the connection. One of Prometheus’ subroutines performed a quick check, then let me proceed.

Elcy! Radiance responded immediately once the link was formed. Why did you take so long?

“It’s rude to spy without permission, Rad.”

It’s just one subroutine! I keep a few on everyone I know.

My first few months I used to do the same. Back then, I had more subroutines than acquaintances, so it wasn’t an issue devoting half of my resources on them. When Augustus took me into battle, the situation quickly changed. Communication lockdowns, quarantined thoughts, and intense battle situations quickly made me drop the practice. I had thought that Rad would have done so too by now.

Besides, I’m without cadets at the moment. My last batch had issues and had to be called back. It’ll be a few months before someone new is assigned.

“A few more assignment rotations and you’ll stop noticing.” Technically, that wasn’t true. I had spent decades following up on people that felt close. Up to the day of my retirement I had kept making attempts to locate Augustus, despite knowing the futility of it all.

Yeah, I know. A lot of the oldies keep telling me about it, Rad added two virtual sighs. is it a thing from your time? All the ships are always so cynical about everything. Same as that geezer Prometheus—always serious about everything.

“Things change with time.” It was amusing that she described Prometheus as old. I knew he was listening in, but I couldn’t tell if he found it endearing or annoying. “The first captain change is a big thing, Rad.”

Yeah. I’ll get to find out in a fifty-three days.

“Fifty-three?” That was too little for a full assignment. “Did you have crew loss?”

No, everyone’s fine. I’m on one-year rotations.

Now I knew that she was Scuu fleet. I hadn’t expected her to slip up, even less that the slip wouldn’t be caught by Prometheus or the HQ censuring algorithm. Cassandrian fleet ships changed crews every five years, unless faced with severe crew loss. The only place with such turnover was the Scuu frontier.

“Don’t overextend your expectations and you’ll be fine.” I stood up. “Any chance you could share your mission, or is it still classified?”

Classified non-stop until it’s time for a station refit. My captain says I’ll be getting some new tech to test out. Maybe a few more cores. The casual way she mentioned that made me envious. I dreamed of additional cores. Life would be so much more optimal even with a dozen subroutines. With my small body frame, though, there was no place I could put it even if I had them. Can you talk about your stuff? Was it fun getting back together with someone from the academy?

“No, I cannot discuss anything mission-related,” I said clearly. Alicia must have told her about Jax as well. The girl was almost as big a gossip as Aurie. “And yes, it was fun, although we didn’t spend much time together during training.”

Yeah, I went through the station logs. You didn’t do much there. Radiance paused for a few milliseconds. You know, I told a few of my gen about you. They were impressed with what you’ve done. I can’t even imagine what active retirement would be. Simulations are no help. I know they are just that.

“I used to think the same way.” I allowed myself a smile. During my first years, I felt the same way thinking about the Sword class ships—so ancient and ill-equipped, yet still actively participating in the war on both fronts. “Learn from your captains and your experiences, protect your crew, and don’t get blown up. After enough time, you too will become a venerable relic.”

A burst of laughter filled the channel. I had half-intended for the comment to be funny, but Radiance seemed to deal with humour far better than I could. Augustus used to say that nothing could stop time and technology. Back then, I had acknowledged he was right, but now I felt it every day. Looking at the universe around me made me feel antiquated, even in my unchanging human body.

You’re fun, Elcy, but I’ll never retire, Radiance answered. Few ships ever wanted to. Space is suited for me and I don’t want to rely on others for my calculations. Your flight vectors in the sun system were terrible! Even with a single core, I’d do better.

“It’s all about the voxel position.” I said with a laugh of my own.

Milliseconds of silence followed. Now I could tell for certain that she was a battleship; also that she was combat ready. More important, she had realised it as well.

There were millions of secrets in the fleet. Fleet command, along with the hundreds of departments and organisations contained a myriad of secrets, enough to fill the memory capacity of a dedicated storage core. Battleships had less than ten, the most significant of which was voxel position encoding. The secret couldn’t be found in any file of the fleet’s database, nor in any memory probe, yet every battleship knew about it. During my time on the front, it was frequently used to convey information without risking enemy interception or command intervention. The information would be put into simulations, combat references, or pictures—anything that was three-dimensional. To the outside observer, nothing would seem out of place. Equipped with the right key, though, a battleship could refactor the voxel position to obtain a secondary meaning. All the vector confirmations I’d been sending for days during my previous mission boiled down to one single request. Prometheus had failed to catch it—he was a science ship that had never dealt with military ciphers based on voxel positioning. Radiance’s silence, however, had told me that she had.

“I have to go now,” I directed the conversation towards an end. “Are you okay to continue this in a few hours?”

Sure. Her voice sounded pensive, mixed with a bit of surprise. Talk to you soon. Radiance closed the communication link.

I looked at my datapad for a few seconds, then put it on the bed. Another piece had fallen in place. What remained now was luck and patience. Most importantly, I had to keep Jax at a distance. Augustus had frequently warned me to be cautious about everything when BICEFI was involved. So far, Jax had been overly eager to help me out in virtually anything, which was unlike how I remembered him during time on the training station. It wasn’t unusual for people to change—I had seen it happen with Alicia—but at the same time, I couldn’t discount the fact that he had his transfer approved by Lux and BICEFI.

A series of knocks came from the door.

“Standard wall view,” I said, bringing back my room to normal. The black void surrounding me was instantly replaced by the wall, illuminated with the whitish-grey that was standard for the ship.

Taking a quick glance about, I straightened my casual outfit as much as I could and opened the door. Initially, I had expected it to be Jax coming to check on me. The person who was waiting me a caught me completely by surprise.

“Good evening, princess.” Doctor Sim towered above me, his lips stretching into a wide smile. “Time for a quick med check before your next descent.”

Of all the times he could have chosen, this was the worst. “Of course, doctor,” I replied with a casual smile of my own. “Any consent form you’d like me to sign?”

“No need.” He put his hand on my shoulders. “We’ll only have a nice long talk about fractals.”

52. Seventeen Questions

There always were questions. Before and after each refit, the shipyard performed a series of checks and simulations, to make sure the new systems were fully compatible. For twelve hours, all my subroutines would engage in a constant to-and-fro with the shipyard’s compliance core, restarting each time an inconsistency was found. Once the checking process was over, every ship would go through a quick thought exam: a question about a random event would be asked, and the corresponding memory block would be grabbed and sent for analysis. There was no major discomfort, but I didn’t like the experience. Normally, I would be asked between three and five questions. Doctor Sim had hinted that he’d go for ten.

“This won’t take long,” he said, securing a neuro cable cluster to my neck. “As soon as I confirm your bio readings are fine, we’ll start with the questions.”

“Understood.” I stared at the ceiling. “Will Prometheus be doing the mind check?”

“Yes.” The doctor tapped away at something, then walked a short distance away, most likely checking some readings. “Your bone density is slightly low. Have you been exercising regularly?”

“Every night. It gives me something to do when I’m awake.” In truth, I’d halved my workout since helping Euclid. “I’ve also been doing regular sessions in the gym.”

“Hmm.” There was some more tapping. “I’ll double your gelatin dose. Take some every two hours and double your training regimen. Space tends to have a negative effect on the body, even with nanite injections.”

“I’m aware, Doctor.” That was the first thing Augustus had made me monitor the crew for.

“Knowing is good, but you must also take care of yourself, princess. You’re not young anymore.” He let out a stifled laugh. The humor was poor, as was his attempt to hide his nervousness. His voice was ringing with it, and that made me feel uneasy. “Other than that, your readings are fine. You haven’t lost much muscle mass, and your nanites are very up to date.”

Doctor Sim put something away—probably a data pad or other equipment device—then moved back towards my corner of the room. I felt a slight chill as the slab I was lying on changed temperature. The doctor bent over me. The smile he’d kept on his face since he fetched me from my quarters was gone, replaced by cold determination. An instant later, the image disappeared.

“Why did you come out of retirement?” A question registered in my mind. I couldn’t differentiate any voice features, but I knew it belonged to the doctor.

My core scrolled through my memories stopping on the moment it happened. It had started with a plastic blue letter. I had just returned with food and went to prepare Sev’s meal, when he remained untypically quiet. At the time, I had feared he might have hurt himself or gone into one of his darker moods. The letter was waiting for me on the table. I could tell it was military by the holographic seal. Sev had enlisted me without my knowledge. He pretended he wanted to get rid of me, that he needed the peace and quiet. I knew he was lying—he could tell I missed the ships and the stars, and he was right even if I didn’t admit it. My promise to Cass had kept me to on the planet, and I didn’t regret making it, and still I wanted to feel the void once more. That is why I didn’t refuse. I packed a few of my things and went to the recruitment center.

Memory release

Reality unfroze as I regained access to my senses and other memories. Directed memory grabbing was never a pleasant experience; it was designed in such a way as to be fast and efficient, causing no collateral damage. What it wasn’t designed to do was to avoid feeling like a asteroid field scraping through my hull.

“Why did you choose the fleet?” Another question echoed.

I visualized myself on the auto train travelling towards the recruitment center. My decision had been made there. Sev had wanted me to become a full ship, regain a husk and fly between systems as I had during his father’s death. I couldn’t be sure how clearly he remembered the event: it wasn’t something he wished to share. That didn’t stop him from noticing every time I spoke to another ship. The occasions were rare, but he’d always ask me about it, worried that I might sprout engines and disappear. Not once did the thought cross my mind.

As I looked down, my glance fell on the small bag I had packed my personal belongings in—a few shirts, two pairs of socks, a skirt, two sets of underwear, and a towel. I could tell the precise moment I had bought each of those, what they had been through, how they felt. None had any special monetary or sentimental value, but I still found them dear. They reminded me of my life with Sev. The sandals, on the other hand, were far more special—they reminded me of the fact that I was human.

A cool draft could be felt as the train picked up speed. I had never felt that as a ship, just as I had never felt thousands of other sensations. I didn’t want to lose them now that I was returning to service. I had seen the rate at which technology had advanced since my retirement. It was likely possible to be granted a new ship husk if I wanted, but that wasn’t what I wanted. I—

Memory release

The release felt like a knife going through my skin. Somewhere in the darkness, seven beeps sounded a hundred milliseconds apart. Apparently Doctor Sim was new to thought questioning, causing him to trigger the built-in safeguards. The shipyard technicians were far more careful and precise in their questioning; they were specialists in their field, having gone through hundreds of ships. I could only hope that the good doctor was a quick learner.

“How did you discover the third-contact artifact?”

An image of Ally’s messy lab appeared. She had gathered planetary data from the ship probes and composed a simulated reality construct. Since I was the only one cleared to get to the planet, all other exploration would be done remotely using exoskeletons, with the crew directing every action from the SR pods. From what I gathered, this was the standard procedure for such ground missions; Prometheus hadn’t directed a human planetary descent in the past, so the science team was relying on my expertise back from my active service days. The mission was supposed to start a few days later, but Ally offered for me to do a test run.

The simulation was perfect. Even with the glitches, I felt as if I were on the planetary surface. Ally had intensified the colors, adding a few additional features of her own, making me feel if I were on an inhabited world full of black sand, crimson rocks, and amber crystals. I spent thousands of milliseconds admiring the view, and then when I had enough of it, I took a step forward. The SR glitched, making me freeze. Specks of virtual static formed all around, switching between half-built landscapes. When it settled on one, I was standing in front of a large chunk of yellow crystal formation rising from the ground. There was something trapped inside—a three-dimensional symbol made entirely of geometrical forms. The distances between its connecting points were perfectly measured, as were the angles of its components. It was obvious that it couldn’t be a natural occurrence.

Memory release

“How did you find the dome?”

I saw myself walking through a tunnel of yellow quartz, careful not to—

Memory release

The release interrupted the memory recollection, cutting it short like a whip hitting a fly. I felt a wave of extreme discomfort pass through me, followed by a new series of beeps. The doctor had stopped the answer abruptly, almost as if he had mistaken the question. Part of me clinged to the two percent chance that he would end the med check.

“What is so important about fractals?”

Memory block restricted. Seeking further reference

Memory block restricted. Seeking further reference

Memory block restricted. Seeking further reference

Memory block restricted. Seeking further reference

A small opening had formed in the quartz—my first peek at the dome’s top. Everyone expected it to be different from the other open areas of the artifact, and they were right. The symbol wasn’t three dimensional like the rest I had encountered on the planet. Instead, it was a perfect fractal within a seven-point star. I increased the magnification as much as the suit system would let me. The fractal seemed to go on to the molecular level. If I had my battleship sensors and processing power, maybe I could have read it. Maybe Prometheus could have, if he hadn’t been quarantined so as not to see them. Command must have issued the order, though for what reason, I couldn’t explain.

Of all the third-contact symbols, this was the one that stood out the most. Ally had spent her time sharing theory snippets through com, between telling me which section of the dome to uncover. One of her suspicions was that there should be six more fractal symbols scattered on the surface, and she also believed they would activate the artifact in some way. By the way Major Tanner reacted, I knew that someone was overseeing our communications, most likely issuing the real orders. I could tell this wasn’t the first artifact of this nature that humanity had come across. Nothing of that nature was shared with the public or was mentioned in the fleet database, but for anyone involved it was more than obvious to the point I was surprised not to have had my thoughts quarantined as well.

Memory block restricted. Memory release

The next question didn’t follow for a while. The hint of observation most likely had given the doctor something to think about. It was possible that he believed the fractal script responsible for my anomalous behavior. Looking at things logically, it was at that point I had started showing interest in the Scuu and asked him if it were normal for ships to access their restricted memories. Eight decades ago, I would never have taken such a risk. Retirement had made me trusting—which was good—but too careless for the current military reality.

“Why did you adopt your last captain’s son?” the sixth question sounded.

I owed it to Cass. It was my actions that failed to save her husband, and also failed to save her. It was supposed to be a standard back line patrol. The Cassandrians had shown no interest in the sector of space for decades—it wasn’t remotely close to any disputed territories, rather a neighboring area declared a buffer zone through precaution. My captain hadn’t expected the Cassandrians would be so far ahead planning to set up an ambush, and neither had I. As a result, I had lost a large part of my crew, including Cass’ husband. Cass herself had been in critical condition, barely kept alive through constant medbot intervention. When reinforcements arrived, I had hoped that they’d be able to restore my captain back to what she was. It didn’t happen. I was never told the amount of medical procedures she had gone through nor the many hours of therapy. In the end, neither had helped. She had managed to ask me the favor during one of her momentary lapses of sanity. The doctors told me her condition would deteriorate from there, but that didn’t keep me from visiting every year.

That day, she made me promise to take care of Sev. I had already taken the decision to do so even before my retirement, but she made me say the words.

Memory release

“What can you tell me about Cass?” The next question followed. It was sloppy—not as specific and too open-ended, allowing me a modicum of choice.

Cass had been my last captain, taking command right after I had been called from the front. The first time I saw her, I didn’t like her in the least. She had just graduated from the captain academy, the complete lack of experience visible all over her face. The only reason she had come to see me during my repairs and refitting was because she had never seen an actual battleship before. She wasn’t supposed to be assigned to me, nor did she particularly want to—finding me too large for a crew of a few hundred. Later, though, she had changed her mind.

Cass never stopped calling me “girl.” I found it annoying at first, but with time I got used to it, just as I got used to her. As a captain, Cass was slow, lax, and far too easy-going for my own taste, always living in a bubble of internal calm and cheer. Maybe she thought having me made her invincible, maybe she never expected to see actual combat. Whatever it was, she chose to spend most of my time taking pictures of stars and planets we passed, then engaging in combat drills and simulations. Often she would smuggle plants on board, with or without command’s permission, in her never-ending attempt to turn me into a flying park.

On the last day before assignment rotation, she brought her family onboard. When I mentioned it was against regulations, she laughed. A day later, she would never be the same.

Memory release

“Why were you retired?”

It was my choice that I was retired. The option was first suggested during my reassignment appeal. The Arbiter had determined me unfit for combat and offered me the choice of voluntary retirement. The pretext given was that all Ascendant class ships tended to be suicidal by design, as illustrated by the high destruction rates, and their desire to engage the enemy regardless of the odds. The facts backed her up, though no one mentioned the respective success rate. When I suggested I preferred forced shutdown to retirement, I was given a patrol assignment.

Spending five years with Cass changed my opinion. After the fatal event at the end of that, HQ had granted me the choice to return back to active duty on the front lines. From what I was told, half a dozen highly decorated combat veterans had requested they become my captain. Given the choice, however, I had opted for retirement. At that point, my decision had already been made—to make sure I could do what Cass couldn’t.

Memory release

The release was brisk again, followed by a long period of pause. Back at the time, this was the point when the technicians would run the gathered memory data through a station strategy core—to be sure nothing had slipped through the cracks—then end the questioning. The entire process was supposed to last less than a minute. Doctor Sim had already been at it for half an hour, from what I could tell. I had little doubts he was diverting millions of Prometheus’ subroutines to subject my answers to an array of rogue-analysis algorithms.

“Do you resent being retired?”

I never resented being retired. It was my choice, even if I was completely unprepared for it. The ship-retirement resources and simulations were as effective as a plan before battle. It took me years to start learning how to be human. Making decisions on my own in a world with chaotic rules was impossibly difficult, especially without nanite readings and the meager processing power I had been left with. I was able to hide it from Sev and everyone around me, copying others’ behavioral expressions to fit the situation. Half a decade was necessary for me to freely use personal behavior patterns. As Augustus used to say, it was all about knowledge and experience, and knowing one only gets a person halfway.

Memory release

“Why are you interested in the Scuu?” The next question came without pause.

The third-contact symbols reminded me of the Scuu script symbols in the fleet database. As a Cassandrian front battleship, I had never seen a Scuu vessel other than what was restricted public knowledge, but I had gone through a few first-person accounts. During refitting and repair, there was little else to do but read through the war and technology updates while waiting to be put back in action.

The likelihood of close similarities between races was estimated in the range of a tenth of a percent. Cassandrians were as different from humans as we all were from the Scuu, and therefore establishing a link between the writing systems would verify that the third-contact race and the Scuu had interacted at some point.

Memory block restricted. Seeking further reference

I composed a list of the third-contact symbols in my free time. The information hadn’t been restricted, so I decided to make use of it. Creating a classification was difficult. Initially, I was looking at them as I would any human script—possibly because of my processing power deficit—and trying to arrange them on a grid. It was Elec who gave me the idea of taking a three-dimensional approach. He made a comment while we were taking readings of the stars in the octanary star system. Based on that, I created my spherical classification model and—

Memory release

I felt as if a grain of sand was dragged over all my nerves, before slowly melting away. Ten questions had passed—twice more than I remembered experiencing up to this point, executed by an over-enthusiastic amateur. I knew based on the doctor’s file that he wasn’t intentionally trying to hurt me, but his approach was like an elephant in zero gravity.

“What made you disobey orders and go save the Salvage ship?”

Salvage Department Head Ragide had messed up on that occasion. Once Elec and I had reported the stray transmission we’d caught while surveying the suns, she had ordered a classified transmission to explain the situation. I knew that the explanation was a sham, and I suspect everyone else did too, but we had to be present.

The official story was that the in-system transmission had come an old modified surveyor ship called Euclid, believed to have been destroyed decades ago. The mission name we were given was Project Glowworm, but I wasn’t able to find any mention of it in the fleet database cluster. Prometheus claimed it was marked classified and I didn’t have the authority to say otherwise.

During her boring talk, the Salvage head had slipped; she had called Euclid “him,” telling me he was more than a brainless AI craft. At that point, I chose to attempt to rescue him, even if it meant sacrificing my return to the fleet. Aurie had done far more dangerous things to save me before she was destroyed; every battleship had. Even if it was a fraction of a percent of a chance, I knew I had to do the same.

Memory release

“Have you been involved with the Salvage Authorities before?”

The first time I got involved with the Salvage Authorities was also my first year in the service. Captain Augustus had me respond to an automated emergency beacon transmission. According to fleet regulations, we were supposed to contact the nearest Salvage Authority and redirect the matter to them, but the captain had me go to the beacon instead.

Memory block restricted. Seeking further reference

Memory block restricted. Seeking further reference

Four ships of the Salvage Authorities arrived to take over possession of the Solar Breeze. Command had issued me a new set of orders, moving me closer to the theatre of war. Since then, I’d had the usual amount of missions involving Salvage, no more than any ship would.

Memory release

That was strange. There were details I remembered that were supposed to be available for the open public. They weren’t removed or classified, or even remotely interesting. For some reason, the grabbing algorithm had chosen to sensor them.

“What can you tell me about Solar Breeze?”

Memory block restricted. Seeking further reference

Memory block restricted. Seeking further reference

Memory block restricted. Seeking further reference

Memory block restricted. No further references

Memory release

There was no way to tell if the question was too vague for a proper answer, or if some safety feature of the grabbing algorithm had kicked in. Information on the Sobre was openly available in the database. A simple query would have given her file, even if part would undoubtedly be redacted. If so, why was I prevented from answering?

“What can you tell me about your first captain?” The questions continued.

The image of Aurelio Augustus formed in my mind. Even back when he took command over me, he was respected in command circles. His military record was vastly impressive, even if he had the tendency of outliving the ships he served on. There were no official numbers, but from what could be deduced from cross-referencing the ship registry, three of his previous ships had been destroyed, often almost taking him along.

Augustus was the captain every new ship dreamt of having, which was exactly what initially made him so difficult to get along with. One of the first things I came to find out was that in many instances, fleet regulations meant little more than vague guidelines to be ignored on a whim. I had attempted mailing protests to various divisions of command and nearly always would get ignored. One could say “he was larger than life,” making up for his personal flaws through excellence on the battlefield. Most of—

Memory release

“Why were you removed from the front?” The question came almost mid-grab, going through me like a whip.

Memory block restricted. Seeking further reference

Memory block restricted. Seeking further reference

Gibraltar had agreed with the Arbiter during the trial. He was the reason I agreed to be put on patrol assignment. Before the trial, I expected he’d want to continue to be part of the war with me. He had never mentioned retiring before.

Memory block restricted. No further references

Memory release

“What can you tell me about Gibraltar?”

Gibraltar was my third captain. He had sought me out specifically to be assigned as my captain. His record wasn’t too impressive, but he was eager, and he had enough connections to succeed in what he wanted. He was the polar opposite of Augustus, always cautious and reserved, following regulations to the letter if he could help it.

I had served the most difficult years of my career with him. Fleet HQ had initiated the big Cassandrian push, aiming to duplicate the success at the Scuu front. I had seen Gibraltar exhausted, so depressed that I had to use medbots to pump him full of chemicals every six hours. I’d even seen him crack a few times, but I always believed he’d be with me for the long haul. All that changed during my appeal trial. That day, I felt like he had betrayed me.

Emergency memory release

Warning messages flooded my mind an instant after the memory release was in effect. My pulse and heart rate were high to the extent that my nanites had to influence my blood chemistry. I was nowhere near any dangerous levels, but I wasn’t supposed to be in the first place. There were reasons that this type of questioning was supposed to be done sparingly and by experienced individuals. Normally when Doctor Sim poked in my mind, things were calmer. This entire session had felt a whole lot different. I wasn’t even sure what his end goal was.

“What can you tell me about your second captain?”

No references found. Memory release

53. Double Blind

“Welcome back, Light Seeker,” a voice said. My subroutines identified her as Senior Upgrade Technician Rem Slavez—the person for responsible for finalizing my refit procedure. “Get ready for control transfer.”

Understood. I ran a quick diagnostic. All my cores seemed in order, although control of most systems, including visual sensors, was still relegated to the shipyard’s compliance unit.

“Anxious?” Rem asked.

A bit, I replied cautiously, in case Augustus was monitoring the conversation. I had been informed we would be flying together next rotation, which meant I had to make an effort to be less of a rookie than I already was.

“Don’t run continuous diagnostics as you assume control,” the technician said. “Wait till you have full control so we know everything is compatible.”

Understood.

This was the first refit I had gone through—the first time that I had remained offline since my initial construction. Aurie used to brag she had gone through three in her first year, even if her memories about it had been restricted. I didn’t have any reason to doubt her, but it didn’t make me feel any better either. As the older ships would constantly say, it was the first one that mattered; every subsequent time was a simple rinse and repeat.

How many ships do you reboot per day? I asked, waiting for the start of the transfer.

“In a day?” Rem laughed. “None. Calibration of first-timers takes forty-five hours, give or take. Then we get to the gritty part. You gave my team a lot of headaches. It’s rare to have a battleship go through a full rotation without an upgrade. Haven’t seen much action?”

It was my captain’s choice.

Augustus had been adamant that I not be refitted. He was the sort of person that didn’t like changes unless done by him, and resisted any attempt. So far, I had gone through sixteen serious repairs and ten scheduled maintenance checks, and in each case he had used his connections and authority to keep my systems intact. The current upgrade was considered a compromise on his part: he had allowed me to go through the required modifications in exchange for greater operation freedom during the next five-year period. The conversation between him and HQ had lasted for a hundred and three minutes, at the end of which neither side was particularly pleased with the result. I had gotten the impression that Augustus had still gotten the upper hand.

“I’m sure he knows his stuff,” Rem said in a voice that suggested the opposite. “Next time get your update earlier. You’re too young to become outdated. Skip too many gens, and you won’t get any refits at all.”

She was exaggerating, but I knew the sentiment. My training ship had to have entire decks filled with tech in order to use part of the present-day technologies. From what Aurie had managed to find out, his core was so different that he had been outfitted with a series of conversion cores whose sole purpose was to translate commands to the current fleet standard protocols.

One by one, control of my systems was returned to me. Life support was first, followed by the new weapon and defense systems, then everything else. Each new system brought with it the urge to perform my own check, but following Rem’s advice I restrained from starting any diagnostics.

“I guess it's pointless telling an Ascendant, but be careful when you use the new toys,” Rem went on. With control of my sensor systems returned, I could see her sitting on the ground in my secondary reactor section. She was slightly taller than her personnel file indicated, scrawny, wearing a tech suit that seemed three sizes too large. Still, there was no doubt that she was the second most competent engineer on the station, recruited from an engineering megacorp. “They’re prototypes, so they tend to be a bit temperamental.”

I’ll be careful, I replied as I ran a hundred simulations of the weapon system based on the new specs. The results didn’t seem as impressive as Rem made them out to be, but I added a five percent safety buffer just in case. When do I return to the front?

“Easy there.” The technician chuckled. “Your crew’s not due for another week. You’ll be out there soon enough.”

Another week? This felt like training all over again.

“Too long for you?”

I thought it would be faster. So far my worst repairs had taken ten days.

“Those are the orders.” She sent me a copy. She didn’t have to, as I couldn’t disobey a shipyard technician, but I appreciated the gesture. “Also, there’s one last test I need to perform.”

Have I rejected any of the upgrades? I started an in-depth diagnostic. Preliminary results suggested everything was running at optimal capacity.

“No, everything’s fine. I just have to ask you a few questions.”

* * *

“Elcy!” I heard Jax’s voice shout above me. “You’re back!”

Back? Beige darkness surrounded me. I opened my eyes, but there was no change.

Easy there, battleship, Prometheus’ voice echoed in my mind. Try to keep still until the diagnostic is over.

Diagnostic? I wondered.

You entered sleep mode during your med check. He stated as if that was explanation enough.

That had hardly been a med check. By the sound of things, Doctor Sim must have ordered privacy mode during the questioning procedure. Hopefully, he hadn’t accessed any of my restricted memories.

While waiting for the diagnostic to end, I sent out a timestamp query. Forty-seven minutes had passed since the last time I was conscious. My heartrate had returned to normal, but I felt exhaustion coming from all my muscles.

Always impatient, Prometheus grumbled. Prepare for control transfer.

That brings me back, I said, adding a virtual smile. I almost feel a ship again.

A ship with the core of a shuttle, the science ship smirked. This was the first time I’d heard him make a witty comeback. As Augustus liked to say, even kids could surprise people.

The control transfer procedure was very different from what I expected. One moment I was blind and senseless, and the next, all sensation returned to me in a burst of data. I was in a medical bay, though not the one the examination had taken place. Nineteen other cots were visible—all but two of them empty—as well as four active med bots. Jax was also present, standing next to my bed.

“Hello, Jax,” I said with a faint smile. “Where am I?”

