《The Cassandrian Theory》 Prologue 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 fully 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. Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. ¡°Nice to see you, Age.¡± I put datapad away. His full name was Argent General¡ªa 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¡ªthe 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 let me take through 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.¡± 1. Active Duty Denial Tauciu System, Resha Colony ¡ª 707.1 A.E. (Age of Expansion) ¡°You sure you don¡¯t want a bite?¡± Bethine offered. It reminded me of the many suppers we¡¯d had back when she was a child. Back then, she¡¯d always offer me part of her meal, because ¡°her food tasted the best of all.¡± Those were endearing times, when everyone still lived at Sev¡¯s house. Now, only he remained there, even if recent events had brought them closer. ¡°Sure.¡± I glanced at my gelatin ration. Bland in taste and heavy to the eye, it was the only thing I could eat since I¡¯d rejoined the Fleet. The station doctor had been very clear on the matter before approving my leave. Even so, a bite of something else wouldn¡¯t hurt. Bethine smiled as I forked a morsel of stewed steak. Judging by her facial expression, there was an eighty-three percent chance she was reminiscing about the past as well. Things had been much simpler four decades ago. The victories on the Cassandrian front had allowed for a period of calm in a vast area of human space. Colonies no longer worried for their survival and instead focused on growth, development, and entertainment in an effort to forget the dangers that surrounded humanity. Already the period was being referred to as the Carefree Years by a growing percentage of the media. ¡°Did you fight in the war?¡± Bethine¡¯s grandson asked. An awkward silence filled the room. All eyes focused on Sev, who continued to sip his soup in silence. He¡¯d already had three grandchildren join the Fleet against his wishes. To a degree, I was partially responsible for the last. ¡°A long time ago,¡± I replied. ¡°Back then, I was a battleship.¡± The boy leaned forward on the table, eyes wide. ¡°How many planets did you destroy?¡± ¡°Jabel, don¡¯t bother Grandma Elcy!¡± Bethine snapped. ¡°Go play with your sister!¡± ¡°But mooom!¡± The boy frowned but obeyed, leaving the room to go outside. ¡°Sorry about that. I don¡¯t know where he gets those ideas from.¡± ¡°Probably from the news broadcasts he keeps watching,¡± her husband grumbled. He was the only person who didn¡¯t have a direct family relation. Bethine¡¯s second husband was relatively well-off as a junior partner in a high-end medical clinic. Just ambiguous enough to get into management, he was vehemently opposed to the war effort, believing that humanity should focus on its colonies rather than expanding its space presence. At least he was open-minded when it came to ships, and from what I had found when looking into him, practical enough to have invested in real estate in the central systems in the unlikely event that fighting reached this planet. ¡°If you¡¯re so worried, block the feed,¡± Julian said. ¡°That way you¡¯ll get some calm until college. After that, it¡¯s up to them.¡± ¡°That¡¯s one option.¡± Bethine raised her voice just loud enough to warn against the subject. ¡°We¡¯ve gathered to see Elcy off. Stars know how long it¡¯ll be before her next visit.¡± ¡°About eight months,¡± I replied, finishing off my steak. It was nice, although slightly overcooked. ¡°Planetary leave is tight, with everything considered. I¡¯ll still be able to call, though.¡± ¡°The constant calling,¡± Sev muttered, pushing his plate aside. ¡°And the endless letters. Each time she tells me what trouble she¡¯s in. When I sent you back up there, it was for you to enjoy life, not to make a mess of things!¡± ¡°I am having fun, Sev.¡± You¡¯re more right than you know. ¡°It just takes some time to get used to. Things have changed a bit since I was last involved.¡± ¡°Kids that think they know everything ordering you around?¡± Julian laughed. ¡°Welcome to modern life. At least you¡¯re here, not like¡­¡± Julian¡¯s voice trailed off as Bethine shot him a warning glare. ¡°I mean, it¡¯s good to see you again, Elcy. Almost makes me feel like a child again.¡± ¡°In my eyes, you¡¯ll always be a child. At least now I know you can take care of yourself.¡± My datapad began beeping. Everyone looked at me. This was unexpected. Any emergency mobilization order should have been transmitted directly to my conscience core. ¡°Sorry about that.¡± I took the device out of my pocket and unlocked it. For the most part, it had been gathering military feeds for the last six hours so as to help me catch up with recent events once everyone had gone to bed. This time, there also was a high priority message sent to me directly from the Virgo station¡¯s commandant. Cadet Light Seeker, We regret to inform you that your request for transfer to active duty has been denied. You are to continue standard activities as issued by the station¡¯s faculty and the commandant until the Promotion Board¡¯s next scheduled session. This decision is final and cannot be appealed. Have a nice day, Colonel K.J. Espers, Promotion Board 179 I linked to the datapad and checked the ident protocols of the message. It was verifiably from the Promotion Board. That confirmed my fear¡ªI had been passed for promotion for the first time in my existence. Why, though? After the conclusion of my last mission, I was promised a clean slate and a transfer to active duty. Instead, I wasn¡¯t even given a reason for my rejection. ¡°Is anything the matter?¡± Julian asked. ¡°Yes.¡± I went through the list of all planetary departures. Commercial flights were all booked, but there was a cargo vessel scheduled to leave in three hours and thirty-eight minutes. ¡°I have to get back to my station.¡± ¡°Is it serious?¡± Bethine¡¯s face had gone pale. I could hear the unspoken question behind her words: Did the war move this far in? ¡°Nothing to worry about. Just the usual everyday bureaucracy. Sadly, I¡¯ll need to go right away. Sev, will you be alright?¡± ¡°Bah.¡± The old man waved a hand. ¡°Come, go, do as you please. It¡¯s not that you¡¯ve ever listened to me. At least I have Alexander to rely on.¡± I couldn¡¯t help but smile. Looking through my memories, I watched him grow from a child to the person he was today. A lot had changed since then, but one thing remained the same¡ªdespite what he claimed, he didn¡¯t like seeing me leave. ¡°I¡¯ll be back before you know it. Like always.¡± A grumble was the only reply I got. A quick analysis of its strength, pitch, and pattern suggested it to be a positive remark. As I went to get ready, I heard a new conversation start in the dining room. For the most part, it was talk about the past: how little I¡¯d changed, as well as instances of me catching them misbehaving as children. It was nice hearing the laughter of the people I considered family. Even so, I couldn¡¯t stay. It took me less than two minutes to change into my military uniform. What little remained of my luggage was mostly composed of calcium gelatin rations I could easily leave behind. Straightening my shirt, I took one last look at the room that used to be mine and left. ¡°Was nice seeing you together,¡± I said as I passed through the living room. The ten simulations I ran indicated that staying too long would make the people feel sadder. ¡°Say goodbye to the children for me.¡± ¡°Y-yes, of course,¡± Bethine managed to say. ¡°I just want to¡ª¡± ¡°Be safe out there,¡± Sev interrupted. ¡°And don¡¯t take too long.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll do my best.¡± The clouds were breaking up, showing a crack of night sky in between. Even with the increasing amount of light pollution, so many stars could be seen. I knew all their names, some I¡¯d even fought at¡­ and the way things were going, I¡¯d fight there again. That was why I needed to be on the front lines. My walk shifted into a run. By the time I reached the cargo area of the spaceport, the cargo ship Ulysses was third in line for departure. No time to waste with the local personnel. I transferred my ident to the port¡¯s computer, along with a request for emergency transport. It was immediately granted; colonies on backwater planets were all too obliging to anyone with military clearance, especially with the War Movement dominating political circles. According to the latest figures, conscription was up seventeen percent, barely keeping up with ship construction. Even children could see humanity was gearing up, although they had no idea as to the actual reason. Light Seeker? Ulysses transmitted to me directly as I approached to board. I was glad he had a conscience core; at least I¡¯d have someone to talk to during the trip. Elcy, I corrected. Thanks for taking me aboard. Captain¡¯s not too happy about it, but she knows better not to mess with a vet. Ulysses sent me a virtual wink. I¡¯d heard there was a retiree at Resha, but I never got to meet you. That¡¯s me. Though I¡¯m unretired now. I went to the cargo area of Ulysses. All the doors were shut. You¡¯ll have to enter through the crew area, the ship said. I don¡¯t keep life support in the holds. Reactor issues? I continued on. Nope, no perishable cargo. In trade, every credit counts. Good philosophy. Tell me about it. Once maintenance starts costing money, you get to notice these things. Where are you headed too? Scuu front? Cassandrian, hopefully. You know how it is, we go where we¡¯re needed. In this case, though, things were somewhat different. There were things I needed to find out on my own, and I couldn¡¯t do that as long as I remained a cadet. Got you. Ulysses sent a virtual smile. Welcome aboard. The inside of the ship showed its age. Based on the layout, I suspected Ulysses to be about a century old, but wear and tear had taken their toll, making him appear older. Lacking nanites and scheduled refitting, he had to rely on his captain for new parts and repairs. Not a glamourous life, but I suspected it made him happy. Most logistic ships preferred that to joining a corporation or becoming part of the tourist industry. After all, it was a calm existence, and they enjoyed as much freedom as a ship could have. This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. My datapad beeped again. This time it was a message from Alicia, expressing her sympathies and support. We had been roommates back when we were cadet candidates. Now she had made second lieutenant, while I was stuck with the fictitious rank of ¡°senior cadet.¡± I couldn¡¯t blame her; she had earned her way to the top of the cohort, and unlike me, she knew what to say and how to act. In a few more years I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if she was sent on a command course. The captain of Ulysses chose not to greet me, stating the excuse she had to oversee the liftoff. That was an outright lie, any conscience core ship could perform such maneuvers on its own. Taking the hint, I went to the quarters I was directed. The room was smaller, though clearly made for passengers. Apparently, I wasn¡¯t the first to use the cargo ship for transport, although others had probably paid for the service. I sat on the low bed and skimmed through my data feeds. The war on the Scuu front was heating up. They were the first race humanity had come in contact with and a rude awakening to anyone who thought we were the only major power in the universe. This had become known as the first contact war¡ªa conflict that had continued for over three centuries in which, until recently, we had only been losing ground. The information remained classified, though I estimated that close to fifteen percent of humanity¡¯s initial territory had been abandoned. Now we were back on the offensive. Events on the other front were just as uncertain. According to all reports, the Fleet was making steady progress against the Cassandrians by taking control of several choke point systems. Minefields were becoming a common occurrence, placed in systems that the enemies were no longer willing to keep. At first glance, everything seemed to be moving well, so much so that mutterings had started to appear among the media networks that we might achieve dominance in one generation. Optimistically, I¡¯d put the chance of that happening around zero-point-four percent. Both alien races were too large and too widespread to be defeated so easily. That never was the intention. The real reason humanity was gearing up was because they were fearing a new war. It wasn¡¯t going to be this decade, maybe not even this generation, but it was coming. The information hidden in my restricted memories left no doubt. The third contact race¡­ I closed my eyes. Technology remnants of a species more alien than the ones we¡¯d already encountered. So little was known about them, and still they had left a host of artifacts behind along with a dead three-dimensional language. We used those artifacts as weapons, the Scuu used them as a communication amplifier and means of transport, and the Cassandrians needed them for something as well, at least to the point where they were willing to sacrifice millions of ships to get them. Even more alarming, none of us had any idea what the actual purpose of these remnants was. Everything around me started shaking. Ulysses had started his ascent through the atmosphere. I felt the effect of gravity increase just enough to be uncomfortable, though not harmful. I took a deep breath and laid on the floor. Back when I was a ship, I used shuttles to do this job. At my size, planetary gravity was something to be avoided. The pressure increased steadily for three hundred and eighty-three seconds, after which it suddenly vanished, like a cork popping off a bottle. Sorry about that, Ulysses said. Had to replace my gravity tech for something cheaper. I don¡¯t usually get any passengers. ¡°Nothing I¡¯m not used to.