Thirteen light bots filled the hall, illuminating every part of it with white light. The area seemed smaller and far emptier than before. All the artifacts that comprised the dome were gone, along with most of the rocks that made up the outer scaffolding. The animal corpses remained. As I squatted down next to one of the dead sheep, a strong smell of decay hit my senses.

It’s sad that you can’t bite anymore. I petted the animal’s fur. It didn’t deserve the pain it was subjected to. I could hope that now that the BICEFI had stepped in, there wouldn’t be a repeat of such events, although the chances were slim. Looking back through the historical records I had access to, a similar incident was likely to happen in the next two decades. No matter what new safeguards Fleet HQ developed, there would always be a weak spot and someone to exploit it.

“It’s all on the ship,” Kridib said behind me. “Even the rocks.”

“Scientists have to play with something.” I continued petting the dead sheep.

What would it have been like had the creature been domesticated and not sent down to act as living food? Once back on the Gregorius, I could send a request to have a few specimens dropped off at Sev’s. I could even ask for one for myself until the mission was over. Provided it didn’t affect the biologic composition of the ship’s gardens, there wouldn’t be an issue.

“No one found the time to bury them?” I asked.

“No orders.” I could almost hear his shrug. “That why you dragged me here?”

Of course, you wouldn’t do it. You don’t do anything without orders. The only reason he had come back for me was because the BICEFI had ordered him to. For all I knew, he might well have been the one who shot me in the chest on Nitel’s orders. Bringing that up would serve no purpose, though once my mission debriefing was over, I was going to look into it.

“No.” I stood up. “There’s something else.”

I went past him into the corridor. The light bots followed. The cave complex looked much smaller now that I had legs. When I was here last, every step seemed like infinity. Now, it couldn’t even measure to the mine I used to work in while with Sev. Whoever had built it had done a hasty job, relying on the natural formations to adapt it for use.

In the light, I could see several passages I hadn’t noticed last time. I ignored all of them, heading to the ladder accessing the lower levels.

Do you have a full map of the place? I asked Radiance.

Yes and no, she replied. I have it but it’s been quarantined. Want me to try and get you view authorization?

No. She had pestered Nitel enough for one day.

“The team’s been through this,” Kridib said as we climbed down. The mind link experience had made him considerably more talkative, increasing his speech quota from one to ten words per minute. “There’re no more artifacts.”

“I’m not looking for artifacts.” I continued down.

A semi-stifled grunt let me know that my explanation wasn’t appreciated. If it were up to him, he’d have taken me back to Radiance and gone on with avoiding me as before. Since I had obtained official permission for my visit, he was obliged to come along and keep an eye on me.

“You knew the old captain of the Gregorius.” I had seen it in his memory. “Did he bring you on the ship?”

“Yes.”

I waited for a few thousand milliseconds for an elaboration of any sort, but none came. Even after everything, Kridib remained closed as before. Some things were beyond change.

“Was Renaan with you?”

“Don’t stir up the past, Elcy. It’s not worth it. Get used to the present.”

This was the first time he had spoken to me in such fashion. No hatred, no passive-aggressive stance or obvious evasions, just a simple request.

“Okay.” I am the past, kid. You see me as a child, but I’m probably older than the colony you were born in. He was right about one thing, though, this was a new world for me in more ways than one.

It didn’t take us long to reach the room Rigel had taken me. The light bots removed the need of relying on antiquated equipment while making it brighter than ever before. Some would say that the room seemed nice, almost beautiful, looking at the rows of cores arranged in crude fashion. Even if Rigel had killed them, he had valued them enough to put them to rest. Or maybe he believed he could take them with him into the Scuu network, perhaps as an offering to his “gods.”

You’ve been here all this time. I went to the wall and reached out to one of the cores. Millimeters before touching the surface my hand stopped. Even with all the logic humanity had to offer I still didn’t want to disturb them. Looking at them, covered in dust, made them feel at peace.

“Why didn’t anyone take these?” I asked.

“Not artifacts.” Kridib said as if it were the simplest explanation in the world. “What are they?”