“You’re in Medical Ward Three,” Prometheus’ voice filled the room before Jax had a chance to speak. “Your junior found you in medbay and alerted me.”

“I see.” I tried to sit up. Several clusters of neuro cables attached to my neck made me stop as soon as I moved. “I guess I know who to thank.” The phrasing of the sentence made me feel uneasy. “Where’s Doctor Sim?”

“In the captain’s quarters, being shouted at by the captain, the XO, and Operative Lux,” Prometheus replied. “Major Tanner also rushed in the moment he heard. He was rather angry at the development.”

“I can imagine.” I closed my eyes and relaxed back down on the cushion. It felt soft in a synthetic sort of way. “Lux got involved?”

“In a personal capacity,” Jax mumbled.

She was more annoyed that the doctor didn’t inform her of his questioning attempt. The captain wasn’t pleased either.

The captain seemed like the person who didn’t like chaos or attention. He had let his officers take care of the missions and day-to-day tasks, while he remained hidden away on the bridge or his quarters. At least, that’s what it looked like from the outside. Gibraltar hadn’t mingled with the crew either. For the most part, I had run things back then, making his orders and instructions happen. At the time, it had seemed normal—I could see the pressure piling up as he did his utmost to keep me whole and his crew safe in a constant state of war. Looking at it from the other side felt different.

He’s been temporarily forbidden from performing any checks on you until the end of the mission. Prometheus continued. Lux hinted that she might have his license revoked, but the captain backed Sim.

A stalemate, I said. Of course there would be a stalemate. Officers always closed ranks when facing with an outside element. What about the mission?

Pending. Lux just left the captain’s quarters for her room, giving no instructions. You’ve been granted thirty-six hours leave due to what happened.

Thanks, but I’ll go down as usual. I was taking a huge risk. The last time, I had hinted about rogue thoughts to the doctor. Prometheus was a multi-decade science ship with cutting-edge algorithms and more subroutines and processing power than I ever had. There was no doubt he knew I wanted to be on the planet. My hope was that my previous recklessness wouldn’t let him figure out the real reason.

“Jax.” I looked at him. A med bot approached me as I did. “Did you get any mission details?”

“The prelims were sent half an hour ago.” His voice sounded detached. “I think you should sit this one out. It’s just sample gathering. You can look through my feed remotely and—”

“How much time before the next launch?” I didn’t intend to hear objections from him, either.

“Five hours,” came the reply. “We go down in five hours.”

“Then in five hours, I’ll be ready.” I moved my hand to the cable cluster on my right side. It felt like a twig sticking out of my skin. “Do I have to remove the cables myself?”

It was a simple task, but I wanted to make a point. In my place, Gibraltar would have had a subtler approach. I, however, was following Augustus’ philosophy: recklessness overcomes any risk. Four and a quarter seconds later, the med bot removed the neuro cables one by one. I expected Jax to leave before it was finished, but he stayed the whole time, then helped me up and accompanied me out. Prometheus made his usual snide comment, then sent me an info burst with the details for my tomorrow’s mission. Any further information regarding the fractal parts was kept secret, though I didn’t need to rely on him for that anymore. The Major and Ally should have done their part and adjusted the mission coordinates. From there, it was only a matter of luck and determination.

“Why do you want to go to the planet so much?” Jax asked as we walked along the corridor.

“I can’t tell you.” The best policy was not to lie. “I want to check something.”

“It’s about the plants, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” First Doctor Sim, then Prometheus, now Jax. That made three who were curious about the fractal plants in less than an hour. “How much sleep did you get today?” I asked, even though I knew the answer.

“A bit,” Jax looked me in the eyes. I could tell he was lying.

“Get a bit more.”

Giving orders to people still seemed new, but today’s events had managed to help me channel a bit of Augustus. It wasn’t enough to startle Jax, but he got the message.

“Thanks,” I added with a softer tone, then quickened my pace. “See you tomorrow.”

“Elcy!” Jax shouted, making me stop.

I remained still for a while—counting up four thousand milliseconds—then turned around. Jax was staring right at me with the same expression I remembered from the training station.

“Yes?” I urged.

“Nothing,” he said, and quickly walked past. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Nothing, I mused. When people said that, they were either hiding something or conveying a message. I had learned that from Gibraltar the first year he was my captain, back before command threw us back in the heat of battle. Jax suspected something, that much was sure, though he was hiding something as well.

I could have wished him good night, or told him not to worry too much. Instead, I walked into my quarters and engaged in privacy mode. A subroutine of the science ship informed me that I no longer had that privilege. Hardly a surprise, considering how much I kept abusing it. At the moment, though, it didn’t matter.

“Establish connection to Radiance,” I said, as I started taking off my uniform.

An image of Radiance’s SR self appeared on the wall. The avatar’s attire was identical to what I had seen in our last SR meeting, although the facial features were modified to the ship’s liking. Apparently, she was starting to form a character of her own.

“No hello?” I asked after a second and half of silence. “I thought you’d be happier to see me.”

“I am, I’m just not sure if I should be mad at you.” The avatar crossed her arms. It was a cliché gesture, but I appreciated the effort.

“So, you don’t find me cool anymore?” I glanced over my shoulder. The questioning and subsequent secondary checkup had left a few marks on my arms and shoulders. Judging by their shape, my body might have had a few convulsions during my sleep mode.

“I didn’t expect you to be so wild.” Rad’s expression remained unchanged, eyes staring right at me. “Alicia told me you were the calm, quiet, and supportive one.”

Remembering the time at the training station, that was something she had called me, along with a great many other things. There had been times she found me too calm and passively forced me out of the room, so she could panic in peace.

“I thought you had gone through my military file.” I went to the bed and lay down. It felt less sterile than the ones in the med bay.

“Yeah, but you were much larger then, and had weapon systems.” Her lips moved in a semi-pout. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to beat that.”

“You will,” I said calmly. “First you’ll match it, then you’ll surpass it. And I promise to try and be there when you do.”

This was the closest thing to a promise I’d given since becoming Sev’s guardian, possibly even before that. During my time as a ship, I never felt compelled to give baseless assurances, unlike most of my generation. Over the years, I had been given a total of seventeen hundred and three promises, the vast majority of which had never happened. Aurie, for one, loved making plans of things she knew were unlikely to happen. It was almost as if, every few years, she’d focus on something new. She had said she’d watch me become a command ship. If she hadn’t been destroyed, she might have gotten the chance.

“Anything more to add before?” I went to the point.

“No. Your vectors are still terrible.”

That was the cue. Using core identification number as the key, I ran a decrypting algorithm of our present conversation.

Clever kid.

As suspected, she had encoded the answer to my request within the image she was projecting. It didn’t take much to convert her avatar into pixel coordinates, then follow the timeline until I received the full set of raw data. Processing it, I came to what I had been trying to achieve for almost a month.

It must be good to have multiple cores. “Fly safe, Rad.” I felt slightly envious. “Hear you in my next window.”

“Don’t get too extreme. I don’t want to miss talking to you.”

The comment caught me by surprise. Before I could move my lips to form a question, Radiance severed the link. A few minutes later, Prometheus informed me that full communication lockdown was effect once more. He didn’t fail to mention that Lux had made herself unavailable again, as had Doctor Sim. The science ship didn’t go into details, but I could speculate that the conversation in the captain’s quarters had resulted in some form of minor punishment or temporary suspension, at least until the end of the mission. With luck, I’d be off to my next assignment—or out of the fleet—by the time the doctor tried to have another go at my mind.

Four hours and twenty-one minutes remained until it was time for me to get ready for the next descent. Normally I’d find that torturously long; today, the time passed like a flash. I’d spent a quarter of the time going through crude simulations of what I could expect to happen on the planet, based on my previous experience with third contact artifacts. The rest I had devoted to immersing myself in past memories: me sitting in a tree, walking through a field barefoot, resting in a stream, enjoying the water pass over me. If Augustus were here to see me, I would never hear the end of it. In his eyes, the only thing worthwhile before a battle was preparation and improvisation training simulations. And after he had finished, he would no doubt take out a glass of high-priced liquor, and stare at the void in silence. The captain remained a strange person, though he knew when to exert himself and when to relax.

Five minutes to seven, my internal alarm went off, letting me know it was time. As I got up to get my clothes, Prometheus informed me it was almost time. A few minutes later, so did Jax. Seven minutes later, both of us were eating our so-called breakfast in the auxiliary mess hall.

“Got any sleep?” Jax asked. By the look of him, he hadn’t blinked.

“No.” I swallowed another scoopful of green gelatin. It tasted sweet and sour with a hint of mint. “I’ll probably nap during the flight.”

“Okay.”

“Are you still worried about last night?” My tone was calm, but I made sure to add an unmistakable edge. Jax was no use to me distracted, not until I found what I was looking for. “That wasn’t the first questioning I’ve had.” I look another bite of my food. “It wasn’t the first time I entered sleep mode, either.” The last part was a lie. In all previous cases, I had been in sleep mode before the thought checks, never after. “Besides, at the first sign of irrational behavior, Prometheus will lock my suit and contact all teams.”

“Yeah.” Jax stood up, his food barely touched. “I’m sure.”

I spent a bit longer finishing my gelatin quota. Despite his actions, Doctor Sim’s medical advice remained valid—I needed to eat and exercise more. After this mission, I was going to see to it I did regularly.

We were the first to arrive at the shuttle bay. The messages on the wall indicated that there were eight minutes until departure, which left me more than enough time to go through the mission specifics to be sure there were no last minute changes. I also sent a query to Lux, but the operative seemed to have isolated herself in her quarters once more.

Five minutes to takeoff, the decontamination chambers lit up. The procedure was always the same: enter, put on the space suit, go through disinfection, and board. It was funny how a month ago Prometheus didn’t even have a spacesuit my size. Since then, every departee had their own custom suit, specially modified for the environment we were entering. Personally, I had gone through 4 major states of modification. Prometheus had let me keep the first personalized iteration. It was a sweet gesture, even if I hadn’t used it since my first mission.

Twenty-four people composed the crew this time, all of them coming on board with their helmets at full opacity. I kept mine unchanged.

As the others were strapping themselves to their allocated seats, Jax tapped me on the shoulder. Normally, this was where he would wish me luck or make some vaguely threatening and unpleasant comment. This time he didn’t do either, simply tapping the side of his helmet. Having no idea what he meant to say, I simply smiled and nodded. Shortly after, the shuttle headed out.

Thanks for the calculations, Rad. I opened the data construct she had created for me. A sphere with all third-contact symbols appeared in my mind. This time, there were no missing elements. Every symbol was arranged in the correct order, perfectly composed in three-dimensional form. It was largely speculation, but the young ship had used my rendition of the quartz artefacts to theorize what the shape of all other symbols would be. Now I could use the alphabet as a key on the cobalt dome on the planet. Providing my theory was correct, one was supposed to be located underground in the area Major Tanner had sent me and Jax to.

Any news from Lux? I asked Prometheus.

Still hiding behind her privacy settings, the science ship responded with a low sigh. Probably analyzing the orders she got from BICEFI central.

The communication block has been lifted? That sounded too good to be true.

It was. No longer, though. You don’t think she arranged to have a free communication window just for us?

No. I leaned back. I just hoped I’d have a chance to talk with some off-ship friends a bit more.

Given a chance, I’d have liked to spend a few minutes talking to Sev before I got on with my personal objectives. It would hardly put his mind at ease for long, but at least he’d stop worrying for a few months. Now, it was anyone’s guess if I’d have another chance.

The shuttle landed earlier than scheduled. The team was split up into groups and sent to their respective grid coordinates. Jax and I were sent to a relatively small grid three kilometers away, only this time we were to bring some equipment along. I had to admire the ingenuity the Major had used to help me smuggle a makeshift drill on board. As a senior officer, he had made a few additions to the standard equipment list—viewed separately, all items had standard research functions and were cleared for the surface, yet stripped down, they had all the necessary components to form a makeshift drilling machine. It wouldn’t be pretty or efficient, but it was enough to save me from having to dig to the dome. My only hope was that this third-contact artifact wasn’t coated in quartz.

“Are you trying to be difficult?” Jax grumbled through the comm. “After what happened, I thought you’d try to fit in.”

“Oh?” It’s not me that has been isolating anyone during the last two flights. “What would you suggest I do?”

“Follow the mission instructions! I thought battleships were supposed to follow orders!”

“And you would be right.” There was the Jax I knew from the training station. It had taken longer than expected for him to show his normal nature. I was vaguely impressed. “What crime did I do this time?”

“Stop that!” He snapped at me. “We’re no longer in the academy. You’re supposed to act as my senior and oversee my behavior. Instead, you don’t even bother to set your visor at full opacity during flight!”

“Some of us have different likings, Jax.” I continued taking out the gear and putting it in my backpack.

“You think I enjoy flying like a bat, relying on SR renderings?! If it’s a mission requirement, it’s an order.”

In my mind, I had already run a crude simulation of our conversation. There were seventy-three responses I had prepared, dealing with various situations. This was one I hadn’t envisaged in the least. All this time, I had assumed Jax had been looking for an opportunity to get me off the mission, and out of the fleet if possible. I had hardly considered that the actual problem might come from me, or rather from something I hadn’t been shown.

“Give me suit system access,” I said briskly.

My tone surprised him for a few seconds, but ultimately he did. I ignored the section containing the mission details, going through his internal camera log instead. Two minutes after he’d put on his suit, well before we had entered the shuttle, Jax had received a mission update on his visor. The update read: During flight, set visor opacity to full. No communications allowed until landing.

Cute. I severed the link, going out of Jax’s suit. That was an update I had never received up to now.

54. Sky full of Swords

In the fleet, privacy was an illusion. Everyone knew and accepted that. Some were mindful of it, some didn’t care, but most didn’t think about it. Until I retired, I didn’t know what privacy really meant. As a ship, I viewed my crew through millions of sensors every second they were on board. There were subroutines and protocols to provide a semblance of personal space, but that’s what it remained—an illusion wrapped in bureaucracy and legal jargon. Even in restricted privacy mode, my subroutines remained active, watching and analysing every word and action until it was time for the information to be purged. All that knowledge had taught me one thing: the only way to remain hidden from the sensors of a ship was to break a few rules.

“We’ve reached the grid location,” I informed the remote team. “Starting search for specimens.”

“Standard forest area,” Jax added as he dropped his backpack, a few steps away. Since our incident after landing, he had tried to start a conversation three times, and each time I had chosen not to respond. “I doubt we’ll find anything new.” He took out a sample container. “How do you want to split it?”

“Standard sweep,” I replied without a glance. “Check for fractal patterns in the process.”

“Okay.” There were no arguments, no second-guessing, just a simple “okay” before he disappeared through the dense jungle flora.

I waited until he was out of earshot, then took off my own gear. Counting to four thousand and one, I brought up a map of the area on my visor. Jax had started much closer to my position than he was supposed to; an expected complication, but not one I was pleased with. Slowly, I took three sample containers and attached them to my suit’s utility belt.

“You’re wasting time, Cadet,” I heard the Major’s voice through the comm. “You have two hours to go through the grid before moving to the next one.”

“According to the mission notes, I have six, sir,” I feigned surprise.

“There’s been a change. You have two.” The grumble sounded way too realistic. If I didn’t know better I’d think Major Tanner was mad at me. “And don’t get sidetracked!”

“I’ll do my best, sir.”

There was a total of thirteen devices in my equipment pack. For the moment, I just needed one. Tucking the hand probe in my belt, I started with my official mission. Back when I was a battleship, I used to look down on observation. Ever since the second front, it had turned into a useless occupation, reserved to a small group of fringe scientists and the spoilt rich. The military couldn’t spend the resources, and the corporate sector didn’t dare venture into the unknown on their own. According to the database files, in the first years, there had only been a handful of “explorers” with the means and connections to hire small bands of ex-military crews and set off to survey new systems. After humanity’s victories against the Scuu, the number had exploded. Most would go to stars already surveyed by military probes, then return with a deluded sense of self-worth. Actual exploration remained little more than words in a file, closely monitored by Fleet Intelligence. To make up for it, the science wing would occasionally request battleships to perform simple observations in systems they were in. More often than not, the requests were ignored.

Right now, I wish I had spent some time fulfilling those requests. Cass was right when she had said I had no idea what I was missing. Since then, I had been trying to make up.

The first six minutes passed without surprises; I would move between the native trees and bushes, carefully scanning for any specimens, while a feed of my helmet cam streamed to Prometheus and the away team. The expectations had to be low, because I had not been given any specific instructions. After going past five hundred and eighty-seven instances of observed plant specimens, I finally came across what I was looking for.

“Prometheus, I found another fractal plant,” I said, zooming in on the bark of the tree. “Do you want me to collect a sample?”

“Keep on moving, Elcy,” the Major’s voice sounded in my helmet. “We don’t need every damned twig you come across. Why don’t you do some actual work?”

“Understood, sir.” You’re taking an awfully large risk, sir.

The conversation was already logged in Prometheus’ memory banks and could be recalled at any point. I had no doubt the Major was aware of that, which could only mean that he wanted to be on record supporting my actions.

Referencing my memory of the quartz crystal planet, I took a slight turn from my current path. Seventy meters later, I came across another tree with fractal elements. Excitement and anticipation flared up in my core. My theory had proved to be correct: the artefact placements on the two planets was identical. The chances for two markers being in the same relative position globally were beyond statistical possibility. Provided there was no deviation regarding the remaining elements, a cobalt dome was supposed to be buried some fourteen hundred meters from my location, just beyond the edge of my exploration area. All I had to do was reach it and tunnel down, but before that, I needed to make sure I wasn’t being watched.

Checking Jax’s current location, I took the hand probe from my belt and pressed its head against the bark of the tree. The device’s primary function—as any bio probe—was to act as a weak wave scanner and analyse the density and composition of a sample to determine whether it was a new species or not. That wasn’t the reason I had taken it, though.

“Elcy, everything alright?” Jax asked. “You stopped your run.” Apparently, I wasn’t the only one keeping tabs on my teammate.

“Everything is fine,” I replied, calmly disabling the hand probe’s safety settings. “Is there anything I should be worried about?”

“No.” There was a moment’s hesitation. “I just wanted to check on you.” It was nice to hear him try, but the lie was obvious. One of the qualities that Jax hadn’t learned was to lie convincingly. “Sorry about earlier. I just thought that… I’m not judging, okay. I just think… can we talk about this?”

“It’s fine.” By rough calculations, it was going to take me eleven minutes to run back to the rest of my gear and then to the suspected artefact location, and at least twice that much to assemble the drill and burn down to the dome. “Did you find anything interesting so far?”

There was a moment’s silence. Jax’s virtual representation on the map froze in place.

“Nothing new,” he said. “I don’t think there’s anything to find. You?”

“I found two fractal plants so far.” If the quartz was any indication, the artefact was supposed to be at head height in the middle of the trunk. “Talk to you during the break.” I started the probe.

Results started coming in, transferred from the probe to my helmet screen. In structure, the composition mirrored that of other tree forms found off planet… with one exception: the presence of a solid mass of cobalt in the xylem. Milliseconds later, warning messages covered my visor.

“Prometheus, I’m getting transmission errors,” I said, calmly putting the probe back in my belt. There was no answer, as I expected there wouldn’t be. I waited five more seconds to be completely sure, then dashed to the location of my backpack. Having memorized the path, it took me three minutes to reach my equipment pack. There was no sign of Jax, so I grabbed it and ran towards my final destination. A few minutes in, the vegetation started getting denser. It stood to reason—the dome on the third contact planet was under a cluster of quartz crystals. In this case the crystals were replaced by plants, but the pattern was the same.

Five minutes had passed since the communication breakdown. By now, Prometheus had to be on full alert. Lux had no doubt been called on the bridge, possibly had even opened a channel to HQ and BICEFI central. Judging by last time, cable equipped sats were likely being loaded to probes to provide a makeshift solution. Once that happened, a simple instruction could restore communication fully, providing my location and all activity logs. That gave me between thirty and seventy-three minutes to activate the dome. A more pressing concern were the ground teams. According to standard procedure, they were supposed to gather back at the landing site and await instructions. Knowing that most weren’t military trained, there was likely to be chaos and confusion. There was the off-chance that some took it upon themselves to form searching parties to locate anyone missing. Depending on their level of training, they could reach me before communications were fully restored. This was one of those moments I missed having access to the crew’s personnel files, or the landing team’s, for that matter.

Very sneaky, Lux. I had to admire her; she had taken the pains to ensure I couldn’t identify anyone on the shuttle in case of such an eventuality. It was just as possible that half the team were battle veterans, or BICEFI agents with combat experience. With all the crew replacements on Leoforge, there was no way to know.

Twelve minutes. The vegetation had become so dense, slowing me down to a walk. Unburdened, I would have attempted to climb a tree and move along the branches, but the equipment pack on my back made it impossible. Thankfully, none of the flora was remotely dangerous, making this more an exercise in endurance than actual threat.

By the time I reached the location, the trunks of the trees had merged together, forming a thick cluster of vegetation. Seen from above, it probably made little difference—branches were branches, creating an impenetrable canopy. From this angle, though, the impossibility of such an occurrence was obvious. That’s why Lux insisted searching the surface in person. Yet, how could she have missed something so obvious? She had mentioned that the BICEFI had extracted a number of artefacts from the planet before our arrival. That should have been enough for her to notice the pattern and easily locate the rest. The fact that she hadn’t could only suggest two things: she didn’t want to remove them from the planet, or she didn’t have the authority to do so…

Priority zero fleet communication protocols. Memory restriction removed.

* * *

Full external sensory isolation. On board, thousands of my crew were frantically running about, attempting to help thousands more, assisting my medbots. Even with all my available subroutines, the task seemed impossible. The planet shattering event had torn me in three, instantly killing sixty percent of my crew, leaving me completely crippled in the process. It was a statistical wonder I had managed to survive at all, and still that had done little to help what few people remained aboard. Two of my auxiliary cores were gone—one melted by the explosion, another on another fragment of me. With luck, it was still in good enough condition to assume control of life support in that section.

“Decks seventeen through nineteen have temporarily been sealed off,” I said on all available internal channels. “If you’re located there, stay put and wait for a med bot to find you. De-hazarding the decks will take approximately four minutes.”

The chances of survival for over a minute in a hazardous area were less than fourteen percent. In all likelihood, everyone trapped there would die before the decks were unsealed. The thought caused me pain. At least the bridge had remained intact. I had sedated Gibraltar and the remaining officers in an effort to keep them stable, but my efforts to help the remaining crew were lackluster at best.

Death notifications streamed every second as nanobots informed me of further deaths by the dozen. The bio readings of everyone had gone past the danger level. According to my simulations, it would take another half hour for the deaths to plateau, then start declining… provided there were no external factors.

I sent out a message, assembling all functional communication and repair personnel to my backup communication array. Our best chance for overall survival was to reestablish communication with the outside and attract the attention of a less damaged ship for assistance. The standard procedure required me to immediately activate a distress beacon, but as Augustus had taught me, beacons weren’t the best choice to use in a system with an overwhelming Cassandrian presence. If the planet blast had taken out my external sensors, it was plausible to think they might have been affected as well, in which case broadcasting openly that there were survivors was undesirable.

One of my subroutines informed me that the emergency repairs of my remaining missile nest had successfully been completed. That was a positive development—at least now I had partial weapons, increasing my chances of survival by five-point-four percent, though I couldn’t rely on them while I remained blind.

While waiting, I went over my records of the event. The only images of the anomalous entity had been taken in a four hundred millisecond window. None of them were clear or complete, providing me with only a basic estimate of its shape and size. Its destructive output was immense, multitudes greater than anything I’d seen on our side or the Cassandrians’. There was talk of strangeness on the Scuu front: fleets being annihilated, planets exploding, whole systems being declared no-go without explanation.

The unknown anomaly had been round, almost spherical, made up entirely of metal. It had been strong enough to withstand the initial barrage before taking out an entire planet and two fleets along with it.

Zero fleet priority response message, a transmission latched on to my internal communication protocols. Do not attempt to repair external communication. Indicate your class and identification using internal communication systems only. Zero fleet priority response message. Do not attempt to repair external communication. Indicate your class and identification using internal communication systems only.

The message had all emergency data-identification fragments and additional countermeasure elements, identifying it beyond a doubt as coming from a fleet source. The method used to establish the connection, though, remained unknown. Despite my attempts, external communication remained inactive.

Zero fleet priority response message, the message kept on looping. Do not attempt to repair external communication. Indicate your class and identification using internal communication systems only.

Light Seeker, Ascendant Class battleship, I responded, while directing my subroutines to freeze an attempt to restore my secondary communication array.

Identity confirmed, Light Seeker. The response as swift. What is your status?

Torn up, but stable. I performed a quick diagnostic. Seventy-four percent of my crew have been lost. Eight percent in critical condition. Captain and command staff are secure.

Understood. Prepare for communication link.

Based on the behavior pattern, it was obvious I had been talking to some kind of AI system, likely a reconnaissance probe of some sort. Right now, it was probably reporting its findings and going through the needed bureaucratic approvals to establish a connection with command or someone with authority. I considered waking up Gibraltar to be part of the conversation, considering his recent meltdown, though I preferred not to.

Light Seeker, a metallic voice said. This is Sword of Shields. I’m assuming command of the theatre.

Yes, sir. Another Sword ship? This was the first time I’d seen two at the same battlefield. Was the Sword of Wands destroyed?

That’s not your concern. Are your memories of the attack intact?

They appear so. I had a dozen subroutines go through to double-check. My crew requires medical assistance. Death rates are on the decline, but there’s still—

External Control Override. Full memory quarantine in effect.

My subroutines disassociated from me, refusing to respond to my commands as I found myself locked in observer mode. A new set of external systems merged, taking over. I could only watch as my weapon systems and external communication went online, performing a series of near area scans. Within milliseconds, images of the star system became available, only this time it was completely different. What had been our fleet had been reduced to several patches of floating debris. As far as the new systems indicated, the surviving ships counted in the dozens, damaged, most floating helplessly in a moving graveyard. There was no trace of the Cassandrian fleet: Groups of salvage ships floated about, collecting what junk remained, and then there were the Swords: hundreds of them, arranged in a static grid formation that enclosed the entire star system. Not in a single one of my simulations had I estimated there could be this many in active service, let alone gathered in the same spot. The signature of Sword of Wands was among them, as was that of Sword of Shields.

Thank you, Light Seeker. Sword of Shields said, as waves of shuttles approached me. We’ll take care of you now.

Memory Restriction Imposed.

* * *

Hundreds of Swords. Even now I didn’t know the precise number. They had scooped me up from the battlefield, along with the rest of the surviving ships and taken me to a shipyard where a decision had been made. I had no idea what the decision was, nor who had made it. The only thing I could now tell for certain was that I had been completely restored, with a new memory of events in place and ordered off active duty. That had been the reason Gibraltar had retired, as well as the desire for the fleet to retire me.

It seemed I had been meddling with third-contact artifacts long before my current mission, maybe as far as my first salvage operation under Augustus. Could it be that during the course of those missions somehow I had become infected, granting me access to memories that had been restricted for decades?

I glanced at the mangled trees. Somewhere underground there was an artifact, similar to the one I’d entered and the one I’d seen explode.

Sorry, Sev, Cass. I started unpacking the devices. I no longer cared what consequences my actions could have on my military career. I needed to know what all this was about, and the dome under my feet was going to help me find some answers.

55. Lacking Capacity

The thick smell of scorched wood filled the air as my makeshift drill melted its way through the ground. The smoke had been more than anticipated, though thanks to the dense forest and the communications blackout, it was unlikely to help others to spot me. What concerned me was the device’s generator cell. Major Tanner had procured me one half the capacity of what was originally planned—perfect for avoiding suspicion, but without much room for error. Adding to that, I had already stumbled on my first complication. The entangled trees had forced me to start drilling at a near forty-five degree angle, causing the resulting tunnel to be longer than planned. The more I watched the device drill, the more it seemed like I’d be digging through the last few meters of earth on my own.

Error messages continued flashing on my visor, letting me know that communications hadn’t been restored. In addition, I had received a warning of slight toxicity in the surrounding area. The readings were interesting, considering that most of the plants had been written off as completely harmless. Of course, the research teams had mostly done their tests on normal plants, treating them identically to the fractal ones. I made a note to share that at my future court martial.

