Almost there, Radiance transmitted to my core. Want to have a look?

Images of a serene island location stretched all over the walls of the shuttle. It was nice to know that the other passengers shared my taste in scenery.

Yes, I replied leaning back in my seat.

The data connection soon followed. Radiance’s protocols already had access permission from the previous times we’d spoken. So far, we’d mostly exchanged simulation calculations and sound responses. This time, she linked my core to a filtered version of her external sensors. The sensation pulled me in, making me lose my sense of gravity as the data merged. For a moment, it was as if I were a ship again, floating through space.

There’s Clarity, Radiance said as a small ship became noticeable, traveling on an almost identical approach vector. I’d let you chat, but regulations… She added a virtual sigh.

No worries. I focused my attention on the approaching ship. It was small by my standards, angular to the extreme, and with a disproportionately large number of engines. Back when I was active, such a design would have been considered ludicrous. Even with simulations, I had trouble picturing her inner structure. Times certainly had changed.

Do you look like that? I asked.

Maybe, Radiance laughed. You’ll find out once we dock.

Her youth showed through the transmissions. Part of me felt jealous. I remembered what I was like at her age—reckless, curious, and fascinated by everything I saw. I knew everything about my initial crew, and I even tried to stay in touch with all of them after their first transfer. Captain Augustus had quickly stamped that out of me, turning me from a rookie to a war veteran in less than five years. Unlike me, Radiance remained inquisitive and far too carefree. I wondered what sort of captain she had to allow her to behave like this.

And there he is. A red circle appeared, marking a small section of space ahead. Watch closely.

There was no denying she was cheeky. It made me think what a pain I had probably been when conversing with ships I regarded as ancient. Then again, ships I considered old had obtained legendary status within the fleet, while I was just an Ascendant that somehow managed to survive long enough to retire.

A dot, no larger than a speck of dust, appeared in the center of the circle. Within moments, it began to grow, first to the size of a grain of sand, then a pea, then finally an egg. At this distance, it was difficult to make out the station-ship’s proportions, but I could already tell it was big. Four thousand and twenty-one milliseconds later, I had to admit that I was impressed. When the Libra station administrator had told me he was large as a station, I had taken her at her word. There was no way for me to know that the Gregorius was almost as big as a shipyard. A giant mass of interconnected domes and segments stretched between two rings of engines, larger than my old ship form. From what Rad had told me, he was capable of maximized acceleration and deceleration, combining the maneuverability of a shuttle and the armament of a military outpost. This was what a Firescorch planet purger looked like—the ship that would herald in a new era of discovery. With the little I knew about his specs I tended to agree, but also found the timing of his construction a bit convenient.

What’s Gregorius like? I asked. In truth, I was more interested in what his captain would be like. The first captain shaped the character of the ship.

I’m still getting to know him. He’s mostly silent. Incandescent does most of the talking. Not sure who you’ll be dealing with. Command staff makes the decision, and all of their choices are semi-random.

According to what Rad had explained, forty-eight ships were stationed on the Gregorius, acting as his support squadron. Officially, there was no record of the class or category of those ships, just the vague descriptor “experimental.” Incandescent was one of those ships. From what Rad had shared, he had been the first to be assigned to Gregorius, which made him something like a squadron leader tasked with relaying instructions. I wasn’t sure where that put him in the hierarchy as far as I was concerned, though he was someone else I needed to be mindful of. As the administrator had said, many would be watching me… and some would hope that I messed up badly enough that they could lock me on a training station and forget about me for the next century.

The visual transfer ended abruptly, returning me to my shuttle surroundings. Bright orange messages covered the walls, informing us that we would be landing in several minutes.

I stretched. Other passengers began putting their belongings away, preparing to get off the shuttle.

Any news from the fronts? I asked.

Nothing much, Rad replied. I couldn’t tell if she was being honest. A few successful pushes on the Cassandrian font, a few scares near Scuu territory. Alicia said hi, by the way. That was a detail that Rad had forgotten to mention while we were catching up. She’s been transferred to a patrol ship, so it’ll be awhile before she gets in touch.

That was to be expected. Unlike me, my former roommate had done rather well for herself. When I had first met her, I didn’t think she would make it past basic training. In a few months, though, she had proven me wrong, earning a spot on an experimental class ship, then getting fast tracked to semi-combat status, while I had remained unassigned for months.

Say hello when you hear from her again. I wasn’t sure if I’d be granted external communication privileges. As generous as the administrator had been in her promises, that was before I had accepted her proposal. Any clue who I report to?

Commander Everar, Rad replied. She’s the one responsible for all cadets. Beyond that, it’s whatever the Admin’s office says.

Doesn’t the captain have a say?

He might. There was a two millisecond pause before Rad replied. When he gets here.

Right. For the captain not to have arrived on his ship this late after launch, the fleet was either protecting his identity for some reason, or they hadn’t found a suitable candidate. It was almost as if I were going on a dark mission again.