“Ship cores.” I pulled my hand back. The BICEFI didn’t know about them, or they would have included them in their retrieval order, and the ground team didn’t know any better. Murder troops didn’t tend to know a lot about ships, although Kridib should have been told the basics when he was made a cadet.

Rad, tell HQ, I transmitted. Ask for retrieval.

Right, gotcha… the battleship replied. I had shared with her a memory of the graveyard before coming here, but seeing it lit up now through my video feed made her feel uneasy. In this aspect, she was different from me. I hadn’t seen many cores during my time on the Cassandrian front, but rarely did I think of them as anything special. For the most part, I was concerned with the thousands of people inside of me.

It’s fine. I smiled as I transmitted. Some of them might still be functional.

Sure, Radiance replied. The odds were less than three millionths of a percent, but she didn’t argue. As Augustus liked to say, that was a sign of her maturing. How old do you think they were?

I don’t know. Some could be a few decades, others centuries older than myself. Ultimately, it doesn’t matter. All we can hope for is to lose as few lives as possible and get a nice funeral.

Ships don’t get funerals.

We do. I stepped away from the wall. In our own way…

* * *

Going to see Cass always had a bittersweet element. Of all the ships and people I knew, she was the oldest person I could call a friend. Everyone else had died or moved on, losing touch with me for various reasons. To a degree, I was to blame as well, choosing to put a large part of my life behind so I could focus on bringing up Sev and learning how to be human. Cass was the only exception—the last captain I had and my only link to my life as a ship. Today, I was going to see her for the last time.

“Identification,” the guard said as I approached. He was new, in his twenties, by the looks of it received this assignment as punishment for something. I had seen many like him throughout the years.

“Battleship Light Seeker,” I said calmly.

The boy was taken aback. Boredom was whipped off his face as he frantically typed into his desk console for assistance.

“First time seeing a battleship?” I asked, knowing perfectly well it was. “I’m on the funeral list. I have authorization.”

“I’ll have to have your identity confirmed, ma’am,” he replied, droplets of sweat appearing on his forehead. “Could you please wait a moment until I…”

“Of course.”

The lack of tapping suggested he was likely waiting for a response from a supervisor. I could easily have used my link to bypass him and identify myself directly to the facility’s AI. It would have been all over in a matter of seconds, but in this case, I didn’t mind the delay. For the first time in a long while I felt a sadness I had never experienced: the death of a captain.

During my time on the front I had expected that to be Augustus, or possibly Gibraltar. I had undergone virtual training preparing me to deal with such an eventuality, yet it had never occurred. Augustus had retired, Gibraltar had survived to request a transfer, Cass had turned out to be the one to go. Seeing the funeral would confirm that, and part of me didn’t feel ready.

A tall muscular woman emerged from the staff corridor behind the reception area. I had seen her before during my previous visits. Normally, she was in the care wing of the facility. Seven years ago, she had also been a new transfer, though time had allowed her to rise up the ranks.

“Hello, Elcy,” the woman greeted me with an understanding smile. She knew the reason I was here.

“Hello, Andera,” I replied, looking up. Her face had gained a few wrinkles, almost invisible on her ebony skin. Like all humans, she, too, was getting older. In half a century, I’d expect she was going to depart this world as well.

“Sorry about this. He’s new.”

The guard remained still and silent, his posture displaying his unease.

“Understandable.” I nodded his direction. “Have they started?”

“Not yet.” The woman tapped something into the console, then moved out from behind the desk. “Come, I’ll take you to see her.” She led the way.

The funeral section was very different from the rest of the facility—it was colder, quieter, and far, far smaller. Even with thousands of soldiers being sent to it every day, it was rare that anyone would hold a funeral here. Common crew were shipped to their planet of registry and officers usually had family to take them in. Cass was one of the exceptions. Her parents were long dead, and in one of her sane spells, she had made arrangements not to have anyone else of her direct family claim her; none but Sev, who had shown no interest in the matter. That left the one remaining option: a service in the facility, and me as a special attendee.

“How did she die?” I asked as we went entered the funeral garden.

“Peacefully,” Andera said. catching the look on my face she instantly straightened up. “Nothing indicated there was pain. It was sudden. Not self-inflicted.”