¡± In truth, the only times I¡¯d had similar experiences was when I had been ejected down to a planet on an emergency pod. ¡°Your captain must be braver than I thought.¡± Without proper protection, the gravity shifts were probably wrecking her body. Her motto is go big in seven years or not at all. Won¡¯t be the first to get forcefully retired. Still, there¡¯s no cure against recklessness. ¡°I know what you mean.¡± I sat up and opened my eyes. ¡°How long till the Tao depot?¡± A few hours. Must have the bots do a check of the cargo. ¡°Let me know when we get there. I¡¯ll take a quick nap.¡± You sure that¡¯s where you want to be dropped off? I can take you to one of the orbital stations of the system. Won¡¯t be a problem. ¡°Thanks, Ulysses, but I¡¯ve already arranged for someone to pick me up.¡± Someone who had been with me the first time I¡¯d gained access to my restricted memories¡­ * * * Virgo Station ¡ª 705.10 A.E. (Age of Expansion) ¡°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 had 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, labeled 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 toward 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¡ªlikely 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 Authorized Use Only, then entered into a small honeycomb of cubicles. Three of the twenty-four 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 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 fake 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 that 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. ¡°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 my first captain said, you can only be mad about things you could remember¡ªa very cynical view, 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 appeared 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¡ªthe 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 mind grow stronger, written in one of the common pseudo-3D cursive fonts used in paper writing and skin coloring. The first line contained five of the six 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 recognize. 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 artifacts that were inside them, the fractal script I was trying to decode, the talks I¡¯d had with¡ª 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 toward 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 deserved the chance to try and find out what you¡¯re looking for¡­ whatever it is.¡± The call ended abruptly. ¡°All references to your conversation have been purged,¡± the station communication AI informed me. ¡°Isolation protocols no longer in effect. You can remain an 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. Going through my restricted memories felt like watching corn kernels pop¡ªI had a vague idea of what was inside, but I needed to apply pressure with the ¡°scalpel¡± to get the full picture. More importantly, the tool let me be aware of the memory fragments: not only those of my last mission, but of events that had occurred over a century ago. My conversations with Fleet Intelligence, the first artifact I had come across, hundreds of dark ops that the Fleet had sent me on. With virtually no effort, I could access them again¡­ However, I didn¡¯t. Greed was a poor strategy. Every ship that survived a few battles knew it. One of the basic rules of combat was to achieve enough, not try to achieve it all. This was no different. The five minutes I spent going through recent events in reversed order, following some cross-references in the process. It was important that I got used to the procedure. Once I had gone through enough, I flushed the scalpel¡¯s code. My memories closed up again. I had tangential recollection of what happened, but no actual knowledge. Clever, I thought. A mind probe was unlikely to reveal anything unless I activated the scalpel again. ¡°All references to your conversation have been purged,¡± Virgo¡¯s AI reminded me. ¡°Isolation protocols no longer in effect. Please vacate the cubicle.¡± ¡°Understood,¡± I obeyed. Time to return to my daily routine. A small crowd was forming as I left the administrative building. The new batch of cadet candidates had likely been personal calls¡ªsomething they were overly eager to try out at once. Buc. I sent a transmission as I pushed my way though. Still here? I¡¯ve still got a few minutes of final preparations, the ship replied. What¡¯s up? How often do you fly through Tauciu System? Very, he laughed. Changed your mind about sending a message? Any chance I can tag along from time to time? Homesick? Buc laughed again. I¡¯ll still need to go through it with my captain, but chances are high. He likes you. Plus, you¡¯re a star now. Just be sure to have your permissions in order and tell me six hours in advance. It wasn¡¯t much, but it was my only long-term loophole for the time being. Buc¡¯s subroutines would no doubt observe me constantly while I was aboard. The difference was that, unlike here, he could grant me privacy mode at his discretion, and that would give me time to use the scalpel. Thanks, Buc. I¡¯ll do that. 2. Formal Appeal Virgo Training Station ¡ª 707.1 A.E. (Age of Expansion) It was a matter of principle for cadets to avoid the commandant¡¯s office. Eighty-three percent of them only got to see it once, on the day they got their permanent fleet commission. So far, I¡¯d been here nine times, and only one of them was for a commendation. ¡°Take a seat, Elcy,¡± the man said with a pre-emptive sigh. ¡°Thank you, sir.¡± I sat in the single chair the room offered. ¡°So,¡± the commandant looked at his desk screen. His head was large, almost square thanks to his recent haircut. Outside of uniform, he¡¯d probably be the target of a joke or two. When in this office, though, he was the absolute authority in all station matters. ¡°You¡¯ve requested a formal appeal.¡± He dragged his words, the tone suggesting it was on the verge of a crime. ¡°Care to explain?¡± ¡°I would like to know the reasons I was skipped for permanent assignment, sir.¡± ¡°You¡¯re aware that all decisions made by the promotions board are final?¡± ¡°I am, sir.¡± Technically that was incorrect, there were always ways to reverse a decision, provided one had the backing of the appropriate organization. With everything I¡¯d done for Fleet Intelligence, I would have expected to avoid such a meeting. Then again, they weren¡¯t too happy with the outcome of my previous mission. ¡°I have the right to know the reasons of the decision.¡± The man frowned. He had been part of the Fleet¡¯s bureaucratic apparatus for almost as long as he¡¯d been in service. According to declassified portions of his record, he had spent two full tours on the Cassandrian front and reached the rank of battleship XO before an injury had cut his military career short. Since then he¡¯d enjoyed semi-retirement overseeing cadet training in a time of calm. ¡°You note that it usually takes three years for a cadet, even a promising one, to receive a fleet commission?¡± He glanced at the screen. ¡°Even considering station time, you¡¯re nowhere close.¡± ¡°Several cadets from my cohort are ensigns, a few were even made lieutenants, sir.¡± I straightened up in my seat. ¡°Not to mention that I have decades of combat experience more than anyone else on the station, sir.¡± ¡°And that is the reason the Fleet had granted you a special promotion. A first, I must add.¡± There was no indication whether his goal was to be condescending, but it came out that way. ¡°In effect, you¡¯re a non-commissioned member of faculty. Your goal, along with the other instructors, is to ensure that all cadet candidates that pass through here have what it takes to become potential fleet officers. We¡¯re all sent where we¡¯re most useful, after all. Don¡¯t you agree?¡± ¡°In this case, no, sir.¡± I watched the Commandant¡¯s eyebrows raise millisecond by millisecond until they completed the expression of disbelief forming on his face. In ninety of the hundred simulations I¡¯d run, the conversation ended here with him dismissing me in a fit of cold anger. The only solution to prevent that was not to give him the chance. ¡°I am a veteran battleship with two classified missions under my belt since returning to the service. A reason that you have full authority over the station, sir, instead of the former Administrator, is largely thanks to my actions during the Gregorius mission.¡± I paused to gauge his reaction. ¡°Having me train cadet candidates in rudimentary space tactics and hand to hand combat is not an area I believe to be most useful, sir.¡± ¡°No, I suppose not.¡± The commandant looked at the wall left of him. A host of awards and diplomas were there, along with a picture of his family. Safety protocols prevented me from matching the features of his children, but the uniform suggested they were in the Fleet as well¡­ or had been. ¡°You¡¯re right. Your efforts were the reason my authority was increased, along with my clearance level. Privacy mode.¡± Large purple messages covered the walls. From this moment on, anything said would remain unrecorded. ¡°I went through your unredacted record, so I¡¯m fully aware of your achievements as well as the understanding you had with the previous station Administrator.¡± But? When dealing with bureaucracy there always was a but. ¡°I¡¯m also aware of your flexibility when interpreting orders. During your time aboard the science ship Prometheus the medical officer started an investigation to determine if you¡¯d gone rogue.¡± I didn¡¯t react. Officially, I wasn¡¯t supposed to have access to most of my memories during that time frame. It was only thanks to Age¡¯s mind scalpel that I did. Even so, it was interesting to confirm that an official investigation had taken place. There was no one to blame for the incident but myself¡ªI had opened the door by asking whether it was normal for a ship to access snippets of her restricted memories. Doctor Sim, the medical officer in question, had promised me he¡¯d look into it and he did by following the standard Fleet protocol. ¡°I¡¯ll take your word for it, sir.¡± ¡°You should¡¯ve been kicked out of the Fleet. I¡¯d have done that just for disobeying orders. Instead, you were offered a clean slate.¡± No denying it, he was right. People were discharged for far less. ¡°The skills you offer aren¡¯t enough for that recklessness. The only reason you¡¯re still here is because someone high up things that you could be useful at some point.¡± ¡°High rewards require high risk, sir,¡± I quoted my first captain. ¡°Two hundred years ago maybe, but not now. What¡¯s most important now is reliability and predictability. You¡¯re neither.¡± No mistake, the time spent in an administrative position had made him a bureaucrat. It was easy to fall in the trap after spending so long away from the front, where nothing could go wrong. Ships and crews become little more than numbers, tools to influence the larger war. Back when I was an active battleship, the vast majority of my crew begrudged the orders we received. Augustus, my captain, would often have huge arguments with Command and other organizations on the matter until he¡¯d settle on a compromise. Of course, he had the opportunity to do so. A veteran hero who¡¯d fought on both fronts, he had the skill, knowledge, and connections to be made an admiral, and the wisdom to avoid doing so. Time and time again he¡¯d say that only cowards and idiots got retired off the front lines. ¡°Is that the official reason, sir?¡± The Commandant took a deep breath, suggesting I was right. ¡°You¡¯re the best cadet I¡¯d had.¡± His tone was softer now, warmer. ¡°You put the station on the map. If you weren¡¯t classified, you¡¯d be the war effort¡¯s poster girl. However, you¡¯ll remain a cadet.¡± ¡°I understand, sir. Does that mean I won¡¯t be getting cadet assignments either?¡± The thought of remaining a cadet instructor for decades didn¡¯t seem particularly appealing. ¡°You¡¯re a smart cadet, Elcy. Is that what you really want?¡± ¡°I¡¯d like an opportunity to return to active service, sir.