Tauciu System, Resha Colony — 692 A.E. (Age of Exploration)

News of the war effort kept streaming from the entertainment system. With the latest advances on the Cassandrian front made public, a new round of political discussions had begun. Normally, I kept away from any information regarding the war, focusing on my retired life. With a second generation of children keeping me busy, and now a third one on the way, there were enough things to keep me occupied. Sev, though, had spent a considerable sum on getting the latest media-communication system. To keep him and his wife informed and entertained, he used to say. Since then, the thing had been running almost non-stop, following the local and general politics.

“Morning, grandma.” Quinn entered the kitchen with a yawn.

This was her first stayover since heading to college. Sadly, the way things were going, she might end up being the only person coming to visit. With the city changing into a colony, more and more people were leaving their rural homes, opting for a more sophisticated life. Sev’s son had already rented a place of his own, choosing to remain there with his girlfriend. Even Sev and his wife were spending more and more time there, often going for months at a time. A few weeks ago, my ward had finally asked the question: would I be willing to sell off the house? Despite my promise to always look out for him, I had said no.

“Where’re Mom and Dad?” Quinn went to the bowl of berries in the corner of the room and took a handful.

“Off for a walk outside,” I replied. “You’ll ruin your breakfast with those.”

The girl looked at me with the same smile she had as a child and laughed. Eleven years ago, she had been the terror of the house, running up and down the place, getting into constant arguments with her brother, and, above all, trying to sneak into the kitchen and snatch fruit without me noticing. Now, she was a bioengineering student. Tall and lanky, her light curls were gone, replaced by long straight black hair—the inevitable part of growing up.

“Grandma, you never change.” Quinn shook her head, then took a few more berries.

Technically, she was correct. Looking at us, people would mistake us for sisters, even if she had grown to become nineteen centimeters taller than me. Despite that, she kept calling me grandma, a habit she had developed in high school just to annoy her father.

“What’s on the news?” She glanced at the living room.

“War and politics.” I finished cutting the vegetables for today’s meal. Sev’s wife had asked me not to make anything that would give Sev gasses, so I had resorted to making cream soup.

“I heard there’s talk in reinstating forced conscription. Is that true?”

“There’s always been forced conscription, just not everywhere.” If anything, conscription numbers were steadily going down. Humanity had managed to stabilize the fronts for long enough to make the war invisible to the greater public. Only border systems still felt the brunt, along with those serving on the front. Everyone else might as well have been looking at an entertainment channel.

I glanced over my shoulder. The news stream was focusing on the discussion between a political block calling itself the Survival Front and the current establishment.

“What was it like on the front?” Quinn asked.

“That’s not a topic worth discussing.” I put the vegetables in the pot.

“Why?” Her expression changed. In a single moment, her relaxed features vanished, leaving determination on her face. “Because Dad said so?”

“Yes.” I turned around and looked at her. “Because he said so.”

“So? I’m old enough to know these things.”

“This isn’t you calling me grandma just to annoy him, Quinn. You saying you’re old enough to know means you’re not.”

“Grandma Cass was in the war!” Quinn snapped. The comment caught me off guard. After an incident with his son, Sev had forbidden me talking about his mother to anyone. I suspected that was part of the reason of the rift between them, although I had to also admit that Sev wasn’t an easy person to live with.

Looking at her, she reminded me of Cass—always soft, cheerful, and carefree until it came time to do something she wanted. Without it, she would never have passed the academy, or managed to retain her sanity long enough to make the promise. Her granddaughter had the same air about her.

“Yes, she was,” I said slowly. “And she almost died.” A moment of silence was restored. I turned on the stove, then sat at the table. A few moments later, Quinn joined me. I could tell she wasn’t giving up. “It’s different. I was focused on fighting, even when the odds were bad.”

“So, you agree that we must take the opportunity to attack the Cassandrians with full force now that they are weak?” The phrasing was untypical of her, as if she had picked it up somewhere.