“Okay.” That was good, though not good enough. A ship wasn’t supposed to outlive her captain, but now that I had, I would make sure she was remembered.

There was a single grave in the garden, surrounded by a wall of shrubbery. As I walked past it, Andera stopped. She wasn’t allowed to go beyond that point. Only authorized personnel and family members of the deceased were. I expected to see some of her family, but I was the only one there. Unlike her life, Cass’ death was a solemn, lonely experience. I knew she couldn’t see it, but still hoped there would be at least some people present. Even if she hadn’t fought on the front lines, she was a hero that had prevented a potential Cassandrian breach. She had a child, a family, a career. Apparently, all those had vanished the moment she was placed in mental care.

“Good morning, battleship,” the military celebrant said. “I’m glad you managed to come. She would have been grateful.”

“A ship doesn’t desert her captain,” I said, moving to the casket.

When I received the letter two days ago, I didn’t even consider not going. Sev was against it, of course, though even he didn’t protest too much. The only condition was that he wouldn’t have to hear about it once I got back.

“We used your memories of her from before the incident,” the celebrant said, moving beside me. It was obvious he had experience dealing with battleships. There was no false reminiscing, no offerings of emotional support as would be needed for humans, just a few basic facts that answered all the questions I had.

The copy of Cass lay in the casket. Her real body had been cremated days before I had been sent the letter. What replaced her was a humanoid frame covered in nanites that took the desired appearance. She seemed nearly identical to the time I had served under her. Her hair and cheekbones were slightly altered to give her a more serene appearance—a nice touch showing that someone besides me cared.

“Did you send letters to her family?” I reached out to touch her cheek. A millimeter from the nanites, I stopped. It felt strange seeing her like this.

“All but her son.” If any of them wanted to be here, they would have been. “Her remains are ready. We can put them in the vault after the service if you want.”

“I’ll take them with me.” There was always the chance of a second funeral, should Sev change his mind. If not, it was something I liked to have. Burial containers were very much like cores. Maybe when I had my shutdown, I could ask someone down the line in Sev’s family to bury Cass with my core.

“Of course.” The man nodded with a momentary smile. “You can stay a bit longer with her if you want. You have the entire day.”

“No need.” This moment is all I need. Battleships don’t forget unless made to. “You can start the ceremony.”

A funeral suited for a battleship. The military celebrant had taken considerable care to make the service appealing to me by decreasing the amount of ceremonies and emotions, as well as skipping the speech altogether. That annoyed me slightly, but not enough to mention it. The funeral was supposed to be for Cass, not me.

The casket closed, then moved to the opening of the grave and slowly began its descent. As it did, I went through all the memories I had of her. They images were perfect, and still looked so different now after the fact. I watched the day she was assigned to be my captain. I didn’t like her back then, considering her and my assignment a waste of skills. Back then, I found her cheerful carefree attitude to be a nuisance. Now, I wished I was more like her. Of all my captains, she was the one who taught me the least about war, but the most about life. I could almost consider her my mother, for lack of a better term. Maybe this was why it was so hard, knowing I would never have new memories of her.

Sev is turning out a fine boy, Cass, I thought. He’s no intention of joining the fleet, so he has more sense than either of us. I kept my promise and I’ll still keep it, until one of us is gone.

Not the best speech one could make, but it was enough. If Cass were here, there was an eighty-three percent chance that she would be pleased. I watched as the grave became filled with artificial dirt and grass. Soon the garden would be complete again, with nothing but Cass’ tombstone on top; at least until the next service.

“Can I have her paintings?” I turned to the military celebrant.

“Sure, though they’re in a bad condition. Cass…” He paused, glancing at the forming tombstone. “She tended to tear them up before she was done. Most of them were thrown out.”

“It’s fine. I won’t show them to anyone.”

“Of course.” He placed his hand on my shoulder briefly. “I’ll get them for you. Anything else I might assist with?”

“No.” I couldn’t think of anything. “It’s enough that I had a last moment with her.”

The man nodded, then headed towards the building. Barely had he made a few steps than a thought came to mind.