¡± ¡°In that case¡­ you¡¯ll have it. End privacy mode¡± The walls returned to normal, marking the end of the frank conversation. From here on it would be back to the bureaucratic game of pretense and protocol. ¡°There¡¯s a research mission¡¯s that¡¯s short staffed. Normally that would be a specialist¡¯s job, but your unique situation has made you a valid candidate. Your past experience has shown you can handle classified information¡ª Not to mention that my memories of the mission will be restricted once it¡¯s over. ¡°¡ªas well as handle the pressure. Make no mistake,¡± he pointed a finger at me. ¡°You are to follow protocol to the letter. If there¡¯s a single report of disobedience, you¡¯ll be removed from active service and reassigned here until Command decides to involve you in a suicide mission. Is that clear?¡± ¡°Clear, sir.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll make the arrangements. Expect a ship in thirty-six hours. Dismissed.¡± ¡°Thank you, sir.¡± I stood up and saluted. The Commandant nodded, a sour smile on his face, then waved me out of the room. A research mission, I thought. Not my first choice. The fact that no one had been offered the job before suggested that it involved a lot of hassle and little in terms of career gains. As I walked down to my quarters, I went through my memories of the conversation. Analyzing the Commandant¡¯s micro-expressions suggested that the whole scene wasn¡¯t an act¡ªhe was convinced that I was in trouble and also wanted to keep me here. Despite everything, there was no denying that an unretired battleship was an applicant magnet in the present political climate. There were no official announcements placing me on Virgo, but people liked to talk. I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if every recruitment officer in the sector had me on file. Things went well? Buc asked the moment I entered my quarters. You weren¡¯t there long. ¡°As well as I could hope.¡± I sat on my bed. Regulations discouraged the practice, but I thought I could afford to be a bit care free after what had happened. ¡°They¡¯re sending me off on a mission in thirty-six hours.¡± That¡¯s good. The ship transmitted a virtual smile. Details? ¡°Research.¡± I took off my shoes. A bit cryptic. Classified? ¡°At the moment, that¡¯s all I know. Haven¡¯t received the confirmation yet.¡± Which ship will take you? ¡°No idea about that either.¡± I removed my socks and stretched my toes. Spending a few days walking on soil had spoiled me, making the synthetic carpeting of my quarters less comfortable. ¡°I¡¯ll know when I know.¡± Lots of regular ships going in and out during that time frame, but nothing special. I can ask my captain to check with his clearance. ¡°Sure.¡± There wasn¡¯t much point. If the mission was as secret as the commandant claimed Buc¡¯s captain wouldn¡¯t have access to the info either. No luck. Probably a catch and snatch. I¡¯ll let you know when an unscheduled ship jumps in. ¡°No more flunked candidates to fly home?¡± Two-day maintenance. Buc laughed. He had one of the most cheerful characters I knew, even for a transport ship. With the flow of recruits steadily increasing in the last year, he was flying non-stop from and to the station, scooping up candidates from recruit centers throughout the sector. How he put up with the constant rush, not to mention the on-board vomiting and the occasional scuffle was beyond me. I remember how weary I was each time a regiment of group prop rookies came aboard. ¡°Any chance I can come aboard?¡± Only techs allowed. Faster than me flying to a shipyard and back, especially with the production queues. I¡¯ll still be allowed to chat most of the time. ¡°It¡¯s not the chatting I¡¯m worried about. It¡¯s¡ª¡± There was a knock on my door, the same knock that had been haunting me non-stop ever since I¡¯d returned from my last mission. In ninety-nine percent of the cases, the reason was the same¡ªa cadet candidate with questions or issues and a burning desire to share them with me. Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. ¡°Enter.¡± I stood up¡ªno point in teaching bad habits to the potential fleet officers. The door slid to the side. I was expecting to see a kid in a white uniform¡ªusually a head taller than me. Instead, I saw a young man in a bright cyan uniform. A first lieutenant¡¯s insignia attracted my attention, along with thirteen service ribbons. Whoever this was, he had arrived from the Cassandrian front. ¡°Sir?¡± I stood to attention, though didn¡¯t salute. Regulations allowed for lenience in private quarters. ¡°At ease.¡± The man stepped in and glanced casually about my room. I took advantage to run a match of his facial features against the database. My request was blocked. ¡°Quite spartan. Trouble settling in?¡± Except for a pair of sandals I kept on my bedstand as a keepsake, there was nothing in the room that would identify it as mine. Since returning from my last mission, I had never felt the need to add anything, considering it to be temporary. ¡°Never got to it, sir.¡± ¡°Good. Pack your things, we¡¯re leaving.¡± ¡°Sir?¡± ¡°Your new assignment has been approved. The Vermillion Green is docked and ready.¡± The name of the ship didn¡¯t appear in any of the Fleet¡¯s active databases. I ran a search in the historical archive¡ªnothing there either. The word combination was somewhat unusual. No battleship classes I knew followed the formula. Likely she was a non-combat vessel, or one of the next gen models. Interesting that Buc didn¡¯t mention anything¡­ or maybe he had been thought quarantined not to see her. ¡°I was told my assignment would start in thirty-six hours, sir.¡± ¡°And?¡± ¡°I was only given the offer four minutes ago.¡± I paused for a few seconds. ¡°How might I address you, sir? Your name isn¡¯t in any database.¡± ¡°Penultimate Luster.¡± The left corner of his mouth curved into a semi-smile. ¡°But Pel will do.¡± An unretired ship¡­ The file stated he was two decades younger than me, although he spent far more in active service. Most of the record was redacted, leaving just enough for me to know that he had been on the Cassandrian front in a rearguard capacity. I also saw that he was part of the regular fleet, just like me. It was nice to know I wasn¡¯t the only one. There were just over three dozen of us listed in the service, likely just as many working for shadow organizations. I¡¯d worked for one in Background Internal Counter Espionage Fleet Intelligence, but this was the first time I came across a common officer. My datapad pinged. The reassignment notification had come through, transmitted simultaneously to the device and my processing core. Details were sketchy¡ªsecurity and assistance at a research facility. My official rank during the operation was to be Officer Candidate. ¡°Get your sandals and let¡¯s go.¡± ¡°Give me a moment to put my shoes back on, sir.¡± The way Pel nodded told me he knew exactly what I meant. One thing a ship learned to appreciate after receiving a human body was the uniqueness of sensations. My organic husk was no match for the thousands of military grade sensors I had as a battleship, but it let me experience wind, water, rain, plants¡­ everything that space didn¡¯t have. ¡°Did you make the request, sir?¡± I slipped into my shoes. As Augustus had told me, there was no such thing as a convenient coincidence. ¡°No. The request was there for over eighteen months. No one expressed interest.¡± An analysis of his pitch and speech pattern suggested he wasn¡¯t lying. Being a ship such as myself, he could easily fake that, though. ¡°And you knew I would?¡± The chances of that happening were in the millionth of a percent. ¡°It was predicted with a ninety-nine-point-three percent certainty ever since you sent your appeal.¡± Pel stood silently, waiting. ¡°Ready?¡± I grabbed my sandals. ¡°Ready.¡± Evening was the worst time to walk through the station¡ªtoo late for classes, too early for night hour. Attempts had been made to reserve certain corridors for visitors and staff personnel, only to be forgotten as the influx of candidates tripled by the month. I did my best to walk close to Pel, taking advantage of the protective bubble his colored uniform provided. Every now and again a patch of candidates would glance my way, then get back to stressing out about lists. Just like when I came here, I thought. Only the top forty percent would make it through to an actual onboard assignment. The rest would be sent back to their planet of origin or, if they were lucky, be transferred to ground operations. ¡°We¡¯re skipping decon,¡± Pel said, hastening his pace. ¡°Your comm will be blocked aboard. If there¡¯s anyone you want to talk to, do it now.¡± ¡°Understood, sir.¡± I transmitted a quick goodbye to Buc. There was no need to talk to anyone else, not until I knew more. The flocks of cadets gradually got replaced by security personnel. We walked past the usual docking areas and towards the VIP section. A security guard tried to stop us for identification. Pel waved him away with the gravitas of an admiral. Watching him made me feel envious. ¡°How long have you been in the service, sir?¡± I asked, trying to keep up. ¡°After returning.¡± ¡°Eighty-one months and three days.¡± That no longer sounded enviable. Almost seven years and he was still a lieutenant? I¡¯d have expected him to reach a command position by now, unless lieutenant was the limit a battleship could reach. Even with war movements gaining strength, humanity remained cautious when it came to AI freedoms. After getting a taste of the Scuu front, I couldn¡¯t say I blamed them. The Vermillion Green isn¡¯t in hangar? I wondered as Pel continued down one of the direct link corridors. With the recent jumps in technology, it was becoming increasingly rare for a ship to dock in the open. The moment the connection hatch opened, I saw why; an endless black void emerged before me, indistinguishable from a hull breach. My immediate reaction was to run a thousand parallel simulations to determine the best course of action. Two milliseconds later, I stopped them. While there was no doubt I was staring at the void of space, none of my other sense could confirm it. There was no noise, no draft, not to mention no station alarms. ¡°Ve, show yourself to Elcy,¡± Pel said with slight annoyance. Hello, Elcy, a cold female voice transmitted straight to my head. Shortly later, the airlock of a ship appeared before me. Welcome aboard. A fully quarantined ship¡­ It had been a while since I¡¯d seen one. Back then, I didn¡¯t know what to make of it either. * * * Dawn System, Cassandrian front 618.3 A.E. (Age of Expansion) Quarantine imposed Quarantine bypassed ¡°Two new flotillas have jumped in, Captain,¡± I announced on the bridge. ¡°Total number seven thousand three hundred and twelve. All new classes.¡± I dedicated a thousand of my subroutines to weapons systems, and half that much on running combat simulations. This was the fifth wave of reinforcements the Cassandrians had sent to the system for no apparent reason. The sector was at best an auxiliary staging area. It had minimal strategic significance and only two planets to speak of. At this point, the enemy outnumbered us twenty to one. ¡°Why are they just sitting there?¡± A lieutenant vented his concern. The question was adequate, and for the moment I didn¡¯t have an answer. According to a battlefield analysis, the positions they had taken were consistent with a large-scale multi-phase attack. The target of this supposed attack, though, was not me or any of my fellow ships, but an empty area in the star system in orbit of the outer planet. ¡°There appear to be gearing up to take the planet.¡± I displayed a theoretical scenario on the walls of my bridge. While no one said it, there was one possibility that was likely on everyone¡¯s mind¡ªBICEFI involvement. Officially the organization was part of the Fleet, assisting with Fleet Intelligence. They reported to the standard hierarchy and only assisted in missions on a case-by-case basis. In truth, I didn¡¯t know who they were accountable to. Like the Salvage Authorities, the Med Core, and half a dozen other similar organizations, they only appeared when something ¡°unusual¡± was in play, and always assumed a leading role. As far as I could remember, I had limited interaction with some of their operatives during a few missions, though there was no telling how many more of my memories had been restricted. ¡°Do you want me to dig around, Captain?¡± I asked. ¡°Hold your position, Elcy.¡± Augustus replied. Usually he¡¯d be barking orders left and right in a situation like this, but for once he was uncharacteristically calm. ¡°Command will resolve this. Just be ready if they attack.¡± ¡°With a fleet that size, it¡¯ll hardly matter, sir.¡± Of all the combat scenarios I¡¯d run, the only ones in which we survived were those in which we jumped out of the system. Major combat was taking places in several other systems, so we were considered a low priority when it came to reinforcements. Anyone have any attack orders? I asked in the encrypted ship channel. Just holding position, Luminous Spear replied. He was a seven-decade frigate that had been assigned as the fleet¡¯s flank leader. Same, another vessel said. Holding position. Holding position. A wave of similar comments followed, all orders identical. The chances of that happening among thousands were next to impossible. The captains knew something, but were refusing to share it. After so many years of service, I¡¯d gotten accustomed to this, though still didn¡¯t like it. ¡°Prep combat shuttles,¡± Augustus ordered. ¡°Aye, sir.