“Things on the front aren’t what you think they are. We haven’t pushed the Cassandrians into their territory, just started to reclaim what we have lost. Increasing the draft won’t win the war anytime soon.” More than likely, it wouldn’t win it at all. No ships had successfully ventured into Cassandrian territory. Even during the first decades after the second-contact, humanity was too preoccupied defending itself to have the strength to venture in. There was talk of fleets of probes being sent, but, if true, the findings had never been made public. “Why are you interested in this?”

“I don’t know.” The tremble in her voice told me she was lying. “Just curious. Everyone’s talking about it. And I don’t see what the big deal is. If I ever decide to enlist, and I’m not saying I am, it’s my choice, no one else’s.”

“That’s true.” I smiled. “Just make sure it really is your choice. I never had one… until I had to take care of Sev.”

Quinn went silent. She was smart enough to know what it meant to be a battleship. More than likely she had researched everything she could about me, Cass, and probably the promise itself. I wouldn’t be surprised if her brother had as well. That might explain why he had been avoiding my calls lately.

“I promise.” Quinn placed her hand on my shoulder. “Really.”

Her voice sounded sincere, although I knew she wouldn’t tell me if she changed her mind. Sev was like that, as had been Cass.

“So?” She moved closer. “Did you see any Cassandrians?”

“Yes and no,” I replied. It was the best answer I could give. “I saw a lot of their ships, but Cassandrians… yes and no.”

* * *

Yes and no...

That was probably the smartest and most stupid thing I’d said. It kept Quinn from joining the fleet back then. For the next few years, she’d pass by the house for a few weeks, until she too disappeared in the city. Messages would come from her every year, occasionally a postcard telling me she was doing well, but it was never like before. I had no idea what she had done with her life, and Quinn never told me. Being Cass’ granddaughter, I didn’t doubt it was something she liked. My only hope was, if she had joined the fleet, that she never had to see what I had.

“Two shuttles have landed,” I heard Ogum whisper to the old man. For some reason, my current state hadn’t affected my hearing. “More are on the way.”

“Desperate bastards,” the other laughed. “Breaking their own safety protocols to sweep away the mess before Daddy finds out. Losses?”

“Seventeen gone, five useless. More if the bombardment continues.” Ogum paused a moment and glanced at me. The outlines of his face remained blurry. “We must pull back.”

“No way in hell they’ll risk losing their prize,” the old man said. “The bombardment will stop. They’re fighting the clock.”

“Even so…”

They’re about to retreat, I told Kridib. Whatever you’re doing, do it fast.

It was slightly alarming that he hadn’t told me anything about the new reinforcements. The sound of gunfire at his location had all but disappeared. The only thing I could hear were sporadic shots in the distance.

The corporal remained still for a few seconds, then took his rifle and sniper optics on the floor. He went to the door, taking out a communication device from his pocket.

“Starting Corkscrew,” he said, rushing down again. “Do you still need—”

A high-pitched sound drilled my ears—similar to the vibration of glass—severing my link to Kridib. I made fifteen consecutive attempts to re-establish the feed, all of which got no response and timed out fifty milliseconds later.

“Sorry for the headache, kiddo.” The old man approached, holding a pair of third-contact artifacts. “Can’t have the masters keeping an eye on us.”

You can use third-contact artifacts? I had assumed that everything in the Scuu pad had remained intact. Apparently, I was mistaken. The old man didn’t even seem phased by the piece of technology he had in his hand. Looking at something across the room, he nodded twice, then walked up to me.

“Go for Renaan,” he said, placing the rods away somewhere. “Ignore the rest.”

“You should have taken the deal,” I tried to shout after Ogum. My words came out as an amplified whisper. “You know fleet protocols. The fleet will send more murder troops.”

Ogum ignored me, disappearing from view along with two others. The old man, however, remained. I couldn’t tell whether there was a smile on his face, but his overall attitude suggested that there was.

“The fleet will send more murder troops,” he repeated, then took a wooden stool from the ground, lifting it high enough for me to see. “Nasty things, those. Fly down with orders to kill anyone they’re ordered to. All very nasty.” He put the stool down and sat next to me. “Not many like murder troops. Even the common grunts hate them. Some might even have fun killing off a few, with everyone about to go crazy any day now.”