The closer we got to the ship, the chattier the people in the shuttle got. Gossip mixed with speculation as they commented on food, living quarters, and the design of the new office. Half the terms casually dropped had a higher security clearance than I. A few were so high up that they were quarantined out of speech in real time. Augustus was right when he said there was a reason bureaucrats were never sent to the front lines. I had seen people court-martialed for less.

I’ll have to drop comms, Radiance said. Talk later! She closed the comm link. Five minutes later, we were on the station. The landing was flawless, quite the opposite of my first time I set foot on a fleet shuttle.

“Stay here until you get your clearance,” a middle-aged bureaucrat muttered as he passed by.

I waited for him and the rest to clear out, then took my belongings and exited. A long grey corridor led from the shuttle door twenty meters to a second exit. The surface was covered with a layer of high grade nanites that changed color round my fingertips at the point of contact. Flashy, though I would have preferred the sensation of leaves.

Reaching the end, I walked out into a station-sized hangar that was holding a dozen shuttles similar to the one that had brought us here, as well as Radiance. She looked every bit as small as I had imagined her, sharp with large engines and a full nanite coating. I could see her being ideal for scouting and reconnaissance operations, though I didn’t doubt she had teeth when she needed to.

Nice to meet you, kid, I thought, tapping her on the hull. The spot changed into a glowing green.

A short distance away, the passengers split up in groups, boarding the internal transport vehicles assigned to them. In many aspects, the Gregorius was similar to Libra, and just like there, I didn’t get an assigned transport of my own. Instead, a green square appeared on the ground a few steps away, displaying my name in white block letters.

“Talk to you later, Rad,” I said, then stepped in the waiting square.

For several minutes, nothing happened. All my attempts to establish a communication line with Gregorius, or any other ship of his squad, was met by static. After a while, a door in the near side of the hangar opened, and a person in a purple uniform emerged.

“Light Seeker?” He approached. Looking at him, he seemed to be in his mid-thirties, rather old for a cadet. He wasn’t particularly tall, moderately muscular, with paperwhite skin showing he had come from a domed colony.

“Yes, sir,” I replied.

From what I knew, there were only two types of things that such colonies produced: soldiers and mineral resources. For someone to be in the cadet program at that age, they had to have gone through a recent war experience, or have risen through the ranks as a ground soldier. During my previous service, I had seen examples of both.

“Kridib,” he said extending his hand.

“Elcy.” I took hold and shook it. The square under my feet disappeared, regaining its normal metal texture. “I imagined there would be more people.” I glanced around.

“Skeleton crew,” Kridib replied curtly. “That your stuff?” He pointed at my pack.

“Yes.” I straightened up out of habit. “I travel light.”

“Good. Did Inca give you the layout?”

“No.” I checked my memory and transmission logs to be on the safe side. There were no hidden data dumps or unexplained ship schematics. “I’m completely clueless.”

“Inca, give her the kit,” Kridib said with a sigh, suggesting this wasn’t the first time something of the sort had happened.

Several seconds passed in silence as we waited for a response that never occurred.

“He’s probably collecting crew,” the man went on. “You’ll have to get it manually from Section Command. Let’s go.”

He went along the corridor. I followed, rushing to keep up. The first half minute, Kridib seemed not to take our height difference into account. Soon enough, he slowed down.

“For the moment, we’re restricted to Hangar Section Three,” he said, taking out his datapad. “It’s not as close as it sounds, so always keep a datapad with you. It’s easy to get lost.”

“Got you.” Apparently, he hadn’t been told I was a ship. An interesting choice on the administrator’s part.

“Inca and the other ships help out sometimes, but for the most part, there’s no one around.”

“What about the other passengers?”

“The only people coming in are tech and administration.” There was a silent note of scorn in his voice.

Soldier, I thought. Few others had shared such a disdain for both categories. In their world, few things were worse than techs, bureaucrats, and civilians. Usually flight crews weren’t much higher up either. Anyone less than a captain or a senior commander were viewed as a waste of space. Interesting that he would decide to become one.

As we walked, a low rumbling sound echoed from the hangar behind us.

“Ship sortie,” Kridib said before I could even ask. “Happens four or five times per day. You’ll get used to them.”

“Regulations aren’t big here, huh?”

“Depends.” He gave me a stern look. Obviously not a fan of sarcasm. “Do something out of line, and you’re off the ship. The auxiliaries are allowed to be reckless.”

It wasn’t much of an explanation, but I didn’t want to get into an argument this soon after landing. First impressions meant everything after arrival, and so far, both of us had pretty much blown it. I strongly suspected that we would only get along as much as regulations allowed, which was fine.

The tunnel continued for another two hundred meters uninterrupted until we reached an elevator node. To my surprise, we continued on for another fifty meters, then turned into a small service corridor.

