When a ship came into being, it arrived with a few bits of certainty. We knew what we were created to be, that we would fulfil our role to best serve humanity with everything we had, and that we would eventually shut down in the process. In my case, I knew a bit more. During my last mission, I had somehow managed to glimpse at my moment of creation, when logic patterns were fed into my core. It had been a confusing, yet enlightening experience, one they hadn’t taken from me. I could only suspect that being regarded as a deep core memory, it was never considered to be accessible. Whatever the case, I appreciated looking back at it every so often to see things in perspective. If there ever was a need to do so in the last few months, it was now.

The station administrator had told the truth about what was to happen. The announcement of a new prototype ship reminiscent of the ancient Paladin class was made a few days after our conversation, followed immediately by her official reassignment on it. Three days later, the academy bureaucratic apparatus notified me that I had received my new assignment. It wasn’t at all flashy or important; there weren’t the fanfares or news coverage the administrator had received. I was merely told to pack my things, submit to a full medical, then head to Hangar Seventeen within three hours.

Zipping up my pack, I glanced at the room I had been occupying for the last twelve weeks. Only now did I realize how small it actually was: just enough to hold me, a bed, and a storage compartment. Still, it had been a sort of temporary home away from home, my own speck of shelter that allowed me a partial degree of privacy. Before heading out, I sent a brief request to have a conversation with Sev. Normally, I’d receive a rejection within milliseconds. To my surprise, I was given the go-ahead this time, providing it was after my medical visit.

“So, we’re finally getting rid of you?” The doctor laughed in her bearish voice the instant I entered her office. “I was starting to think you’d become a permanent fixture.”

“I think they’ll have to settle for a younger model, ma’am.” I took my uniform off and sat on the examination table. Back when I was a ship, I used to call it the slab, and now I saw first-hand that there was a good reason.

Half a dozen miniature tube clusters pierced my skin in order to get a full reading of my organic makeup. I’d been going through this procedure once every week. Normally, the only spots necessary were the base of my skull and my spine. Today, it was triple the amount.

“Hold still,” the doctor ordered as she pressed a cold metallic device against my right shoulder blade. “And don’t breathe.”

I shall keep that under advisement, ma’am, I said, using my single available comm channel from my ship days.

“Cute.” I almost heard the doctor smirk. “Now take a deep breath.” I did. Gradually, the pressure on my shoulder decreased, until I felt the device move off my skin. “Heart and lungs are mostly okay, considering your age.”

Doctor humor… too bad I had never gotten to appreciate it.

“Your nanites are up to date,” she went on. “You’re still likely to get a new shot when you start your mission. Quarantine is a must, even for ships like you. Also, try to go easy on the external radiation.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I said, although we both knew that wouldn’t be my call.

“Have you had any headaches, loss of balance, nausea, or unexplained sensory feedback?” the doctor asked.

“None, ma’am. I didn’t have any dreams either.”

“That’s what I like about you.” Another bearish laugh followed. “At least you’re consistent. Sit up.”

“I try my best, ma’am.” I did as instructed. A large bracelet-like device was placed round my wrist—a bone density probe I had gotten to know intimately the last few months. “Ma’am.” I looked towards her. “How many ground battles have you been in?”

I knew from her fleet file that she had been a field medic in the past, yet all other information was restricted to higher ranks.

“Less than you’ve seen.” The smile on her face faded halfway. “Why?”

“I’m curious what it must be like to experience it in person.”

“Don’t be. Some things are best viewed from a distance or not at all.” The response sounded staged, though the intention behind it felt genuine. “You’ll get your share of battles in space, no need to look for more.”

“Yes, ma’am.’ I paused for five seconds. “I’ve never seen a Cassandrian,” I added. As a ship, I had looked through the visors of millions of grounds troops, observing every millisecond of their lives, and not a single time had the true image of their enemies reached me. Quarantine protocols had prevented anything other than a series of black rectangles from streaming through. “What are they?”

“That’s classified information, Elcy.” There was a hardness to the doctor’s voice. “You have your own mission to worry about.”

“Understood, ma’am,” I straightened up. “I apologize.”

The rest of the examination proceeded in near silence, the doctor only speaking when starting a procedure and me responding in turn. The more we neared the end of the checkup, the more I saw an opportunity slip away. According to the fleet database and all relevant records, the person performing my examination was Doctor Roana Webster, a retired field medic sent to the station in the twilight of her career. However, I knew that to be a lie. As I looked, I could see fragments of her bleed through my restricted memories. She had the same face, voice, and posture, but a different name. We had been on the deck of an unknown ship, discussing a battle that had taken place, or that would take place. Many of the details were unclear, moving in and out of restricted state, as if half of me was fighting to block the access the other half so desperately wanted to obtain. Seven words stood out in the sea of static: “I’ll keep an eye on you.”

“You’re all set,” the doctor said, pulling out the nanotubes from my back. “Any changes in your sleep cycle?”

“None, ma’am. Ninety minutes per night, as you recommended.”