“The final desperate acts of desperate people,” I recited.

“A fan of poetry? Not bad, kiddo. I used to read the classics back when I had a life. Thinking about it, most of them are trash.”

“You know about the artifacts.” I tried to look around. Even in these circumstances, commenting on knowledge that I wasn’t supposed to know felt uncomfortable.

“Third-contact remnants.” The man clapped, then rubbed his hands. “Darn nice things.” His tone shifted. “Everyone is killing each other to get them, even if they don’t have a damned idea what they are.”

“Who are you?”

The man laughed. “Colonist 0054584,” he replied, his accent almost disappearing. “Before that, Rigel Gel, Salvage Authorities department head.”

That was unexpected. If I had the power to blink, I would have.

“Surprised?” Rigel leaned forward.

“You don’t behave like a Salvage operative.” Granted, neither did any of my previous captains.

“Salvage aren’t all bureaucrats. Also, three decades in this place, and you pick up a thing or two.”

“I thought the life expectancy didn’t last over a decade.”

A sudden burst of images hit my core. I could see through Kridib’s eyes again; he had left the building and was now running through the colony streets. The taste of smoke and burned plastic was flooding his senses, making his eyes tear.

They’re off to kill the captain, I transmitted. Don’t know how many, Ogum is with them. Any instructions from Radiance?

No comms allowed, Kridib replied, shooting at a target in the distance. Zooming in on the zone in question, I confirmed that he had hit the target fatally. Normally, I would have complimented his perfect shot, if it hadn’t been obvious that he had had brain implants put in. The standard human brain wasn’t capable of such good hand-eye coordination.

Tell that kid to stop being an idiot and link with me!

“Seems I’m not the only one who can play with artifacts,” Rigel said, putting up a calm exterior. His voice had a few notes of uncertainty. “Why are you really here?”

“The fleet needs the captain. Let them take him, and everything will be forgiven.” More than likely, I’d also be left behind. Not the best option, but it was going to bring the mission to a successful conclusion. “There’ll be less dead that way.”

“Battleship logic.” The man stood up. “Stupid and predictable to the extreme.”

Running the numbers, I estimated it would take Kridib half an hour to reach my location… assuming he didn’t encounter serious resistance. The odds were good, given his sound silencers and brain augments. A surprise shot to the arm quickly changed my opinion. As he had said earlier, many have things implanted in the brain. From what I could tell, the wound was insignificant—Kridib rolled to shelter behind a building corner, then slid his right hand along his hip and looked at it. Blood covered his fingers, making him pause for a few seconds, struggling with the information he was grazed.

You’re fine, I told him. It’s non-vital.

He looked at his hip—as if to confirm my words—then at his hand again. I’d seen soldiers rush back into battle with far more serious wounds, but they always were injected with military grade nanites. Also, this was the first time I saw what it felt like to be wounded from the soldier’s point of view. The suit, the bio readings, nanite info, and every other information streamed up to me during battle gave me everything I needed to know about the soldier, but it didn’t tell me one thing about the person.

Restricted ROM access.

Authorization granted.

* * *

Scuu Front, System Unknown, Planet Unknown

The sound didn’t end. It hung in the air like slow dust, fluctuating just above the auditory threshold. The spacesuit’s system couldn’t do anything against it, nor the stupid earplugs command had drilled in our ears. Prototypes, they called them. All they did was make me bleed more.

“Pull back!” the sergeant yelled. “There’s five more—”

The back of the man’s armor burst open like a popcorn kernel.

“Roses!” I shouted, dropping to the ground. Pops sounded around me, but I didn’t dare look up. I knew what each of them meant.

The fleet had a proper name for them, something with lots of words and numbers. We just called them roses—bullets of nothing that sprouted from the body of people in crimson red. I didn’t know who had coined the phrase, but they must have been sick.

“Platoon seven, what’s your status?” someone asked through the comm. Fleet idiots and their stupid questions. They only knew to play with their charts and simulations, never there when we needed them.

