There was something about returning from a mission that changed the atmosphere on board. Back when I was a ship, I had observed millions of soldiers coming back from missions, but this was the first time I experienced it myself. Ever since I had gone aboard Radiance, I had run simulations to predict what it would be like. It turned out I was mostly wrong. There was none of the gloom and doom I had expected. No long faces staring in a blank spot, no dark premonition; if anything, a sense of relief and accomplishment filled the ship. People exchanged crude jokes, shared stories from their personal lives, or downed synthesised alcohol that technically wasn’t supposed to exist onboard. On a few occasions, an officer would pass and let everyone know not to push it, before taking a few swigs for himself and heading off to the bridge. In many ways, it was like on the Cassandrian front, with the major difference that the losses were insignificant in comparison.

Despite the cheer, however, I noticed that I was kept aside. No one said it openly, but they were avoiding me. Their laughter would change after I made a comment, or their voices would go down, ending the discussion they were having. Most even avoided looking at me. After a few hours, I left the SR hall, under the pretext that I had a report to prepare, and went to my cabin. A chorus of voices wished me good night, not one of them urged me to stay a bit longer.

It’s not you, Radiance said as I made my way along her corridors. They’re just a bit tense.

Because of the BICEFI? I asked sliding my fingers along the wall.

Because you came back from the dead. We all saw the images of you being blown apart. I had to analyse them to determine what sort of weapons were used down there. The odds were you wouldn’t make it more than thirty hours. Then when Kridib found you… Radiance added a virtual sigh. You looked like gangrenous, severed, semi-processed meat clinging to Rigel’s throat. I had to limit the feed.

No wonder. Radiance had refused to show me the full file of my “rescue,” but she had sent enough images for me to know I looked like a three-day-old corpse. They had seen me die and decay, then come back on the ship as if nothing had happened. I would have reacted the same way if Sev had gone through the same.

There’s also the Flight Colonel, the ship added. He doesn’t like you.

Of course he wouldn’t. I was there when Renaan tricked him into going onto the planet. If it hadn’t been for me, none of them would have made it back to Radiance. It was clear he resented the fact that I had saved his life. As far as he was concerned, I was better off destroyed.

Did he order Kridib to leave me behind? I stopped in front of the room temporarily assigned to me.

No. but he forbade Kridib from going back to retrieve you…

Radiance didn’t add that he had gone against the BICEFI’s orders, but she didn’t have to. It wasn’t a good look. I suspected Radiance, being the hothead that she was, might have even sent a report on the matter to HQ or the BICEFI central. Even so, I doubted there would be any consequences. Nitel was too high up the hierarchy to suffer any serious repercussions. Besides, he was technically in his right to refuse such an order. I wasn’t vital to the mission, and even if I were, there wasn’t an officer that wouldn’t side against the BICEFI on principle alone.

I tapped my fingers on the door, indicating I wanted to enter. The ship’s subroutines took over, sliding it aside. Dim darkness filled the room, lit faintly by the partial light of eight suns displayed on the walls and ceiling.

Like it? Radiance sent a virtual wink. Prometheus let me have it since it’s not classified anymore. He’s busy with some new classified thing, but he still said hi, along with your guy.

Thank you, Rad. I went in and lay on the floor. It still amused me how she referred to my friend from the academy as “my guy.” He had stayed on the science ship Prometheus after my mission was over, and from what I heard had gone through two extensions and had even been offered a permanent position as an ensign. Tell them I said hi, when you talk to them again. And say I still remember them.

That was only half true. The majority of my experiences with them were hidden behind a low-level restriction. Thanks to my frequent use of the mind scalpel, though, I was able to occasionally peek through.

How’s Kridib?

Fine, I think. His bios are good, though he’s been in private mode since decontamination. The captains and Flight Colonel Nitel are probably discussing stuff with him. Need to know and such.

Always need to know. I closed my eyes. I think I’ll get some sleep. Can I go into private mode?

No.

The word was sad, but finite without room for doubt. And I couldn’t blame her. Everything else aside, I was the only one who had interfaced with third-contact technology and, by my own words, seen the Scuu network. Any captain would be crazy not to keep me under constant surveillance.

Sorry.

It’s fine, Rad. I put my hands beneath my head. Talk to you again in a few hours.

No dreams came to me as I slept; no restricted recollections relating to my second captain, no memories of Kridib leaking through, just a single instant of nothingness that lasted for an hour and seventeen minutes. When it was over, I remained still on the floor, eyes closed, looking back at the time I spent in the forest near my home. It was probably winter now. I could see myself walking slowly, grass crunching under my shoes as a faint smell of tree sap and smoke surrounded me.

Hopefully, I’ll be back soon, Sev. I thought. Even among the stars, there was no replacement for plants, just as there was no replacement for space when on a planet. The best I could do was gather new experiences to enjoy and try to survive for as long as possible.