“Sir,” I said, making him stop and look in my direction. “Do you hold services for ships?”

“Ships?” Confusion filled his voice. “I can’t say that we do. Usually the fleet takes care of that. I could look into that, if you’d like.”

“Please do.” Even ships deserve a final moment.

* * *

Even ships deserve a final moment, I thought. A pity we were not allowed one. The military celebrant had gotten back to me a few weeks later. In a seventeen-minute call, he had explained that ship cores remained fleet property, and as such ship funerals or burials were not allowed. At most, the cores would be left unclaimed for a while after death, provided they remained untouched, though that defeated the purpose. Even after retiring, our final destination remained some vault in a top-secret facility. That was to be our tomb. If that was the case, I could at least do the same for these cores what I had done for my last captain: be there for them even if only for a few moments.

“What do we do with them?” Kridib asked, still uninterested.

“The only thing we could.” Pushing through my mental block I took one of the cores. “Take them back to Radiance. They don’t belong here.”

“Radiance, is there clarity on that?” the man asked.

“Orders pending,” the ship said through our coms. “Flight Colonel Nitel has okayed storing them onboard until the fleet decides what to do.”

“Understood,” he said with a snarl. This was one more order he didn’t approve of. “Send a pod with equipment.” Kridib looked at the wall, then at me. “Add containers.”

Thanks, kid. I transmitted. Strictly speaking, neither of us were authorized for carrying cores. Considering the multi-level mess up this had turned out to be, the bureaucratic apparatus would likely ignore this infraction.

The equipment arrived, an hour later, crashing in a single use pod five hundred and seventy-eight meters from our current location. The devices were crude and deprived of anything resembling a sophisticated AI. Given the complexity of the light bots, I had hoped for something better suited. Back on my previous missions, exos were considered standard tech, though considering the Scuu’s threat, I could understand the reluctance of remote devices on this front. At the end, Kridib and I still had a mechanical rover, a pair of cranes, rolls of carbon steel cables, and more than enough containers to hold the ninety-one cores in the graveyard. The calm, almost scientific atmosphere made me think of my Prometheus missions.

Maybe the rest of my assignment will be like this, Sev? I thought. With our new captain back, we would move away from the front and continue with the Gregorius’ original mission. I might not set foot outside the station ship until everything was over. One thing, though, kept bothering me: Rigel was not the reason I was sent to the Gregorius. The administrator couldn’t have known about him, which meant my initial task had to be something else.

“Kridib?” I asked as I put another core on the rover. “Do you know how the previous captain died?”

“I told you—”

“I’m talking about the present.” I brushed the dirt on my hands in the sides of my uniform. “He died shortly before I was assigned to the Gregorius. Was there any official word?”

There was a long pause. The man looked at me, as if I were asking some deep secret. Finally, he looked away.

“No,” the reply came at last. “Not initially. There was an announcement that he was unable to perform his duties. Two days later we were told he had passed away and a new candidate had been considered. No further explanations.” He counted the cores again, pointing at each as he did. “Then the mission was scrapped. The Gregorius was changed from a military to a civilian vessel. What was left of the crew was reassigned to other ships. A civilian administrator was brought in to oversee the mission and given full authority over everything non-combat related. A few months later, you showed up.”

Unnerving, to say the least. I could understand why he despised me. In his eyes, I was the pet toy of a usurper who had arrived during the wake of the old captain and given command. It hardly mattered that I was a mere cadet and as such had as much power as a balloon in a hedgehog farm.

Finishing his count, Kridib entered the hideout to get the last few cores. I followed.

“Why didn’t you ask to leave?” I asked beside him.

“Not my place. I go where I’m sent.”

That’s why they promoted you to cadet. To keep you around.

Only Renaan and Nitel could command the Gregorius… the memory flashed in my mind. There were rumors of ships being linked to a single captain. Supposedly, there were missions so confidential that losing the captain would require destroying the ship. All further information had been removed from official records. This was the first time I’d heard multiple people linked to a ship.

The final cores were larger in size than the ones I was used to. Based on fleet records, they corresponded to the older generation Sword ships that had been used since First Contact, well before the ship retirement program. All the rest were standard size—just enough to fit inside a human skull.