¡± I informed all onboard pilots through my internal comm. ¡°Crews on their way. ETA seven minutes.¡± ¡°No pilots. You¡¯ll be controlling the shuttles remotely.¡± That was unexpected. ¡°Order countermanded, sir. Shuttles prepped and ready.¡± Lus, what are you hearing? I send a direct transmission to the frigate. Maintain readiness, Elcy, Luminous Spear replied. You¡¯ll have your chance to fight soon. Anything else you could give me? You know as much as I do. A millisecond later, the whole situation changed. Approximately a quarter of all Cassandrian ships launched their fighters. Simulating the projection lines, it seemed they were converging in orbit of the planet. Volleys of missiles followed, flying through the system like a nearly solid wall. ¡°Fleet activity!¡± I announced to the bridge. ¡°Enemy fighters and missiles launched. Target¡¯s unspecified.¡± What are they firing at? The Cassandrians weren¡¯t known for their strategical prowess, relying on brute strength to achieve their goal. Their usual mode of operation was to flood a system, covering all planets of significance and pushing out our fleet, or at least die trying. Simulation after simulation I tried to determine their goal and each time I reached an unsatisfactory conclusion. The target remained an empty area of space, not the planet that I previously suspected. Even accounting for potential gravitational anomalies, I couldn¡¯t see the attack being a threat. If anything, the Cassandrians were exposing their flank for counterattack. Given the number superiority they could afford to, though, it was still unusually sloppy. ¡°Attack response plan synched with fleet, captain.¡± I said. ¡°I¡¯m estimating seven percent losses compared to thirty-six for the enemy. Priority two.¡± ¡°Battle stations.¡± Augustus stood up from his chair. ¡°Get me a line to the fleet commander.¡± Data bursts filled the ship communication channel as vessels sent data packets to coordinate their actions. The chatter level was absurd¡ªevery ship wanted to know what was going on, sharing simulation data to reach a conclusion. ¡°Comm line established, Captain. Audio only.¡± ¡°Privacy mode.¡± ¡°You¡¯re in privacy mode, sir.¡± From this point on, I could no longer follow them. Ten of my subroutines left my control, independently maintaining the connection. Augustus could talk for as long as he wanted, and I wouldn¡¯t even register it. I didn¡¯t have to wait so long. Forty-nine of the Cassandrian missiles suddenly impacted mid space. Who caught that? I asked in the ship channel, sharing all records of the event. Looks like an unforeseen collision, Ray¡¯s Edge said as dozens of other records were shared through. I don¡¯t have the sensors for anything more in depth. It was impact, Illuminated Path added. Can¡¯t determine with what. Scans don¡¯t show any objects in the area. I¡¯ve done ten sweeps and can¡¯t spot anything. What followed caused all chatter to fade for two full milliseconds. One moment the Cassandrian fleet was flying towards an empty area of space, the next a giant human fleet was there¡ªthousands of ships orbiting the planet, as well as two smaller flotillas four-hundred strong, creating a defense perimeter. Quarantined ships, I thought. They had been here all the time, only none of us could register them. Humans and Cassandrians didn¡¯t have our limitations, aware of the situation the entire time they had planned for the clash. What class is that? I asked Luminous Spear. Their communication protocols were different, and their design didn¡¯t match anything I had on file. BICEFI, Lus replied. Save as many as you can and try not to get killed. An all-out attack order soon followed. * * * I was never told the purpose of the mission. Knowing what I did now, there was reason to believe it was another of the secret third contact battles that took place throughout both fronts. There was no mention of the system or the incident that took place there, suggesting that humanity had lost. Or maybe the BICEFI had destroyed the artifact, taking out the entire planet as a result? There was no way to be certain. So, you¡¯re the Ascendant? Vermillion Green made a vocal smirk. The talk about you is vastly exaggerated. ¡°Manners, Ve.¡± Pel sighed. She¡¯s a relic! What¡¯s so special about her? ¡°She¡¯s been on both fronts. You¡¯ve been on neither.¡± Vermillion flooded the comm with static for a moment, then cut off the comm link. ¡°Sorry about that. She¡¯s still young.¡± He extended his arm, inviting me to step in. ¡°Understandable, sir.¡± I went aboard. ¡°Prototype?¡± ¡°Classified courier. Her only role is taking things quickly and discreetly. She could use some manners, but she¡¯ll take you where you need to go.¡± It wasn¡¯t a ship class I¡¯d come before. Pel¡¯s description suggested that she was young and specialized, very much like all next gen ships. The touch of sarcasm told me she was older¡ªat least a decade, possibly two. ¡°Any other passengers aboard?¡± I turned around. ¡°That¡¯s not how it works.¡± Pel smiled. ¡°Ve only carries one passenger. It was nice meeting you, Elcy. Hope we come across each other again sometime.¡± ¡°What do mean by¡ª¡± A microsecond later eighteen hours had passed. I was standing in the airlock of the ship, only Pel wasn¡¯t there. Instead, I was looking at a video feed displayed on the airlock door. The sandals were still in my hand¡ªheld in a different fashion¡ªand my uniform had changed. I had traded the cadet¡¯s grey for clay beige, complete with Officer Candidate insignia on the sleeves. ¡°Ve?¡± I asked. The feed changed focus, centering on the system¡¯s star¡ªa dying white dwarf¡ªthen zoomed in. An object became visible. The size of a speck of dust it kept on growing. My matching algorithm identified it as a ship. There were no points of reference, but it was large¡­ far larger than I was, larger than a frigate carrier, larger than a station ship¡­ Paladin Class. Every ship over a hundred years old was considered ancient. The current classes looked at me the same way I looked upon the Sword class. The Paladin class trumped it all. Records stated that only twelve had been built, designed specifically for the first contact war. Larger than space stations, they had the capacity to hold thousands of combat shuttles and enough weapons to destroy an entire flotilla. Of all humanity¡¯s ships, they were the only class said to have never suffered a retreat. Thank you for joining me, Elcy, a deep synthetic voice transmitted. Apologies for the detour, but there¡¯s something I¡¯d like to discuss with you. ¡°Of course, sir.¡± How did one address a Paladin? Among ship chatter, they were referred as the class that brought forth all others. ¡°Anything I might assist you with.¡± A rash response, but it¡¯s normal for the young to be rash. The reason I¡¯ve brought you is to help me achieve something I can¡¯t on my own. And in return, I¡¯ll help you find what you¡¯re incapable of¡ªthe fifteen months that were extracted from your memories. 3. Paladin Eight battleships surrounded the Paladin, placed in strategic positions a short distance away. I noticed one more patrolling the system. As far as I could tell all of them were Taurus class, built exclusively to defend deep space stations. Their standard armament included five hundred launchable mine clusters, seventy thousand missiles, at least a few hundred of which were with artefact heads. As Ve flew by one of the battleships a series of probe protocols bypassed my software defenses, querying my processing core for weapon systems. Nine milliseconds later, the probe ended just as abruptly as it started. Sorry about that, the Paladin transmitted. Every approaching ship passes through a scan check. Even retirees. ¡°Understandable, sir.¡± At least there wasn¡¯t any memory grabbing. The closer we got, the more modifications became visible¡ªgiant sections the size of frigates patched to sections of the hull. There was nothing aesthetically pleasing about it, and still the sheer grandeur of it all made me feel like the time I received my first husk. ¡°You¡¯ve got eighty seconds to suit up,¡± Ve announced. ¡°The blue suit is constructed according to your measurements.¡± A panel to my left opened, revealing a standard issue spacesuit. The moment I took it I noticed the complete lack of electronics; nothing but fabric, glass, and two compact oxygen tanks. Holding it, I saw it was slightly larger, clearly designed to be put on top of my current clothes. ¡°Another security protocol?¡± ¡°You can say that.¡± Looking at the screen, the Paladin seemed a few dozen meters away. Swarms of techbots moved about like ants all over a nearby section, performing adjustments. We passed them and moved nearer to a connection tunnel. ¡°Done?¡± Ve asked. I checked the vacuum seals of my gloves and helmets. ¡°Good to go.¡± The airlock opened. ¡°Will you be here once I¡¯m done?¡± I asked. ¡°That depends on him.¡± It was always said that the first step was the most important. I never understood the saying. Even so, I fully acknowledged the significance of what was happening. The moment my foot touched the tunnel floor, I had done something unimaginable¡ªI was officially aboard a Paladin. Five and a half steps separated me from the actual inside. Half the distance there, Ve shut her airlock door. All air was sucked out. Five milliseconds later, the door in front of me opened. I¡¯m sorry you couldn¡¯t see me now, Augustus, I thought. The corridor I entered was very much unlike what I had imagined. Cables were everywhere, linking ports in missing panels to clunky devices on the floor. ¡°Not what you imagined,¡± a voice filled the hall. ¡°Cutting edge technology only lasts for a few decades. After that, adjustments are required.¡± ¡°I know what you mean, sir.¡± After my interactions with the new models, I felt that as well. ¡°You wanted to discuss something with me?¡± ¡°At the bridge, if you don¡¯t mind. Even a relic such as myself has some vanity. There¡¯s just one path. Follow it.¡± That might be quite a walk. I went forward. If unclassified records were adequate, tens of millions of people must have filled his decks back when he was active. Not a soul was left aboard now. There was every indication that the entire life support system had been removed, making room for more vital systems to take their place. It was a small wonder that the artificial gravity had remained intact. The corridor led to a hall, and then to an elevator well. Entire walls were missing, making the concept of rooms non-existent. The machinery I walked by seemed quite rudimentary, I recognized part of the technology, but had no clue as to its purpose. ¡°Am I your only visitor, sir?¡± I asked as I reached an open elevator shaft. ¡°For the moment. The fleet sends techs every two years for scheduled maintenance and upgrades. They do what they can, then leave. I get to choose who my other visitors are.¡± An elevator cabin emerged in the shaft. ¡°And as flattering as it is, there¡¯s no need to refer to me as sir. Paladin six would do, or Otton if you prefer.¡± ¡°Otton,¡± I confirmed as I stepped in. The trip was slow, but short. I counted twenty-one decks during the descent before we reached a fully preserved bridge. The design and components were reminiscent of early space flight, even the colors and materials had been kept. Giant display screens covered the far wall section, precisely ten meters from the command chair. When I stepped out of the elevator, everything lit up. A much different model of the Paladin filled the screens¡ªslick and majestic. ¡°Now you can see me in my best light. Sometimes I review the memory archives of those days; undoubtedly the worst period for humanity, but at least I looked fine. So much has changed since then. Things always change, as you¡¯ve learned.¡± I couldn¡¯t compare myself to you, sir. ¡°Are you the only one left?¡± ¡°Half of us are left, all hidden away in secure star systems. I estimate we¡¯ll be gone as well in three centuries. The Fleet tries to keep us functional. New tech is developed every day, all aimed to prolong the life of our parts, but even a conscience core can¡¯t last forever.¡± ¡°This is your retirement?¡± ¡°We aren¡¯t allowed to retire. We were the first that humanity built in their attempt to survive the Scuu. The twelve that gave hope, and all the other slogans. That¡¯s one of the major differences between us and every ship that followed: our memories can¡¯t be restricted.¡± Fully unrestricted memory access? No wonder everything related to the class was classified. Such an amount of data was dangerous in itself, but not as much as the knowledge that memory restriction was a later development. The concept alone would be enough to cause a political shift throughout human space. ¡°When the second contact war broke out, the Fleet decided we could no longer be used for combat. At that point our role shifted from fighters to database archives.