Minutes stretched into hours, hours into days, all of them following a nearly identical cycle of eating, sleeping, and boredom. I stopped going to the SR room altogether, choosing to remain in my quarters. Every four hours, Radiance would scold me in unconvincing fashion and remind me to keep doing my exercises in order to maintain my bone and muscle density within limits. I’d humor her, acknowledging her help with a thank you, then do the required minimum and get back to reviewing memories. My requests to be allowed a communication link with Prometheus or anyone I knew in the fleet were flatly denied, as well as my requests for news feed access. Radiance assured me that I wasn’t missing anything, adding some vague generalizations about civilian politics and minor military victories.

According to her, a breakthrough had been made on the Cassandrian front, allowing the fleet to extend the buffer between humanity and the second-contact race by four and a quarter times. Details remained scarce, though it seemed that several thousand systems had returned to obligatory conscription, with more expected to be on the way. Ship production was nearing full capacity, and there was even talk that the Cassandrian war might be won in another two decades. Based on everything I’d lived through as a ship, I strongly doubted it. I had heard the exact same promises before, and now—seventy years later—we were no closer to winning. Not to mention that that didn’t take into account the possibility of a third front. Each time that I could get close to a proper discussion with her, though, Radiance would stop and change the subject in a fashion suggesting she wanted me stop, which I did. A hundred and nineteen hours later, the expected notification came, displayed on every wall of the ship: we had arrived at the Gregorius and were about to fly in.

Will we go through decontamination again? I asked, straightening my uniform in an attempt to remove the wrinkles.

Nah, only I will, the ship laughed. Catch up on current day designs, grandma.

I would, if you weren’t classified.

The corridor was filling up with people. Everyone was eager to get off the ship to the station for some rest and relaxation. According to fleet protocols, people received a week’s worth of leave after each combat mission, to be given as time or money. Ships, however, were due none. Here came the question of what, exactly, I was considered. Knowing the bureaucratic apparatus, there was every chance I returned to standard duties tomorrow.

“Good job, Elcy,” the sergeant said as I passed.

The slight nod I got from him was a nice gesture, although I also noticed that the rest of the people moved to the side, letting me pass. It felt like the recruitment center all over again—once more, I was a ship between people.

“Captain on the deck!” someone shouted in front. Everyone stood to attention. From my place, I could barely see Renaan moving through the hallway as he made his way to the ship exit, followed by Nitel and two other officers I’d barely seen onboard. Kridib wasn’t there, though it was strange that there was no sign of Radiance’s captain either.

Is the administrator in the Hangar?

A few aids are, and a whole bunch of security, Radiance said with some hesitation. A few others have been quarantined out.

No one for me?

You’re not that special, the ship laughed.

A fleet security officer made his way through the hallway, following Renaan. The moment he passed, the nanites of the walls shifted, sealing the corridor. Special security measures were already in place.

“At ease!” the sergeant shouted. With the officers gone, the common soldiers could line up, waiting for their turn to get off board.

I took the opportunity to walk on.

Gregorius, are there any new instructions? I asked. At this distance, I assumed he had a direct line into Radiance’s internal sensors. The only reply I received was static—he had acknowledged me and shown me he didn’t want to reply. I still couldn’t tell whether he was being arrogant, or just didn‘t like to be by ships out of his control. It was also possible he was isolating himself until medical cleared me.

As I stood, Kridib appeared. He had changed his combat gear for the standard purple cadet uniform. This was the first time I had seen him since coming aboard. His eyes were bloodshot, making him seem more exhausted than during the operation on the planet. Knowing him, I wouldn’t be surprised if he had been dosing himself with heavy duty stimulants. Knowing Nitel, I wouldn’t be surprised if he cut him off once the fighting was over.

“Hey.” I smiled.

The man glanced at me, then gave a silent nod as he stopped beside me. For some reason, the smell of lemon peels was coming from him.

“Haven’t seen you in a while,” I said, keeping my voice down.

“Resting,” he replied.

“Do you think anything interesting happened while we were gone?” I changed the subject. “Juul was stressed when we left.”

Kridib shrugged, his expression screaming “I don’t care” at me.

“Was he on any of the lists?”

The question got no reaction. Kridib continued looking forward for several seconds. I was about to press the matter when Radiance covered the walls with messages.

Landing complete. Wait for disembark permission.

I could tell Gregorius had taken over control. Radiance wouldn’t have used “disembark” in an announcement. Grumbling filled the corridors. There was nothing worse than telling a trooper who’s been waiting for days that he had to be patient a few moments more. That was one aspect I could never understand about humans. Wilco once explained that every person had a mental breaking point, and going even a moment beyond it was unbearable. I never looked into it, but after witnessing the phenomenon millions of times, decided to accept it as fact.

“Don’t tell them what you saw,” Kridib whispered.

“Hmm?” I looked at him. This was the first request he’d made.

“Don’t tell them,” he repeated.