So you lied to me, Rigel. Not all ships were retirees. Though, in that case, how had the first come here? They couldn’t have been sent to the colony themselves, which meant they had to be brought here. Maybe one day I would look into it.

“Is that all of them?” Kridib asked, dragging the large core to the lifting mechanism.

“Seems like it.” I went through my recent memories. “Radiance, can you confirm?”

“I’m not getting any core alloy scans in your area,” she said, using deep scans for once. “You’re good to go. Still no word on orders. I resent the question a hundred and seven times until they blocked the query.”

“We’re heading to the shuttle with the last ones.” Kridib twisted the support cables around the core.

“See you in two hours,” the ship said cheerfully in our comms.

Her attitude continued to impress me. When Prometheus had been quarantined, he had taken it quite hard. With the exception of Aurie, everyone I knew disliked the practice. Radiance didn’t seem to care one bit. To her, it was a sneeze that caused momentary discomfort, if even that. There was no telling what she had seen during her time on the Scuu front, all locked away behind layers of restriction.

See you in two hours, Rad, I transmitted.

Nothing was said the entire time we went to Radiance. After securing the cores in the containers and hauling them aboard the shuttle, Kridib had done what he usually did: strap himself in a far corner of the cargo compartment and go to sleep. I took my seat in the pilot’s cabin, even if the course had been plotted in advance and loaded in the shuttle AI. Radiance had also been ordered not to further chat with me until my arrival aboard. There was no way to tell whether this was due to Nitel’s pettiness or if there was a valid reason behind it.

During the flight, I kept thinking about the new artifacts I’d seen. Most of my previous memories dealing with third-contact events remained restricted once more, but I remembered that the pyramids and two of the rods were uncategorized. Only three. The amount seemed so small, though when it came to alien devices, it was incredibly significant. How had the fleet not found them earlier? How many other prison planets remained unchecked? As Augustus would sometimes say, it’s a huge war and everything gets lost in it somewhere, sometimes twice. Back then, I thought he was being hyperbolic, but it was possible he was being literal. As someone who had fought on both fronts, he could come to conclusions that others couldn’t. I was starting to see new connections as well.

Guess you have something to be proud of, Augustus. I thought. Despite everything, I ended up following in your footsteps.

“You’re drifting,” Kridib said through the shuttle’s comm.

“Good thing you’re always keeping an eye on me.” I checked the cargo area feed. He was still lying curled up as before. “Had a nice nap?”

“No.” He stirred. “What’s our ETA?”

“Three minutes, give or take.” I checked the AI prediction. “It depends on when Radiance gives us the green light.”

“Radiance, are we cleared?” Kridib asked with a grumble.

“Everything’s ready,” the ship responded in a neutral voice. Curious that she didn’t react to me. “I’ll direct you to the emergency hangar. Leave the cores in the shuttle and go directly to decontamination.”

What happened? I transmitted directly. Being a ship myself, I could tell when someone was working under overriding orders. Did the BICEFI arrive?

I’m not allowed to talk to you until we get back. The response was short and crystal clear. Sorry, Elcy. I can’t do anything for you.

The poor kid. She probably thought it was her fault. At her age, I would have believed the same. Time and experience would teach her not to let matters beyond her control get to her. As ships, we had no choice but to do as we were ordered. The science ship I had spent months on during my last mission had been consistently reporting all my actions to the BICEFI, part of which even he wasn’t aware of.

“You better get ready,” I told Kridib. “We don’t want to annoy the Flight Colonel even more,” I added, knowing that he was listening. Kridib didn’t seem to mind, for he remained still for another full minute before shifting to a more appropriate position.

An empty hangar welcomed us upon landing in Radiance. The moment I stepped out, a line emerged on the floor, directing me to my decontamination chamber. When Kridib followed, moments later, a separate line emerged leading elsewhere. Normally, I’d brush it off as standard fleet regulations, but seeing that our chambers were located in in opposite parts of the hangar, I knew something was up.