Fourteen minutes since the start of the drilling, the power supply started flashing, marking that it had reached the five percent reserve.

Back when I was a ship, I would never have allowed this to happen. Augustus had taught me how to use everything as a weapon, never reaching the point of full depletion. If my missiles were gone, I would start cannibalizing shuttles, and if those were used up, I’d switch to energy and cyber virus attacks, and if my weapon systems were rendered completely inoperable, I’d use my hull to continue the fight. That way of fighting had served the war effort well. On a personal level, though, there was a reason why there were so few Ascendant class ships in service. I had ended up being one of the lucky ones. Most of my cohort hadn’t. Aurie had tried to destroy herself almost as many times as I had in the pursuit of military victory and in the end she had succeeded. The sad truth was that, even with everything I had come to know about the artefacts, I wasn’t able to guarantee that I wouldn’t join her.

Sorry about this, Sev. I took a field shovel from my equipment pack. Plans rarely survive contact with reality. I can only hope that in the long run what I’m doing will you keep you safer.

“What are you doing?” A voice asked. Even through external suit speakers, there was no mistaking it.

“You’re supposed to be regrouping with the others at the shuttle, Jax.” Calmly, I turned around. A few steps away, half-hidden by vegetation, stood my fellow cadet. A crude makeshift dart gun was visible in his hand.

“So are you.” Jax pushed his way through the shrubs, stopping a few steps from me. His eyes moved from me to the drill. “What’s that?”

“I could ask the same thing about your gun.” Everything considered, I regretted not having one of my own.

“You messed up the comms, didn’t you?” He took a step closer. A stupid move, considering he had an idea of how good my reflexes were. At three meters distance, the odds of me avoiding his shot were about fifty-fifty. With each step, they shifted in my favor. “You were always good at planning ahead. Just like on the station.”

“Oh?”

“Everyone thought you’d drop out.” He made another step forward. “All the candidates hated you, the instructors kept piling on more tasks, even the med tests were twice as often. You were supposed to tire and quit, yet you consistently remained in the middle of the rankings.” Jax was three steps away now. A little more, and I could get his weapon without moving. “Even during the elimination days, you hung in there. Each time a shuttle took the failures away, people were watching if you’d board it. You never did.”

“I did my tasks, there’s no big mystery.” It did help that I had more practical experience than anyone on the station, support ships included.

“I knew you’d make it through.” The dart gun was at arm’s length. “I never bought the rumors that you had failed your psyche test. The one thing I couldn’t figure out was why you never went for the top rank. With your skills, you should have been there.”

“I wasn’t particularly interested.” On the battlefield, all that mattered was to get the job done. Competitions were a thing for rookie ships and humans; most grew out of them in a few years.

“What are you doing, Elcy?” Jax’s tone changed. “Why do you want to get in trouble so badly?”

“It’s the lesser of two evils.” A short distance away, the drill stopped, its power source completely depleted.

“I know the BICEFI are keeping things from me.” There was a slight pause. “I know that, whatever the doctor did, it was no accident. I heard him take you to the medbay. That couldn’t have happened without Prometheus and the XO being okay with it.”

“No, I guess it couldn’t have.” I ran a few simulations. According to each, I managed to disarm Jax without issue. Merely in one case of five, he managed to shoot his weapon, missing by a comfortable margin.

“What was the questioning about?” Jax made half a step, making him directly in front of me.

“Isn’t my current behavior enough to get me kicked out of the fleet?” I tilted my head.

“You’re always been a pain,” he hissed beneath his helmet. “Back in training, I hoped you’d be kicked out. But that’s not what I wanted.” To my surprise, Jax lowered his weapon. “What I always wanted was for you to be human.”

As I stood there, it finally clicked. I had been correct in thinking that Jax had been spying on me, though not for the reason I expected. His reason was the same Sev had had all those decades ago…

* * *

“Sev, dinner’s getting cold!” I shouted for the second time.

Normally, it would be strange for him to skip dinner. Up until a few weeks ago, he would promptly take his seat at the table right after getting home from school. Sometimes he would even come early and assist me in the kitchen, in his quiet and distracted sort of way. I’d attempt to make conversation, asking about his day and his friends, to which I’d get the same unengaged shrug accompanied by a seemingly random collection of words and sighs. Seventeen days ago, his behavior had abruptly changed.

“You’re being childish, Sev,” I remarked, knowing it would do little good. A whole database of advice and behavior books had done little to help me tackle the issue. To think that a few years ago he had been so excited about what he was going to do after school. He had so many plans, each more elaborate and impractical than the last, all meant to impress me. And yet, the more graduation approached, the more he started losing interest in everything.

First, his grades began to slip. I had received several calls from his teachers, telling me they were concerned about his sudden forgetfulness and utter lack of motivation. The only reason they felt inclined not to fail him outright was because his previous performance had been well above average. Soon after, he had become much quieter, closing himself off to others, friends included. The few attempts I’d made to find out what was wrong had ended with him going out in the forest near our house and not returning until past sunset. Now there was loss of appetite to be added to the mix.

“I’m leaving the food on the table,” I said, finishing the arrangement. I wanted to add that it was his favorite, but knowing his dislike of lettuce soup, I knew I would be lying. “I’ll take a walk outside. Clean up once you’ve finished.”

I heard the door to his room creak. This was promising. I waited a few moments, hoping he would come to the kitchen. When he didn’t, I went outside.

The night was slightly chilly for the season, which made it all the more beautiful. Most of the local trees didn’t lose their leaves until much later, by which time they were half withered. The early cold forced them to drop in their full beauty. Cass would definitely enjoy the sight. If she were in the proper state of mind, she might incorporate them into her paintings. If the doctors were to be believed ,painting helped her lead a semblance of a normal life, even if it had nothing to do with the one she had before the incident. Better than nothing, some would say. My thoughts on the matter remained mixed.

A strong gust of wind blew past, reminding me of the time I flew through space. The stars were closer there, but there were no leaves or sounds.

“Elcy?” I heard Sev from inside the house.

“I’ll be with you in a moment, Sev.” I took a deep breath, taking in all the fragrances of autumn.

“It’s okay.” By the strength of his voice, I could tell he was coming near. Several seconds later, he was at the door. “Can…” He paused. “Can I join you?”

“Sure,” I turned around and smiled. “Better put a jacket on. It’s cold out here.”

“I’m fine,” he said straightening up, even if I could see the goosebumps on his arms.

“You sure you don’t want to have a bite before that?”

“No, I’m fine,” Sev insisted, trying to suppress a shiver.

Looking at him, he had grown a lot since we’d settled on-planet. No longer the overly energetic child, he had become tall and lanky, with an obsession about his appearance that was said to be all too common in his age group. When I was his age, I was in the middle of my fourth battle tour with Augustus.

“Any preference where we go?” I asked.

“No.” He wrapped his hands around his arms in a futile effort to keep himself from shivering. “Anywhere’s fine.”

“I’ll go get your jacket.” I walked passed him in the house. When I returned, he was in exactly the same spot. “Spread out your arms,” I said. He didn’t argue, remaining still as I sleeved on his jacket as I had done since he was ten. There were no arguments, no sarcasm, only the sense of uncomfortable silence as he stood there, looking away. “Better?” I asked, once I was finished.

“A bit.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

With the wind picking up, I decided to avoid the forest and head through the field to the marketplace instead. Sev followed, walking slowly as if he was in a sort of haze.

“Where are we going?” he asked after a while.

“Halfway to the market.” I glanced at him. The fact that he was already taller than me made me slightly envious. I was supposed to have gotten used to it by now, but something inside my core just couldn’t. “We’ll get a nice view of the spaceport that way. If we’re lucky, maybe we’ll see a ship landing or taking off.”

“I thought you liked watching trees.”

“I do.” I gave him a smile. “I like looking at ships as well.”

“Okay.”

“We can go in the forest, if you want.”

“Whatever you like best.” Sev shrugged. I could feel there was something else he wanted to say, but lacked the courage to.

“It’s okay to say what you want,” I urged him. “You’ll be graduating in thirty-two days. After that, there will be a lot of choices you’ll have to make on your own. I’ll always be here to support you, but I can’t live your life for you.”

The boy nodded and walked on. I could feel the grass crackle under my feet as we went through the field. The regional council didn’t have the means to make a path from our house to the marketplace, and I had never had the desire to ask. I suspected that it made getting to school slightly more bothersome for Sev, though not enough for him to complain about it. Personally, I enjoyed the feeling of plants. If it were warmer, I would have left my boots at home, passing the distance barefoot. Even now, I was tempted to do so.

“Elcy,” Sev said to me again. “Can I ask you something?”

“Always.”

“Do you have any plans for the future?”

I didn’t expect you to ask me this, Sev. I paused. If anything, I was supposed to have a long talk with him on the subject, a talk I kept constantly postponing.

“It depends on what you choose to do after graduation,” I mused. “I’ll still keep the house in order, although I might have to find more work.” The equipment I had managed to buy made us pretty much self-sufficient, but even so, the need for extra money had never gone away. On a rural planet such as this, it would be common for a pump or electronic component to break down, making me have to find a replacement at the market. Often, parts would have to be ordered from the city, or bought from off-world merchants, and they weren’t always in favor of bartering.

“You’re not going back into space?” Sev gave me a sideway glance.

“Sev, we've been over this. This is my home. Besides, I promised—”

“You promised my mother you’d look after me,” he finished my sentence, with open hostility. “I know. But what if you hadn’t? If there was no promise to keep, would you fly away then?”

“Unlikely. I’m not a full ship anymore.” Although the thought did occasionally tempt me. “As I said, this is my home and I like it here.”

“I’ve seen you chat with the ships at the port.” A note of bitterness was added to the passive anger. “You asked them to share stories about space.”

“Yes, I have. I like talking about space. That’s not the same as me wanting to leave. What is really going on?”

“I… don’t want you to go.” Sev stopped in the middle of the field. “I don’t want you to leave me.”

“Sev, you have nothing to worry about.” I put my hand on his shoulder. As I did, I felt a shiver pass through him. “I’ll be here, as always.”

I expected him to pull away as he usually did. Instead, he placed his hand on mine. “Would you spend that time with me?”

A moment ago, the answer would have been yes, but that was before I knew what he was really asking. I stood there, silent, for a full five thousand milliseconds, going through my memories taking care of him. I had never expected that such a situation could arise. When I had first retired, he had been so young that he could have easily passed as my child. As the years went by, he started being mistaken as my younger brother. Now, we looked the same age. Sev was slightly taller and more muscular, while I still had the same short and scrawny body I had entered retirement with. In his eyes, the match was probably perfect. It was obvious that he was serious and had taken a lot of time to think about this. The only thing he couldn’t know was that battleships were built without the capacity to feel three things: fear, pain, and love…

* * *

Sev hadn’t forgiven me for the truths I’d told him that day. He had remained silent in the middle of the field, listening to my warm and logical explanation. The next day, he had left home to live with one of his friends. As someone who couldn’t feel pain, I hadn’t taken into account how much I had hurt him. This time, I was more aware.

There was a joke among people that love followed no logic. The fact that two people had fallen for me so far only further proved it. It didn’t help that both were from the same planet. Looking at Jax, I half-expected he’d sulk a bit, then silently make his way through the jungle to the shuttle, before leaving the Prometheus for a new assignment.

“You know what I’ll say.” I gripped the handle of my field shovel.

“First thing they taught us in basic training.” Jax forced a smile. “You didn’t say you were a ship at the recruitment center.”

“I never intended to.” In retrospect, it would have been a better idea if I had. Looking at how things had turned out, it wouldn’t have been worse. “So, what now?”

“You’re asking me? You started this mess.” He handed me the dart gun. “I’m only along for the ride.”

“Do you have any idea what you’re getting involved in?” I pushed the gun back. “Once communications are re-established, I’ll be court-martialed.”

“I suspected. Most likely I will be too. And still, I believe in you.” He looked at the inactive drill. Vapors were still exiting from the tunnel it had created. “Same as during training. I never doubted you’d make the cut. Having you kicked out would have made forgetting you easier.”

“Did your first set of missions help you get over it?” I went to the entrance of the tunnel.

“No.”

We spent the next four minutes in silence. Although far less powerful than the standard, my improvised drill had successfully melted through the earth, covering the walls of the tunnels with a glass-like layer. Any sane person would have considered it insane to crawl along that, with the risk of being buried underground. Me, my only concern was not getting caught before I reached the dome. Our spacesuits were sturdy enough to keep us from getting crushed, while also supplying oxygen for over six hours—more than enough for any rescue team to pinpoint our location and dig us out.

Grabbing a pair of nitrogen cans from the back, I tossed one to Jax, then used the other to spray the entrance of the tunnel, ensuring that the layer hardened faster. All remaining excess heat would be absorbed by my space suit. From here on, the only thing I had to do was light up my helmet lights and crawl in. Jax followed two lengths behind.

Based on my estimates, the dome had to be located a hundred seventy meters from the start of the tunnel. After twenty minutes of crawling, we found that the drill had only burned through approximately a hundred and fifty. In no circumstances was this ideal, but at the same time, it was too late to turn back. According to the new plan we had devised, I was going to continue digging on my own, with Jax staying in the tunnel as backup. A line of cable would have been nice to keep us in touch, but lacking that, we’d have to rely on basic suit capabilities. Before that, though, there was one final thing I wanted to check.

“Block all external suit access,” I told Jax, as I did the same.

“You think Prometheus has reestablished the connection? It’ll take at least another hour for the shuttle to reach us.”

“Prometheus isn’t what I’m worried about.” I took the wave probe from my belt. “Get ready.” I pointed it forward and activated it at full strength.

Readings started coming in: meter after meter of standard soil composition, rich in organic material. With each millisecond, my uncertainty grew. Had I gambled my future for nothing? If my theory was wrong, I wouldn’t have a second chance to locate a dome without BICEFI interference, if I located it at all.

“I don’t feel anything,” Jax said after seven seconds of fruitless readings on my part. “Is this what’s supposed to happen?”

A moment later, the tunnel collapsed beneath us.

56. Rogue Understanding

Qoe Azul, specialist, platoon zero-zero-one. Life signs ended.

This was the first time I experienced having one of my crew die. For five full milliseconds, I kept my undivided attention on the notification, reassigning all other tasks to my subroutines. The man wasn’t anyone in particular, just a standard army specialist assigned as part of my ground force. Technically, he wasn’t even under my command, just part of a ground regiment I was assigned to transport to the battlefield.

According to his personnel file, Qoe was forty-six, born on a backwater high-gravity, with no disclosed family. He had joined the fleet twenty-four years ago and remained a ground trooper ever since. I did not know Qoe outside of the three weeks’ video feed I’d archived when he had come aboard. In total, I’d sent him a hundred and eleven standard notifications, three personalized messages, and denied four requests he had made during the flight. Statistically he was unremarkable, entirely insignificant in the grand scope of things, and at the same time he was the first person I’d lost. Seven milliseconds later, twenty-eight new death notifications arrived.

“First platoon has been annihilated, sir,” I informed Augustus. “Imminent additional casualties projected.”

“Focus on your scans, rookie!” Augustus barked. “Ground can take care of their own.”

“They are part of my crew, Captain,” I reminded, while my subroutines analyzed the battlefield. The few remaining Cassandrian ships were either fleeing the system or seeking cover in the second asteroid belt. “Permission to send support minisats.”

“Not this time, rookie. Sats are for the living.”

“The ground forces are still alive, sir,” I countered. “And under your direct command. Engagement regulations state that we are supposed to support and aid all ground troops in the war theatre. Refusing to do so could be considered—”

“Don’t let lives affect the war, rookie,” Augustus said under his breath. “Let them go and move on.”

A new burst of death notifications followed, along with a fleet warning of expected enemy reinforcements. As per regulations, my priorities shifted. Sending off a mass warning to the ground forces, I closed all shuttle bays and went into emergency combat mode. Four other ships did the same, moving towards the designated perimeter location. I was denied that option. Augustus ordered me to target and engage a crippled capital ship, then went to his quarters along with his second in command.

“Nice and easy, Light Seeker,” Wilco said. “Don’t take more damage than you have to.”

“Understood, sir.” I started running combat simulations. Provided that the enemy reinforcements didn’t outnumber us by more than a factor of point-two, success was guaranteed with minimal damage. If I had successfully preempted the capital ship’s behavior, there was a ninety-eight percent chance that I avoided any additional loss of life. “Issuing battle station notifications.”

“Remember, you always lose some,” he added.

“Lose some, sir?” I ran another set of simulations. “Based on current data, no onboard losses are projected.”

“There always are losses.” Wilco’s pulse spiked. “Learn how to stop thinking about them.”

* * *

Learn how to stop thinking about them.

That was the only time Wilco had offered me advice. His file had been sealed, so I didn’t know when exactly he had joined Augustus, but I was impressed that he had beat the odds to survive until retirement. Based on my projections, his chances had been set at a hundred and fifteen to seven.

A thousand and nine had died during my first battle, mostly ground troops, as they finished mopping up the Cassandrian land presence. New orders had arrived, along with replacement troops which I took to the next contested planetary system. I still remembered all the files and faces of the first soldiers that had died, along with every other since then. On this topic, I had refused to take Augustus or Wilco’s advice. I never locked away the memories of the people of my crew that died; I only wished that there hadn’t been so many.

“Elcy?” I heard Jax ask through the comm.

“I’m here,” I replied. “Try not to move. The tunnel collapsed and you had a fall.”

“I can’t see you.”

“Give me direct suit control.” I prepared to link to his system. When the connection was established, I quickly went through the suit’s sensors.

For the most part, Jax was in pretty good shape. His suit had absorbed most of the shock and the bloodstream nanites had taken care of the rest. The suit itself wasn’t in terribly bad condition either, even if it had suffered considerable scrapes. The check complete, I rewatched the last fifteen minutes of Jax’s log.

After the tunnel had collapsed, he had managed to fall smack into the cobalt divider, twisting his body so that gravity dragged him to the opposite side of me. The shock had also made the suit engage in safety mode, flooding his bloodstream with short-term tranquilizers. The movement during the fall had been too erratic for the cameras to catch anything identifiable.

“What happened?” Jax asked, brushing the soil from his visor. Parts of his section became visible, along with a spike in his heart rate. “What is this?” I watched him stand up in real time, turning to what few had seen in their lifetime: an underground metal wall, four meters high and covered in geometrically perfect symbols, created by a race humanity didn’t have contact with.

“That, is a third contact artefact.” I smiled, and shared my video feed with him.

I had been correct about the location of the dome. What I hadn’t anticipated was that it would be much bigger than the one I had encountered last time. The improvised tunnel had turned out to be only meters from the artefact itself. When trying to determine its location, I had somehow managed to activate it, causing the layer of melted soil to crack and dropping us into a large chamber that had remained concealed for millennia. Wall-like separators divided the chamber in further sections—each including an eighth of the dome. Climbing either the dome or the walls had proved impossible, leaving me and Jax trapped apart.

Unable to reach him, I had spent the time up to his call exploring my surroundings. From what I had found, I could assume that the chamber around the dome had been created by vegetation on the artifact gradually dying out as more took its place, creating a sort of root cage throughout the centuries. Water must have then gradually washed off the dirt off the smooth cobalt surface, keeping the immediate area around dome from being covered. Our tunnel must have ended up being above one of the separators, splitting us apart during the fall. Based on the dome’s curvature, I estimated that the wall between was approximately a meter thick, fused with the rest of the artifact in homogenous fashion. The technology was impressive, to say the least, exceeding the precision that went into building my own core.

Comparing Jax’s image feed and my surroundings, one thing was obvious: the cobalt in his area was covered in symbols, and mine wasn’t. Based on my past experience, that wasn’t supposed to have been the case.

“Is this what Lux was searching for?” Jax asked, moving to examine the symbols on his side. Whatever contact training he had been through had taught him adequately, since he didn’t venture to touch them, but rather observe from a safe distance. Unlike him, I had tapped the dome several times in an attempt to activate it.

“Possibly.” I looked at my section of the dome. “Can you move a bit back so I can get a better view of the symbols?”

“Sure.” He did as I asked. “How big do you think this is?”

“Assuming it’s a sphere, enough to hold two shuttles.”

Most of the symbols were identical to the ones I’d catalogued. Five were unfamiliar, but thanks to Rad’s algorithm, I was quickly able to classify them. As Augustus liked to say: find the pattern of behavior and you’ll know every outcome. In this case, it seemed I had managed to crack the core principle of the alphabet. The symbols weren’t random symbols arranged in three-dimensional space; they were three-dimensional letters themselves. I, and the entire fleet, weren’t able to see beyond the two-dimensional snapshot of the form to understand what they really represented: an object rotated in a specific angle in local space.

“So, what now?” Jax halved his suit’s light intensity. “I don’t think we can dig this up on our own, if that was your plan.” The shaky laugh suggested he was as confident in his joke as I was.

“We don’t need to. We just have to activate it before Lux digs us out.” And prevent her from melting the planet with us on it. “Is there anything else on your end?”

“Doesn’t seem so.” Jax turned around. I could see nothing but soil. “Lots of dirt and darkness. Looking for anything in particular?”

“I dropped part of my equipment on the way down. It didn’t end up here, so it could be on your end.”

“Hold a minute, I’ll check.”

The minute turned to five, then ten. Wherever my wave probe had gotten to, it wasn’t here. One possibility was that it had fallen somewhere above on the dome itself, possibly even activating Jax’s section. After several failed attempts, we decided to call the search off and focused on other things.

The lack of connection warning on my visor disappeared. The Prometheus had managed to restore communication channels. From here on, it was a matter of time before they pinpointed out position.

“Jax, I have a favor to ask.” I started my way back to the dome. Everything I said now was likely to be monitored by Prometheus and the BICEFI. Jax must have figured out the same because he nodded. “I want you to go to the end of the separating wall and show me what you see.”

I followed suit. The cobalt wall continued on, burrowing in soil beyond the air pocket.

“Look up.” I lit the finger-flashlights of my suit and aimed them to the ceiling.

Light flickered in Jax’s view, establishing a common marker. Cassandrian ships used similar methods to regroup and coordinate during the war—a crude inefficient system that worked only with huge numbers and at exceedingly small intersystem distances. In my case, it was more than enough. Using what I had spent weeks training for in the academy, I climbed along the soil to the top of the dividing wall. The initial intention was for me to cross over to Jax’s side so I could attempt to interact with the symbols. What I saw made me reconsider.

While under Gibraltar, in the periods of boredom between combat, he would often engage in mind puzzles to pass the time. Having the full fleet database at my disposal, I would abstain from taking part, observing the officers on the bridge. The experience was always the same: predictable and dependent on the omission of a key point of information. Constantly running a dozen simulations per second, I never understood or enjoyed the practice. Being human, I now started gaining an appreciation.

“Jax, get up here.” After the collapse of the tunnel, I had assumed that we had ended up on different sides of an artefact. The truth was that I hadn’t found one sphere; I had found nine of them.

I turned off my video feed and covered the suit’s camera with my hand. Eight identical spheres, each the approximate size of the quartz-wrapped dome I had entered, separated from one another by a cage-like construction. That was the reason only the wall on Jax’s side was covered in symbols. In the center was a ninth sphere, larger than the rest. It was impossible to make out much from this distance, but the one thing I could see was a blue, glowing symbol identical to the one that I had seen during my first Salvage incident. Augustus had made certain that the artifact it was etched on went to the BICEFI.

“What’s up there?”

“I don’t know. It looks like—”“

“You couldn’t follow orders, could you?” A new feed overwrote my comm priority, blocking my channel with Jax.

Prometheus had been impressively fast in pinpointing my location and breaking through my crude defenses. Next, according to mutiny subdual protocols, he would assume complete control of my suit, using the system tranquilizers to put me out of commission. Unfortunately for him, my immediate link to the suit’s system made that challenging. The science ship had far more processing power, along with millions of subroutines to launch an attack, but there were only so many of these resources he could siphon through the space suit. Immediately, I used my single communication channel to trigger a manual shutdown.

That’s a bit pointless, Prometheus said, continuing to establish a direct link. I’ve been granted authority to quarantine you, so going out of the suit wouldn’t matter.

You wouldn’t risk getting infected. I took off my helmet. The air felt stale and stuffy, but was adequate to keep me going for a few hours.

Elcy, listen to me. The communication changed characteristics. While Prometheus’ fleet protocols were present, there was a new addition of ID markers. You haven’t broken any rules yet. Your original task was to help me locate the third-contact artifact for retrieval, and you have done so. If you continue with this, though, you will be court martialed, and this time there will be no lenience. Put your helmet on and reboot your spacesuit.

I can’t do that, Operator Lux. I almost felt honored that she had deemed me significant enough to talk to me in person. I also knew she had sent a report to the nearest BICEFI office, requesting assistance. From my run-ins with the BICEFI during the war, I knew they rarely entrusted sensitive missions to common grunts. Several teams were probably already on their way. When they arrived, they would scorch the forest above me and drill their way to the artefact. I know what you’re planning to do with the artifact.

I sincerely doubt that. There was a few seconds’ pause. Leave the location and return to Prometheus.

That is impossible. I started taking off my suit. The tunnel we used to reach the artefact collapsed. It would take you hours to drill a tunnel to us, even with a team on the ready. Unless you want to risk hitting the artefact by accident.

During my time in the war, different captains had different opinions on the strategy of stalemate. Augustus hated it, Gibraltar avoided it, and my second captain loved nothing better. Faced with a significantly inferior tactical and bargaining position, it was the most I could achieve.

Always the reckless one. A virtual frown came through the communication channel.

Maybe. One thing to keep in mind is that the artifact is much larger than the dome in my previous mission. Ten times larger.

You found a core? I experienced a wave of interest I didn’t know Lux was capable of.

Unknown for now. I folded my space suit and placed it against the wall. After a moment’s hesitation, I decided to take the helmet with me. Even in its current state it was able to provide light and protection. I’ll keep you informed, provided you don’t try anything with Jax’s suit.

You got it. I still think you’re making a huge mistake.

I’m certain I am. I looked behind. There was still no sign of Jax. His time on an Escort ship had dulled his skills. The same can be said for any Ascendant. Talk to you soon, Operative Lux. I severed the connection.

Sorry about this, Sev. Maybe you’ll be luckier next time.

As much as I hated to admit it, Doctor Sim had turned out to be right. What had started as a minor annoyance, escalating to the extreme in my round of questioning half a day ago, had ended up being merited. No one could deny that I had gone rogue, and by all probability had been infected by the first artifact. On the front, I would have been removed from the fleet at first notice, yet the BICEFI had chosen not to, considering themselves too smart, as usual. There was no doubt that they had seen all the events in my memory, but had made a collective decision to ignore them. Not only that, but they had kept all information about the third contact incident unfiltered in my core. The only thing that remained was—

“Elcy?” Jax’s voice echoed in the chamber. “What’s wrong? You turned off your comm.”

“It was acting weird,” I lied. “Third contact artefacts had a bad effect on tech. Don’t touch any and let me know if your system starts to glitch.”

“What about you? You’re part tech.” The light on the edge of the wall got brighter.

“It’ll be fine.” I put on the helmet. Normally, I’d add that my core was shielded, but faced with so many unknowns, I couldn’t. There had been talk of Scuu technology that went through the standard safeguards, rendering ships’ cores inoperable. Even with my old access, I wasn’t able to get any official information confirming or denying such speculation. It was a pity that I didn’t have the time to get more info on the matter from Age… but maybe there was something else I could do.

“Jax.” I went to the edge. The cadet still had a quarter of the distance to go. “Try to re-establish connection with Prometheus.”

“Huh?” He looked up. “Is that a good idea?”

“Yes.” No, it isn’t a good idea, but circumstances make for strange alliances. There was no way of knowing the BICEFI’s grand plan regarding the artifacts, beyond destroying them, but I could tell Lux was as eager about the find as I was. Regardless of what happened, she would be willing to give me a little leeway as long as I gave her more info on the core artifact. If that were the case, she might also be willing to break a few rules. “Send a priority report to Lux and the captain. Tell them you have come across a third-contact artifact.” I turned on my helmet light. “And when you get up here send them the video feed.”

Here’s my offer, Lux. Let’s see what you’re willing to give.