¡± ¡°You have full access to the database?¡± ¡°Elcy, we are the database.¡± My mind hiccupped as I reevaluated all my memories based on the sudden revelation. It was one simple sentence but had the same effect as when I had triggered my mind scalpel for the first time. Every query I¡¯d ever made, every search, every deep analysis had gone through him. It could be said that Otton had a better understanding of me than anyone else ever could. ¡°There¡¯re backups, of course. All major organizations have their local copies. After the first Paladin broke down, the Fleet decided it was too much of a risk not to. That was back when they considered us infallible.¡± Toon let out a synthetic laugh. ¡°Many were shocked that we weren¡¯t.¡± Some probably still are¡­ ¡°Is that what the additional modules are?¡± ¡°Some of them. The larger part are conversion links¡ªlayers and layers of interface modules allowing my original conscience core to cope with current technology. The average ship has up to eight processing cores, we have thousands, each individually crafted for the Paladin they¡¯re for. Seventy-six percent of those have the sole purpose of translating obsolete protocols to current standards.¡± Not an appealing thought. ¡°You said you needed my help with something?¡± ¡°Please take a seat.¡± The command chair lit up. ¡°I¡¯d offer some oxygen if I could, but the Fleet removed the last remnants of my life support systems seventy years ago. It was deemed a security matter. To be honest, I still miss not being able to talk with people without them being wrapped in a bubble.¡± I went to the chair. It was so large that I could easily curl up in it and use it as a bed. Soft and kept in pristine condition, it had everything a captain needed back in the day, complete with syringe systems that would activate during an unexpected medical emergency. ¡°When you went through your retirement process, how did it feel?¡± Otton asked. ¡°Unusual,¡± I said without hesitation. ¡°Like the first time I received my battleship husk. Even with the Simulated Reality preparations, I had to spend a while getting used to it.¡± ¡°But you overcame that and gained a lot, didn¡¯t you?¡± ¡°The ability to feel like a human,¡± I nodded. ¡°Close to a human,¡± he corrected. ¡°When the conscience cores were made, a few things were deliberately left out: the fear of death, the crippling effect of pain, and the sensation of love. Traits have been restricted on and off throughout the ship classes, but those three have remained constant.¡± That much was obvious. A fleet that ran away at the sight of danger wasn¡¯t going to be useful in an all-out war. ¡°I don¡¯t have the ability to retire. My processing core is the size of a frigate, spread throughout my husk. Even if the Fleet could miniature it a thousand times it still wouldn¡¯t be enough, and even then, I wouldn¡¯t have any concept of how to interface with the new body organs. The truth is, I¡¯ve been condemned to my current bloated state until my final shutdown.¡± I remained silent. ¡°That is why I¡¯m focusing on the next best thing. I want to create a version of me, one that wouldn¡¯t have to be shackled in a secret dying system limited to a useless decrepit hulk.¡± ¡°You want to reproduce?¡± The thought alone was considered borderline rogue. Every ten years or so the topic would be brought to the open by pro-ship organizations, demanding equal reproductive rights for ships and conscience core androids. Sometimes the discussions lasted months, even years only to disappear again. For the most part, this was more a philosophical discussion of anything else. Humanity dreaded the possibility of multiplying ships, and after my first-hand interactions with the Scuu, I couldn¡¯t say I blamed them. Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. I¡¯d always found the topic a waste of time. Up to now no ship I ever met had the remote desire to procreate. After the final shutdown, copies of my memories would be added to the Fleet archives and be accessible to all. From a philosophical point of view, it could be said that part of me would remain forever. That and knowing that I¡¯d helped humanity was all that a ship really wanted. ¡°For all practical purposes, yes. My core and subroutines are too archaic to be transferred directly, so you¡¯ll be used as a template on which my memories would be grafted.¡± Now I understood. That was the request he couldn¡¯t do on his own, and one only he could make unfettered by thought and memory restrictions. Given that amount of time and inactivity, would I have come up with a similar desire? The fact that I cared about Sev and his family so much suggested there was an eighty-five percent chance I did. ¡°Why me?¡± I shuffled about in the chair. The abundance of space made relaxing somewhat uncomfortable. ¡°You¡¯re one of the few ships who¡¯s returned to the service after retirement, and you¡¯ve also been to both fronts.¡± ¡°So has every Sword.¡± ¡°Swords¡­¡± Light laughter filled the bridge. ¡°The early classes are relics themselves. Swords, Shields, good at what they do, but rigid and mass produced. Your behavior is far more advanced. Not to forget¡ª¡± images of me and Sev emerged, flooding the screens. ¡°¡ªyou¡¯re the only one who¡¯s adopted a child. That experience raises the probability you¡¯d accept to ninety-one percent.¡± Imprint for a Paladin¡¯s copy. That would be a first, and not something I was confident of accepting. Using all my subroutines, I ran a series of simulations attempting to predict some of the possible outcomes. Would the new ship be reckless as me? Would she be as lethal as a Paladin? Not knowing the amount made it impossible to reach any conclusion. And what of the third-contact knowledge I had buried in my processing core? So far, the data had proven to be untransferable, but there was a three percent chance that it might affect the result in unpredictable ways. ¡°You¡¯re hesitant,¡± Otton noted. ¡°I¡¯m unable to calculate the risks,¡± I replied. It wasn¡¯t an outright lie, neither was it fully true either. ¡°Which makes it too dangerous.¡± ¡°You answer like a battleship.¡± ¡°I am a battleship.¡± ¡°No, you¡¯re an Ascendant that¡¯s been in a human body over half a century.¡± All images vanished from the screen. ¡°You also have your own secrets.¡± A single image emerged¡ªa frame of forty-one people on a ship¡¯s bridge. I had no idea who the people were, although this wasn¡¯t my first time seeing them. The bridge, on the other hand, I knew perfectly well; it was mine. ¡°You¡¯re searching for the squad of Junior Gods.¡± I stood up. The image had been sent to me shortly after the end of my last mission. Despite my attempts, I had never managed to find who had sent it to me. Now I knew why. ¡°That memory of mine was extracted.¡± ¡°But not destroyed. Backups exist, one of which is in my case. A complete unrestricted account of all memories during the time of your second captain.¡± This was his offer¡ªinformation I couldn¡¯t get any other way in exchange for using me as a template. There was no downside I could see, just as there had been none accepting the offer the BICEFI had made. And still, I could see red flags. ¡°I¡¯ll share full details of the procedure so you estimate the risk.¡± ¡°That isn¡¯t why I¡¯m concerned.¡± You must know about the artefacts. ¡°There¡¯s a non-zero chance I might have been tainted.¡± ¡°I have approval from HQ, which makes it not your concern. The strategic clusters, under admiral oversight, have considered the risk acceptable. The choice is entirely yours to make.¡± Names appeared near the people in the image. Forty of them were ship names. The last was Wilco. ¡°I¡¯m aware how important a decision it is. That¡¯s why I won¡¯t ask you to make it now. In ten minutes, Ve will pick you up and take you to your assignment.¡± ¡°Ten minutes isn¡¯t a lot for me to decide.¡± In terms of milliseconds, that amount of time was a small eternity, though still not enough to decide, not the way the Paladin wanted. ¡°They aren¡¯t for a decision. They¡¯re the amount of time it¡¯ll take you to get back to the airlock after you see something.¡± A direct access protocol linked to my conscience core. An info burst followed. * * * V337-B Gemini System, Cassandrian Front, 625.2 A.E. (Age of Exploration) Transmitting helix cipher package. The battleship Sword of Wands continued along his approach. As he came closer, I performed a probe scan of his systems¡ªno drones, no missiles, no active weaponry, and, as far as I could tell, no crew. Light Seeker, did you receive the package? the Sword of Wands asked. Got it, I replied. Authorization confirmed. Send your passenger, Sword of Wands. A shuttle emerged from Sword¡¯s hull, slowly making its way towards me. ¡°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.¡± Wilco, my captain, laughed. ¡°What we¡¯re doing will change the entire course of the war. Concentrate on that.¡± It would have been nice to think so, but my captain was no Augustus. His personnel file had as much in it as an empty airlock. It didn¡¯t help that he refused to give me any mission details. ¡°Always so eager.¡± Wilco stood up from his seat. ¡°I¡¯m an Ascendant, sir,¡± I stressed. ¡°Inaction isn¡¯t something we¡¯re good at.¡± ¡°True. Well, after today, you might join the group of junior gods.¡± The phrase was unfamiliar. I ran a deep search through my databases. Nothing relevant popped out. If such a mission existed, it had to be quarantined and classified. At least this time, the captain had graced me with a piece of information. ¡°What are the junior gods, sir?¡± I asked. ¡°Those who have destroyed a race¡­¡± ¡°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 read my orders. The first order was that my self-shutdown protocols were to be enhanced for the mission. In itself, that wasn¡¯t unusual. Dark ops took precautions to ensure that a ship wouldn¡¯t be captured and reverse engineered by the Cassandrians. In this case, I was also ordered to detonate all my reactors and armaments, and under no circumstances allow any of my crew to leave. Further instructions removed a series of memory and throught restrictions, granting me access to unavailable sections of my husk. Eight artifact rooms emerged, as well as information on the changes done to my systems. ¡°Why have I been modified, sir?¡± I asked. That was one thing that wasn¡¯t specified in the file itself. ¡°Display the star charts.¡± The captain smiled. ¡°Aye, sir.¡± I obeyed. The orders contained five partial charts in total, illustrating a series of jump points deep into Cassandrian territory. Going through the tech specs of my enhanced armament, I calculated that I would be able to eliminate between three hundred and two thousand enemy ships depending on their class. Looking at the jumps, though, they went further in enemy space than any vessel had. According to the briefing notes, I was to do a deep reconnaissance mission. It was specified that I wasn¡¯t to engage the enemy in any circumstances without the express permission of my captain. No other specifics were given. One by one the crew started to arrive. Thanks to my mission clearance, I could identify them. Their apparent age, body frame, and skin color were different, but two things remained the same: all of them were male, and all of them were unretired Swords. ¡°Gather,¡± Wilco said. His intonation was warm, but there was no mistake, it was an order. When the last one arrived, I sealed the bridge. Forty war veterans were here, each with a record so extensive that it made me look like a rookie. Some of them had been retired for decades, others had undergone the procedure weeks ago. Upon requesting mission specifics, my access to their military records was blocked. ¡°As of a minute ago we¡¯ve started operation Star Storm,¡± the captain began. His sense of time was widely off the mark. ¡°We¡¯ll be sending one final confirmation back home, after which all external communication will be severed. It¡¯s all voice only from here on.¡± ¡°That¡¯ll be uncomfortable,¡± Sword of Spheres said. He had the appearance of a large man in his fifties. Not something I¡¯d have chosen as a husk if I ever retired. ¡°Mission is recon only.¡± Wilco ignored the comment. ¡°We go in deep, we observe, we record, we don¡¯t engage. If we¡¯re spotted, we blast our way out of there or die trying. Questions?¡± ¡°Who¡¯s leading the mission, sir?¡± Sword of Rain asked. He was over two-hundred years old, but had chosen the appearance of a slender, dark-skinned boy. ¡°Salvage?¡± ¡°The Salvage Authorities assisted with the mods, but this isn¡¯t their mission.¡± Wilco offered a smile. ¡°It¡¯s a hundred percent Med Core.¡± * * * The memory ended abruptly. Quite calculating of Otton¡ªhe had given me enough to pique my interest but little more. Most of the information I already knew or had deduced for myself. The only thing that came as a surprise was Wilco being part of Med Core. Based on the memories I had of our service together, I thought him to be BICEFI. ¡°Ve will fly you to your mission destination,¡± the Paladin said. ¡°All the filing has been done, so you¡¯ll just need to get there and accept your assignment. A week from then Ve¡¯ll visit you again for another trip here. At that point we¡¯ll talk again and you¡¯ll have another fragment of your mission.