“Good.” She collected all of the equipment outlets and placed them beside me on the examination table. “Keep that up unless your next doctor tells you otherwise. Now, get dressed.”

There’ll be other chances. I put on my cadet uniform. Any cadet mission was between three and six months. Once I was done, I’d be sent back to the station for reassignment. If all went as the administrator had promised, I’d be allowed a bit more freedom as far as the fleet was concerned. Maybe then I’d be able to continue the conversation with the doctor.

“See you when I get back, ma’am.” I took the single pack that held my personal belongings and left the room.

Two hours and fourteen minutes remained until my departure time. In theory, I was allowed to have a personal call until that time, but standing fleet restrictions would stop any external call once it exceeded fifteen minutes. I rushed through the corridors to the to the nearest communication terminal.

“Privacy mode,” I said, placing my pack on the ground. A thin nano-curtain extended behind me, giving me the most minimal, legally permissible privacy. “Call my ward,” I said clearly, leaving the station AI to do the rest.

Two hundred milliseconds passed in waiting, as the subsystems confirmed my authorization and established the connection to the person I had raised since childhood. An image of the fleet logo appeared on the wall before me, accompanied by the message “establishing connection.” Seconds later, the image shifted, changing into the inside of a small rural home—the same I had built and spent seven decades in. It seemed slightly different since the last time I was there, lighter and with more plants, though still impeccably clear and well kept.

“Hello?” a male android said. Humanoid in appearance, his skin gleamed in a pale grey texture. The moment he saw me, a thin smile appeared on his face. “Good morning, Elcy. I wasn’t expecting you. Your latest letter suggested you might not be in touch for a while.”

“Hello, Alexander.” I smiled in return. “Originally, I wasn’t, but the fleet allowed me a call before my assignment. Is Sev there?”

“Indeed he is.” The android looked to the side. “Grumbling about hip pains and the prices of spare parts in the garden. I shall get him for you.” I watched Alexander start making a step to the side, then almost immediately stop as a wave of unintelligible grumbles came from beyond my visibility window. “I stand corrected.” The android turned towards me with the slightest of sighs. “Apparently Sev wishes to join you himself… unaided.”

“I see.” Typical, Sev. Even now always the contrarian. “You’ve changed the house, I see. Your idea?”

“Sev’s grandson. He’s been visiting once every few weeks lately, always asking about Cass and yourself.”

That made me tilt my head. In the past, none of Sev’s family had shown any interest in me. The children were always amused by me, especially when they were young, though it was mostly because I was the only ship on the planet. As they had grown older, they had started to look upon me as a caretaker that made sure their grandfather was doing okay.

“Apparently, he’s expressed some desire to join the fleet and was hoping to gain some insights.”

“I see.” Seems recruitment had reached even backwater systems. I couldn’t say I wanted to discourage anyone from fighting to protect humanity, but I also didn’t want him to experience what Cass had. “What does Sev think about it?”

“That if he wants to be an idiot, he doesn’t need any help from me!” Sev appeared, forcefully pushing Alexander out of the frame. “Kid thinks that he knows everything, but can’t even decide what career to pick!”

Not unlike someone else, I know.

Sev seemed thinner than I remembered. The recent sickness I had heard about, combined with the planet’s rough conditions, made him look older than my mental picture of him. Although he had released me from the promise I had made to his mother, and I knew that Alexander was taking good care of him, I still felt concern.

“Anyway, I heard you’ve been getting yourself into a lot of trouble.” Sev continued frowning at me in typical fashion. “That’s not the reason I let you return to the fleet.”

It was me who told you about it in my letters. “Just a few initial hiccups.” And it was you who volunteered me to re-join without telling me. “Things have changed in the last hundred years.”

“You keep telling me.” He crossed his arms. “That’s no excuse. You’re supposed to take care of yourself. I can’t be worrying about you every day.”

“I’m sorry. There’s no need to worry, though. Everything’s fine. The instructors are pleased with me, and they are even sending me on a special assignment.” That much was true. “As you see, I’ve been allowed to call you.”

“Hmph!” Sev grumbled—his way of conceding I was right.

“What about you? I heard you haven’t been well lately.”

“Bah.” He looked down and to the side. “Nothing some antibiotics couldn’t fix. Alexander made a huge fuss about it. Got my good-for-nothing son to run all the way here to keep me company. As if that’d help me get better.”

I bet you were pleased that he did. “He misses you. I’m sure they all do.”

A warning message appeared beneath the call image, letting me know I had less than a minute left. That was surprisingly short for a regulation call. Apparently whatever favor I had with the fleet authorities only extended to five minutes.

“Sev, I’ll need to go now,” I said. “I’m on a priority mission and can’t stay much longer.”

“Figures the fleet is counting the words you say,” he grumbled. “Well, go play with your ships.” He waved a hand. “And don’t go getting in trouble again! You hear?”

“I’ll try not to,” I laughed.

“And, Elcy.” Sev moved forward. “Take care of yourself.”

You have exceeded your external call time. Communication link has been severed.

The image vanished, leaving an empty wall behind. Seconds later, the private curtain slid to the side, opening up the terminal for general use.