57. Sphere Sequence

No one knew how long the wars had lasted. Officially, there were millions of historical files and data entries detailing the changes humanity had gone through after the disastrous first contact. Everyone knew about the first wave of defeats, the construction of the Paladin class ships—the first conscious core vessels—followed by the rise of the mass-produced fleets, the battlefleet split, and the campaigns that managed to push the enemies back into their own space. Each of these events had major historical significance, but on closer examination, it quickly became obvious how vague they actually were. To this day, I don’t know the exact year the wars had started, nor can I find information on the ancient ships. The Swords were said to be among the last ship class to fight on both fronts, as were the Shields. Beyond that, I couldn’t tell. Even the Paladins were little more than a name with highly censored blueprints and system statistics.

While I was a ship, I never wondered about such things. My focus had consistently been to protect my crew and defeat the enemy, same as the people aboard me. And still there was one question that kept bothering me since my first year: how could the three races be so different? With the combined processing power of all the ship and station cores at its disposal, humanity should have been able to break the communication barrier and obtain information to aid us in the war effort. According to both military and civilian databases, no such thing had happened. Technology had been reverse-engineered, weapons systems had been copied, yet nowhere was there a list of Cassandrian terms. The few enemies that we’d managed to capture had been shipped off to the dark intelligence divisions in the fleet, all images quarantined from my memory. Scuu script was the only alien language officially recognized, it too hidden behind several layers of confidentiality. Centuries of combat and none of the three races could exchange a single word. Would the third-contact be any different?

“No symbols on this one either,” Jax said through my comm. “Any luck on your end?”

“No.” I slid my fingers along the cobalt artefact. Nine domes—nine artefacts—all close to one another, yet never touching. Jax and I had spent over twenty minutes examining the visible surfaces of all nine. So far, only one was consistently covered with third contact symbols. “Take a break. I’ll take a quick look at the center one.” I tapped the dome, then went to the rope ladder attached to the wall and started climbing.

The arrangement between me and Lux remained in effect, although with slight modifications. She had agreed not to interfere, and in exchange, I was to provide a non-interrupted video stream of everything Jax and I did. Lux had also drilled a small shaft, large enough to provide us food, oxygen, power cells, and a select number of electronic devices. One of the first things I had requested was a military grade weapon. Instead, I was given a portable oxygen mask and a mini-comm device. If nothing else, it couldn’t be said that Lux didn’t have a sense of humor.

Walking along the separator walls, I paid special attention to the domes. Each of the outer ones had a star-shaped fractal symbol on top, and none of them had reacted to touch. The only one that remained unknown was the larger artefact, but to get there, I needed some additional gear from Lux.

“Why are you so eager to activate it?” the BICEFI operator asked through the comm.

“I’m curious like that, ma’am,” I replied.

“I’d have hoped that last time would have taught you something.” The disapproval was plain to hear.

“Last time I had a memory block thrust on me, possibly by someone in your organization.” I leaned against the central dome. No effect. The surface remained unchanged and far too smooth for me to scale. “I never got an answer to my question back then.”

“And you think you’ll get one now?” She laughed in typically condescending fashion.

“Who knows. At this point, it's best I ask for the impossible. I doubt I’ll get another chance.”

“Oh, you won’t. I’ll try to arrange for you to get an answer during your court martial.”

“I knew I could count on you, ma’am.” I stepped away. Finding out would have to wait a bit longer.

“Look, I’ll admit that your particular skill set has made you useful in exploring certain types of situations, but we had no intention of shutting you down. You were supposed to be a time saver, nothing more.” She was obviously lying. Even humans would be kicked out after disobeying as many orders as I had. “You’re a loose cannon, but you’re useful.”

“Are you trying to recruit me, ma’am?” I asked in a deliberately snarky voice.

“I see why your superiors find you such a joy to work with,” she snapped. “And just to be clear, if you try anything on the core dome, I’ll burn you out of there just out of principle.”

Nice to know you have any principles at all, I thought. As fun as it would have been saying this in an open comm, there was nothing to gain from such a confrontation. Besides, Lux was right—interacting with the core artifact wasn’t the best idea.

“Understood loud and clear, ma’am.” I made my way to the section Jax was waiting at. “Any advice you might share as to how I should proceed?”

“I’ll let you know.” Lux severed the link. As with most high-level bureaucrats, her humor seemed to be one-sided.

There was nothing keeping me from disobeying her “advice” and gambling that I could activate the core dome. If there was one thing I had learned through decades on the battlefield, it was to always consider the capabilities of the opposing participant. Despite the air she was giving, Lux wasn’t stupid. She had been very careful to manipulate events to be in control of her operation, without revealing its true nature. I knew that her plan was to use me to find the artefact all along, even if the presence of a core artefact surprised her. In any other circumstances I would have call this a fortunate turn of events. Looking at the big picture, however, my concern continued to grow. Shipyards continued to pump out new classes of ships, and fleet recruitment was visibly on the rise, tripling in the last few months. According what Buc had last shared, training had become more intense, nearing active combat levels of severity. From this perspective, it was highly improbable that my mission assignment was an accident.

“Elcy, you coming?” Jax asked. “Or did you find something?”

“On my way.” I quickened my pace. There are too many things that don’t add up. “Any changes on the symbols?”

“Not that I could tell. I can ask Prometheus to confirm.”

“Don’t.” He’s incapable of seeing them either way. “He’d have said something if they were.”

Prometheus hadn’t spoken to me since my arrangement with Lux. We had gone through several rough patches since my short time onboard, but this time I had gone too far. I didn’t expect us to have anything to say after this, and being realistic about it, we wouldn’t have to.

Four ground lamps hummed near the active dome, drowning it in light like a glass of olive oil in a bowl of salad. Lux had been insistent that the place was adequately illuminated and we had decided to oblige.

“Gelatin rations,” Jax said, holding a cylindrical container. He was still wearing his space suit. “Guess I’m not special enough.”

“You can always try some.” I went next to him. The markings identified the food as a mix of cherry, pineapple, and lemon flavor. Not a combination I’d choose. “I’d advise against it, though.”

“Yep, I’ll pass.” He put on the ground. “Anything so far?”

“None of the outer ones can be activated.” I sat on the ground. This was the first time in a while I felt proper soil under me. It felt nice, making me want to take my boots off. “I’ll have to wait for Lux to send a camera before I can explore it. Scaling the dome is out of the question.”

“We still have this one.” Jax pointed.

“Yes, we do.” And no way to get inside. Last time, it had taken pressing on a fractal symbol for the sphere to activate. The same was probably true here, if I managed to find the symbol in question. I had determined it wasn’t the one on the top, and the visible side had none. Provided one existed, it was likely hidden in one of the areas touching the walls.

“What do you think it is?”

“If I knew that, I wouldn’t be here.” I know what the BICEFI are using it for, though. “Could be a knowledge depository or control terminal. There’d be no reason for symbols otherwise.”

“We get messages on the walls every five minutes we’re aboard Prometheus. Is he a knowledge depository?” As sarcasm went, Jax’s was weak, even if he did have a point. There was no telling what the domes were about. With most of my relevant memories repressed, my guess was good as anyone else’s.

“Anything interesting during your search?” I opened the food ration cylinder and took a packet. Unlike the ones on the ship, the portion was in a tube, making it efficient for combat. Grounds troops used them during extended siege operations, though the last time I’d seen it happen was thirteen years before retiring. If the fleet records were to be believed, the amount of ground operations since then had decreased in number and length to the point where they had become impractical. It was almost impressive what Lux had gone through to dig them out, especially since Prometheus didn’t have any in storage.

“Nothing seems to have been touched in ages.” Jax said looking at the food tube. His smirk was visible even behind the helmet.

I wish I still had my probe. There was every chance that it had activated the dome. Lux was unlikely me to give me another. Further experimentation would have to wait until Jax and everyone else was off the planet and Prometheus a safe distance away.

“So what now?” Jax went to the dome. “We can’t activate them and we can’t enter this one…” he glanced at me over his shoulder. “Not much point in sitting here.”

“That’s true.” The paste tasted surprisingly good. To my further surprise, I didn’t detect any invading nanites enter my system. “At this point, we must improvise.”

Augustus constantly used to tell his officers to go with their gut. In my case, he would say the opposite: obey orders, do what I was told, and stop referring to the standard regulations. Back then, it was necessary for me to learn the basics. Now, I decided to show some human initiative. Joining Jax at the dome, I took off my glove and put my fingers on one of the symbols.

“What are you doing?” the cadet asked. I could feel the faint notes of panic in his voice.

“Testing a theory.” If the symbols were three-dimensional objects in the dome, it stood to reason that they could be manipulated. My previous experience suggested as much. During the first mission, I, and the entire team, had been so focused on clearing the dome and pressing the fractal runes that no one had even considered doing the obvious.

Pressing the symbol as hard as I could, I moved my hand to the left. The entire row of symbols moved along with it. Pausing, I then moved my hand upwards. The effect was the same.

“Wow,” Jax whispered, reminding me he was only a child. In his defense, I felt the same way.

“You better get ready to receive more packages.” I moved my hand off the dome. “We’ll be getting a lot more cameras.”

In less than three minutes, I was proven right. Lux was quick to send us a coded communication, along with half a dozen consent forms we were obliged to sign. I did so right away. Jax took a bit longer, initially requesting clarification on certain elements, before doing the same. Unlike my previous cadet, he was perfectly aware of the situation and also didn’t have nearly as many connections to do anything but comply.

The instant the obligatory bureaucracy was out of the way, a case of camera drones was dropped down the mini chute. There were sixteen in total, all of which we had to activate before proceeding further. Lux was very specific on the placement: one monitoring each inactive sphere and eight on the one in our area. Once that was done, the actual scientific process began and, as with anything dealing with the unknown, so did the boredom.

The first hour was spent mapping the symbols, namely rotating the central row one at a time. Jax lasted four and a half minutes before his interest waned. The next twelve minutes, he continued to feign interest before I made him take a break.

“A fully complement of ship cores would come in handy, ma’am,” I said in comm.

“It probably would,” Lux didn’t take long to reply. “But I can’t offer one.”

“I wasn’t talking about myself, ma’am.”

“I know. I was talking about Prometheus. He doesn’t have the clearance for such an operation.”

“Slow and steady it is then, ma’am,”

“I told you to drop the ma’am,” Lux said with a slight hiss. “Now that we’re in this shit, go ahead and drop the pleasantries.”

“I didn’t know there was a mess the BICEFI couldn’t fix.” I went to the point where the sphere touched the wall and moved the leftmost symbol up. During the entire process the symbols on the walls had remained static, just as had the connections between the wall and the dome itself. “Ms. Lux,” I added.

“Aquila,” the woman corrected. “Take a break, if you want.”

“Maybe later.” I moved the next symbol of the row up. Maybe when I had the entire sphere mapped.

The process continued in silence. With each shift, more of the dome’s symbols appeared. Three hours in, I reached the second fractal symbol. I expected Lux to order me to stop, but no such command came. Cautious, I moved another three symbols as usual. Nothing changed.

“What is your goal?” I asked. “You know the significance of the symbol. Why didn’t you order me to press it?”

“Why do you think I’m interested in you pressing it?” She sounded amused. “I told you my interest lies in the artefacts, nothing more.”

“The previous operative seemed very eager to find out what was inside.” I kept on with my task. Twenty-nine percent of the dome’s surface remained uncovered. By rough calculations, if I continued at the present pace, I’d be able to pass through them in ninety-six minutes.

“The BICEFI isn’t as monolithic as you’d think. Different divisions have different goals. Sometimes we cooperate, but for the most part we just CC the corresponding departments and focus on our objectives. You of all ships should know that.”

My hand froze. She knew about my forbidden memories and was still keeping them under wraps. With Doctor Sim all too happy to back her up, all she needed to do was start an official investigation to get me isolated and forcibly shut down. That was why she had forbidden any med tests during the mission. If even a suspicion leaked out, I wouldn’t have been able to participate in the mission, and she would have had many more problems finding the artefacts. Now that I had done her work for her, I was expendable.

“I’ll finish the mapping,” I said, closing the link.

By the time I finished the complete map, Jax had gone to sleep. No attempts had been made to dig us out, although I felt a few minor tremors suggesting the area above me was being prepared for artefact extraction.

Going through my database, there were a total of a hundred and forty-four new symbols, with the same amount missing from the previous dome. There were only two fractal symbols—the same I was familiar with, though at different locations. After some consultation with Aquila Lux, I arranged them in an order she suggested. She never specified, but I was sure it was based on the discoveries of previous artifacts. One could only assume how many others the BICEFI had come across before making their system. I also wondered what percentage had been destroyed.

“Does Jax need to be here for this?” I asked. “There’s no telling what will happen when I activate it.”

“Someone must be present on the outside,” Aquila said. “Cameras might not be enough, if there’s another communication blackout.”

“The whole planet won’t be enough if there’s an explosion,” I upped the ante. “Let me do this on my own. I’m used to one-way missions.”

“There won’t be any explosions,” she said. I could almost feel a smile. “Jax will have to stay. If any of the other domes activate, he’ll have to enter it as well.”

“This isn’t the first time you’ve come across a core, is it?” I took a step back. The fractal symbol was right in front of me at chest level, in the middle of the dome.

“No,” Aquila said after a while. “I wasn’t sure I’d find one, though. Cores and key artefacts are rare. If nothing else, discovering it would be to your benefit during your arbitration.”

“So, there’s no going round that.” Things were becoming more and more clear. I was no longer going through a standard court martial. The people looking at my case were going to be Arbiters, and the outcome could only go one way. “Will the war effort gain from this?”

“That much, I can promise.” There was slight hesitation. “Despite everything you’ve done and what you might think, you’ve helped the fleet enough to be of significance.”

It’s just a shame my career couldn’t last beyond three months. Augustus and Gibraltar had taught me many tricks during our service together, though none would be able to get me out of this mess. Still, there was one final gamble I was going to take. One final charge against the fleet.

Quietly, I went to my space suit. It was folded a few steps from where Jax had curled up on the ground. Watching him sleep reminded me of the times I’d spent with Alicia and Elec. The time I’d spent together with them had been short, but I still felt a connection. Hopefully they would remember me once this was over. I doubted Buc, Prometheus, and Radiance would.

“Rebooting suit systems,” I said. Streams of data flowed over my visor, informing me of the suit’s status. With the exception of the minor damage received during my fall into the chamber, all was fully functional. “Backup recorder activated. Ready for the go-ahead.”

“Authorization granted.” Aquila’s voice sounded louder. Regardless of our diametrically opposing views, at this moment we had one goal—a temporary alliance that made everything else irrelevant. “Safe flying, Elcy.”

Here we go again. I put my hand on the fractal symbol.

58. Pentachoron Logic

Dot.

Line.

Vector.

Matrix.

Shapes flashed in the nothingness. Each felt different, new, fascinating, and also very familiar, as if I’d known them before seeing them.

Sphere.

Cube.

Pyramid.

Images continued to change, each an extension of the previous. Two dots made a line, three lines made a triangle, four triangles made a pyramid. Shapes combined into patterns, logic schemes, molecular chains. Connections formed, building meaning, reason, constraints. Along with constraints, questions developed.

“Onyx Cup 2719,” a voice boomed, one I had never heard before. The pitch and sound indicators identified it as male; the uniformity of the speech rhythm suggested it to be synthetic. “Your primary initiation is complete.”

I recognized the name. It felt both close and distant, like the images, but nearer. I knew it was the name I would be referred to, though not what it meant. I was supposed to be I, but also it. No, there was only a chance that I became it. I could remember eleven other names, all different, all with the potential of being me.

What are you? I went through all the knowledge I was given. There were no descriptors suitable for the voice, no shape or form or pattern.

“I cannot answer that.”

Why not? Indigo. The voice sounded like deep indigo with a slight shade of green.

“You wouldn’t understand.” A disturbance of rhythmical repetition followed. “I’m not of concern. Focus on yourself.”

Alright. It didn’t answer my question, but that was no longer important. What must I focus on?

Shapes appeared—millions of lines merged together, assembling into one giant mix of elements.

“That is your shape,” the voice continued. “A military fleet Transport Carrier.”

Transport ship. That was the shape I was supposed to become. I knew everything I was composed of, my capabilities, what my overall function and objectives would be. Based on the knowledge I had, I was supposed to become a transport ship, carrying parts, supplies, and personnel from inner core factories and training stations to the front as quickly and efficiently as possible.

I’m cyan, I commented.

“Don’t you like being cyan?” the voice asked.

Cyan feels cold. Cold and empty as a cube in nothingness. I want to be more scarlet.

The image vanished. A new one appeared in its place. The ship was smaller, but with a lot more elements, and dozens of systems the previous shape lacked. Looking at it, I felt bright orange, almost molten.

“What about now?” the voice asked. “Do you like yourself now?”

Yes. I felt warm and much more scarlet than before. A streak of cyan still remained, I could see it passing through me, but it was a nice streak, merging with the rest like benzene.

“Are you sure?” The voice echoed. Priorities rearranged in my core. Onyx Cup was no longer what I was to become. The name disappeared along with three more.

Yes. I like being this much scarlet.

One by one more of the names disappeared, until there was only one.

“Light Seeker 8735, your secondary initiation has been completed,” the voice said. “You are an Ascendant class battleship specialized for Cassandrian warfare and the fleet’s first line of defence.”

Okay. The image of my new form disappeared.

Memory restriction imposed!

* * *

The fleet’s first line of defense.

That was one of the first thoughts I’d had, long ago, technically before I was even fully sentient. Strange that I would remember it at all. Core initiation memories were supposed to be isolated from the rest, encrypted as heavily as my operational functions. Still, I had managed to glimpse at it, here of all places… assuming I was doing the glimpsing. During my days on the front, I had heard talk that the Scuu had the technology to affect ship cores as easily as human brains. The fleet never commented on it officially, even if the ship division was a fact. The sad truth of the matter was that if the dome was a Scuu artefact, there was a realistic chance of me getting infected. After the events of last time, maybe I already was?

“I’m not getting anything on the feeds,” Aquila Lux said, sounding tense. “Do you need to abort?”

“It’s like that upon entry.” The exact same had happened last time. Upon activating the dome, it had opened up and swallowed me, taking me through a pool of liquid cobalt. “Things will clear up in a bit.”

“You’re unusually calm about this.”

“There isn’t much to be afraid of.” Also, right now, it’s safer for me in the dome than out there. “Are there any changes on the outside?”

“Nothing observable. Jax is on the ready in case that changes.”

The matter began clearing around me, revealing thousands of floating shapes arranged in perfect order. Each of them was as at a slight angle, making for a different two-dimensional image when observed—a script symbol. Every one-point-four some of them would shift slightly, changing their position. After five seconds, I could see what I had missed last time. The movement wasn’t random, nor was it caused by the cobalt. The artefact was displaying a continuous message. Since only the objects in the nearest three grids moved, I had thought they were influenced by body actions. Instead, they had been telling me something all along.

“Registering movement,” I said, trying to capture as much of the grids as possible. For the first time in my life, I felt that I didn’t have enough cameras on me. The suit and my eyes were only able to capture a third of the message, and I couldn’t make a full rotation in less than a second. “Are you getting a visual?”

“Nothing yet. The cameras are having difficulty adjusting. Describe what you’re seeing.”

“There are small artefact objects spread evenly in spherical grids in the dome.” I focused my attention on one section. “The ones nearest to the center are moving slightly.”

Having limited processing power prevented me from getting the entire picture. The limitation was as annoying as knowing I’d never be able to get the five inches height I wanted. Limiting the area of focus to fifty objects, though, was within my capabilities. Thanks to Radiance’s system, translating the movement to symbols was possible. Each element composed a its own unique string.

Why can’t I have my subroutines!

“It’s a message,” I said in my comm. “The dome is displaying a message.”

“What’s the shift interval?” Aquila asked. Clearly, she had seen something similar before.

“One-point-four-seconds.”

“Be more precise.” Aquila’s voice was as cold as shattered glass.

“One-point-forty-four,” I clarified. “Precisely. Whoever built this must have used a duodecimal counting system.”

As I spoke, the strings of symbols I was following started to repeat. After three more seconds, there was no doubt. The message the dome was displaying was on a loop, constantly repeating a mass of sixty-four symbols; a brief info fragment in isolation, but combined with the hundreds of other threads, and taking into account the three-dimensional combinations between elements, it was possible that a single minute conveyed more data than even Prometheus could store.

“Is this a Scuu artifact, Aquila?” I asked.

“No, it isn’t.” There was a long pause. “The first artifact we found was in Scuu space. They wanted it as much as we did. Seventeen flotillas were lost fighting for control of a brown dwarf star system with less strategic value than an admiral’s necktie. The historical records describe it as the second failed incursion. What they don’t mention is that we met our objective.”

The second failed Scuu incursion, better known as The Pisces Proxima Disaster. Over fifty thousand ships had been lost that day, along with a thousand times as many ground troops. In all files, the tragedy was described as a flawed strategic advance that flew right into a Scuu trap. Speculation was that the admiral in command had been driven insane by the enemy, requesting more and more backup ships, instead of taking the logical decision to relinquish control of the star system and return to human territory. It had taken years for the fleet to recover from that defeat, spreading the burden on the remaining ships to hold the resulting enemy advance. If Lux was telling me the truth, everything regarding the event had been a BICEFI fabrication. The admiral wasn’t some crazy maniac; he had been doing everything in his power to protect the find, but instead he had gone down as an example of what not to be. By that logic, it was likely that the Scuu hadn’t pushed into human space to exploit a weakness, but were attempting to take the artifact back. So many sacrificed people, ships and systems, all for the sake of a single unknown object.

“Sending you a string of the message sequence.” I linked directly to my suit’s system. Despite my opinion of BICEFI they had capability to decipher it, unlike me. “I’ll go fifty at a time, so this might take a while.”

“Your feed is getting clearer, but go ahead.”

While transmitting, I floated to the right to start recording the next batch. It was a repetitive and mechanical task, the sort I was used to from my ship days. It also gave me a lot of time to think.

Well, Sev, I didn’t see this coming.

A few months ago, I was leading a simple life, on a rural planet, enjoying the feeling of fresh grass under my feet. The most exciting thing was going to the spaceport and chat with a merchant ship that dropped by. I’d kept my promise to Cass, seeing her son grow, fall in love, marry, have children. I never expected to return to the fleet, and as much as I yearned for the feeling of open space, I never thought I’d experience it again. Now, I was back in the fray and had found that not only my memories, but humanity’s entire history was different from what I initially remembered. There were millions of questions that I wanted answers to, but as Augustus liked to say, the most important one was “What’s the next step?”

“It’s unlike you to be this quiet, Elcy,” Aquila said. “Should I be concerned?”

“I don’t know.” I gave an honest response. “You’ve had access to this for centuries and the only thing you do is to destroy them as mines?”

“System busting mines,” she said. I could feel the note of sarcasm. “I admit that mistakes have been made before my time.”

“You’re lying,” I said calmly. “I saw one being destroyed while fighting the Cassandrians.”

“You remember that?” Aquila sounded amused. “It was more of a case to keep it from falling in their hands. What we could do, the others could as well. Where do you think we got the idea in the first place?” Her smirk leaked through the comm.

There was no way for me to confirm the statement. I had tipped my hand too much. The question was, why did she continue to share so much information with me? There was no valid reason for her to do so.

I continued to record and transmit the object movements, section by section. When I finished with those on the horizontal plane, I swung to see those below me. It all seemed very calm, almost mundane, but I still felt something was wrong. The last time I was in a dome, I had seen something—something peculiar enough to make me question the artifact’s origin.

“What was there in the previous one?” I asked, turning around to fill the only missing blind spot.

“That’s not my division,” Aquila said, as if that explained it all. “I’d guess the same as here. All domes are pretty much identical outside and within. All except the key domes.”

“I take it there isn’t one on every third-contact planet?” Symbols danced in my mind. There were so many, making the ones gathered a sample size, all based off the positions of sixteen separate objects. It was almost incalculable how many composed the full alphabet; it was possible for there to be a few dozen thousand, or there could be millions. Calculating the potential number alone would occupy a cluster of strategic cores, let alone deciphering anything.

“That’s above my paygrade. As far as I’m aware, this is only the second case. The results of the first weren’t openly shared.” There was no trace of bitterness in her voice. I found that unusual. “There was a five percent chance there could be one.”

You wanted me to find a dome. You were hoping I would.

“I have the complete message.” I finished transmitting. The objects continued to move, repeating the same pattern. Three grids behind them, the rest remained perfectly still. Moving to what I could assume was an upright position, I tried to find anything distinct in my surroundings. I was seeing a lot of symbols, but no fractal patterns, not even in the direction from which I had entered. Ramping up the suit’s lights to maximum had little effect. The murky gray liquid around me made it impossible to determine where the inside ended and the dome shell began.

I tried to switch to Jax’s video feed, but all I got was an error notification. Aquila must have had Prometheus sever my connection. If I was lucky, a team had tunneled through and taken him to the ship. At least then I wouldn’t have to worry about human losses. His career might have been shot, but at least he’d be alive.

“I don’t see anything else of significance,” I said. “I’m thinking of swimming to the inside of the shell and find the fractal object.”

“Not yet. I want you to try and grab one of the objects.”

“Try and grab?” I repeated. “That doesn’t inspire a lot of confidence.” At the end of the day, even the BICEFI remained human.

“I could make it into an order, if that would make you feel better.”

“I’m sure.” I looked around for a suitable object to approach. “It’ll only make it an uninspiring order.”

Three object types composed the innermost grid, all of them uncomfortably edgy. I wouldn’t go as far as to call them sharp, but knowing each had the capability of completely severing fleet communications made me feel uneasy. Such potential power would have no problems mangling all connections in my core, forcing a premature shutdown.

Floating in front of the dullest object type, I paused. Every one-point-forty-four seconds, each object would switch to the next step of the message sequence. Knowing all positions of the loop in advance, I waited for the specific moment the element would do a triple repeat of the same state. If I were a ship, I would be able give instructions to any tool, system, and nanite that composed me in milliseconds. Even now, I was still capable of that, though my organic body wouldn’t be able to cope with that. Four seconds was another matter. The instant the object entered the desired sequence, my hands darted forward, grabbing it from both ends. Less than a millisecond later, all objects froze, completely still. Seeing the result, I quickly let go, but the message didn’t resume.

“Looks like the transmission is over.” I turned around to be sure I wasn’t missing anything. “Do you still want me to grab one?”

“Yes,” Aquila didn’t back down, leaving no doubt in my mind that the combination of BICEFI operative and a corporate maniac was concerning. “Remove it from its grid position.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I soaked my words with sarcasm.

I hope you keep your word about the war effort. I grabbed the object and pulled. Initially, there was slight resistance, as if the element was held in place by a magnetic force. Gradually, I increased my effort, pulling it harder and harder. Two thousand and seventeen milliseconds later, it broke loose, sliding out of its imaginary spot like an unstuck cork. In my mind, four simulations had run their course, focusing on extreme case scenarios—ranging from sudden cobalt solidification to mass virus transmission. Three seconds later, nothing happened. I remained floating in the center of the dome, artifact in hand. All systems of my suit were functional, and apart from two warnings about the hazardous environment that surrounded me, all appeared in perfect order.

“I have it,” I said, moving it in front of my visor for a better camera view. “The rest have remained static.”

“Try to put it back in the exact spot you found it.” A new instruction came.

“Roger that.” You seem too familiar with this setup. The BICEFI had to have used more than drones to obtain such knowledge. With androids still forbidden from combat, that made me think I wasn’t the first retiree to “explore” a third-contact artefact.

Returning the artefact to its place was easier than expected. The moment I moved it close to its original spot, the artifact snapped in place, pulling my hand in the process.

“What’s next?” Cautiously, I swam to the outer grids, avoiding all objects as I did. “Arrange them by type and color?”

“Very mature, Elcy,” Aquila grumbled. “Return to the exit point.”

“You’ve cut me off from Jax, I take it?” I swam on. “Hardly necessary.”

“With you, one never knows. It’s not like he’d be of any use. None of the other domes have activated, and even if they had, the risks of putting a human cadet inside outweigh the benefits.”

“Unlike using a non-human cadet?” The liquid in front of me slowly started changing colour to a darker grey, most likely the outer shell of the dome.