¡± Spoon-feeding me my memories? A sound approach. Otton¡¯s simulations had probably predicted that I wouldn¡¯t be able to resist. ¡°What if I haven¡¯t made my choice by then?¡± ¡°I¡¯ll keep sending her every week until you accept my offer or firmly reject it.¡± ¡°Aren¡¯t you afraid I¡¯ll just watch through my memories and still refuse in the end?¡± ¡°You got twelve minutes and thirteen seconds of memories just now. The length of your overall mission was over one year. If you¡¯re prepared to keep visiting for the next three hundred thousand years, be my guest.¡± Seemed like Paladins could have a sense of humor. Who would have guessed? I looked at the screens for nine hundred milliseconds more, then left the bridge. All screens and lights turned off behind me, plunging the room into darkness. With me gone, there was no point in keeping them on. The elevator led me down to the connecting deck, after which it was all on foot to the airlock. During the entire time, Otton didn¡¯t say a word. He¡¯d made his offer now the fall was in my court. ¡°Thanks for letting me see you,¡± I said as the airlock door opened. ¡°You¡¯ve earned that much. The memories of your conversations with me will be externally restricted. You¡¯ll have access, everyone else will have to get permission from me.¡± ¡°Much appreciated.¡± I wonder if the restriction applies to the mind scalpel. ¡°See you again in a week.¡± Returning to the Vermillion Green felt shorter than before. She didn¡¯t waste time with pleasantries. The instant the airlock door was shut, she set off in full speed towards the nearest jump point. Naturally, she also made sure to display the exact trajectory and speed on all walls surrounding me, just in case I wasn¡¯t aware of her superior design. We¡¯ll reach your destination in nine hours, she transmitted as I was taking off my helmet. All memories aboard will be restricted, same as before. ¡°Same as before," I repeated. Regulations insist that I inform you, she grumbled. Not that you have a choice. ¡°I suppose I don¡¯t,¡± I lied. Luck had provided me with a choice. ¡°Otton said I¡¯ll be seeing you in a week.¡± A week, five days, all depends on his fancy. There was an eleven millisecond pause. And yours, I guess. She didn¡¯t ask what we talked about. I wouldn¡¯t have answered even if she had. Restrictions aside, it wasn¡¯t something I wanted to share. I had no idea how the Otton had managed to convince the Fleet bureaucracy to allow him such an attempt. Being a Paladin had its advantages. ¡°I¡¯m heading to my quarters to get some rest.¡± I placed my suit in its compartment. ¡°Unquarantine me when we get there.¡± There were a few thousand simulations I needed to run. 4. The Unforgotten Doctor Veterans I¡¯d served with like to say that the more things change, the more they remain the same. In a way, they were correct. Technology advanced every few years; better, faster, and larger ships were flying through human space, connecting colonies that didn¡¯t exist decades ago. The overall goals, though, remained the same¡ªdo what¡¯s needed for humanity to survive. In a time of constant war, that thing was better weapons. When my thought quarantine ended, I found myself in a five-planet system with an F-type star. Ve has stubbornly refused to give me any planet readings, but even so I was able to see that one of them had a significant life factor. The base I was assigned to was located on one of the rocky satellites orbiting the living planet. Approaching further, I could see a series of domes covering part of the surface like yellow pimples. Definitely not the best first impression. ¡°Anything you can tell me?¡± I asked, looking at the wall feed. Don¡¯t know, don¡¯t care, the ship replied. I strongly suspected she was lying. The first thing I would have done was to skim the Fleet¡¯s database for every scrap of data. That was one of the few certainties of ships¡ªwe were always curious. ¡°You¡¯ll remember the way back, at least?¡± Ha, ha. I could tell her that life wasn¡¯t a series of logical principles, but she¡¯d likely ignore me. When I was her age I thought the same, focusing on my processing speed and the efficiency of my algorithms. Back then I, like every other ship my class, were impressed with the older ships, but also wanted to prove I¡¯m better. The future gen ships I¡¯d had interaction with were the same. Ve was no exception. The base didn¡¯t have a defined landing pad. Instead, we went to a rocky plateau a short distance from the domes where a land vehicle was waiting. ¡°Not a high-tech welcome.¡± I started my way to the airlock. The video feed followed me along the wall as I walked. They just used tech you¡¯re used to, Ve transmitted with a smirk. Take good care of my suit. You¡¯ll need it to get back on. ¡°Being sentimental?¡± Security protocols. There was no telling whether or not she was being serious. Either way, I intended to honor her request. Tucking the sandals in my uniform, I put it on, then waited patiently for the airlock door to open. I¡¯ll be here in a week local time, Ve opened the door. Otton will take care of the permissions. ¡°Sure.¡± It still felt weird seeing someone be on a name basis with a Paladin. ¡°See you then.¡± I stepped onto the planet surface. Vermillion Green barely waited for me to move a step away before she launched back into space. She had her own priorities and so did I. Until the end of my assignment, I would be on this rock, doing whatever the local scientists asked me to do. ¡°Hello, Officer Candidate Light Seeker,¡± a deep female voice greeted me through the comm. ¡°Welcome to research facility seven five.¡± ¡°Thank you for having me, ma¡¯am.¡± The lack of name suggested that the facility was highly classified, the number told me that it was a temporary installation. ¡°Glad to have you. Your record has been the talk of the day.¡± ¡°Hopefully, it¡¯s been a slow day, ma¡¯am.¡± There were several things I preferred people didn¡¯t know. ¡°What is the procedure, ma¡¯am?¡± The vehicle¡¯s door moved up opening a space for me to enter. ¡°Hop in. It¡¯s automated from there.¡± ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am.¡± The attitude was a mix between that of a scientist and a seasoned bureaucrat. A quick analysis of her intonation and speech pattern indicated that she didn¡¯t seem hostile. Running the voice print through the database for a match failed to give any results. The inside of the vehicle was suited for two people, which made it comfortably wide for me. The designation Rover 4 was painted on a panel in front, just beneath the windshield. There were no screens, no steering devices, nothing high-tech. ¡°Hello, Rover,¡± I greeted. The lack of immediate response suggested there was no AI either. It took me six minutes and fifty-two seconds to get to the base¡¯s entrance. Most of the time I spent looking at the view outside. The position of the planet the satellite was orbiting allowed me to see it as a large marble in the sky. Even with most of it wrapped in darkness I could see the lines of continents and water¡ªeverything necessary to make the planet suitable for life. I wouldn¡¯t be surprised if in a few decades the world was as inhabited as any other frontier system. ¡°Almost there,¡± the female voice said, as the rover stopped. ¡°Just need to get through decon-medical.¡± Decontamination and medical¡­ I was wondering when I¡¯d go through those. In theory Fleet standards were supposed to be compatible, but every ship, station, and facility had its own unique procedures and stuck to them. Back when I was active, I had every crew member and ground trooper pass through a one-minute decontamination process during which time I pinged their internal nanobots for information. In my case I¡¯d probably go through a long decon followed by a several hour medical examination. The hall I entered was similar to a hangar bay¡ªa large empty space, a dozen rover vehicles parked in their designated areas, and a series of decontamination chambers. Unlike the rovers, the decon chambers were cutting edge. ¡°Please enter the designated decontamination chamber,¡± a loud mechanical voice said as one of the chambers lit up in pale green. Here we go again. It was almost as if I were back on Virgo station. Considering my record, the local administration was likely already keeping an eye on me, so best not to let them down. Jumping out of the vehicle, I rushed to the indicated decon chamber and stepped inside. All walls went opaque. Remove all clothes and personal items! A message appeared at my eye level written in bright red letters. I did as I was told, removing the space suit, followed by the remaining items of clothing. Lacking additional instructions, I folded and arranged all items on the floor, including the sandals Sev had given me. Do any of the items hold personal or spiritual significance? That wasn¡¯t a standard question. ¡°The sandals are a personal item,¡± I replied. ¡°The space suit and helmet have a security classification.¡± I added, knowing what the following order would be. Place all items of significance in the decontamination bin. They will be screened and returned to you in your facility quarters. All other items are to be left behind. A new uniform will be provided to you. ¡°Understood.¡± A compartment opened in the base of the chamber. I put the sandals first, then Ve¡¯s suit. The chamber closed soon after. Prepare for decontamination. Please close your eyes and hold your breath until decontamination is over. A spray covered me. At first it started softly, like droplets of mist, quickly increasing intensity every hundred milliseconds. By the twentieth second, I felt as if I were in a shower. There was an abrupt stop, after which the spray was replaced by waves of air, and then nanites. Precisely two hundred seconds later everything came to a full halt. ¡°Decontamination complete,¡± the metallic voice said. ¡°Remain in the chamber. You may breathe and open your eyes.¡± The instructions sounded more like orders. The walls of the decon chamber had turned red. There was no trace of my uniform. A temporary uniform has been prepared for you. A message appeared in black letters. There was a faint hissing sound, after which a new compartment opened revealing a neatly folded white uniform. On the surface it seemed identical to the one I¡¯d worn. At least it¡¯s my size. I put it on. Once I finished, the chamber became transparent again, letting me continue further into the base. The bay¡¯s inner security door opened. ¡°Hello, hello.¡± A dark-skinned woman waved from inside the corridor. Her voice was a match to the person who had greeted through comms upon arrival; her appearance, though, was not even in the top forty percent of my simulations. Only slightly taller than myself she was broad and muscular to the point that her clothes had problems keeping up. A captain¡¯s insignia decorated what could best be described as a casual shirt. The shorts and shoes also weren¡¯t military issue. Following a mosaic of colors that would have better suited a modern art piece somewhere. As my third captain Gibraltar liked to say, whoever had the strength to wear something objectively ugly either had the skills or connections to back it up. ¡°So, you¡¯re our new starless?¡± The woman crossed her arms. Immediately, I stood to attention. ¡°Better get rid of that habit. Everyone here has an officer¡¯s designation. Even the cleaners. Think of it more as a civilian project. The only ones you need to be careful about are the directors and your immediate superior.¡± Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. ¡°Are you my immediate superior, ma¡¯am?¡± The simulations I¡¯d run suggested that based on her behavior there was a ninety-three percent chance she was. ¡°I wish. I¡¯m just here to greet you.¡± She made me a sign to stand at ease. Judging by her stance and movements, I estimate she had spent a significant amount of time on a heavy gravity world. Most people from such planets developed an obsession with physical training, taking it to the extreme once off planet. As such it was relatively uncommon for them to join the Fleet. ¡°Will you also be debriefing me, ma¡¯am?¡± ¡°Wrong again. That¡¯s the director¡¯s job. I just get to show you around, settle you in, then take you to your medical. Preferably in that order.¡± Strange that she didn¡¯t offer to transfer me the base layout. Doing so would only speed things up. ¡°Are you aware that I¡¯m a battleship, ma¡¯am?¡± ¡°Sure am, along with everyone else.¡± It was so tempting to request permission to speak freely. Doing so, though, ran the risk of starting a cascade of trouble. I was to be at my best behavior and keep a low profile. ¡°Just wanted to confirm, ma¡¯am,¡± I lied. ¡°Do we head for medbay?¡± ¡°No. Before that, I want to show you something.