You’re ordered to go to Hangar Seventeen immediately, the station AI informed me. This is a Priority Three direct notification.

“Explain.” That was sudden. There were supposed to be hours left until departure.

You are not cleared for that information.

“Understood.” The AI’s response was short and sweet. A pity it didn’t have the finesse of a proper ship. Even my subroutines were able to add some character, if instructed. Maybe that was why no one could get mad at an AI—they didn’t know better and were terrible to argue with.

The hangar took me twenty-one minutes to reach. Normally, I’d be able to get there in half that amount, but the flood of cadet candidates mixed with new arrivals packed all direct access hallways, not to mention blocked the elevators. My grey uniform granted me some lenience, though I would have traded it instantly for a taller body with a massive frame.

A double security door awaited me at my destination, normally reserved for station-wide emergency drills. As I reached to type my personal emergency code, the reinforced door slid open.

“Thanks, VIrgo,” I said, then went in.

The door slammed shut moments later. The last time I had witnessed something of the sort was during a near-rebellion that had occurred on me while I was drifting in space ages ago. It wasn’t a pleasing sight to remember; thousands of personnel and ground crew had ended up physically harming themselves in a fit of madness caused by desperation and combat fatigue. Tens of thousands more had been marked for court-martial the moment we reached the first station. My captain at the time had taken it with his typical brand of cold disappointment, replacing half the crew the first chance he got and flying me back to the battlefront. He had taught me one important lesson, though: always be mindful of security doors that let you in.

A group of twenty-nine other people were present in the hangar, standing patiently near the nearest shuttle entry pad. The vast majority were office staff—secretarial judging by their uniform—with two technicians and five security officers. One thing instantly grabbed my attention: I was the only cadet present. As I approached, all heads turned my direction. None seemed surprised to see me there, even if they didn’t seem particularly thrilled.

“Why’s she been moved to the first batch?” I heard someone ask in a hushed voice. “Is she considered priority personnel?”

“Being a ship comes with its advantages,” came the response. “I guess Jauna knows best.”

Jauna—as the fleet records confirmed—was the name of the now ex-station administrator. I hadn’t heard anyone address her so casually, even from the Commandant’s office.

“Cadet,” a civilian-dressed man said. “What’s your assignment?”

“I don’t understand your question, sir,” I replied, keeping a semi-relaxed posture. “That information shouldn’t be available until—”

“What shuttle number were you given?” he interrupted.

“None, sir.” I went through the memory of receiving the initial notification. I had been given a time and place, but nothing more. “I assumed there would be a single flight.” Knowing bureaucrats, they tended to move around with large parts of their staff, making it puzzling why the administrator had chosen such a small number of people to accompany her.

“That answers it,” the man said with a mocking smile. A few of the people near him joined with similar reactions. “At ease,” he added, despite being as obviously clueless about military structures as anyone in civil bureaucracy.

“Yes, sir,” I replied, which seemed to move interest off me. Now I understood why all my captains didn’t want to have anything to do with bureaucracy of any kind. Augustus in particular would have chewed them up just for breathing the same air as him, and, as I had recently come to know, he had had the clout to do it.

The minutes passed slowly. I ran a few basic simulation exercises to occupy my mind, while the rest of the group grumbled about the shuttle being late. A quarter of an hour later, the security doors slid open once more, introducing two new passengers. Judging by everyone’s reactions, the two were also some kind of bureaucrats, though I didn’t recognize their outfit.

“All personnel, please prepare for shuttle boarding.” The AI’s voice filled the air. “Please stay clear of the approaching shuttle.”

Images flashed back of the first time I had arrived on the station. Back then, I had to jump onto the shuttle mid-flight and quickly buckle up as it shot through the atmosphere to rendezvous with the station’s transport ship. I didn’t see any of the people here doing the same. Ninety-three seconds later, I was proven right.

The shuttle that arrived was a design that I hadn’t seen before, carrying the standard fleet markings and ship designations. The overall size was slightly larger than the standard fleet requirements, although it seemed armor plating made up the difference. Apparently, the ship was prepared for war, despite the people boarding it being completely oblivious about the fact. Looking at what was visible of the landing gear, I could also make the assumption that the shuttle was equipped for planetary reentry. As one of my old ship acquaintances would say, “This was going to be interesting.”

“Are you coming along, Cadet?” one of the security personnel asked.

“Merely, waiting my turn, ma’am,” I lied, waiting for the rest to finish climbing on board. “I don’t need much space, so it doesn’t matter where I sit.”

“Don’t take too long, or you’ll be left behind,” the person said in jest, then entered the shuttle. Several seconds later, I did as well.

Placing my luggage pack in the designated space, I took the last available seat and buckled up. As far as travel went, this was more luxurious than what I was used to. The seats were wider and more comfortable, not to mention equipped with their own food processor and datapad. Bored with my mental combat simulations, I took the datapad and turned it on.

Hello, Light Seeker.

A message appeared on the small screen in bright orange letters.

There’s a lot we need to discuss.