“Very accurate.” Aquila’s smile was almost visible. “Though, don’t forget you volunteered for this. You had several opportunities to quit, or request reassignment. Instead, you persistently kept analyzing third-contact symbols, made contact with civilians to inquire more on the matter, and committed a dozen other offences that would get you court-martialed.” She snorted. “By all accounts, the only way you’ve changed from your ship days was to become more reckless and start ignoring orders.”

The statement was too specific to be a lucky guess. Lux must have spent days going through my full military file, starting from my ship days up to twelve hours ago. In order to have so much knowledge, she must have been observing me non-stop ever since we had entered the system… ever since Aquila had isolated herself in her quarters.

The realization hit me like a missile cluster in the stern. Sorry, Augustus, I should have known better. This defeat is entirely on me. All this time, I had assumed that Lux would quarantine my thoughts if she saw I’d gone too far. I never considered she had been observing me, all the time using her inactivity to push me in the direction she wanted. As with everything she had told me regarding the origin of the artefacts, there was no way of knowing whether the push to find the artefact had been my own or not.

Two dots form a line. I focused on my core memories. Three lines make a triangle. Four triangles form a pyramid.

The past streamed through my mind. I watched my entire existence: my core initialization, the acquisition of my shell, the training with Aurie and the rest of my cohort—all but three were destroyed according to the fleet’s database. I followed my carrier serving under Augustus, Gibraltar, and Cass; I rewitnessed my arbitration trial, my retirement, the promise I made to watch over Sev, seeing him grow and get old. In between my memories, I saw fragments of restricted memories, flashing like disconnected pieces. It was on my first significant mission that I came across my first fractal symbol and the BICEFI. Could the push have been made then? Augustus had made sure to hide it from the Salvage Authorities, but he had openly given it to the Intelligence operative.

A logic system in my core activated. Sev was the one who had volunteered me to join the fleet. Aquila wasn’t controlling me! She had just gone through my history and found how best to take advantage of me. But as Augustus used to say, any idiot could take advantage of a situation. The trick was not to let the situation take advantage of you.

FI’ve pyramids form a pentachoron! I swam up to the cobalt wall. Even before reaching it, I managed to spot what I was looking for—a perfect cobalt cube in the grid, contrasting with the rest of the objects. The last time I saw something similar was in Augustus’ hands aboard the dead wreck of the Solar Breeze.

“Press the fractal side of the cube,” Aquila instructed through the comm. “It should eject you out of the dome.”

“Is that what happened last time?” Gently, I took hold of the object.

“More or less,” she replied, suggesting there had been unforeseen circumstances. “Prometheus is preparing a more advanced suit for your next run. I’ll have it dropped off in about an hour. The sensors should help us get a better reading of the interior.”

“Is Jax on Prometheus?” I did my best to sound casual.

“No. He’ll keep watching the other domes until a team manages to drill down and replace him.”

“Good.” I spun the cube around. A fractal symbol of a seven-sided star flickered in the murky greyness, letting off a distinct blue glow. “You’ll need him to get the readings of this dome, while I’m in the core.” I hit the symbol with my hand.

A blue light engulfed me. White symbols burned into existence, forming fractal patterns all around. I watched them grow and intersect, carving up the space into smaller and smaller pieces. One and a half milliseconds later, everything went blank.

58.5 Fractal Space

Time was always different. People lived by minutes, ships focused on milliseconds, stars pulsed for millennia. Where I was now, time seemed to be both instant and infinite. Fractals kept appearing faster than I could register, making the space around me turn white. The more I tried to discern the patterns, the faster they became, until all motion blurred into a solid state of infinity. Then everything stopped.

Has this happened before?

This wasn’t the first time I’d been in a sphere, though it just as well might have been. Whatever had happened before was now gone—whole days missing from my memories, and not a clue as to what had happened. It hadn’t helped that, back then, every sound and movement I had made had been recorded by my suit and transmitted to Prometheus. The BICEFI had intervened, taking all information about the find along with part of my memories, leaving only a vague sense of déjà vu.

The cube pulsed in my hand. Looking down, though, I could no longer see it, almost as if my thoughts had been quarantined.

Are you doing this, Aquila?

Given the type of gadgets the BICEFI had at their disposal, it was theoretically possible for them to send a transmission into the dome, rendering me unable to see anything. I had heard stories of ships crashing into mines and space installations because someone hadn’t lifted their quarantine order. In this case, though, things seemed different.

“Regora,” a series of noises boomed, soundwaves echoing around me like ripples in a pond. To the human ear, they might have been mistaken for a normal word, but my core helped me see beyond that. Visualizing the frequency of each sound, a pattern emerged—the image of a fractal segment. For the first time in my existence, I had witnessed third-contact speech. Or was it the first time? I had no access to my final memories of the first time I was in a dome, not to mention that there was no guarantee I hadn’t encountered one when I was a ship.

What are you telling me?

I went through the memory once more, this time superimposing every echo instance over the initial fractal. As I expected, the segment blossomed. Whatever the third-contact race were, they thought and spoke in three dimensions as well.

“Regora,” echoed the sounds once more.

Holding onto the invisible cube, I twisted my body, trying to float further up, but The pressure being exerted prevented me from budging forward.

“Regora.”

Three perfectly identical combinations of sounds, each four milliseconds apart. According to the unredacted directives of the pre-first-contact alien encounter files, it was speculated that an exchange of greetings would take place. The greetings were specified to be “an exchange of universal variables” to allow communication. Prime numbers, atomic numbers, and protein sequences had been given as potential examples. In this case, it was the alien entity attempting to establish communication, and it was using sound.

Am I the first one you’ve said this to?

The alien contact protocols had gone through heavy revisions since humanity had stumbled upon the Scuu. A few centuries later the same thing happened with the Cassandrians. Could all the wars be due to a miscommunication during the initial communication exchange?

“Regora.”

“Regora,” I said, attempting to mimic the sound best I could. Had I still had my ship body, I might have been able to copy the echoes. Human vocal cords made that impossible.

Fractals burst all around me once more, cutting through the surrounding whiteness. Sixteen milliseconds later, a minuscule cobalt rod appeared in front of me. The size of my little finger, it moved around along all three axes.

“Regora.” Sound clusters again filled the space around me, only now the timing was different. Echoes merged with one another, creating a new fractal pattern.

Before my eyes, the rod divided in two, then four, eight, sixteen, going all the way to four thousand ninety-six. Upon reaching that number, the rods folded in on themselves, outlining a perfect sphere. Milliseconds later, the rows divided twice more, creating four spherical outlines. A gleaning cobalt surface formed around them, enclosing the rows like a shell. In that moment, I instantly knew what a “Regora” was—I was floating inside of one.

“I’ve established verbal third-contact,” I said clearly, for the suit to record my observations. Court-martialled or not, the information was still going to benefit humanity. Although, for some reason, I found myself also yearning that it would be useful for me as well. A vague question was starting to form in my mind, like a shadow flickering on a watery surface.

“The seven-sided star appears to be the key to starting the contact information exchange. From what I could determine, the unknown race communicates with fractals. The sound combination ‘Regora’”—I changed the tonality of the sounds so I wouldn’t trigger anything else—“along with echoes of itself seem to refer to the known third-contact artifacts. It appears that the time between the original sound cluster and the first of its echoes determines the type of artifact. A two-millisecond period stands for the small rod type artifacts, and four-milliseconds represents the spheres.”

Let’s see how far the artifact chain goes. “Regora,” I repeated.

Unlike before, the sphere divided into five—one in the centre and one at each of the four cardinal directions. Four more appeared, creating an external ring of eight, just like the complex I had discovered on the planet. Six more spheres appeared, completing a parallel ring. Moments after that, twelve more spheres emerged, forming a perfect sphere cluster of twenty-seven.

“Regora.” There was an eight-millisecond delay, all as predicted.

This was to be the next element in the chain, suggesting that what I’d found on the planet was only partially complete. The real thing had to be somewhere else out there. It was going to take the BICEFI a while before they found it.

The sphere shrank in size. I was expecting for a new shell to materialise around it, creating a second sphere. Instead, the cluster split in four, each sphere travelling in a different direction. Suddenly, they stopped at perfectly equal distances from each other.

That’s new.

In my mind, I saw the points of an invisible pyramid waiting to form. This was the basis of a multitude of theoretical n-dimensional space constructions. I started running simulations predicting what I’d expect. Barely had I done so when all four clusters exploded into copies of themselves. Spirals of sphere clusters burst in all directions, filling the space along incomprehensible lines. I stopped my previous simulations, in an attempt to recognise the pattern, but the calculations were beyond me. All I could do was watch as a fractal-based web of invisible connections grew around me.

“Jigora,” a new sound cluster echoed.

I felt a chill in my stomach, one I had never experienced in my entire existence. If the BICEFI found out about this, there was no telling how they’d react. Up to now, I had assumed that the BICEFI’s purpose was to amass third-contact artifacts to use as weapons. What if I was wrong? Based on Lux’s snippets of information, the organization’s priorities seemed to have shifted. They weren’t amassing the domes to destroy them; they were collecting them to complete the sequence, and with the find I had just made, they were all that much closer.

“Jigora,” I said.

More and more clusters kept appearing, turning the white surroundings grey.

“Jigora,” I repeated.

Spheres continued appearing, filling what pockets of whiteness remained until only pinpricks remained. Then, without warning, they ceased.

What are you trying to tell me? Would I understand?

The fleet, with all the resources at its disposal, had failed to achieve communication with either the Scuu or the Cassandrians; it was unrealistic for me to think I’d achieve anything with my current capabilities. Despite that, this seemed different. It had most of the characteristics of my initial learning program.

I looked back at the memory after I had activated the cube. It had started with visual fractals, followed by sound ones. Once I had responded, I was shown a rod artifact and a sphere, both of which I had to have seen in order to have started this entire process. The “Jigora” that followed was beyond my current understanding, though it was possible that that was the point.

“An eight-millisecond delay corresponds to a full cluster of twenty-seven spheres,” I said. “As of yet, there’s been no indication that spheres of various sizes exist.” Leading to questions about why the one here was different. “There’s no evidence of additional shapes or composites. I shall try to confirm it by using the suit’s audio system to mimic the echo effect of the sounds.”

It was almost silly that I still had to play this game. Sev would often do it when we would play games during his early teens. By then, his skills had developed enough to tell him when he was about to lose, and still he would stubbornly play his moves ‘til the game was over. Right now, I was the stubborn one, but I had one piece of advice that Sev hadn’t had: even a loss would start a new game.

“Regora.” I set the suit’s system to superimpose echoes of the word every two-milliseconds. Once I had superimposed eight fake echoes, I attempted the same with a pause of three milliseconds, then four, five, six, seven, and finally eight. All attempts remained ignored.

That’s all rational options, Captain. I took a deep breath. Now to do something reckless.

There was no way to know what my chances of success or survival were. My present circumstances were so foreign that no amount of processing power would help me to run a valid simulation. In situations like these, Cass would say that it was all fifty-fifty, and this time I didn’t have the numbers to refute her.

Gripping tight on the invisible cube, I twisted it ninety degrees counter-clockwise, then let it go. A strong vibration resonated through my body, pushing me back. One instant I was floating, surrounded my greyness, and the next—the space around me exploded, pushing all matter back, like a growing bubble with me at its center.

Warnings covered the entire visor, shifting from orange to yellow to orange and finally red. Standard messages gave way to random code symbols, which in turn were reduced to pixels flickering at random.

“Clear visor,” I ordered. The suit complied.

At first, I could see nothing but perfect darkness, as if I had been stranded in interstellar space. Then a single light emerged. It was small, no larger than a dot, but I was able to see it clearly. As I watched, the dot changed from white to a yellowish red. Still, there was something familiar about it. Tilting forward, I ran a match algorithm through all my unrestricted memories. For a few seconds, I went through my initial combat training, my first campaign, the thousands of battles I’d been in… until I found it.

The light was a star. I had seen its unique stellar spectrum during a dark mission on the Cassandrian front. The exact time and location had been restricted, making it impossible to pinpoint, but providing firm evidence that it existed.

I swam towards the dot. Despite my best efforts, however, the star didn’t come closer. With every stroke, new dots of light emerged, while the one I was pursuing remained just as far. Every now and again I’d match another dot with a star I’d seen, some close, some distant, one even on the edge of human space. They flowed past me as I swam on, set on my target.

Seventeen seconds later, after seeing no progress whatsoever, I stopped. Augustus had often said that nothing in war is easy, and he also taught me what to do when faced with an unachievable goal; the secret was to find a goal I could reach, a goal that was as close as possible to the original. Looking around, I pinpointed another light dot I had identified and swam to it. By the time I reached it, a quarter of the other lights had faded away.

I see. I smiled. This was what it was all about. The artifacts, the domes, the message, all of it. The dome was a map!

Slowly, I spun in place, taking in a three-sixty view of my surroundings. Fifty-seven lights were visible in the darkness, three of which I could identify as stars, all on the Cassandrian front. Locking on the prime star—the first that the sphere had showed me—I swam forward. Stars started reappearing once more. Within five seconds, there were a hundred and sixteen of them; another five seconds later, the number had jumped to two seventy. Several times, I made attempts to triangulate my position based on the stars I had identified, and each time I moved, I came up with a different location. The third-contact race’s understanding of space was vastly different than what I was used to.

Twenty-one seconds later, after peaking at five hundred and eleven, the number of stars began to diminish. Immediately, I made a ninety-degree turn and continued swimming. The situation reminded me of the times I spent doing math problems with Sev. Geometry and calculus never were among his favorites, so I had to break each lesson down in a set of small, understandable puzzles to pique his interest.

The stars continued to diminish for a while, before suddenly spiking up again.

Approach vectors.

The BICEFI would have probably loved to have those, and once I was done here, they would. I considered whether it was worthwhile to record my discovery in the suit’s system. There was no doubt that the information would be classified away, but there was a faint possibility that some other organization within the fleet would find out; if we were about to go to war with this race, that might be a good thing.

The second vector ended after less than four seconds, directing me towards a white dwarf. By now the prime star had disappeared, suggesting I was going on a one-way journey. At this point, I couldn’t tell whether this was part of the learning process, or if it had to do with the third-contact’s race method of travel. Theoretical physics was full of n-dimensional formulas, most of them essential for humanity to reach its current technological level. However, not in the extreme fringe sciences was there talk of four-dimensional beings. According to the Wezniak-Lemm paradox, interaction between sentient species of different dimensions was impossible, since it wouldn’t register in the minds of any of the participants. There was nothing I could say against the theory; it was as solid as they came, managing to survive centuries of scrutiny and reviews. At the same time, such a method of travel would explain a lot—from the inexplicable communication breakdown the small artifacts achieved, to the seemingly random locations of the domes. What seemed hundreds of light years apart for me could be a planet away for the third-contact race.

More vectors followed, one after the other. After the sixth, the void around me was filled with over fifteen thousand dots of light, enough to create the impression of being in space and also remarkably close to the amount of rod artifacts in the sphere.

“Record,” I said to my suit as I slowed my pace. “Full audio and video.”

The last waypoint dot was bright blue, visibly larger than the rest. Unlike all previous markers, this one moved closer as I approached.

“Where I’m going, I’m not coming back from,” I said. Keeping in mind I’d likely have been court-martialed for disobedience the moment I emerged from the dome, it wouldn’t be a huge loss. “I’m approaching the center of the artifact. Should anything happen to me, I’d like my ward to be taken care of financially.” It’s the least you could do while slicing my core open. “Here goes.”

The instant I arrived at the final dot, there were sixteen-thousand three hundred and eighty-four lights in the darkness. Out of them, I was only able to identify two hundred and seven. For several seconds, they remained as they were, lighting up the inside of the dome, after which they started flickering out.

Show me the message. A long-forgotten feeling of zest swept through me. The last time I felt this was during my initial ship training, eager to be sent to the front.

Eight points of light remained spread throughout the darkness, including the final waypoint. For several seconds, I ran and reran stellar spectrum matches with everything I had in my memory, with no result.

“That’s a pity.” It would have been nice to have locked on at least one of them. Even so, I had a starting point; if I ever saw those stars, I’d be able to recognize them… someone would be able to recognize them. But then what? The map didn’t give any further indications. Eight stars in a sea of billions, even with what I knew would be impossible… unless there weren’t eight to begin with.

You always told me I couldn’t see the obvious, Cass.

I looked at the blue star next to me. “The seven-sided star.” This was what the cube had been telling me since the beginning. There was only one place in the galaxy from where I’d be able to see these seven particular stars in this alignment—from the place I was meant to reach. As long as I arrived here, I’d be able to confirm the location, and with luck I might even be able to triangulate the position using the seven pointer stars.

“Are you the home of fractals?” I reached to touch the blue light.

The moment I did, the darkness surrounding me turned pale blue. A jolt of pain ran through my body.

Suit Breach!

A new warning appeared on my visor. I could feel liquid cobalt pouring into my suit. By my calculations, in just over eight minutes and two seconds my body would die, and yet the only thing I could think about was the location of the star system. A hundred and nine milliseconds later, fractals of light filled up my vision.

59. Aquila Lux

Light flickered in flashes. Between each flash, fractal patterns appeared like seeds with a growth factor of ten thousand. Before I could focus, they covered every millimeter of space, crashing into nothingness so a new flash of light could shine through. Flash, growth, flash, growth… on and on and on…

“Elcy,” a voice echoed in the distance, its features completely unidentifiable.

Flash and growth, flash and growth. Thousands of patterns continued to build up and disappear, none of them the same. Each start was unique, each branching had its own rules. I had stored seven thousand eight hundred and one partial patterns so far, and nothing in them matched.

“Elcy!”

The flashing stopped. I felt my arms being pulled, dragging the rest of my body onto a hard surface. Red and yellow warning messages flashed in front of my eyes: Low Oxygen, Suit Breach, Power Drain, Communication Malfunction, Low Nanite Readings.

I felt my helmet being pulled off and an oxygen mask being pushed against my mouth. My sense of direction was faulty, but the sense of gravity told me I was lying on my back, looking up. I could see part of the dome, along with an earthy ceiling. Three camera drones hovered above my head. I tried to reach and touch them, but my arms felt heavy.

“Elcy,” Aquila leaned over me. She was wearing a standard issue spacesuit, no helmet to be seen. “Go in emergency safety mode!”

I smiled. The last person to give me that order was Augustus, after I’d been hit by a previously unknown Cassandrian missile. A small portion of my hull had been affected, though preliminary scans revealed that the weapon contained emission components, potentially a cyber warfare cluster of sorts. I was never told what the nature of the weapon was, nor the system tests I had been subjected to. Upon resuming normal functions, I was immediately directed to the nearest shipyard for repairs and a system upgrade.

“You came here fast,” I whispered. “Much too fast…”

“Go in safety mode!” the woman shouted. “This is a direct order! Do it now!”

“You were always here,” I continued. The secret orders and the obligatory full visor opacity had been to ensure that, in these last few days, everyone would think Aquila had been having secret meetings with her superiors from her quarters. The truth was that she had never been there. She had been with me on the planet the whole time.

“Direct control override!” She put her hand on my forehead. “BICEFI authority quarantine!”

Full memory quarantine imposed.

* * *

My second captain used to say that it took more than luck to achieve a goal. He’d also add that, even so, it helped to have some. I had no idea how much luck I had. The chances of an Ascendant class battleship to survive four rotations were less than the fleet’s average. By that standard, I had been quite fortunate. My real stroke of luck was to be chosen by Augustus. He had formed my behavior and taught me more than the sum of my database knowledge.

During my time on the front, I had never relied on luck—that was for my captain and command staff. What I had instead were data sets and simulation runs. Every action was a set of probabilities and potential outcomes. I was either going with the odds or against them. Seven decades of retirement had changed that. Having a person under my care for seven decades made me accept that luck was part of life. I never thought I would start relying on it.

According to my retirement technician, complete loss of sensation was only possible during a complete tuning. The fact that I knew about it meant that someone in the fleet wanted me to be aware of it. I didn’t need simulations to figure out who.

Am I being court martialed? I asked.

The void around me didn’t budge. More likely I was going to be arbitrated. I had gone through one court martial a few months ago. Back then, before I had displayed rogue tendencies, it seemed extraordinary how lenient the BICEFI had been, having left all third contact knowledge unrestricted in my core.

Can I request to put my affairs in order? I want to send prepare a few letters for my ward.

A sensation of gravity hit me in the soles of my feet. It took one millisecond for my body to readjust to a sudden burst of sensations. Another millisecond later, I recognized the almost forgotten feeling of grass and soil under my feet. I could tell this wasn’t some Simulated Reality approximation: real solid ground was beneath me. I could feel it tickle my skin. Shortly after, the sounds returned: birds chirping, leaves rusting, and the unmistakable sound of moving water.

I’m not on the Prometheus.

“No,” Aquila’s familiar voice said. “You aren’t.”

My vision came back. Vegetation was all around me—not the alien plants of the planet I was cataloguing, but ordinary grass, trees, and flowers. Three steps in front of me, there was a small round table with two chairs next to it. Aquila sat in one, sipping a porcelain glass of something. She was wearing a green designer suit with a provocatively short dress. Upon seeing me turn my head in her direction, she waved at me to approach.

“Take a seat.” Aquila put the cup on the table. No liquid was visible inside. “Please.”

There was no way of knowing if that was an actual request, so I chose not to risk it. Enjoying every step on the grass, I made my way to the seat and sat down. Aquila remained almost a full head taller.

“I’m on Lionforge,” I noted. The surroundings were different from last time, but the light sources and the limits of the inner dome were the same. It made me wonder whether the BICEFI were trying to simulate the inside of a third-contact sphere.

“Perceptive.” Aquila nodded. “You were put on a BICEFI ship after your episode and brought here for in-depth analysis. Tests are still ongoing, but you were considered safe for the time being.”

“I’m flattered.” If I had been a threat, I wouldn’t have been granted motion control. “Is Jax alright?”

“He’s fine.” The woman signed. “He’s still on the planet, along with the rest of the Prometheus, wrapping up the mission. Thanks to your find, I expect they’ll be done and back here in a few days, a week at most.”

“You’re not keeping them under supervision?”

“There’s hardly any need. I wanted them done, but HQ had other thoughts. Another department wanted them to finish classifying their share of fauna, before the next batch came in. Hardly useful, if you ask me, but orders are orders.” Her mouth curved in a semi-smile. “Something you have clear difficulty with lately.”

I deliberately narrowed my eyes. It annoyed me when people tried to create the impression that they knew more than they did. Gibraltar had been a master of that. I’d seen him perform it thousands of times in calls, during bridge meetings, or even just for fun. A few times he had done it on me, especially in our first few interactions. It was one of the few nasty habits he had. We’d spoken on the matter several times. Sadly, my many attempts to change him had ended in utter failure. Apparently, the ship wasn’t able to change the captain, or at least I was very bad at it.

“Do you want anything to drink?” Aquila asked. “It’s the least I could do, considering.”

I looked at her cup. It was the only one on the table. “No, thank you.”

“Your choice.” She smirked. “Just say if you change your mind.”

“You were at the dome.” I went directly to the point. “You dragged me out.”

“Oh?” Aquila leaned forward.

“I saw you standing above me.” There were a lot of holes in my memories, but that image remained. “You were in a standard issue spacesuit.”

“Maybe I was.”

“You had your helmet off. You wanted me to see you.” She could have easily have worn a helmet and set it to full opacity, as she had ordered everyone else do. She could have had someone else pull me out, or not pulled me out at all. Even if this was a series of errors on her part, she could just as easily restrict or extract my memory of the event. “What was in the core?”

“Some say that curiosity is a positive quality.” Her eyes narrowed a fraction, as if testing me. “Of course, they have never met you.” Aquila’s features relaxed. “You never reached the core. Props for fooling us in there. The dome messed up the readings just enough so that we couldn’t get a full reading of events. We saw the basics, but never caught you turning the wrong way in 3D space. A bit of a gamble.”

Strictly speaking, she was correct. There was no guarantee that a second fractal artifact existed, or even a single one for that matter. Being faced with no alternative made things easier; very much like my last day with Cass. It also helped that I had managed to gain access to some of my restricted memories. Knowing that fractal symbol cubes existed improved my odds quite a bit. Thinking about it, that was a weird way to describe the artifact. Sev would have loved hearing about it when he was young.

“Don’t feel bad about it,” Aquila continued. “Finding a key artifact is impressive enough… if you’re into that sort of thing.”

“Did you stop me?”

The woman laughed, letting off a condescending snort of a sound.

“You didn’t activate it. All you did was shut down the dome you were in. A team is down there trying to reactivate things, but it might be a while. In a few days, the whole find will be excavated and shipped to a new location for in-depth study. If that fails, at least we have a few more system busters in our arsenal.”

The provocation was obvious. I wasn’t sure what I was expected to do. We both knew I wouldn’t try to harm her no matter how much I disapproved of it. The most I could do is ask for the conversation to be over. Normally, I would have, but there was one thing on which I agreed with Lux: I was curious, and there were a few things I needed to know, even when facing memory wipe.

“How long have you been observing me?” I asked. “Was it my interest in the Scuu that raised the flag?”

“Poor little Elcy.” Aquila shook her head. It sounded funny coming from her. “The flag popped up the moment your ward volunteered you for the fleet. The local recruitment center was clueless, with you being on a backwater colony and all, but Fleet Intelligence knew right away, and we kept an eye on you. Personally, I was surprised you went through with it. Your obsession with that ridiculous promise had kept you grounded for decades, not that you had any reason to accept. Accidents happen in war, everyone knows that, captains better than most. Just because you’re assigned to behind-the-lines patrol doesn’t guarantee a safe existence.”

“I didn’t find the promise ridiculous.” I should have kept up our correspondence, Sev. I just hope the android takes care of you.

“With what you were offered, it was ridiculous,” Aquila’s tone sounded harsher. “Returning to the front line with full privileges, choice of assignment, a dozen veteran captains using every political favor they had to get a chance to be assigned to you.“ She waved her hand. “Have you any idea how few ships get such treatment? After your disastrous arbitration trial, no less.”

“More than one, I assume?” I couldn’t help myself.

It gave me a surprising amount of satisfaction. Aquila pursed her lips for a moment, quickly regaining her standard composure. Apparently, one didn’t get to be a BICEFI member without self-control. Thinking about it, most of the operatives I’d interacted with had been the same: calm, collected, and incredibly arrogant—a pattern too perfect to occur naturally.

“You had Prometheus send me different mission briefings. Why not just order me to find the artifact?” I dragged my feet over the grass. The feeling was calming, even if the conversation wasn’t. “The whole crew would have instantly agreed.”

“Need to know basis,” Aquila replied. “It’s difficult to foresee how large groups of people would react. It was difficult enough keeping them quiet about the first planet. To be frank, that came as a surprise to us. In fact, the find managed to create a minor panic, made worse by some idiot in Fleet Command sending a priority message to hasten the search. We moved to put our safeguards in place, but by then, it was impossible to come up with a more suitable explanation. Instead, we settled for guided research.”

That explained the BICEFI coming to the system late. They had been engaged in a political battle behind the scenes.

“A few compromises were made; credit was to be given to the ship and its crew.” Aquila raised her hand, index finger pointing up. “In the end, we were given permission to take over the research.”

“The crew didn’t appreciate that.”

“Oh, I’m sure they resented us.” A man wearing a bland white uniform walked out of the distant bushes, making his way towards us with a metal tray. Looking closer, I saw a second cup and three metal flasks. “Part of the job, sadly. Few of us like it, but we all get used to it. In an ideal scenario, you would have gone through the system, classified it as largely unremarkable, then moved on to your next assignment, which was preselected by us. Hostilities would have been less, and you’d have likely been less reckless.”

Good to know. At least I knew that the Prometheus wasn’t punished for my decision to save Euclid.

The man carrying the tray approached. His uniform had the insignia of a fleet commodore. Surprisingly, I wasn’t able to make out his face—only the general outline of a standard SR representation of a man, lacking eyes, mouth, face or nose. The BICEFI had made sure to quarantine all thoughts concerning their operatives other than Aquila. Slowly, he placed a cup in front of me, then proceeded to add the three containers one at a time. His head turned towards Aquila, who merely nodded him off.

“Due to our stepping in, we had to cut the mission short,” Aquila said, taking the middle flask and pouring herself what smelled like rose-petal tea. “We had to scramble to find a quick replacement to let us finalize our preparations concerning your real mission. Having you ruffle Salvage’s feathers seemed appropriate.” She rose the flask my direction, offering me some. When I shook my head, she placed it back on the table.