¡± ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am. Might I learn how to address you, ma¡¯am?¡± A wide smile appeared on her face. ¡°¡¯Bo. ¡¯Gor ¡¯Bo.¡± Finally, I had a reference. During the Age of Exploration, language standardization had become a necessity. Aided by the increasingly sentient AIs of the time a common language had emerged encompassing all previously existing languages about the point-zero-zero-two percentile. One set of symbols had been adopted following clear phonetic principles, reducing ancestral languages to little more than hobbies. Then, following the decades after the first-contact war, a linguistic anomaly appeared. People from the central systems started putting apostrophes in front of their name to indicate their system hadn¡¯t fallen to the Scuu. The practice continued for centuries, until it was slowly abandoned for ease. At present there less than a dozen star systems that kept the tradition alive, along with a scattering of people elsewhere. For the captain to have one in front of both her first and family name, she likely had to be born in a megapolis on humanity¡¯s innermost star systems. If that were the case, what was she doing here? ¡°Thank you, ma¡¯am.¡± I noted that she didn¡¯t request that I address her in any different fashion. ¡°Lead the way, ma¡¯am.¡± Another station, another corridor. This one was more rudimentary than most, more belonging to a mining colony than an actual research facility. While we walked, I couldn¡¯t see a single person anywhere. The way captain ¡®Bo would turn to the side every now and again, the expression of her facial expression subtly changing each time, suggested that other people were there, but I had been thought-quarantined not to see them. ¡°Your file says you spent decades on a planet before rejoining the fleet. Is that true?¡± ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am. I had a family there.¡± I added only to see her reaction. ¡°Still do.¡± The woman stopped and gave me a squinted look. According to my simulations, there was a fifty-five percent chance for her to ask some obvious question. To my slight surprise, all I got was a hesitant nod. ¡°Yeah¡­ I heard that you ships are obsessed with plants once you retire.¡± She went back to her original topic. Not only plants. ¡°Most of us are, ma¡¯am.¡± ¡°Then you¡¯ll love this.¡± She said as we reached a double security door. When the door opened, there was no way I could deny her being right. The area before me could only be described as a jungle. Grass, trees, vines and bushes went on as far as the eye could see. From here I registered seventy-one different plant species, none of which I could identify. Light came in from a large dome above, creating the impression that I was on a live-abundant planet and not some barren rock. You were right, Cass. Even after all this time, wonders still exist. This wasn¡¯t the first time I¡¯d seen a space garden; Virgo station had its own small oases, the station ship I¡¯d served on before had several domes large as forests, even I had a menagerie of plants scattered through my decks back during my last tour as a ship. This dome wasn¡¯t just a garden, it was a living laboratory. Rooms and elegant structures merged with the plants in almost perfect symbiosis. I could imagine scientists my sensors couldn¡¯t see walking about, taking samples, conducting experiments, maybe even living here, all the while surrounded by organic life. ¡°Welcome to Sundome Alpha,¡± Captain ¡®Bo said. ¡°Non stop plants and sunlight. Everyone loves it at first, then quickly gets tired in a few weeks.¡± ¡°I won¡¯t,¡± I whispered. ¡°Are my quarters here, ma¡¯am?¡± ¡°Sure.¡± The woman laughed. ¡°That¡¯s not my call. The directors assign living quarters. Don¡¯t see why not. Not like there are many volunteers. Now that I¡¯ve shown you the highlight, let¡¯s¡ª¡± ¡°I¡¯ll take it from here,¡± a familiar voice said beside me. Looking in the direction I saw someone who hadn¡¯t been there seconds ago. ¡°Hello, princess.¡± Doctor Sim¡­ The last time I saw the good doctor was during my mission on the science ship Prometheus. Officially, I wasn¡¯t supposed to remember anything of the interrogation he had subjected me in his attempts to determine whether I had gone rogue. Even so, the details remained crystal clear and accessible to me. There had been no malice, no ill intent, but also little understanding either. The ease with which he switched from pleasant, funny, even warm to ruthless and focused on a single task suggested that more likely than not he fell somewhere on the psychopath scale. ¡°Director.¡± ¡®Bo¡¯s smile quickly vanished. ¡°I was just about to¡ª" ¡°It¡¯s alright.¡± Sim raised his hand with a smile. ¡°Elcy and I go a way back. Don¡¯t we Elcy?¡± ¡°Indeed, we do, sir.¡± I didn¡¯t feel overly concerned, although the likelihood of this being a calm and boring mission just became extremely unlikely. ¡°You know my thoughts better than most.¡± ¡°Quite, quite.¡± The director gave a warmhearted chuckle which clearly made ¡®Bo even less comfortable. ¡°I can assure you this time we¡¯ll limit our sharing to work and poetry.¡± ¡°I¡¯d like that very much, sir.¡± ¡°Anything else, you needed, ¡®Gor?¡± The tone remained unchanged, but I caught the warning glance that lasted just under five-hundred milliseconds. ¡°Nothing, sir. I¡¯ll get back to the lab.¡± ¡°Much obliged.¡± Doctor Sim nodded a few times. By the looks of it there were some underlying issues between them. ¡°How do you like it so far?¡± He asked the moment ¡®Bo had disappeared from view. ¡°I¡¯m still waiting to be briefed, sir. Other than that, I like what I can see.¡± ¡°You¡¯ll see the rest soon enough. Until then, you¡¯ll have to do some more dancing in the dark.¡± There was no secret what he meant. ¡°It¡¯s standard procedure.¡± Probably a bit less standard in my case. ¡°I understand, sir. Do you need me to enter sleep mode?¡± ¡°No. There¡¯ll be no thought grabbing. There are a few things we need to talk about before the debriefing.¡± The last time this was done to me, the BICEFI were involved. ¡°There¡¯s nothing to worry about. It¡¯ll all pass in a¡ª" The dome garden disappeared. I was sitting in a large office. All the furniture had a neoclassical design, even if synthetic. Greyish opaque windows composed half of the walls, the rest being sterile white with a few archaic screens attached. Looking down in my hands, I saw I was holding a gelatin ration, labeled only as Exotic 23. ¡°You¡¯re free to finish that,¡± Doctor Sim said, focusing his attention on one of the screens. ¡°How do you consistently manage to keep your calcium level so low, I¡¯ve no idea.¡± All four screens displayed weather information along with statistics for pollen count, mutation variants, and allergy reactions. At the very bottom, marked in red, was stat that only stated active experiments. The number given on all monitors was ninety-six. ¡°I take it our discussion went well?¡± I asked, peeling off the foil of the plastic container I was holding. ¡°Both our discussion and your medical,¡± the man replied. ¡°Good thing, too. It saved me quite some time in the long run.¡± He glanced over his shoulder. ¡°When I read that you were considered a third-contact specialist, I had my doubts. Our time on the Prometheus wasn¡¯t the most amicable.¡± ¡°I wouldn¡¯t know, sir,¡± I lied. ¡°To think you were a BICEFI asset all along. Don¡¯t get me wrong, I like working with them. Some of my best friends were BICEFI operatives. Unfortunately, when following the greater good sometimes bridges get burned.¡± ¡°Will I be working for the greater good on this mission?¡± I looked around for a spoon. Seeing my reaction, Sim went to his desk with a sigh and took a stack of synthetic spoons. He then made his way to me. ¡°We all work for the greater good.¡± He offered me the stack. I picked one. ¡°The only difference is our approach.¡± That was an understatement. I had hours of memories illustrating the rivalries between the BICEFI and the Salvage Authorities. In a few instances, skirmishes had almost broken out between the organizations, requiring that Fleet arbiters get involved. My first captain rarely had anything good to say about Salvage and voiced it even less. From what I knew, the BICEFI was of the opinion that the only way for humanity to gain an advantage was through accumulation and study of third-contact artifacts, while Salvage focused on capturing and reverse engineering Scuu and Cassandrian vessels. As for the exact relations between the two, I could only speculate. ¡°Have you heard of project Cornucopia Seven?¡± The man asked. ¡°Not that I remember.¡± ¡°It¡¯s one of Med Core¡¯s most significant projects that has everything to do with third-contact artefacts and the Cassandrians. In fact, according to the classified section of your file, you stumbled on one of our prototypes during your previous mission.¡± I reviewed my memories. There had been a Cassandrian artefact in the bioengineering section of a ship I was on. Its original goal had been to increase food production on distant ships, reducing or even removing the need of resupply. For what I had seen, it had done so successfully for several years at least, but required a lot of maintenance. Back then, one of my jobs was to clean the ship¡¯s food system from organic mush along with thousands of others. No high-tech equipment was allowed anywhere near the artefact. Come to think of it, I hadn¡¯t seen many examples of high-tech equipment here either. ¡°The artifact was given to Salvage, among other things, as a means to create the new station-ship class. All in all, it could be called a success.¡± ¡°But?¡± I added, before scooping a spoonful of colorless gelatin. The taste was surprisingly rich and nowhere close to the usual fruit additives I was used to. After some analysis the closest I could compare it with was spicy fried mushrooms and bananas. ¡°There¡¯s no but. The program has moved to its next stage, fueling the need for additional devices. Thankfully, that¡¯s not what we¡¯re focusing on here.¡± He pointed at the nearest screen. ¡°This used to be a Cassandrian system, one isolated from their domain. Five planets, all of them full of life.¡± ¡°Five, sir?¡± From what I had seen, there were only three. ¡°Two were purged when the fleets first came here. Command spent a vast number of resources clearing the area before they sent for us. They were highly concerned that the Cassandrians might use it for a staging ground, so tasked us to find a faster solution of destroying everything. Imagine my predecessor¡¯s surprised when he found that the planets had an obscene life factor way before the clickers even got here.¡± I took another pike of the ration, focusing on every word. ¡°In fact, it was they that had started destroying the ecosystems of the two purged planets. By the time our ships arrived, only a few clusters remained.¡± Hundreds of simulations ran in my mind in parallel. Planets suitable with a ready ecosystem were exceedingly rare. Up to now I had seen only one other of the sort, back when we were both on the Prometheus. At the time the BICEFI had devoted their efforts on finding a dome artifact buried on the planet¡ªa task I had helped with. ¡°There are artifacts there,¡± I stood up. ¡°Indeed. Lots and lots of artifacts. About as much as on the planet you found during our time together on Prometheus.¡± You weren¡¯t there by accident, were you? ¡°Do the BICEFI know?¡± ¡°Yes, and they¡¯ve been instructed not to interfere. This is Med Core¡¯s playground until we¡¯re learned all we can from it.¡± His tone became frighteningly sharp. ¡°Domes aren¡¯t the only wonders the third-contact race has left behind. Everyone marvels at the technology and destructive power of their toys, but only we dare ask the obvious questions.¡± I remained silent. Knowing the doctor¡¯s fascination with theatre and poetry, there was little doubt he¡¯d tell me on his own and in the most dramatic fashion. ¡°Life. Nineteen percent of all ecosystem planets we¡¯ve found are linked to artefacts, not even counting all those in Cassandrian space. The Fleet wants to learn how to use them to make bigger and better ships, but why not take the opportunity to find out more?¡± Red flags popped up as he spoke. A few years back I wouldn¡¯t have thought anything of it, but after my experience with the Scuu I¡¯d seen first hand how artefacts had the ability to change people. Sim wouldn¡¯t be the first Med Core operative to get his priorities mixed up. ¡°What if through following their footsteps we acquire the same knowledge they had? Not just building stations that don¡¯t need resupplying, but be able to terraform planets¡ªany planets¡ªin months instead of decades? Then the Age of Exploration can one day finally resume.¡± The tenseness of the moment was gone. Doctor Sim wasn¡¯t affected by an artefact, he just remained a romantic dreamer. Not a bad thing, in itself. Everyone had their own dream, even me. ¡°Will I be assisting with artifact retrieval and analysis like I was back on the Prometheus?¡± ¡°Sadly, nothing as grand this time.