Radiance’s decontamination chamber was larger than I expected, cubic in shape and entirely made of nanites. A single door was visible on the grey surface indicating it was designed just for me. It would have been appreciated if Radiance had made it half as high. The moment I stepped inside all surfaces turned white.

You will be subjected to level three memory restriction protocols.

Red messages appeared on the walls and ceiling.

All memories regarding the operation will be temporarily restricted. You are granted five minutes to compose and forward any requests, complaints, or reports concerning the events since your departure from Radiance.

Counters appeared under the messages, making certain that I was aware of the remaining time. I knew this would be coming, although I would have thought that the procedure would take place after my talk with the BICEFI agent. Or maybe that was the reason? Back when I was a ship, no one liked the BICEFI. The Scuu front should be no different.

“I want to log a personal message for Kridib.” I moved to the center of the room. “Thank you for helping me with the cores. You can say I owe you one. Play this back when you need the favor returned.” I waited for five thousand milliseconds. “Message over.”

Message logged and will be delivered at first available opportunity.

Rad, your subroutines could learn a bit less sarcasm.

Taking my shoes off, I sat on the floor and waited. A chair would have been nice, unless there was already one but I had been quarantined not to see it.

“You can start,” I added. “There’s nothing else I wish to record.”

The timer kept on counting down. Typical. Somewhere, at some point in the past, an unknown committee had decided that it would be a violation of human rights to deprive me of any delay pending sentencing. Since I had legal status for some matters, the subroutines extended the same “favor” to me, ensuring that I enjoyed every last millisecond of the countdown.

“Alright, I’ll wait.” I lay down. The floor felt pleasantly cool.

“Pause,” a male voice said.

The countdown stopped. Moments later Renaan appeared in the room, sitting comfortably in a chair. Although his facial features were the same, he was nothing like the man I met in the colony. The captain’s uniform made him appear taller.

“At ease, Cadet,” he said with a stern expression. “Everything’s unofficial here.”

Instinct made me sit up.

“Your voice is changed.” I compared the current and previous voice patterns.

“It was faster than removing it from all restricted lists,” he said. “Backup systems. Don’t you just love the bureaucratic apparatus?”

“You assumed the post?” I hesitated for a moment. “Sir?”

“Enough to get some privileges.” He pointed at the timer on the ceiling. “The official ceremony will be a few days from now, when everyone’s back on the Gregorius and I have a suicide chip drilled into my brain. No infected can leave a prison planet. You’ve seen first-hand why.”

That answered one question. Kridib must have been considered for dumping on a planet as well, but was given a brain implant instead. If I looked into it, there probably would be millions with implants all throughout the Scuu fleet, all sentenced to never return unless in a box.

“We were all part of Ruz’s ship.” Renaan leaned forward. “Some as officers, some as grunts. All of us were deemed to have had first-hand contact with the Scuu.” He winced. “Infected by definition. Our life expectancy wasn’t high. The stats were that one in a hundred would survive. We knew that they pulled that number out of their ass, but no one could disobey the fleet. After our last mission, all the survivors got promotions and were scattered to other ships. Shortly after, I was sent here, courtesy of my new superior,” he added with a mocking laugh. “I’ve no idea what happened after that, but I’m not surprised that the captain got the new ship. I guess he brought back a few of his old outfit with him.”

I nodded. Planetary time made it impossible for me to form an exact timeline, but at least it was a start. A pity he was telling me all this before the memory restriction. If I were lucky, maybe my memory of events in this room would remain intact.

“Kridib can’t tell you anything.” The captain stood up. “The shit in his brain won’t let him. You’ll have to ask our beloved Flight Colonel Nitel for answers. Good luck with that.”

The man casually walked past me towards the exit. As he did the chair he had been sitting on broke up into nanites, melting into the floor.

“I doubt we’ll see each other again. Thanks for getting my ass off the planet, battleship.”

“Thank you for the talk, Captain.” I stood up and gave him a salute.

Renaan didn’t look back. As he closed the door, the entire entrance merged with the rest of the wall, forming a closed cube.

Countdown sequence resumed.

A new message appeared, informing me of the obvious. Three minutes and seventeen seconds later, I knew there was a new blank spot in my memories.