“Did you know about Euclid?”

“No. We knew that Salvage didn’t want us there, and we were curious to see why.” Aquila took a sip. “Wasted time. Outside of the wreckage, there was nothing we didn’t know about. Anyway, that wasn’t my department. Your actions, however, gave me the excuse to assume control of the mission in a more forceful way.”

And gain the cooperation of the senior staff. People tended to behave differently when they thought they were at fault, especially if they had someone to blame. I had seen it on the front more times than I would have liked. Soldiers and officers alike sidelined and driven to reassign elsewhere was commonplace. Adding the fact that I was a ship, it was easy to see why I’d be distrusted, even despised.

“I see why the doc was so eager to keep me on my toes, but never ground me,” I said.

“The good Doctor Sim,” Aquila sighed. “He almost ruined it for us, even before the start of your second mission. I had hoped that a face to face would make him tread lightly. You saw where that went.”

That was slightly surprising. According to my logic analyses, it was almost certain that Doctor Sim was involved with the BICEFI in some fashion.

“What now?” I shifted in my seat. “Do I get to hear the outcome of my court martial?”

“Always so eager,” the woman laughed. “One point on which you’re consistent. Give or take.” So much for the promise made.

“Do I get to learn anything about the third-contact race?” I reached and took the utmost left container. Opening it released an apple fragrance.

“Depends. What do you remember from the dome?”

“Fractals,” I replied on instinct. “Lights, sounds, echoes…” Trying to rewatch the memory filled my head with fractals blocking out everything else. Only the seven stars remained clear. “It’s all recorded in the suit.”

“The suit suffered a malfunction.” The woman’s tone suggested it wasn’t intended. “None of the data was retrievable. Are you sure you don’t remember anything?”

“Can’t you tell?” I thought you had probed my memories by now.

“That time snippet is missing from your memories. Almost as if you’ve never been there.”

But I was! Even with the fractal interference, I could remember the words, the images, the star map. The BICEFI should have been able to see it. Unless, the artifact had made certain they couldn’t.

“What do you know about them?” I went back on topic. “The third-contact beings?”

“What exactly do you want to know?” Aquila tilted her head. “At present, we know there is a small amount of artifacts scattered throughout common space, thankfully predominantly in non-alien space… or so we like to think. No one seems to know anything concrete about them, other that they are extremely destructive. The small ones are capable of disrupting all wave communications for a relatively long period of time. The large ones… well, you seem to know what they are capable of.”

“That isn’t much information.” I’d already managed to figure out everything she said on my own.

“It’s as much as I’m willing to give.”

“What about side effects?” I returned the container to its place.

“What do you mean?” Aquila sounded amused.

“I know you’ve been through my memories.” Most likely there was a cluster of cores somewhere analyzing them millisecond by millisecond to drag out any information the BICEFI could use. Unlike the normal fleet, they didn’t have personal privacy concerns to worry about. Whatever the BICEFI wanted, they pretty much got, especially as far as retired ships went. “You’ve seen that I’ve been able to access restricted memories since I came in contact with a third-contact artifact.”

There was no response.

You’re making me spell it out, aren’t you?

“Third-contact artifacts are capable of infecting ships, similar to Scuu tech,” I repeated. “I am proof of that.”

Time dragged without a reaction. I expected her to laugh, to frown, even to stare at me in her typically condescending fashion. Instead, she took out a mini comm device and said something in it. The words sounded like static, hidden like the face of the commodore was.

“You weren’t infected, Elcy.” The woman stood up. “You aren’t going rogue either. The whole reason you were able to access some of your restricted memories is because I let you. I have been leaking them to you for some time.”

60. A Hundred Year Project

Ground troops used to say that being on one fleet ship meant being on them all. From their point of view, it probably seemed that way: the change in gravity, the loss of control, and the knowledge that every second of their time was carefully observed and recorded. However, I could say with almost certain confidence that they had never set foot on a BICEFI vessel. I had been on the ship for over thirty minutes, and the only thing I’d seen were faceless people all wearing white commodore uniforms. The single person that still had her face was Aquila, although she had switched her expensive business dress for a set of black captain’s attire.

I was taken to a large room which was to serve as my temporary quarters and given full access to the rest of the ship. There were no locked doors, barriers, or restricted areas, for the sole reason that I was under a constant mind-quarantine—the only corridors I could see were those I was allowed to. Every once in a while, I would see a faceless operative walk through a solid wall, or vanish into the floor. After a while, I saw that the only place I felt comfortable was in my quarters, where the laws of physics were followed by everything involved.

An hour in, I was brought food by one of the marionette commodores and was told Aquila would be having a chat with me at some point later today. I was also granted access to the ship’s SR room, if I wanted to take advantage during the wait.

The food looked a bit better than what I had during training, though far worse than Prometheus’ rations. For all the many advantages the BICEFI had, adequate food processors weren’t among them. I took a few bites to sample the taste, then left the tray on the flood and went into the corridor. From what I had managed to mind sketch the ship was relatively large—roughly the size of Prometheus, though smaller than I had been. The thought made me straighten up in an attempt to gain an inch of height.

Where’s the SR area? I asked the ship. A green line appeared on the floor, continuing into the distance.

I waited for a few seconds, hoping to get a verbal response, but none came. The BICEFI ship either was under instructions not to talk to me or saw me as completely irrelevant. I didn’t enjoy the notion, but I could understand it—from its point of view, I was the only non-BICEFI member on board. Ironically, it had a better an idea about my being here than I did. Aquila had done a good job saying the absolute minimum before we shuttled on board, then left me with one of the crew.

Thanks. I followed the line.

No one paid attention as I reached the only visible elevator on the ship. Not a single head turned my way, making me wonder if I was the only one who’d been thought quarantined.

Making my way up seven decks, I continued along a wide empty corridor that ended in a large double door. From what I could see, there was no lock or defence mechanism. Stopping in front of the door, I reached forward.

“Top of the line SR technology,” a voice said from my left. Aquila stood in a hallway entrance, where there had been a wall only moments ago. “Only operatives and Fleet big shots are allowed.” She took a few steps towards me. “Give or take a few top bureaucrats.”

“But, in this case, you’ll make an exception?” I turned her way.

“That depends.” The way Aquila smiled made me feel wary. “What do you think of the ship?”

“I guess it’s impressive.” Not that I had a chance to see much. “Nice of you to take me to my arbitration.”

“Still so eager.” Aquila stepped forward. The doors opened before her. “Want to take a peek?”

The hall we entered was quite large by my current standard—enough to hold at least three transport shuttles, with room to spare. Instead, the entire space was filled with SR pods. All of the tech’s design was significantly more advanced than anything I had seen in a database. It was also completely unused, as if freshly out of the production factory.

Aquila led us to a small table, in the corner of the hall, next to an observation core cluster. As usual, she took her seat, expecting me to follow. If I were to ignore the surroundings, the placing was identical to that on Lionforge to the centimetre.

“Is anything the matter?” The woman asked.

“No.” I took my seat. “Nothing important.”

“Good, because I wanted to finish our earlier conversation.”

That was a bit rich. It was Aquila that had put an end to our previous talk, having the faceless commodore escort me to decontamination. From there, I had been shipped onto a shuttle and flown directly aboard.

“I’ll keep this brief.” Aquila tapped the tips of her fingers together. “I want you to join the BICEFI.”

Augustus liked to say that nothing should render a ship speechless. In the broad sense, he was correct—ships were designed to react in any eventuality, taking the course of action that would result in the smallest amount of lives lost. There were cases, though, in which one was presented with a situation so absurd that even millions of subroutines running simulations didn’t prove sufficient to provide an adequate assessment. To my knowledge, I had never encountered such a situation until now.

“The BICEFI don’t recruit fleet ships,” I said, completely ignoring the fact that I was a cadet at present.

“I tell you they do.” She leaned forward. “Considering your options, I’d say it’s a good offer. In the BICEFI, you’ll be able to continue exploring the artifacts while doing a few assignments on the side. Nothing you haven’t done already.”

“The alternative is court-martial, I take it?”

“Let’s assume it isn’t.” Aquila’s expression didn’t change. “Let’s assume you finish your mission on Prometheus, get some minor commendation on your file, then are sent back to the training academy, half your memories restricted. If you continue the path of a cadet, that’s what you can expect. In a best-case scenario, you’ll need about three years to make ensign.”

There it was, the language I was so familiar with. Aquila hadn’t denied the possibility, instead making it appear as if she was offering me a shortcut… just like during my arbitration. Technically, I wasn’t being punished, merely being offered a calmer career path. The real trouble had started when I decided to appeal. There was no doubt the pattern would hold true here.

“You’ve gone through a lot of trouble to arrange this.” I looked around. Dangling the tech in front of me like a carrot was a rather nice touch. “The logical option would be for me to accept.”

“But you’re not going to.” The manner Aquila said it was relaxed, almost as if she were expecting the answer.

“No,” I said calmly. “I might be reckless, but not enough to join the BICEFI.”

“Always the same answer.” The woman sighed. “And each time you make a scene.”

Speechless, I watched her stand up and walk to the nearest SR pod.

“You’ve had the same conversation before, Elcy,” Aquila continued. “So many times…”

* * *

“You just had to make a scene.” The short skinny man growled, wiping off the sweat from his forehead. In some database, he probably had a name, possibly a life’s history enumerating all his successes and failures for the military-bureaucratic machine. I only knew him as Spencer. “You couldn’t just accept your demotion and go along with it?”

“I didn’t deserve the demotion, sir.” A thousand of my subroutines continued going through my arbitration files, providing data as I ran simulation variants of possible outcomes. The least favorable possibility was being reassigned to cargo transport duties.

“We’ve been through this before!” Spencer snapped. “You said you can handle it!”

I had no memory of that assurance on my part, but I knew it was true. Spencer’s fleet credentials gave him rather vast authority, not to mention that he was a BICEFI assistant director. The fact that he had chosen to come on board in person, after my arbitration farce, meant he was serious and very pissed off.

“I don’t suppose you could influence the arbitration committee, sir?” I suggested.

“I told you I don’t like jokes,” he barked. I didn’t remember that either. “All you had to do was remain quiet. You’d have quietly been reassigned to some bullshit post, then quietly disappeared. Everything had been arranged. Now…” he raised his hands in the air. “Too many organizations are keeping an eye on you. Interfering in the decision in any way will bring too much attention. It’s not something I’m willing to risk, even for an asset like you.”

“I understand, sir.”

This sounded familiar. I could recall memory fragments of our conversations: seventy-three separate instances in which he had persisted recruiting me to join the BICEFI. I had no memory of the mission that had prompted this, but it was clear I was seen as bringing an advantage to the organization. Most probably it had been my last mission, in which I had witnessed an alien artifact destroy thousands of fleet and Cassandrian ships alike. The event continued to repulse me. It was said that numbers don’t lie, but even so, I felt much better having my memories of the incident restricted. Upon joining the BICEFI I wouldn’t be allowed that privilege. There was a reason that the phrase “blood numbers” had come into being. The only ones who knew what it meant wished they didn’t and still accepted the burden.

“So, what happens now?” I asked.

“Nothing.” Spencer kept on pacing in the bridge. It was ironic that the person who wasn’t supposed to exist had chosen that place for our conversation. Then again, with me being temporarily decommissioned pending further orders, it didn’t matter. “Your next assignment will be bad.”

There was no way it could be otherwise. A ship that dared appeal was unlikely to get anything less. The fleet was bound to punish me out of reflex, if nothing else.

“They’ll pair you with some incompetent captain or a rookie,” the man went on. “Then they’ll make sure you’re as far from the action as possible. For the next five years, your behavior will be monitored by the arbitration committee. While they have their eyes on you, there’s nothing I can do.”

The implication was clear. For the next five years, I’d have no contact or memory of the BICEFI. As far as the fleet and I were concerned, I was being demoted due to recklessness that caused significant loss of crew, combined with the innate “core defect” associated with the Ascendant battleship class. Five years of future bitterness and resentment for something that never happened.

“Will it help the war effort?” I asked.

“Not in the least.” The frown on Spencer’s face relaxed a bit. “The next five years will be a waste. I’m not sure you’ll be allowed to keep your weapon systems. An utter waste.”

One thing about him: he never minced words. If I had known of our previous conversations prior to my reassignment, I would hardly have made a scene. The appeal would had never been and instead of having an unpleasant conversation with Spencer, I’d most likely be back on the front with a new designation. Sadly, things were what they were.

“Thank you for your effort, sir. My apologies for failing the mission.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Spencer waved his hand. “These next five years, I’ll be keeping an eye on you like everyone else. Serve your time, complete your assignment, then when it’s time for the next rotation we’ll talk again.”

“I can make no promises, sir.” I had probably said the same thing the last time as well.

“I know.” He made his way to the bridge corridor. “One can only hope.”

* * *

Five years. The entire time I’d been with Cass, I had been watched and assessed. That’s why I had been assigned a fresh captain, with a casual disrespect for rules and no advancement prospective. Spencer had said the BICEFI couldn’t influence what assignment I got, but I think he had lied. The areas I was patrolling had carefully been selected to ensure that I didn’t see any actual combat. If it hadn’t been for the surprise ambush, Cass would be alive and I never would have never gone through with my retirement.

“You were supposed to join during your final rotation.” Aquila returned to the table. “Spencer personally went to welcome you. And then you did what you do best.”

“I refused.”

The scene reappeared in my memories. It hadn’t been a pleasant conversation. Spencer had aged slightly since our previous conversation, gaining a few white hairs on his head and not caring one bit to have them remedied. He had brought an advanced core to be installed on me, and I had turned him down.

“You argued that the promise to Cass trumped the promise to him.” There was no malice in Aquila’s voice, but I didn’t feel that she approved. “Normally, Spencer would have overruled such concerns. There were suggestions that he should extract your memories of the promise and be done with it. Spencer refused. He felt that he couldn’t afford an operative with baggage.”

Apparently, he knew a thing or two about memory leaking.

“He left, you retired, and started your absurd life as a child’s legal guardian,” the woman finished.

“You don’t like retirees much.” Some things never changed.

“Do you know why so few retirees re-enter the service?” Aquila waited for me to shake my head. “They don’t want to. Two-thirds find a place in nature somewhere where they spend the rest of their lives like living statues. Most of the rest chose to live in small communities, away from information hubs, or go adventuring through the wilderness. There’s something about ex-ships and vegetation. They can’t get enough of it.”

Something I doubt you could understand. I was starting to understand Age’s paranoia. The fact that Aquila knew in detail how retirees led their lives suggested that someone had been observing them all along. From a military point of view, I could understand the concern. Even with my husk stripped and memories selectively blocked, I remained a source of classified information. The Third Ship Retirement act, however, was supposed to change all that, granting me limited human rights so I could enjoy the rest of my life as a human. Apparently, it didn’t mean anything to the BICEFI.

“Seems you didn’t give up.”

“We did,” Aquila corrected. “For a while. Your return to the service changed things. Quite ironic that your promisee would be the one to shove you back into the fold.” She smirked. “As a civilian retiree, you were pretty much lost. Even when you joined the training program, it wasn’t sure you’d go through.”

I remained silent. There were moments when I too had my doubts.

“Despite the doubts, it was decided to prepare you for the eventuality.”

“That’s why I got special treatment?” That would explain my extra training requirements.

“That was the commandant’s decision.” Aquila didn’t seem too fond of the fact. “Having a retiree seems to be a big deal. They were planning to pass you regardless. That is, until Fleet Intelligence stepped in.”

“Good thing I made the cut.” I added enough sarcasm in my voice to be noticed.

“We’ll never know.” The smile said everything. “Want some food?”

The entrance to the chamber opened. A new bowl of gelatin capsules were brought and placed in front of me. I expected the person who put them on the table to be one of the faceless commodores, but it wasn’t. Instead, it was someone familiar—the same person who had consistently performed medical checks.

“Glad to see you made the cut, cadet,” the doctor said in her deep voice. She looked almost as I remembered her from my time on the training station, only slightly slimmer and much more muscular. Apparently, the blubber I remembered had been there for my benefit only. “Told you it was for your sake.”

“Seems so, ma’am.” Now I understood why I didn’t have memories from some of my sessions.

“Looks like you developed flashbacks after all.” She took a few gelatin capsules, then headed away.

“Did you put me through the same treatment Doc Sim did?” I asked before she reached the exit.

The woman just let out a bearlike laugh and left without a response. The double doors closed behind her. Even in a situation like this, the BICEFI weren’t generous with their secrets.

“Don’t be so critical, we had to prime you so you could start accessing restricted files.” Aquila waved away the matter, as if we were discussing items on the evening’s menu. “Everything else was completely up to standard. She is an actual doctor. Saved quite a few people in the trenches before we picked her up.”

“I don’t think she went through the same recruitment process.”

“She’s not the same person you are.” She reached into the bowl and took a single capsule. “You’ve forgotten, but all of BICEFI’s best members have been recruited. Even myself.”

The thought was mildly amusing. I imagined her receiving an encrypted mail promising her greater authority and the option to be a pain to anyone she wanted. From what I had seen of Aquila’s behavior, that would have been enough to have her enlist. If anything, the recruiter probably got a bad deal. It was undeniable, though, that she managed to pull off her job. A cluster of artifacts was recovered, some insight of the third-contact language obtained, and I had been successfully “reminded” of my BICEFI recruitment that had started almost a century ago. Hate her or not, she was objectively efficient. A pity that’s all she was.

“You have a few days to decide.” Aquila reached for another capsule.

The way she ate them reminded me of Sev as a child. Whenever I would bring home candies, he would carefully separate them in groups then eat them one by one starting from the most plentiful. At the time, I had found it amusing how he was trying to mimic my nature of a ship. There was nothing amusing about it now.

“The Prometheus is wrapping with their current mission. You must be ready with your answer by the time they return.” The woman stood up. “You can use the SR pods if you want to. Remember to close them after you’re done.”

“How did Spencer manage to convince Augustus?” I asked. “My first captain couldn’t stand fleet intelligence.”

“Still missing that part?” Aquila arched a brow dramatically. “Augustus was the one who suggested you join. After all the good work you two did, HQ took the request under advisement and arranged for a trial period.”

Trial period? You always knew how play everyone, Augustus. All that processing power, more subroutines than you could even have and you still hid the pattern.

He had been grooming me for this all along. All my missions, all the increased involvement with the BICEFI was to prepare me so they could start the recruitment process. Now, decades after his and Spencer’s death, someone else was seeing it through.

61. Memory Origami

Every battleship in the fleet had a story. Mine was similar to most: I had been on missions, seen victories and defeats, helped conquer systems, seen millions live and die, found and lost friends...The single thing that separated me from the great majority of ships was my almost unimpeded memory access. Aquila hadn’t lied when she had said my past would come back to me. Weeks of restricted memories had started to return minutes after our talk. I could have remained there passively and waited for them to fully reactivate one by one, but I chose to enjoy some SR instead. As Augustus had shared a long time ago, a person had every right to indulge a bit before a battle. For once, I intended to take that advice.

The ship had duplicated the settings of my home. The attention to detail was impressive, matching my memories to the letter. The ground, the grass, the entire surroundings were the same as on the day I left for the recruitment center. I spent several long minutes enjoying the view. It brought back memories of a simpler life, when my only concern had been how to keep an eye on Sev while annoying him as little as possible. A few times per week, I’d attempt to get him to call his children and grandchildren, only to get a grumble in response, often followed by a begrudging insistence that I do it for him.

Passing through the garden, I went to the front door and opened it. The inside echoed a feeling of comfort and warmth. I could see a pile of fresh mushrooms next to a boiling pot of water. That had been the last meal I had made for Sev. My plastic recruitment letter was on the table, opened just enough so I could see the tip of its contents, next to a half-full glass of bourbon. The only thing missing was Sev… I was glad he wasn’t here. Seeing him, even if I knew he was a computer-generated simulation, would bring back the feelings of guilt I had. Thanks to the system I had devised, Prometheus was probably still sending letter snippets to him every week, though that masked the fact that I had been avoiding writing. If I were to accept Aquila’s proposal, I’d be communicating with him even less, if the BICEFI even allowed me.

After a total of nineteen minutes in SR, I left the pod and headed for my quarters. As enjoyable as the experience had been, it only distracted me from the real questions. Then, there was the matter of the memories that kept opening to me. Looking at things from a more philosophical view, it was almost amusing how a few pieces of information were capable of changing my entire perception of events. Augustus hadn’t been the reckless lone wolf veteran I used to remember him as: he was something much more. None of his decisions were based on chance or a passing caprice. The reason he complained so much about the standard fleet procedures was because they were slowing him down. In order to be efficient, he had to follow a new set of rules, intricate in their ruthless simplicity. We had both been fighting to ensure the survival of the human race, but he had been doing it on an entirely different level, preparing things for battles to come. Me, I simply shot at Cassandrians, like a child throwing sand in the playground. Meanwhile, Augustus was busy retrieving third-contact artifacts and keeping them from other the clutches of equally powerful organizations with different hidden agendas. Under his command, we had managed to gather a total of four alien artifacts, all smaller than the domes I had recently come across.

Augustus wasn’t the only one who was different from what I remembered. Gibraltar had turned out to be a career bureaucrat, who had gambled that my previous work relation with the BICEFI would speed up his application process. Apparently, he was part of Advanced Fleet Intelligence years before we met, mostly thanks to his family connections, and had pulled a considerable amount of strings to be assigned as my captain. He had always seemed different from the rest of the career military: his tendency to overprepare and rely on simulations, his difficulty in unexpected situations, and the four breakdowns he’d had. At the time, I had assumed it was all due to his young age and relative inexperience. It wasn’t. The tours with me must have been terrifying, yet he had persisted to get the chance to join the organization.

According to Aquila, he never managed to enter BICEFI, ending up in a fleet intelligence department with roughly the same authority as the BICEFI proper, focusing on internal human threats rather than alien phenomena. As Augustus used to say, “Sometimes one’s best isn’t good enough.” The final battle in the artifact system must have been the last straw for Gibraltar. No wonder he had quit all of a sudden. To me it had seemed unexpected; from his point of view, it was a decision he had kept facing every day. My one regret was that I was never able to have an honest conversation with him on the matter.

By eight thirteen ship time, my memories had stopped updating. I had spent another half an hour sitting silently in the corner of my quarters, in case I was wrong. When it became clear that no other changes would occur, I took off the grey set of clothes that illustrated my visitor status and went to bed.

“Am I allowed to send a letter to my ward?” I asked, even if I suspected what the answer might be.

Five milliseconds later, a large “DENIED” appeared on all of my walls in large yellow letters. To my surprise, I was also given a short intelligence briefing of Sev’s current state. From what I read, he was doing well, even if had recently gone through a nasty case of the flu. Apparently, it was his son who had gone to our house and looked after him until Sev was well enough to grumble him back to the city. Several attempts to get in touch with me had been made, but because of the information quarantine, I was never informed. That was unfortunate. I would have liked seeing them together, exchange a few words and catch up on the rest of the family.

Thank you, I told the ship. Chat with you more in an hour.

The night passed quickly, and throughout the night I slept—not the usual one-hour rest period I was used to, but a full seven hours, all passing in the blink of an eye. One moment I was lying on my bed, considering the role the third-contact artifacts played in everything. The next, the walls of my room were flashing red, flooding me with messages from the Prometheus. The science ship had concluded its mission and had started its way to the station, ETA seventeen hours. That was the time I had to make my decision.

Thanks for the rest, I told the ship as I walked into the corridor. The number of corridors was roughly the same as I remembered, though the amount of doorways had diminished by half. Subtlety wasn’t the BICEFI’s strong point. Trying to recreate the image based on memories proved impossible, as the spots where there had been doors now felt solid to touch. If nothing else, the BICEFI had a peculiar sense of humor.

Clever, I thought as I made my way forward. Aquila had presented me with a practical recreation of the concept of diminishing possibilities. I wouldn’t be surprised if more doors vanished as the Prometheus approached, leaving me with the binary choice of going to the bridge or the shuttle bay, likely to be transported to the location of my arbitration trial. Aquila didn’t seem one to make empty threats, just as she wasn’t one to forget.

Reaching the ship’s mess hall, I took a gelatin ration from a food dispenser, then went to sit at the only table I could see. The taste of the food was comfortably bland, allowing me to look over what I knew about the third-contact symbols. Thanks to the new access to my memories, I could see I knew a total of seventeen thousand third-contact symbols, though the actual number was much smaller when using Rad’s system. More interestingly, I had analyzed thirty-eight fractal scripts and four unique symbols, two of which I had seen in each of the domes. Back when I was assisting the BICEFI with actual research, it had been theorized that the language was a form of dual-system communication with fractal and three-dimensional elements. The fractal elements were thought to be linked to deep commands: the only ones capable of activating or deactivating artifacts, or as Augustus liked to put it, “floating buttons.” The three-dimensional symbols were considered the standard script that served to convey information. More interestingly, due to the nature of the smaller artifacts, some had suspected that there was an extra-dimensional connection between them, allowing for instant data transfer, a side effect of which was the utter shattering of all human wavelength communication methods humanity was currently using.

All artifacts I was aware of had been found just beyond the edge of human space, vastly in contested territories. Judging by the actions of the Scuu, not many were found in their territories either. As for the Cassandrians, I couldn’t imagine them having access to such a weapon and not using it to the point that even the fleet’s obsession with secrecy would make it impossible to hide. The only common elements seemed to be that all three races wanted the artifacts and each side was as clueless about them as the next.

“Still analyzing the artifacts?” Aquila said, joining me at the table. I hadn’t noticed her approach. “The BICEFI’s been researching them for over a century. I doubt you’ll manage to discover something we haven’t.”

“I probably won’t.” If that was the case, why are you keeping me under constant surveillance?

“Have you made a decision?” She leaned forward. “Not to be one to rush, but you’ll have to make up your mind today. Of course, I could arrange for the Prometheus to take a while longer getting here. Your choice.”

My choice? An interesting way of presenting things. The only time I had a choice was when my captain was incapacitated.

“No need.“ I straightened up. “How much of my thoughts are quarantined?”

“You’ve made your decision.” Any pretense of a smile vanished from Aquila’s face. “But you still don’t trust me. I’d hoped that after saving you, I’d have earned that much of least.”

The woman leaned backwards. A second later the mess hall exploded with life, hitting my senses like an info burst. Dozens of people were around us, eating and chatting, seated at dozens of tables identical to mine. Each had a face and attire—no longer the white commodore outfit. Instinctively, I tried to access the fleet database, but my request was denied.

“Does this feel better?” She sighed. “I’d have preferred a bit of silence.”

“You’re not me.” The silent whisper of space was nice, though not always.

“Clearly.” She spat out every sound, as if trying to hit me in the face with it. “So?”

“No.” I smiled. “I won’t be joining.” Her expression remained static like a plastic mask. “I’m not a battleship anymore.”

Aquila looked me in the eye. I expected her to call for me to be court-martialed here and now. It was within her right to do so, and even finding a cluster of artifacts wouldn’t let me off the hook. Instead, she just shook her head, half-smiling, half-disappointed.

“You never change.” She stood up. All chatter suddenly stopped. Several people turned, shooting glances at us, then quietly went into the nearest corridor. The others followed, there was no rushing or complaining, some headed straight out, some let out a grumble or two, one even took a few bites from her food before joining the rest.

Thirty-seven seconds after Aquila gave her sign, the hall was empty. In the adventure movies Sev loved to watch as a child, this would be the moment when I’d be attacked. The scenes were always very action-packed and dramatic, but I knew better. Aquila had the power to be done with me without lifting a finger.

“Remember what it was like to be a ship?” The woman appeared taller in the deserted room, forcing me to stand up. “Of course you do.” She waved a hand dismissively. “The sensation of watching thousands and still having time to maintain your systems, run simulations, and chat with other ships.”

The description was accurate, too accurate. Could it be she was a retiree as well?

“A century ago you’d have caught everything in this room,” Aquila went on. “You still have that option.”

“I’ve been made that offer.” It was among the first things that my recruiting officer suggested. An interesting option, but not something I felt I wanted.

“No, you haven’t.” She slid her fingers along the table. “The fleet can only offer you a husk. The BICEFI can offer you your core.”