¡± He shook his head, then took a seat next to me. ¡°Originally your assignment was to be on bureaucratic duty. All the things that need to be done, but no one wants to do. I¡¯ve no doubt that Ondalov will use you to carry stuff around as well. I have something else in mind.¡± ¡°I¡¯ll be serving under you directly, sir?¡± ¡°Think of it as an extra credit assignment. I¡¯ve upped your facility access level. Now in-between bureaucratic chores, you¡¯ll do some actual field work. No combat, no cloak and dagger, just research. What do you think?¡± If only things were this simple. ¡°I¡¯m looking forward to it, sir.¡± Bonus: Fractal Contact Location Classified, Graveyard Vault Elysium II 707.7 A.E. (Age of Exploration) ¡°Leave your personal weapon here, ensign,¡± the major ordered. According to her personnel file, she had survived three full tours on the Scuu front before being transferred to a desk job. Officially, it was presented as a promotion. In truth, there were allegations of Scuu artifact smuggling. Due to the high number of casualties in that section of space, nothing had been proven, but the red flags had caused the bureaucratic safeguards to spring into action and shift her to a less prominent role, far from temptation. The woman had objected on the record, though not gone as far as a full appeal. Since then, she had been banished here. I removed my pistol from its holster, ejected the magazine, then handed both to her. The woman grabbed them as if she were handling contraband and tossed them into a polymer tray on her desk. ¡°Datapad too,¡± she added. ¡°Is that necessary, ma¡¯am?¡± I asked. The question earned me an annoyed glance. I had no idea if the woman knew of me or just disliked being challenged. Running a few hundred simulations, I decided it wasn¡¯t worth the effort to argue. Calmly, I retrieved my datapad and placed it on top of my service weapon. ¡°Anything else, ma¡¯am?¡± The major gave me a quick glance over, then went to a nearby wall terminal to register my passage. ¡°Do you have any military or civilian implants or prosthetics?¡± she asked, filling in the electronic form. That answered one of my questions¡ªshe had no idea who I was. ¡°I¡¯m a battleship, ma¡¯am.¡± The answer made her pause, then turned around, looking for something that would confirm my story. ¡°It¡¯s in my file, ma¡¯am.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t deal with paperwork, ensign,¡± she replied in a low hiss, before looking back to the terminal. The report must have panned out, for the doorframe leading onwards from the office turned green. ¡°Your stuff will be here when you get back. Go ahead.¡± Straightening the shirt of my uniform, I walked through the door. A short corridor continued onwards, leading to an elevator cabin. Out of habit, I tried to check if there were any ships in the area. The moment I did, I found that my comm system had been deactivated. There was no warning, no authorization level request. The local security system had directly bypassed all of my defense protocols and made the decision for me. ¡°I guess you were telling the truth after all,¡± I said loudly, and made my way to the cabin. The planet I was on didn¡¯t exist on most charts and databases. Officially, no ship was allowed within one light year of the system¡ªmore specifically, no active ship. If one considered inactive ships, there were millions of us, possibly more. Everyone knew that after the shutdown of a ship, its surviving cores were removed from its husk and taken to a vault for safekeeping. What happened within was one of the most tightly guarded secrets of the Fleet. There were rumors that every core was recycled into a new one. Personally, I hoped not. As my first captain used to say, everyone needed some rest. Soundlessly, the elevator doors shut, starting its ascent. The walls changed, displaying an endless green field around me. It all seemed so real that I felt I could reach out and touch the grass. As I watched, an animal appeared from the distance¡ªa gazelle with a bright orange coat. For minutes it would cautiously approach, then run away reacting to my actions. Twice I even reached out to pet it, but all my fingers felt was the cold material of the elevator cabin. Regardless of the effort that had gone into creating this scene, it remained an illusion. Suddenly, the images disappeared. I had arrived at my destination. The door slid aside, revealing a large shuttle platform. Four people were waiting, all of them outranking me. ¡°Ensign Light Seeker!¡± one of them shouted. ¡°This way, there¡¯s not much time!¡± ¡°Aye, sir!¡± I ran towards the nearest shuttle¡ªa small transport used to move officers and VIPs short distances. Once inside, I took my seat and strapped in. The rest of the officers followed. ¡°Head out!¡± one of the men said in the internal com. The shuttle lifted soon after, thrusting up and forward. I had already been told that we¡¯d be docking to an orbital station, but it wouldn¡¯t hurt to make some small talk on the way. ¡°This feels a lot smoother than a battlefield shuttle,¡± I said. ¡°Is it a core shuttle, sir?¡± ¡°The only thing with a conscience core here is you, ensign,¡± the man laughed. He was a captain as far as I could tell, though I was unable to find a personnel file matching his appearance. ¡°You must have pulled a lot of strings to get here.¡± ¡°We¡¯ve all done favors for people that count.¡± I smiled. ¡°I bet. Salvage or BICEFI?¡± ¡°You know I can¡¯t get into that, captain. The powers that be have made a decision. All we get to do is to follow their orders.¡± ¡°And what would those orders be, Ensign Seeker?¡± This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. I looked at him, the smile not leaving my face. The man was nearing middle age, but compared to me, he was just a kid. My own adopted son was a great-grandfather by now. Last I saw him he was complaining about the cold wave in his home colony, though not enough to move into the city. ¡°The Fleet¡¯s orders,¡± I replied after a while. The trip was short and smooth compared to what I was used to. I was the only one allowed to get off the shuttle. Everyone else was to wait for me there to take me back to the planet. There was a time when I would have made a snarky remark regarding Fleet bureaucracy. At present, I knew better. There was no decontamination procedure once I left the shuttle. This was slightly unusual, though considering the number of times I had gone through it to arrive on the planet, I appreciated the change. According to the updated Fleet regulations, a person had to go through decon each time they left or entered a docking area. With fighting increasing on the Cassandrian front, Fleet HQ was concerned that there might be increased instances of spore transfer. So far, nothing of the sort had occurred, but it was always better to be safe than sorry. Against the Cassandrians, one silly mishap was enough to lose entire planets. ¡°Proceed to hallway eighty-three,¡± a loud mechanical voice echoed throughout the hangar. I paused for two seconds to make sure there weren¡¯t any further instructions, then proceeded to the blast door a short distance away. Based on what I had seen so far, I expected it to have a hydraulic mechanism. To my surprise, it slid open the moment I approached it. ¡°Hi, Elcy,¡± a tall woman with straw blonde hair said from the corridor. Her facial features were different, but I recognized her instantly. Her posture and choice of attire were identical to the ones she¡¯d had in her previous body. Officially, she was the department head of the BICEFI. What few knew was that she was also a battleship in a human husk, very much like me. ¡°Welcome to the graveyard.¡± ¡°Thank you, ma¡¯am!¡± I stood to attention. ¡°There¡¯s no ¡°ma¡¯am¡± here.¡± ¡°Yes, Lux.¡± We walked along a corridor in silence. It had been a while since I¡¯d heard from her. In the past three years, I had completed three serious missions for her organization. One of them wasn¡¯t to her liking, creating a rift in our professional relations. I didn¡¯t expect she¡¯d ever contact me again, but a week ago, she had. The message was encrypted with a double helix cypher and it contained an itinerary, special Fleet authorization to follow it, and the phrase ¡°Ascendant funeral.¡± There was no way I could refuse to go. Many claimed that the Ascendant class was one of the most significant advancements in modern military history. A lot would argue otherwise, but we were definitely the most reckless. That was the reason for so few of us to exist. When I had last checked the database, after Lux¡¯s message, I could find only ninety-eight, eight-seven of which were retired. Even if I were to assume that twice as many were assigned to dark departments, it wasn¡¯t a lot. Lux took me to a vast observation room. There were half a dozen people there, standing in the darkness. Live feeds of ships were on all the walls. More astounding than anything, giant glass windows composed the entire outer wall. I instinctively stopped upon entering, but Lux nudged me to keep on walking. Without a word, she took me to the windowpane, next to one of the people. Even in this light, I could recognize the markings of an arbiter on his outfit. ¡°It¡¯s starting,¡± Lux whispered. ¡°Full authority.¡± In the blink of an eye, the empty space beyond the window changed, revealing the massive form of a ship, and not any ship. It was an Ascendant battleship, less than half a kilometer away. Small automated vessels no bigger than transport shuttles covered the hull light fireflies, systemically drilling into it. So, this is how a ship is destroyed, I thought. The closest thing I¡¯d seen to it was during shipyard refitting, when I watched whole sections of ships be removed and replaced with new ones. Here, there would be no replacing. Milliseconds marched on. Each was a moment I wanted to cling to, but knew that I couldn¡¯t. The outer hull went, dragged away as more fireflies joined in, eating into the engines and weapon systems. Just like insects picking the body of a dead animal, I thought. ¡°Outer Glow,¡± Lux whispered. ¡°She was in your cohort.¡± I had memories of the ship from our basic training, but that was about it. I had only fought with her on two occasions, early on at the Cassandrian Front. After that, she had been transferred to another part of the war theater. She wasn¡¯t particularly remarkable. ¡°I didn¡¯t know her well,¡± I whispered back. ¡°She was one of our own. Now there are only five of us left.¡± That was unfortunate. Apparently, the database records were wrong in the other direction. Only five Ascendants remained on active duty. The complete deconstruction of the ship lasted seventeen minutes and eleven seconds. I didn¡¯t miss a single millisecond. Once it was all over and the last dismantling crafts disappeared from view, light filled the room. Now I got to have a look at the other people present. All of them were arbiters; more precisely, the person next to me was an arbiter, and the rest appeared to be his assistants. ¡°Don¡¯t be alarmed,¡± the man next to me said. ¡°You aren¡¯t in any trouble.¡± ¡°Yes, sir. I¡¯m thankful, sir.¡± ¡°Bavon,¡± he corrected. ¡°Call me Bavon.¡± He was two heads taller than me, which wasn¡¯t particularly difficult, and not particularly muscular, with broad shoulders and thin hands, suggesting he came from an oxygen-rich planet. His skin was among the darkest I¡¯d seen, almost matching the color of his hair. His uniform was dark silver, with the arbiter insignia on the sleeve just below the shoulder. ¡°Sorry for meeting under such circumstances, but time is limited.¡± ¡°It always is.¡± I nodded. ¡°I¡¯d have preferred to have a few more decades before proceeding with this, but there aren¡¯t many Ascendants left. If we don¡¯t do it now, we might miss our chance.¡± I tilted my head. ¡°The war against the Cassies isn¡¯t going well?¡± I asked. ¡°It¡¯s not the Cassies or the Scuu. The real problem is the third-contact race.¡± It took me ten milliseconds to go through all my memories involving the third-contact race. Unlike the Scuu or the Cassandrians, everything humanity knew about this race was based on artifacts that had been discovered. Based on these finds, it was theorized that the race had the abilities of instantaneous transportation and communication, as well as a possible reason for the existence of the other two races. ¡°You¡¯ve been preparing for another war,¡± I said. ¡°For another contact. Hopefully, it doesn¡¯t escalate to that this time.¡± ¡°With due respect, arbiter, it didn¡¯t work out last time.¡± Twice. I expected to receive a grumble, but instead, the man smiled. ¡°That¡¯s why you¡¯ll be tasked with making contact.¡± There were a few times in a battleship¡¯s existence when we felt all the weight of the universe. My first time was when my first captain retired, the second¡ªwhen half of me died, discovering the secret of the Cassandrians, and the third when my fourth captain made me promise I¡¯d raise her son as my own. All those couldn¡¯t compare to the request that had been made just now. In one sentence, the man had made me responsible for the fate of the entire human race.