“Those are our temp quarters,” Kridib said as we walked by a series of doors. On each there was a name written in purple bold letters. “Inca will fill you in, but the skinny is that we’ll be here until further orders. Not the best, but better than the academy.”

“Kridib.” I stopped, my tone raising sharply. “What’s the deal?” As a ship, I had seen a lot of hosing taking place, as well as all manners of crude jokes that crew and staff played on new arrivals. This didn’t seem to be like that. There was a distant seething disinterest, combined with a deliberate lack of information. “Regulations state that my first task upon arrival should be reporting to my commanding officer. So far, I haven’t been told anything regarding my duties or—”

“You have been acknowledged, Light Seeker,” a deep voice echoed through the corridor, cutting me short. An info burst went past my defense protocols, dumping a detailed layout of the ship directly into my memory. “Proceed to your quarters.”

I stiffened, putting up what memory defenses I had left. External protocols info identified the person who had established communication as Gregorius—definitely not the behavior I expected from a newly created ship. There was too much precision and restraint involved in his actions, not to mention a complete lack of curiosity. Even I, who was considered among the least chatty of my cohort, was much more inquisitive at his age.

It’s just as you said, Augustus, I thought. Nothing can change a first impression, even for a ship

I had to admit this was a first for me: an assignment I knew nothing about, greeted by a cadet that seemed out of place, on a ship that was decades older than its age. Everything screamed dark op, which meant I wouldn’t be allowed any privacy mode.

“Aren’t you special.” Kridib frowned. “You got to hear Gregorius himself. And since you asked. Seventeen cadets were originally scheduled to be stationed. A few weeks ago, we were twenty-one, and you weren’t on any of the lists.”

His words felt like missiles on my hull.

“How do you know who was on the list?” I asked.

A slight smirk appeared on Kridib’s face. Without an answer, he turned around and walked into a door further down the corridor. At that point, I knew that our relations would be more than strained. My opinion was only reaffirmed a few days later when I was granted partial access to the ship’s database. The cadet’s full name was Kridib Lyuk, and from what I was able to see, he had spent eleven years in the military. The exact nature of service was classified, but he had risen up the ranks at a fast pace, almost entirely through battlefield promotion. When he had become eligible for officer rank, he had applied to the fleet—curious, though not exactly an anomaly.

Most of the remaining cadet files were almost as interesting, and often far more classified. Each had been specially selected from various academies and training stations. Some had shown exceptional skills, others were at the top of their cohorts, and then there was the “other” category—all those who had attracted attention in some other fashion. Skimming through my own file, there were next to no details regarding my past, just a brief psychological profile, the date I had re-joined the fleet, and the vague mention that I was a ship.

I had attempted to access the ship’s personnel files, but Gregorius’ subroutines had instantly cut off my access.

Days seemed to pass incredibly fast. Approximately every seven hours, Kridib and I would receive instructions to meet the latest batch of arrivals at the hangar, or escort the next cadet to their quarters. It was a boring routine that didn’t leave time for much else, especially since we had our own individual tasks to take care of. It wasn’t until five days later that our direct superior—Commander Everar—had contacted us for the first time, giving us the location of our permanent living quarters. Once there, we were assigned seniority. To my surprise, I was ranked third. Unfortunately, Kridib was also named chief cadet, straining our tense relations even more.

A week after my arrival aboard, the first global announcement was made. All cadets and staff officers were ordered to assemble in the administrative dome in the rear section of the ship. Naturally, Kridib was ordered to see to it that the cadets were dressed according to regulations, and of course, he chose me to assist.

“Elcy, a word in private,” he said once we were done with the inspection.

“Of course.” I smiled, preferring he didn’t waste my time.

We went to one of the free rooms in the living cluster, which he had transformed into an unofficial meeting room. The moment I stepped inside, Kridib locked the door.

“Privacy mode,” he said, lifting a finger to indicate that I remain quiet.

“Privacy mode in effect,” one of Gregorius’ subroutines announced. “All audio and visual information gathered during the next five minutes will be purged.”

Kridib remained still for several seconds more, as if expecting something. Then, slowly he lowered his hand and turned to face me. Arms crossed, I tilted my head, waiting for an explanation.

“The ship is almost at full capacity,” he began. “All grounds troops are aboard now, along with most of the support staff. A few more days and we’ll officially be off on our mission, not the games and errands we’ve been doing until now.”

“That’s pretty obvious.” I couldn’t see what he was going for. “We need a crew to start a mission.”

“The mission isn’t what you think it is.” His voice was little more than a whisper. “Before the first administrator died, the Gregorius was supposed to burn through Scuu lines. Then everything changed. There was a new choice of administrator, a new set of mission parameters, and a massive staff rearrangement.”

There was a long pause. With adequate high-level access to the fleet’s network, I could easily check if he was telling the truth or not. As things stood currently, I had to take Kridib’s word for it.

“You were never meant to be on this mission, Elcy.” He put his hand on my shoulder. “Neither was the administrator that brought you here.”