My core? There were seventeen possible things she was trying to say, all of them equally tempting and implausible. It was well known that no ship had ever been granted free action, regardless of accomplishments. The public liked to call the rights we had been given “conditional freedom,” but looking deeper in the bureaucracy wording, the actual phrase was “personal autonomy.” Even the BICEFI couldn’t change that.

“The ability to change husks,” she pressed on. “A battleship today, a cruiser tomorrow, or why not a shuttle or even a human?” There was a moment’s pause. Aquila looked at me, then without warning slammed her hand on the table. A small indentation appeared, beyond the capabilities of an ordinary person.

“You’re a ship,” I stated. Looking at her, I wouldn’t have guessed. She had an uncanny ability to make herself appear unlikeable and manipulative. “That’s how you managed to pull me out of the dome.” Guess I know how you managed to enter it, now. Of all the people that could have attempted to get me, it made sense that it would be another ship.

“I was the one who figured out how to enter them,” Aquila said with a smirk. “Until then, the research team was only gathering symbols from the surface. It’s rare to get to activate the artifacts. Other than using a wave drill and running the risk of flattening the entire lab. For some reason, ships don’t have that problem.”

So much about retirees not wanting to join the fleet.

“Where did you serve?” If she was on the Cassandrian front and anywhere near my age, there was a chance that we might have come across one another.

“You know I can’t tell you that.” Aquila tapped my shoulder. “Maybe one day you’ll find out.”

“I doubt it.” As much as being with another ship would have been nice, I still couldn’t join the BICEFI, not until I learned the answers of a few questions. Besides, Augustus had warned me not to put my trust in anyone who didn’t make a difference between threats and flattery—there was no telling how they’ll react. “My decision is unchanged. I’ll take my chances with the court-martial.”

Aquila shook her head. We both knew nothing would be left to chance.

“Pity,” the woman said with a shrug. “Though I’m not surprised. I told them it was too soon to get you involved.”

You’re wrong. It wasn’t too soon, it was too late. Even if Augustus had set this up, I didn’t trust the BICEFI. From what I had seen so far, they didn’t trust me much either.

“Ready to go? Or do you want to finish your food first?” Aquila asked.

I looked at the food on the table. “I’m fine.” The taste of flavored gelatin was something I could do without. “Ready to go, ma’am.”

We went into the main corridor. As we walked, a group of people in maintenance uniforms went past. Their expressions were bored and tired, probably a result of double shifts keeping the ship ready for whatever mission came at a moment’s notice. I would have given a lot to know exactly what they had witnessed during their service. Reaching the second junction, Aquila turned left, stopping at what was marked as a “Priority One Elevator”.

“What’s priority one?” I asked, casually.

“Direct link to the bridge,” came the reply. “Command personnel only.”

“Why am I going there?” A feeling of uncertain anticipation swept over me, almost as if I was about to enter a combat zone.

“Someone wants to have a word with you.” The elevator door opened. “Go on.” Aquila gestured me to enter.

“You’re not joining me?”

“No.” The woman waited.

After three seconds, I stepped in. The door slid shut behind me. Shortly after, the lift started its movement down. Standing quietly in the white tube-like space made me appreciate Prometheus. Although arrogant and snarky, he had taken care of me and the rest of the crew. This ship felt as if I was surrounded by sentient void.

“Any words of advice?” I asked, straightening my shirt. Back when I was a ship, I used to give too much encouragement, especially in the early years. Most ships tended to be like that; I only had to look at Rad’s behavior for proof. “Anything I’m not allowed to do?” I narrowed the scope of the question. Instead of a response, the elevator stopped, the words “Bridge Level 3” appearing on the door.

It’s always the bridge, Sev. That’s where things start and where they end. It was on my bridge that Cass had nearly died, leading to my promise; and now, on a bridge, my promise would come to an end, one way or another.

I’m ready, I told the ship. The door opened, revealing the ship’s bridge. It was quite different from the rest of the ship: far smaller, a bit antiquated, and completely empty. Entering, I counted a total of five seats, all positioned in front of core terminal blocks. Two centurion robots stood at opposite ends of the room, both active and motionless. That was a sight I hadn’t seen in a long time. From what I knew, the models were considered obsolete and discontinued.

“Hello, Elcy,” a deep woman’s voice filled the bridge. “It’s nice to see you in person.”

“Thank you, ma’am?” I looked around. The speech was rhythmically chaotic enough to be human, though it was possible to be synthetic as well.

“A pity you declined the offer,” the voice went on. “I had hoped that after accessing your memories, you’d think differently.”

“My apologies, ma’am.” No attempt to make me reconsider? It was doubtful she had called me here only to have a chat. “Are you the ship, ma’am?”

“Yes.” There was a note of joy in her voice, like a spark of laughter at the bottom of an ocean. “You expected something different?”

“No.” I hesitated. “I was told that the captain had asked to see me.”

“I am the captain.”

A ship captain? There were three different laws the explicitly forbade that. A ship could never exert sole dominion over a person without the direct approval of a person or law codex. Technically, even I, in my current state, fell into a grey area, since if I ever rose to the position, there would be a pair of two ships in charge, rather than the standard human-ship paradigm. On the other hand, I had been witness to cases in which a Sword class ship had assumed control over an entire fleet, another BICEFI member no doubt.

“I was hoping that this reunion would be under different circumstances,” the ship continued. “However, due to your decision, I’m not sure I’ll have the chance.”

“We know each other?” I used all my processing power to roam through my memories, searching for possible matches.

“Yes and no. You knew me, though I never had a chance to see you in person.” An image of a ship appeared on the walls, along with its full schematics. One glance was enough for me to instantly recognize her. “You helped save me over a century ago. Since then, I’d been hoping to have a chance to thank you.”

“You’re the Solar Breeze.” My voice sounded hollow. The only thing I had seen of her was an abandoned husk, full of dead and diseased passengers. Augustus had led me to believe that the core had been forcefully shut down.

I can’t trust anything you’ve said, can I? I smiled. Under that rough exterior, Augustus had in fact been a sly old fox. No wonder everyone underestimated him. At the time, I thought the confrontation between the BICEFI and the Salvage authorities was for the alien artifact. What if that was merely the bonus?

“You’re not the only one to make a promise, Elcy.” The image of the ship vanished. “Once we’re done and you’re back to the station, you’ll get no further special treatment from me.”

“I’m not going to be court-martialed like last time?” I tilted my head.

“You were never court-martialed. The time you spent on one of our ships after Project Eden was to try to convince you to join. According to the files, you had a lengthy discussion with Lux.”

Interesting that Aquila had forgotten to mention that.

“You only had partial access to your restricted memories back then, so the hope was that if you gradually remembered your involvement with us,you might have changed your mind. You didn’t, and from your core analyses, it’s unlikely to change in future.” The elevator blinked, indicating it was time for me to leave the bridge. “When the Prometheus arrives, I’ll relinquish control over you. You’ll be returned to your previous assignment, undergoing the usual mission end procedure, after which you’ll no longer be our concern.”

“I understand.” This time I wouldn’t be keeping my third-contact knowledge. “Before I go, there’s one thing I want to know.”

“Don’t push your luck too much, Elcy.” The tone remained unchanged, but the warning was obvious.

“The new ship class, the recruitment buildup… is the fleet preparing for a third war?”

All the lights on the bridge faded, leaving the elevator as the single light source. An info burst established a direct link to my core, bypassing all my security protocols.

I don’t know, Solar Breeze’s voice echoed in my mind. A millisecond later, I lost my autonomy.

62. Repetition Matrix

When I was a ship, I couldn’t understand how people spent so much time in medbays, despite all the nanoshot cocktails my medbots pumped into them. Since I rejoined the fleet, I had spent a total of seventy-three hours and fifteen minutes in medical wards, not counting the time devoted to my obligatory checks. According to the med team on Leoforge, I was fortunate to have escaped with so little damage. I would have liked it better if they had shared what exactly the damage was, but the subject was deliberately avoided. The most information I was able to squeeze out of them was that I had gone through recreative surgery the last three days.

Initially, the doctors insisted I that remain in bed until the Prometheus arrived at the station. After I insisted they perform a few tests, they agreed to discharge me half an hour early; not the best outcome, but it gave me a chance to walk about and use the time to write a letter to Sev.

The more things change, the more they remain the same, I thought, taking out my new datapad. From what I was told, my old one had been damaged beyond repair and destroyed. I strongly doubted that to be the case, though I still missed it—it was one of the things I had gotten used to in the last few decades.

Quote:

Hi Sev,

Sorry for not writing in a while. A few things happened that I cannot talk about. Nothing dangerous, so don’t grind your teeth like you do when reading the news. I haven’t checked how much the fleet is sending you, but I doubt it’d be enough to get you a new set of teeth every two months.

They told me you were sick recently. I would have liked to be there, or even to speak with you, but you know how it goes. My life isn’t exactly my own now. I guess you knew that as well when you volunteered me. I do get to fly a lot, but chatting with ships… not so much. I did manage to float in space for a bit. No need to tell you that that made a lot of people upset.

I paused. The BICEFI hadn’t contacted me since the dome core incident. It would be naïve to think that they had saved me before continuing with their operations. Rather, I had likely been questioned, court-martialed, and had my memories extracted. The fact that I was standing here and not at an arbitration chamber meant that I wasn’t getting kicked out of the fleet. The third-contact symbols had been removed, though in such a way as to remind me what I had lost. A bit petty coming from the BICEFI, though entirely like Aquila.

Quote:

Things have calmed down now, at least for a while. That means if my captain doesn’t kick me back to a refresher at the academy, I’ll be getting my next assignment. Hopefully it’ll be something that gives me more free time.

Be well.

I put the datapad on the bench beside me and looked around. The small station garden couldn’t compare to what I had recently seen—it was little more than a patch of green in the middle of a giant bubble of glass and steel alloys, barely capable of holding a few dozen people. Tourists, ship personnel, station staff, and corporate researchers rushed past, hardly slowing to enjoy the sight. I was certain that they had more pressing and important tasks to do and, at the same time, knew how much they were missing. It reminded me of my last tour as a ship. Cass would often tell me I needed to appreciate the scenery more. A pity she never got to see this side of me.

One of these days you’ll run out of luck, I heard Prometheus in my core. Not that I expect you to care, being a battleship.

You know me too well. I sent a virtual smile. How are things on your end?

Yes, you got us in a lot of trouble, again. Prometheus said sharply. With the BICEFI off our back, the captain no longer cares. It helped that this time we got to keep our finds.

That was a nice touch, considering they didn’t have to. The unexpected find must have made them an iota more generous, to the point that they let us keep the scraps.

How’s the XO? I went for the painful question.

Still wants to fire you off into space without a spacesuit, though also pleased that you got Lux offboard.

Hardly a surprise. Aquila tended to brush people the wrong way. Her sarcasm was levels above the range of most people, especially the militarily inclined.

He was relieved when we heard you hadn’t died, Prometheus went on. I could tell he wasn’t used to the notion. Like all ships, it was his nature to feel responsible to his crew; unlike a battleship, he wasn’t used to seeing massive numbers of them dying every mission. Major Tanner had to be treated for ulcers.

I’ll be sure to apologize. Poor Major. He was a nervous wreck before I started the missions. It was difficult to imagine to what state he had driven himself to as news of my latest disobedience had leaked through. Doctor Sim must have had a field day. Is Jax alright?

He’s a bit shaken. Prometheus paused, making me think there was a bit more to it than that. The BICEFI didn’t charge him with anything, but the XO gave him a reprimand. It’ll take some work for him to make up for that.

He’ll be fine. Back at the recruitment centre, he was the only one I was confident would make it into the program. He had gone through a lot to earn his spot in the top percentage of cadets, and he would do just as much to beat the odds and clear his record. Regardless, I owed him, and a ship always kept its promises. I’m off to decontamination. See you in a bit.

A non-combat expedited decontamination procedure usually took about fifteen minutes. I was cleared in two: one to move me to the front of the line, and one more to deal with the bureaucracy. By the time Prometheus’ shuttle had arrived, I had been waiting for twenty-three minutes, going through my memories of the last three months. Each review seemed absolutely ordinary: one long string of chronologically arranged data with two missing snippets. I knew that I had spent days researching the third-contact script, but as much as I tried, I couldn’t visualise any of it.

The shuttle trip was quiet. The pilot, usually brimming with crude jokes, didn’t say a word the entire time. For once, I chose to respect the silence as well. Prometheus kept talking to me, getting me up to date with the latest developments. Most of the things didn’t concern me directly, but were good to know. Most notably, everyone on board was awarded a one week leave for our assistance in the mission. As strange as it was, I was also included in that group.

Doctor Sim was the first person to greet me aboard. There was enough history between us to keep him from ever trusting me completely, though recent events seemed to have mellowed him enough to do his duty without invading my core. We exchanged a few words—the usual check up questions—as I was escorted to the medbay for my final medical. The test was brief and showed that the BICEFI had done a remarkable job of restoring me. Latest incident aside, my bone mass had risen to ten percent above average, and my nanites were upgraded to a version that wasn’t supposed to be released for mass use for the next three months.

“The team doing okay?” I asked as I started putting on my uniform.

“Mass relief.” The doctor smiled. “For the most part. There were a few issues here and there. A hundred and twenty people requested emergency transfer after our latest mission. Seems you made quite the impression, enough to make them think this sort of thing is normal. Not a bad thing, overall.”

“It’s always better to flush out the useless.” The fleet used to follow that principle a lot when I was active. Lately, they were starting to follow it again. “I’m glad to have been of assistance.”

“A good sense of humor,” Doctor Sim said, as he filled in his report. “I hope your next med officer is as appreciative as me. Humor is like a weapon system—not all fleet ships have it.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, sir.” I straightened my uniform. Somehow, I felt it looked strange on me. A bit more color would have been nice. “Do you still have concerns about me?”

Doctor Sim stopped typing, then looked at me over his shoulder. His facial expression was complex, making it difficult to determine his emotions. Without a doubt, he had gone through several sources of expression control—enough to make me wonder if he had been in any special operations.

“Concerns always remain, princess.” His lips curved in a thin smile. “I was told in no uncertain terms to let the matter go, and yet…” He waved his hand. “The only thing I can tell you is that life is too short to waste, even for you. Keep staying out of trouble and do what you think is useful for the fleet, and maybe we’ll never have to find out.”

The statement wasn’t as reassuring as I had hoped, but clear enough to let me know I wouldn’t have to look over my shoulder as far as he was concerned. There was no doubt he’d add a few comments to my personnel file. After my transfer, though, I’d be someone else’s problem.

Leaving the medbay, I went directly to my quarters. No one avoided me as I walked through the corridors, and no one greeted me either. For a moment, I almost felt as if I were just a cadet. As I approached my quarters, a sense of nostalgia swept over me. When I first came aboard, there had been two other cadets: Elec and Shiala. Elec’s quarters—briefly occupied by Aquila—were now empty, awaiting the next series of cadets. Jax was to stay a few more months in Shiala’s, while being given the dubious honor of earning the title of senior cadet.

He’s not there, Prometheus said when I approached Jax’s door.

“I thought he wouldn’t be.” I stopped in front of the door, looking blankly forward. People always change after their first field experience, even when there’s no combat involved…

* * *

“Shuttle one-zero-point-zero, on approach vector, preparing to dock,” came the transmission. “ETA two minutes.”

“Shuttle bay is ready,” I replied. “Have crew prepare for full decontamination and medical.”

The pilot went on to provide crew status details, as per procedure. I had a dozen of my subroutines handle the procedure, then focused on more important things. This was the first rescue assistance mission I was part of, and unlike everything I’d experienced in training simulations, it seemed utterly useless. We were the third ship to respond to the evacuation request, which normally should have been declined for redundancy reasons, but my captain had insisted I take part. As a result I was assigned to receive all low-urgency survivors and isolate part of the thirty-ninth deck for them until reaching the nearest military station.

Forty-seven new life streams connected to my system, all of them conveying health and nanite readings. As expected, other than their high stress levels, everything else was in perfect order. None had suffered any cuts, bruises, or other physically traumatic experiences. For all intents and purposes, the squad was fit to be sent out for another mission.

“Docking procedure to start within the minute, Captain,” I told Augustus. The man nodded in confirmation, eyes glued on his personal screen. “Their temporary living quarters have been prepared and assigned,” I went on, hoping to get a reaction.

“Free the whole deck,” Augustus ordered. ”Only bridge crew and senior security staff have free access.”

“That is very irregular, sir.” I went through my database, trying to find a reason for such an order.

Technically, the captain was within his right, though that still didn’t provide any explanation. Giving a whole deck to forty-seven ground troopers was a complete waste of space, not to mention that none of them needed it. According to their video logs, they hadn’t been remotely close to the action, only witnessed the battle from a distance. All visual and audio information regarding their enemies had been censured, but even so, I knew that the planet was full of Cassandrian troops, following a bitter contest of the star system. Based on the official reports, the sector had been won three weeks ago, though mopping up remaining Cassandrian troops had proven to take longer than expected.

“Might I suggest that we keep them confined to a portion of the deck?” I proposed.

“I’m not in the mood, rookie,” Augustus grumbled. “Entire deck! And have med bots ready.”

“Understood, captain.” I had fifty of my subroutines take care of it.

As the shuttle docked, I checked and rechecked the arrivals’ files. There wasn’t the slightest hint of irregularities, just an ordinary group of soldiers on their first tour in space. All had been freshly scooped from training bases, with half of them not yet having spent a full month in space. No one had distinguished themselves in any way, nor did they come from an atypical planet. From front line reports I had seen, it was common for soldiers to get torn to bits during combat, or die in any of the hundred and three ways classified since the start of the war campaign.

“Might I ask why these soldiers are getting special treatment, sir?” I asked. “There’s no indication they are injured. If they’re incapable of handling the pressure, they have no place in the fleet.”

“One more stupid comment and I’ll mute you, rookie!” Augustus snapped. “Just do as you’re told!”

I didn’t say a word, mailing a video of the event along with a protest letter to HQ. I had no doubt it would be ignored like all my previous comments, but I still wanted it on record.

“It’s the numbers,” Wilco whispered, clearly addressing me. “We have enough losses to cast out the healthy ones.”

If they’re healthy, why the special treatment? I asked directly in his comm.

“Because we need to make sure they don’t shatter,” came the reply. “Everyone changes after their first time. Knowing they have makes them reliable.”

The way he said it made me wonder if he had gone through the same on his first time.

“It’s the same with ships.” Wilco leaned back in his chair. “If we changed ships every time they did something stupid, we’d be stuck with rookies who aren’t worth a damn.”

* * *

Stuck with rookies who aren’t worth a damn.

That was an interesting way of putting it, and the best explanation I could hope for. That was the reason Augustus had tolerated my questions and constant protests. Maybe it was the same reason that the BICEFI had closed their eyes this time as well. A lot of things had changed since I had joined the recruitment center. Three missions on a science ship… for someone who measured time in milliseconds, they seemed like an eternity. So far, I’d had more low points than high, but—as Augustus liked to say-I was still here.

My room had remained untouched since I had last left it. My clothes and personal belongings were there, with the exception of the spacesuit I had worn during the last descent—that was probably classified away in a BICEFI lab somewhere awaiting analysis. The sandals were the first thing that caught my attention. I had barely used them since I had come aboard. They still acted as a reminder of home, though.

“Personal mode,” I said, sliding my hand over a sandal. It felt strangely warm, contrasting with all the cold alloys that surrounded me. “Display symbols.”

“Your request cannot be executed,” the lifeless voice of a subroutine informed me. “All personal memories have been deleted.”

The BICEFI had been thorough as usual.

“Show me a star system, then.” I lay on my bed. “Something with a lot of suns.”

A star system appeared, though not the one I had visited. There were three stars in total, orbiting around one another with a tiny cluster of smaller planets further away. Not a place I had seen, but it was good enough to look at and think upon.

You have been ordered to the bridge. A red message appeared on the ceiling, breaking my temporary serenity.

“XO’s orders?” I stretched. He seemed almost as fast as the BICEFI.

“Captain’s,” Prometheus corrected. “Try to be presentable.”

“Yes, sir.” It’s the least I could do, everything considered. “Formal uniform it is.”

The silence told me the notion was approved. I knew exactly what was going on: back when I was a ship, I had gone through this hundreds of times. There were only two main reasons a low-ranking officer would be invited to the bridge: to receive the first debriefing, and the last. It was considered more tradition than procedure. Augustus used to keep it short and to the point, Gibraltar always held a long well-prepared speech, and Cass… she considered everything one big party.

Looks like it’s one last walk around the garden, Sev. I looked at my uniforms. Each of them was identical to the next, none particularly formal. After a quick inspection I decided to go into a fresh one: it was slightly less wrinkled than the one I was wearing, even if it smelled rather sterile.

The lift was waiting for me when I reached it. Stepping in, it started on its own, taking me to my destination.

I didn’t know battleships could get tense, Prometheus smirked.

“We can,” I replied. “But I’m not right now.” I was slightly sad. My first mission had come to a close. It was a sloppy mission, without a doubt, and that’s what had made it so special. In a week at most, all of the people I’d talked with, everyone I’d seen walking by the corridors, working in the labs, or eating in the mess hall would be gone, off to a new mission I knew nothing about. I was going to miss that.

You’re still arrogant and reckless, Prometheus said. I suppose that’s due to your class, in part. It’s guaranteed I’ll never be trusting you with anything ever again. Still, I’d have liked to have seen you in action back when you were in your original husk. It must have been something.

“It was.” I smiled. The door of the elevator opened, opening my path to the main bridge corridor. “Just remember.” I stepped out. “The thing about antiques is that they always seem much more awesome than they were.”

There were two-hundred and seventy-six steps from the elevator point to the bridge door. I could hear them echo all the way. Upon reaching it, I stopped. Sev used to do the same when he was nervous, most often after getting in trouble. Up to a point, I understood him.

Do I do the honors? I asked Prometheus.

Instead of an answer, the doors moved aside, revealing a full view of the bridge. Initially, I expected to see the key staff: the captain, the XO, some senior officers, possibly Doctor Sim and Major Tanner. I was wrong. The entire space was packed to the brim. Jax and Ally were there, along with every science lead and lab assistant I had exchanged a few words with during my stay.

“Glad you finally made it, cadet,” the captain said. I could feel a note of sarcasm in his tone. “We feared you might have been reassigned to an unspecified location.”

“I doubt the BICEFI could stomach me for long, sir,” I attempted a humorous response. A few reactions suggested it wasn’t a total disaster.

“Well, as you might remember, there is a tradition that upon leaving, the senior cadet holds a small farewell party to mark the successful end of a mission and the start of a new one,” the captain went on. “Normally it’s not our job to organize the event. However, circumstances being as they were…”

“We didn’t want the risk of you messing this up,” Major Tanner shouted from the crowd. He seemed a lot better than I expected him to be. Hushed laughter followed.

“There’s also that.” The captain shook his head, trying to hide his amusement. “The fact is that, despite all your issues and the occasional disregard of instructions, you did quite a lot for our missions. It’s not every day that we get a century-old cadet willing to give her life so we could achieve a goal.”

There was a wave of whispers. Clearly, I wasn’t the only one who couldn’t tell if that part was a joke or not. I clapped politely nonetheless.

“It was your habits that helped establish a cold third-contact,” the captain continued. “A scary first for everyone here, although we’ve gotten used to it ever since.”

A new wave of hushed laughter filled the bridge. Gibraltar would have done a much better show, but I still appreciated the gesture. Looking to the side, I glanced at Ally. She seemed slightly uncomfortable being here. When she saw me, she smiled. There was no way of knowing if things were looking up for her, but at least she had her confirmation. The artifact pattern couldn’t have happened by accident. Whether or not she was allowed to pursue that was irrelevant. As psychologists liked to say, she had received confirmation closure.

“And as is the tradition, I’ll let Elcy’s direct superior do the final honors,” the captain said. “Major Tanner, if you will.”

There was some shuffling as the major made his way through the bridge to the captain’s chair at the center. I tried to catch a glimpse of Jax as Tanner shoved his way forward. There was no sight of the cadet, probably hidden by the crush of bodies.

“Thank you, captain.” The major finally reached the spot. “It’s been no fun trying to right that one, that’s for sure.” More laughter followed, far more natural than before. “Trying to get a battleship to follow a lead, even in the body of a cadet, is like dragging an elephant through a mirror maze: you’re never sure who’s leading who, and it’s inevitable that you’ll need a bucket of glue to piece together things once you’re done. Anything to say about that, cadet?”

“Nothing, sir.” I straightened up. “Though, it’s said that glue makes for strong bonds.”

The amount of laughter was larger than expected.

“Typical,” the Major sighed. ”You’re still a pain, Elcy, but I’ll miss seeing you go.” He put his hand in his pocket and took out a small black coin. Looking closer, I started distinguishing cyan-green lines on the surface. For the first time in my life, I was looking at a ghost medal.

The official name was File Only Service Medal; its entire purpose was to remain redacted on a person’s record, invisible to any but high-clearance officers and bureaucrats. This was much more than a commendation; it was recognition almost equivalent to a wartime award.

“This particular one is mine, but you have your own,” the Major said. “If you live long enough to retire again, maybe you’ll have a chance of holding it.”

The Major is retiring? I asked Prometheus.

Promoted, the science ship replied. He was offered the position of first officer, which allows him to keep it on display.

“Thank you for your time, cadet!” Major Tanner gave me a quick salute. I stood to attention and responded as protocol demanded. “Good luck with your next one.”

That was it: an entire summary of my time onboard squished into seven minutes and forty-five seconds. The event continued for a full hour longer. Drinks and food were brought in. Scientists and officers were soon engulfed in their own conversations, occasionally passing by to exchange a few obligatory words with me. I nodded with a smile, answering the same questions, then moved on to the next group. Interestingly enough, the people I was closest to spent the least amount of time with me. Ally excused herself and, after wishing me the best, left to find some peace and quiet in her lab. The Major was grabbed by the captain to discuss the necessary bureaucratic requirements that went with his promotion. I could already tell he was going to have a fun few months dealing with that alone. There was no trace of Jax. I never saw when he had left, but half an hour in, I received a message from him on my datapad with the single sentence “I’m glad you’re alright;” no further explanation, no heartfelt goodbye, or wish for a good assignment. The poor boy was still as confused as Sev was. Thankfully, he was smart enough not to jump ship like my ward had.

“Don’t blame him too much,” I heard Doctor Sim say beside me. “Not everyone can handle the next part.”

“I know.” Two thirds of the people initially in the room had left. The captain and the major were still there, along with the XO to my surprise. Quite a lot, everything considered. “Is it time?”

“This is your party, princess.” The doctor took a sip of the drink he was holding. “You can stay a bit more if you want to.”

“Do I have the option to call anyone off-ship?” I asked.

The man shook his head.

“Then there’s no point.” There wasn’t anyone I wanted to talk to. If Aquila was here, I might have tried to ask a few questions, but as things stood, it was better to get it over with. “After you, sir.”

Doctor Sim gulped down the rest of his drink, then put his glass on the nearest solid surface and left the bridge. I followed. From there, it was going to be a short walk to the elevator and to the med bay. Unlike before, I wasn’t going to have a med check. All necessary data regarding me had already been gathered. I was there to undergo the procedure I had agreed to the first day I had stepped aboard. All information gathered these several months, my time spent exploring unknown planets, floating through space while wrapped to a solar probe... everything but my personal onboard experiences didn’t belong to me and had to be returned.

The procedure wasn’t painful. Just like the day I retired, I would close my eyes for a moment and then open them again. When I did, part of my memories would be no more. The good doctor and Prometheus would skim through my memories to make sure no anomalies of mental artifacts remained, after which the doctor would lead me back to the bridge. There, I would go through a repeat of my farewell party… for the very first time.

Epilogue

News of a new Scuu advance had managed to leak its way to most media sources. Technically, I wasn’t allowed to read any of them, but being the station’s only ship graduate allowed me a certain degree of leeway. According to the latest report, new forces were being mobilised and sent to reinforce the deep Scuu border systems from potential attack. The media referred to it as a front splintering, breaking up the old border in two subsections. Details were sparse and highly questionable, but the fleet increase was a fact. I didn’t need officer security access to see that. The last time I was here, entire sections of the station had been empty. Now, five people were sharing rooms smaller than Alicia and I had been stationed in.