“We got shooters and seeders,” I hissed through my teeth afraid that the sound might attract enemy fire. “LT’s dead. No clue who’s in command.”

“Got you. Wait for orders.”

I wanted to kill him so badly. Wait for orders? What orders?! We were never supposed to be here. Grunts couldn’t win against the Scuu. The kill ratio was fifty-seven to one, and even when we won, we’d get a pile of junk as a reward. No tech, no prisoners, just a pat on the back and a new assignment.

“We’ll bomb the front defenses in thirty seconds,” the idiot from the ship said. “When that starts, clear the first lines and head straight for target bunker five. Support is on the way.”

“What support?” I felt like laughing. We were the support. No one came to save our necks. Grunts were cheap. That was the entire point.

“Three Salvage cruisers are in the system, Kribid,” Ing said in a private channel. I never liked battleships much, but at least they paid attention to us, unlike the officers. I knew he didn’t really care, that it was just some safety protocol kicking in to improve mission outcome, and I was fine with that. “They’ll be there in fifty-three minutes, approximately. Try to survive till then.”

“You’re a can of optimism, Ing.” I looked up. Seven seeders were in the distance—large, bulky pieces of tech that spun around like a coin toss. I’d faced them dozens of times and still had no idea what they were. In battle, they’d either force a platoon to retreat or be destroyed in orbital bombardment. The very few instances we’d manage to damage one, it would self-destruct before we got close.

“I do my best.” If there was one thing about Ing, he didn’t lack a sense of humor. “Nineteen seconds left. Good luck.”

There’s no luck. I gripped my rifle. Two of the seeders had pulled back. The remaining began scattering in an attempt to survive the orbital bombardment. It was useless. Our battleship had run all the permutations making survival impossible. Gritting my teeth, I stood up. Might as well get a head start.

From what I could see, over twenty people in my platoon had died, lying bloody on the ground around me. The sergeant was gone, technically leaving me in charge. This was why my father warned me never to accept promotions—the grunts with the bars go down first.

“Get ready!” I shouted in the comm. “All out charge in ten!” The squad probably hated me, but it wouldn’t be my first time. “Brace for impac—”

The buzzing sound in the air peaked into a single scream. A sudden feeling of dread formed a ball in my guts. The moment I heard it, I knew I was a dead man walking, and there was nothing I could do.

It felt like a scratch—no pain, just a sudden sensation of cold that went through my hip. I looked down, then slid my fingers over the wound in disbelief. It looked so insignificant; a line on my armor, barely a full tear… and it was bleeding.

Authorization rescinded.

* * *

You’re fine, I repeated.

This was the second time I experienced a memory from Kridib. The experience was like a sudden info burst adding a new set of memories—very garbled, uncategorized memories. If I were still a ship, I’d have sent a med-bot to inject him with antibiotics and stimulants, then place him in isolation in the medbay. As it stood, I could do none of those things now. That was Radiance’s task.

Get instructions from Radiance, I continued. I’ll keep sending what info I get.

“Want some drink?” Rigel asked. Apparently, something on this planet made people obsessed with drinking. “Your taste should have returned.”

“I can’t swallow.” Are you insane or are you trying to make me think you are? ”Why am I alive? You can’t hack me. If you try, my core will auto shutdown.”

“I know.” The man went to a part of the room I couldn’t see. “Thousands of safeguards, all useless in the end. Why does the fleet need Renaan? How’s he different from everyone else? I’ve researched first and third-contact artifacts, been part of projects so secret that admirals can’t access. Why can’t I be taken off?”

“I don’t know.” There was no point in seeking logic. “The fleet wants him. Everyone else is expendable.”

Almost on cue, I saw the building hiding Kridib’s shooter explode in plume of fire. Radiance was using precision guided missiles, a bold decision considering how easy it was to have guidance systems go berserk.

I felt a sudden itch at the base of my neck. Whatever they had injected me with was restoring some sensation, though nothing below the neck.

“Yes, we all were expendable.” Rigel returned to his stool beside me. “Very very very expendable. But not anymore.” He took a small metal flask from somewhere and opened it. “Thanks to you, we have a chance.”