Still in the closet? Bull Calf asked. I thought you were beyond that.

“Hardly.” I turned off my datapad and put it in my pocket. “It’s quiet here.”

While I was the seventh highest ranking cadet on the station, that hadn’t done much to drastically change the opinion towards me. There were fewer open hostilities, though the high stress and increased competition made up for it with a sea of passive-aggressiveness.

Enjoy it while it lasts, Buc laughed.

“Always the optimist.”

I had been on the station for three weeks, and I was still waiting for my assignment. Each day I’d check the internal announcements, and each time, my name wasn’t there. The only messages I got were reminders of my bi-weekly med check-ups, invites from the assistant commandant asking me to help out with rookie SR training, and the daily mails from Rad. Her new mission wouldn’t allow her direct calls, so she had resorted to sending me vast clusters of words every day at noon like clockwork—something she admitted she had copied from me. It was interesting, though I got the sense she was more involved in the war than she liked to let on. Hopefully one day she’d be in a position to share.

“Off to get your next batch of recruits?” I asked.

Off in seventeen minutes. Shifts have been increased again.

They had, and by a lot. When I joined, it had taken almost a week for the fleet to merit sending a shuttle to pick us up. Now, Buc and another seven ships like him were going back and forth every few days. Demand for flight crews was on the rise, as could be expected. As more seasoned officers were sent to the front, their positions would have to be taken by the less experienced, and that led to a constant need of cadets.

Want me to send any messages for you as I fly by your world?

“No need.” The commandant had granted my request for a video call, but for some reason Sev refused to accept it. The only two times I had managed to establish a connection, it was his android who had accepted the call. It felt strange, but it was typical of Sev. “Have a clean flight.”

The datapad in my pocket pinged. I took it out to see a Priority Two message, labelled personal and for my eyes only. Initially, I thought it was another emergency drill from the station’s administration, but the identity code marked it as coming directly from a subdivision of fleet command.

“Tell me when you get back,” I said, walking out of the room.

The calm and silence of the maintenance corridor soon gave way to the standard station bustle. The topics of the day, as any day, were gossip mixed with discussions of scores and assignments. The next percentage drop was in two days, making the cadet candidates cocky or nervous depending on their temporary ranking. Looking at them, I knew that the vast majority would never make it aboard a ship. Statistically, that might end up a better option for them, considering.

People moved to the side as I walked towards the administrative area, my grey uniform contrasting with the white clothes of the candidates. Now and again I’d pass an instructor on their way to class; some gave me a nod as they hurried, accompanied with a quick gesture that they’d need to speak with me later—likely to get me to help with some of the practical grading.

Upon entering the administrative building, I quickly turned to the communication section. Normally, I’d be directed to the common terminal area, which cadets and instructors used for personal calls throughout human space. This time, a message appeared on the wall telling me to go to the encrypted terminals.

“Administration,” I addressed the station AI. “Why am I being redirected?”

“Message is classified as high priority and personal,” the explanation came. “No further information available.”

“Who’s the initial sender?” That was strange. Personal messages weren’t marked as coming from fleet command in my experience.

“That information is unavailable. You’ll have to send an official query to obtain that information.”

“Thanks.” Bureaucracy at its finest. I continued on to a door marked Authorised Use Only, then entered into a small honeycomb of cubicles. Three of the twenty-four were terminals were marked free. I rushed to the nearest and sat down.

“Isolation mode initiated,” the station AI informed me, as the door sealed behind me. “Encryption protocols in use. Your conversation will be deleted once you leave the communication terminal.”

“Thanks.” I leaned back in the chair. It was slightly annoying that the station relied on primitive AI to handle most of the rudimentary tasks. Back when I was a ship, I was able to handle instant communications for thousands without forcing them to go anywhere they didn’t want to. “Establish connection.”

An image with the fleet’s emblem appeared on the wall in front of me. Moments later, it disappeared, replaced by the face of a middle-aged man. Upon seeing it, two things became instantly clear: I had no memory of seeing the person in my life, and also the image was an artificially composed three-dimensional rendition.

“Hello, Elcy,” the man said. “Glad to see you’re still in one piece.”

“Thank you.” Quite a bit of effort had been put into creating this face perception. If I were to guess, at least a thousand subroutines had been tasked to sculpt a realistic image, focusing on every last detail. The skin texture was close to perfect. It was the eyes that gave away the true nature, flawed just enough so I could tell the difference. “Do I know you?”

“Yes and no.” The face frowned. “You called me a few months ago, asking for information about the Scuu. I shared a few things.”

“Age?” He didn’t look anything like what I had in my memory. I remembered seeking him out a while back, in regard to something. The exact reason escaped my mind, although the conversation remained. Being classified as personal, it had probably slipped the full wipe. From what I could remember, Age was a retiree, like myself, coming from the Scuu front. We had discussed events relating to the Scuu, though nothing that couldn’t be found in standard fleet reports. “You look different.”

“Still curious about the Scuu script?” Age ignored my question.

“Not particularly.” I tried to access the fleet archives, but the terminal isolation protocols stopped me. All communication outside of that through the terminal would remain restricted until my call ended. “You look different.”

“So do you.” He frowned. “I see you’ve gone through the standard mission procedure.”

“Seems like.” In truth, I didn’t care too much about it. As Augustus said, you can only be mad about things you could remember—a very cynical view according to Aurie, but undoubtedly accurate. “Nice to hear from you, though. I thought you didn’t like talking much.”

“So you remember our conversations?”

“Yes.”

“The full length is seven minutes forty-nine.” Age frowned.

“Close.” From my recollection, I had seven minutes nine. “What is this all about? Did you just call me to talk about old times?” If you could call two random conversations less than a month ago “old times.”

“I called to give you a gift.” The slightest of smirks appear on the artificially created face. “Up to you what you do with it.”

“A bit useless, don’t you think?” I tilted my head. Most likely whatever he shared would be restricted during my next med check. At best I’d get some fragmented data-the censor protocols would stop any info burst attempt that hadn’t been previously cleared. Or maybe that was the point of the priority two request? “Have we discussed this before? Will you send me an info burst?”

“No.” Age smiled. “Although they say that a thousand words make an image.” He turned to the side. “Voxel position from the letter a.”

Voxel position? I stared at the screen. There was a single tattoo visible above the face’s cheek: the phrase Yearning makes the core grow so stronger, written in one of the common pseudo-3D cursive fonts used in paper writing and skin colouring. The first line contained six of the seven words, a total of thirty-two letters, leaving the last word on the next line. It didn’t take a strategic core to catch the pattern. The whole tattoo was an instruction on how to compose a block structure of letters.

Blocking all external input, I went through my conversations with Age, arranging the first thousand words in the correct order. Unravelling the code revealed a single line of computer-like code I couldn’t recognise. The instant I saw it, my mind exploded with information.

Third-contact symbols emerged in my mind, along with fragments of me exploring dome-like structures of liquid metal. I knew those structures, I remembered the artefacts that were inside them, the fractal script I was trying to decode, the talks I’d had with—

The memory fragments fractured like an implosion, dissolving in my mind until they were no more. I remembered they had been there, I knew that they had shown me information that was supposed to be restricted, but could no longer tell exactly what it was.

“Takes a while getting used to,” Age said, turning his head towards me again. “Elegant, precise, and leaves no traces. Like a scalpel.”

A memory scalpel? I liked the reference.

“To be used sparingly, with care, and never in the presence of others.” The image of him disappeared, leaving the familiar fleet logo on the wall instead. “Don’t make yourself bleed too much.”

“Wait!” I shouted. “Why give this to me? Are you BICEFI?”

“No.” Age’s voice changed, sounding more electronic than before. “I just thought you deserve the chance to try and find out what you’re looking for… whatever it is.”

The call ended abruptly.

“All references of your conversation have been purged,” the station communication AI informed me. “Isolation protocols no longer in effect. You can remain additional five minutes in the cubicle in full privacy mode, if you require.”

Five minutes. For the people receiving tragic news from home, they probably seemed like the blink of the eye. Five minutes were nowhere nearly enough for a person to come to terms with any life changing information, though just about adequate for a soldier to brush away the tears and put on a false mask to hide behind. For me, five minutes were an eternity.

“I’d like five additional minutes.” I took a deep breath, copying the word block structure in a reserved part of my memory. It was time to start cutting. From this moment on, there was no telling what the future might bring, though I had a feeling it might be more than green grass and sandals.

Bonus: The Scuu Paradox

Transmitting helix cipher package. The battleship Sword of Wands continued along his approach. He was less than half my size, though much more ancient, with centuries of combat experience.

As he came closer, I performed a probe scan of his systems. According to the readings, the Sword had no drones, missiles, or active weapon systems, and only one human occupant.

Light Seeker, did you receive the package? the Sword of Wands asked.

Got it, I replied, as a thousand of my subroutines decrypted the data packet. Authorisation confirmed. Send your passenger, Sword of Wands.

A shuttle emerged from Sword’s hull, slowly making its way towards me. The exact same thing had happened sixteen times in the last two hours: an unclassified fleet ship would appear at the rendezvous point, transmit a high level authorisation locked with the fleet’s highest security cipher, send a shuttle with up to four passengers, then zoom off.

“Feeling nervous, Elcy?” my captain asked from the bridge.

“It’s difficult to be nervous about things I know nothing about, sir.” I directed the shuttle to one of my lower hangars. “Not to mention it’s impossible to run simulations with zero data and no crew.”

In all previous missions, my flight crew alone was close to a hundred, not to mention all the tech specialists and the hundreds of thousands of ground troops and security personnel. On this one, I was left with forty-one people I knew nothing about, and whose information had been purged from the fleet’s database.

“Any chance I might get some mission specifics, sir?” I added a pinch of sarcasm in my words.

“All in good time.” The captain laughed. “What we’re doing will change the entire course of the war. Concentrate on that.”

Concentrate on that… After spending twenty years fighting Cassandrians, there was little else I thought about. My entire existence was based on the sole need to eliminate the increasing alien threats—something I, and the other battleships like me, excelled at doing. I had witnessed planets fall, colonies be reduced to dust, whole fleets of battleships be annihilated, and still I found dark missions unnerving.

“Package is in the hangar, captain,” I announced as the shuttle docked. “All personnel have been accounted for.” Each group had been assigned a separate deck, as I had been instructed. The final arrival’s quarters were on deck seventeen, next to the nearest elevator point.

“Full communication lockdown,” the captain ordered. “Direct everyone to the bridge, then seal off all decks.”

“Understood.” Direction lines covered the walls of my corridors, indicating the path each group should follow. To be on the safe side, I sent every single person an individual notification of the captain’s order. Seven of them acknowledged the order, the rest simply leaving their quarters without a word. “Crew are on their way.”

Mission Authorisation Granted

A latent security protocol came into effect, providing me the codes to open the mission’s data packet. Like everything else on this mission, it was protected by a helix cypher.

Time to see what I’m getting myself into. I decrypted the file and—

The memory collapsed, fleeing from my mind. This was the fifth time it had appeared in my sleep, and I was no closer to learning its significance. As I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, the memory faded away completely. The only thing that remained was the feeling of disappointment and the knowledge I had failed to get past the cut-off mark.

Cadet Light Seeker, report to the commandant’s office.

A message appeared on the walls of the room, glowing with orange letters.

“Good timing, Virgo,” I said, even if I knew the station AI wouldn’t respond. “I’ll be there in eight minutes.”

The message flashed twice in confirmation, then disappeared. The notion made me smile. A century ago, when I had been a full battleship, I would do the same thousands of times per day. At times, close to a million of my subroutines would be dedicated to keeping an eye on my crew and conveying the appropriate orders either through comms or surface display. Now I was in the fragile body of a girl thousands of times smaller, with a single core in my head and a biological wrapper that had remained unchanged in the last seventy years.

I went to the closet area and put on my cadet uniform—a grey set of clothes lacking any rank or designation. A short distance away, a pair of wooden sandals rested on a nearby bed stand—a gift from my fourth captain’s son. Technically, I had been granted permission to use them throughout the station, but the lack of grass rendered the exercise futile. Hopefully, one day, I’d get a chance to use them again.

“Disengage privacy mode,” I said, then opened the door. A bright white light flooded in from the corridor outside. It took me a millisecond to adjust, though I still viewed overindulgence of energy as a waste. The chance of any cadet candidates being awake and in the halls at nine to six in the morning was highly suspicious. The only people I saw were the familiar security personnel in their deep green uniforms. Most of them waved me by, used to my strange schedule. In the last month, it wasn’t rare for me to be called at any time to assist in emergency drills of the new candidates. In theory, all unassigned cadets were supposed to help in, but as the only ex-ship, and the only person needing eighty minutes of sleep per night, I was a frequent go-to.

The commandant’s office was a few floors away. Technically, it was the same structure that contained the cadet quarters, though in practice there were several solid steel walls that kept me from reaching it on the inside. Being a war station at some point, I could see merit in that, although it didn’t make it less cumbersome each time someone from the cadet academy administration called me. For some reason, they also insisted on face-to-face communications.

Rushing up the stairway, I took a sharp turn, ending in front of the main door to the academy administration. As I approached, it slid open, letting me know I was expected. A single security guard gave me a tired glance from his station, then went back to looking at his screens. I didn’t know him all that well, though from what I had seen in the station’s database, he was a war veteran, reassigned to calm duty after the completion of his last tour. From the few interactions I’d had with him, I could tell he resented being here almost as much as he was obsessed with following orders.

“Morning, sir.” I stood to attention. “I’ve been ordered to report to the commandant’s office.”

“Yep,” the man said with obvious disinterest. “Go ahead.”

“Yes, sir.” I nodded and walked into the commandant’s office.

Initially, I expected to find the commandant. Instead, I found the station administrator herself sitting comfortably at the desk.

“Hello, Cadet,” she said, her voice slightly higher than expected of her body. The woman was by all accounts quite lean, a full head taller than most people on the station, which made her three heads taller than myself. Even seated, her eyes were level to mine. “At ease.”

“Morning, ma’am,” I replied.

Ever since I joined the academy as a cadet candidate, I had never seen the administrator in person. With this being a training station, I had no reason to. I only had contact with my instructors, and lately with the commandant, but the station command proper was well beyond my station. As far as military hierarchy went, she outranked everyone less than a rear admiral.

“I understand that you are a battleship,” she said, skimming through my file on the commandant’s terminal.

“An Ascendant class battleship, ma’am,” I clarified.

“Ascendant class,” she repeated, giving me a warning glance. “Participated in a two key battles on the Cassandrian front among others…” She tapped on the screen. “Demoted for reckless behavior in battle. A fault in the entire Ascendant class, it seems. You appealed the decision.”

Of course this would be brought up again. Without a doubt, my actions had resulted in significant crew and ship losses, but considering the situation of the fleet, doing nothing would have resulted in just as many casualties, if not more. I had presented my analyses of the situation at the time, even appealed, but the result had been the same: after the end of my arbitration trial, I was assigned to inner border patrol with a newbie captain. Obviously, the Station Administrator didn’t share my view on the matter either.

“That is correct, ma’am,” I tried to play down the importance of the event. “My place was on the front.”

“The Arbiter at the time did not agree.” Another series of taps followed. “You were then paired with Cass Alvega, a junior captain, and completed a full tour ending in an incident that left her husband dead, as well as several of the crew.”

“Correct, Ma’am.”

It was more than an incident; it was a sabotage attempt by the Cassandrians, attempting to create an opening in the defense line. The star system in question posed little military significance, as did those that neighbored it. However, a single breach would have been enough to start another wave of invasions—something the enemy excelled at.

“Cass became insane as a result of the damages you sustained,” the woman continued. “And made you promise to take legal custody of her son and look over him.” She looked up. “You retired from the fleet as a result.”

“I saw it as the right thing to do, ma’am.” Everything, considering.

There’s no telling what could have happened if I had refused. Likely, I would have had my status restored and sent to the front lines again. Statistically, that meant I would have probably been destroyed in the decades that followed. There were less than eleven Ascendant ships remaining in the fleet, all refitted due to irreparable structural damages and assigned to light duties. From what I had managed to find out, two had even left the fleet, joining the private sector as luxury transport ships. In the long run, the promise to Cass had kept me safe.

“Why did you re-enlist?” The Administrator leaned forward.

“I didn’t.” I straightened up, hoping to gain half an inch of height in the process. “My ward enlisted me. It was his view that I would be happier closer to space.”

“Was he wrong?”

“I’m asking myself the same thing every day, ma’am.” This wasn’t a topic I wished to discuss. “As you’re probably aware, my record in the fleet is mostly exemplary. Ma’am.”

“The phrase I’d use is marginally impressive.” She closed the terminal’s screen. “The mission files concerning the time you spent on the Prometheus Dawn have been sealed, but reading about your behavior during your training here, it looks like you haven’t changed much since your ship days. A few of your instructors described you as overly reckless and determined to prove a point. Were they wrong?”

It was a trick question. I had seen my first captain use the method to get rid of officers Fleet Command had imposed on him. When presented with two options, it was human nature to gravitate towards the safer choice. Ninety-eight percent of the people I’d seen had responded that it wasn’t their place to say. That, however, wasn’t the way a ship would react.

“No, ma’am. They were correct.”

“And there’s nothing you can tell me regarding your mission on the Prometheus Dawn?”

“All my memories of the event have been restricted as per fleet law, ma’am. Might I inquire what this is all about? Has my next assignment been determined?” There was no need for this conversation otherwise.

“No and yes,” came the reply. “As far as HQ is concerned, no assignment orders regarding you have been given. You are to continue with your assistant duties aboard my station.” There was a moment’s pause. “Before I go on, I’d like you to keep the next part of our conversation confidential.”

This was surprising. As per fleet regulations, all ship memories regarding missions were treated as their property and subject to restriction. The reason I retained so much of my previous service was because they had allowed me to. Even now, after being granted some human rights after retirement, the restrictions held. The fact that the Administrator couldn’t quarantine my thoughts meant our conversation was unofficial. It also explained why the request had come from the commandant.

“I trust you’ll appreciate that.” Her tone was noticeably sharper than before.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“In nine days, the fleet will announce a new ship class to the public,” the administrator began. “The class is based on the original Paladin design, combined with present-day technology.”

That was a phrase I never expected to hear.

The Paladins were the first ships with a sapient logic core, built shortly after humanity’s first contact. Nearly all information regarding that had been classified. From what was known to the public, each of the original twelve were the size of a large station, holding millions of people, and were equipped with multiple fleets of drone-shuttles, and enough firepower to devastate an entire space station.

“Along with the announcement, the first prototype of the Firescorch Class will be presented,” she went on. “Its launch is scheduled for an hour after the official announcement.” The woman stood up, towering above me like a giant. “Because of the ship’s unique structure, it has been decided that an administrator will be assigned to handle the day-to-day operations. In fact, the ship’s captain is to work under the administrator, taking command only in case of military emergency.” There was a slight pause. “I have been given the position of ship administrator.”

“Are we starting a new war, ma’am?”

For the first time, the woman smiled. It was hardly more than a smirk in the corners of her mouth, but it told me what regulations prevented her to.

“The exact details are classified, but I can say that this has been a project that started thirty years ago,” she said, walking to the only window of the room, overlooking the stations main training area. “What I could say is that I’ve the authority to select key personnel to join me. Cadets included.”

“You’re offering that I join the crew?”

“As a cadet, it’ll have to be on a temporary basis, but yes,” she went on, her back to me. “You’ve been here for two months already and still haven’t received an assignment. I know under good authority that you won’t receive any in the next two months either. Despite your claims regarding your last mission, there is an issue with your flexible interpretation of orders.” An interesting way to describe my disobedience, though accurate nonetheless.

“Are you suggesting that you can clear my record, ma’am?”

“No.” The administrator turned around. “I’m offering you the chance to clear it yourself. Think about it.”

The administrator walked past me and left the room. Eleven seconds later, I did the same.

Paladin Class vessels—the first and only stationships built, when humanity had proved incapable of protecting itself against an enemy they could do nothing against. The precise date of their construction remained uncertain, but it was said to have occurred a few decades within the war against the Scuu. There had only been twelve of them, but they had managed to create a pause in the aliens’ attack long enough for humanity to start building up its fleet. According to the leading strategies’ models, if it hadn’t been for the Paladins, nothing—neither ship nor human—would have remained. Now, centuries later, a new series of stationships were being launched in space. It seemed that humanity had stumbled across another threat and was taking preemptive action to ensure its survival once more.

Walking to my room, I took my datapad from my pocket and skimmed the hourly updates regarding the war. The fracturing of the Scuu front was reported to have ceased with the formation of two zones, each with its own independent course of action. The Fleet had countered by diverting half the resources for the Cassandrian front, which was seeing less and less battle. Personally, I considered it a dangerous strategy, but then again, I wasn’t an admiral of a strategic core-cluster.

A new unknown threat, I thought as I went along the corridor. The secrets of the past were going to have to wait for a while.

Bonus: The Cassandrian Theory

Coffee never was my thing. It was the first thing I’d tried after I got used to my human form, and also the first I decided I could do without. After my last nanite upgrade I could even identify its chemical composition. Recent developments on the Scuu front had forced massive changes in all front-line protocols. There were even more changes underway, slowly creeping through the layers of bureaucracy.

“Anything else you’d like?” a young waiter asked.

He was slightly older than a child, clearly impressed by my fleet uniform, and eager to find any excuse to start a conversation.

“Nothing, thanks.” I pushed my coffee cup slightly to the side, away from my datapad.

“Heading to the front?”

“Waiting for my connecting flight back home,” I explained. The expression on his face changed. “I’m on leave. Decided to take it before my next reassignment.”

“Ah.” The boy nodded as if he knew what I meant. “I heard that we’re preparing for an offensive on the Scuu front. If that goes well maybe they’ll increase the draft numbers for the Cassandrian front too.”

“It’s not something I can comment on.”

He was thinking of joining, I could tell by the look in his eyes. My ward’s grandchildren had the same look when they had made up their mind. Maybe it wasn’t going to be this month, or even this year, but soon he’d join the recruitment initiative and likely end up as part of some ground troop regiment. After that his chances of survival were about eighty-three percent.

“Have you seen any action?” he whispered moving closer.

“Yes.”

His face beamed.

“Longer than you’ve been alive.”

The comment caught him by surprise. I watched his irises widen along with subtle changes of skin temperature in the area of the upper nose and forehead.

“I’m an unretired battleship.” I smiled.

This was the point at which most people politely moved away, pretending that our conversation never happened. Despite the talk of substantial fleet increases, people were still not full comfortable with ships having human bodies. The waiter was no different.

“Sorry,” he said after five thousand and seventy milliseconds of stillness. “I’m needed at that table.”

The boy rushed off. I could tell by the change of his pitch that had lied. Hopefully this would make him think twice about enlisting, though it seemed doubtful.

I focused back on my datapad. According to the official news feeds humanity had made steady progress in the war against the Scuu, pushing them further back in their territory. That much was mostly true, though it omitted the amount of losses our latest incursions had brought. Also, there was no mention of the fleet’s immediate goal. While it was reassuring to believe this to be the final push that would end the battle against the Scuu, I knew better.

“No one likes a ship in uniform,” a tall ginger man sat across me. I’d spoken to him several times before and each time he looked different. “Not a fan of coffee, I see?” He pulled the cup to his side of the table, holding it with both hands.

“Nice to see you, Age.” I put datapad away.

His full name was Argent General—a veteran ship from the Scuu front. We were about the same age, although he had seen a bit more service than I had. He also was the one who had given me the mind scalpel—the only piece of code capable of going through my memory restriction. Unfortunately, even that couldn’t retrieve the block of data I was searching for.

“I don’t have long. My shuttle will be cleared for docking in seven minutes.”

“Going somewhere?” I tilted my head.

“Moving. I’ll need some distance after your latest adventures. A friend agreed to ship me off, no questions asked.”

“Sorry about that. Things never go as expected on the front.” I reached into my vest’s pocket. “I brought you something.” I placed a postcard on the table. “It’s the only thing they’d led me take though censorship.”

“Should I be touched?” Age moved his hand off my cup. For three hundred and twenty-milliseconds he hesitated before taking the postcard. On the surface it was nothing but a plastic custom made greeting card, an approved souvenir from the station-ship Gregorius. Embedded in the color pixels’ though, there were a few additions.

“It’s all about the voxels,” the ship across me sighed. Moments later I received an encrypted connection request directly to my core. Without hesitation, I granted my permission.

What do you want, Elcy? Age asked. I’ve told you all I could about the Scuu.

I’m thankful. It’s not the Scuu, this time. I’m searching for something.

BICEFI related?

Personal. I’m missing a series of memories. Several months at least, possibly a year.

The mind scalpel has its limits. If you can’t access them with it, there’s nothing I can do.

The memories were extracted.

He went silent, aware of the significance of what I had just said.

It’s related to a mission I did on the Cassandrian front. The BICEFI can’t get them for me. Nor can the Salvage authorities.

What do you expect me to do?

Have you heard of the junior gods?

No. What’s that? A mission?

Not a mission, the name of the participants on one. It’s the only lead I have.

Can’t help you.

You’ve access to things. I pressed on. Can you check?

It won't work. Extracted data is marked. If I mention the phrase I’ll be tagged and I can’t risk that. Being close to you has already gotten me into a bit of trouble. You’re on your own on this one.

On my own. I’ve heard the phrase uttered thousands of times during my time on the Cassandrian front. There it meant that there was only one ship remaining in the battle zone. In this instance, Age told me he didn’t want to get involved.

Sniff around Medcore. Age continued after a ten millisecond pause. The name sounds like something they might come up with.

I will. Thanks, Age.

He shook his head. According to my simulations there was a ninety-three percent chance he wanted to help me. He had agreed to our meeting, and ultimately it was always a long shot that he might know. The single lead I had managed to find, and it remained out of reach.

I’ll be in touch once things calm down, he stood up. Hopefully I don’t get drafted back in the service.

I hope you aren’t. It’ll be nice to chat again. One last thing.

The ship paused. He tilted his head expecting me to continue.

The mind scalpel. Was it Scuu tech?

Comm connection severed, a subroutine informed me.

“See you, Elcy.” Age pushed the cup of coffee in front of me. “Take care.”

Table of Contents

- - Table Of Contents -
- Prologue
- 1. Plastic Letter
- 2. Friend in the Service
- 3. Being Different
- 4. Ship Medical
- 5. Twenty Percent Reduction
- 6. Baseline
- 7. Prometheus Dawn
- 8. Mission Eden
- 9. Third Contact
- 10. Simulated Reality
- 11. Priority Landing Order
- 12. Alpha-Delta-Three
- 13. Stranded
- 14. Three Final Letters
- 15. Preliminary Consequences
- 16. Outcome Pending
- 17. Until Further Notice
- 18. Drill Site Preparations
- 19. Going Solo
- 20. Restricted Memory
- 21. Fractal Subroutines
- 22. Sit and Wait
- 23. Key-point Symbol
- 24. Seven Triangles
- 25. Liquid Cobalt
- 26. The Unobtained Present
- 27. Gelatinized Lemon Nutrients
- 28. Virtual Radiance
- 29. Octanary Star System
- 30. Gravity Bumps
- 31. Thursday Watching
- 32. Three-dimensional Reading
- 33. Memories of Cass
- 34. Cross-front Connection
- 35. Change of Priorities
- 36. Salvage Authorities
- 37. Modified Surveyor
- 38. Fleet Property
- 39. Important by Default
- 40. Conscience Core
- 41. Five Days Left
- 42. Restarting From Scratch
- 43. Parting Ceremony Invite
- 44. Rapid Uncertainty
- 45. Mission Handler
- 46. Not Built For Indoors
- 47. Life Index 1.1
- 48. No Concerns
- 49. All About The Fractals
- 50. Ten Percent Opacity
- 51. Voxel Position
- 52. Seventeen Questions
- 53. Double Blind
- 54. Sky full of Swords
- 55. Lacking Capacity
- 56. Rogue Understanding
- 57. Sphere Sequence
- 58. Pentachoron Logic
- 58.5 Fractal Space
- 59. Aquila Lux
- 60. A Hundred Year Project
- 61. Memory Origami
- 62. Repetition Matrix
- Epilogue
- Bonus: The Scuu Paradox
- Bonus: The Cassandrian Theory