“I don’t know what I saw.” And while I’m on the station-ship, I don’t intend to look.

“You will…”

There was anything but joy on his face. Augustus had said something similar once before. There had been no joy on his face either.

* * *

Sicorda II, Cassandrian Front, 614.12 A.E. (Age of Expansion)

Reports kept coming in, and with them, the death toll kept rising. An estimated seventy percent of the fleet sent to keep the star system had been obliterated. Command had ordered every non-engaged ship in the sector to fly there for support, but even if they managed to arrive in time, there was a 99.98% certainty that the system would fall. The Cassandrians had steadily been increasing for the last fifty-one hours, slowly wearing us down. The new advanced prototype systems we were equipped with had turned out to be not as efficient as we had hoped. Each time we would clear the system from enemy presence, they would appear again and overwhelm us. So far, I had witnessed seven waves pass. According to my simulations, an eighth would be expected in thirty-seven minutes.

“A hundred and twelve ships have entered the system,” I announced in the bridge. “Half of them large cruisers, the rest battleships. According to their logs, all have been through minor skirmishes before getting here.”

“Scraping the barrel,” Commander Seekla snorted. She had been assigned to us for the mission as strategy expert. I could tell that the captain didn’t like her, but at the same time respected her advice.

In the time she had been aboard, the two had gotten into several serious arguments concerning tactics. For the most part, Augustus had used his captain’s privilege to resolve the matter, but when it came to direct Cassandrian combat, he had let her make the decisions. I had attempted to look up her file to learn why, but the only point of interest I could find was that she had been on the front for twenty-two years. She had never been promoted to a command position, nor had she requested a command of her own. For all I could tell, she was just a fleet lieutenant that had risen up the ranks with age.

“Better than nothing,” Wilco said, to which Augustus snorted in disapproval.

“Idiots,” the captain said beneath his breath. “They’ve weakened the entire sector to plug a single hole. Only a divorced bureaucrat can come up with this.”

“Ships’ classes?” Seekla asked.

“Cascadia,” I replied, going through the ships’ records. The cruisers were officially supposed to be out of circulation. According to my archived fleet reports, the Cascadia class had been phased out twenty years ago. The only remaining ships were reassigned to logistic duties in the inner human systems. “Javelin and Opal.” Remarkably, there were no other classes in the group. The last wave of reinforcements was composed almost entirely of ships with unique classes. “The cruisers only have a command crew. No ground troops.”

“Suicide ships?” a junior officer asked.

“Warehouse warmers,” Wilco corrected. “Command’s throwing everything they have.”

Getting an update on the new ships’ weapon systems, I ran a hundred new simulations. Even in a best-case scenario, the current fleet was going to be annihilated by the tenth wave. In seven hours, the system would be completely lost, pushing the frontline further into human territory. Augustus was correct in saying that the entire sector would be lost. The best strategic choice would be to cut our losses and pull back to the next line of defense. That should have been the decision after the analysis of the second wave was complete.

“Orders, captain?” I asked. I had ninety-eight thousand five hundred and two people on board, nearly all exhausted but in fit condition. After the latest series of battles, there were enough shuttles and escape pods for twenty-one percent. For a millisecond, I envied the new ships: at least they didn’t have to go into a losing battle knowing tens of thousands of their crew would die.

“It’s you call, Nella,” Augustus turned to Commander Seekla. “Do we abort now or try again?”

Abort? I wondered. If Augustus bothered keeping his private comm attached at all times as regulations required, I would ask him directly. The old goat was stubborn about it, shrugging off my reminders and ignoring my complaints.

Quarantine imposed.

Quarantine bypassed.

“We go on,” the woman said.

“Can’t get worse.” Wilco stood up. “Want me to take point on this, cap?”

“No. You’re staying here.” Augustus looked at the wall. Guessing his intention, I put out the simulated image of system. One red dwarf, two meager planets and an asteroid ring. The system was useless both for us and the Cassandrians. The only advantageous thing was its location—one of the few star systems that represented a jump choke point on the front. “It’s Nella’s mission. We’re just here for the ride.”

“Got it.” Wilco gave one of his sloppy salutes.

Commander Seekla didn’t seem impressed.

“Give out the order.” She started to the bridge door. “I’m taking charge of this personally.”

“About time,” Augustus barked, not in the least bit bothered by his actions. “Wilco, tell the rest of the Velvet Glove, we’re having another go. I’ll deal with command. Elcy, don’t overanalyze again. Stick to the objective, leave me to worry about the rest.”

“I’m not familiar with the objective, sir.” I had a thousand of my subroutines review all my memories for the last three years. Nothing named “Velvet Glove” appeared: neither mission, nor ship, nor location.

“You will.” For a few hundred milliseconds, I saw the left corner of the captain’s mouth curve up into a slight smile. “Remove memory restriction one week.”

A distant flash swept through my mind, as if someone had jacked in an auxiliary core to my systems without warning. Hours of new memories were there, as if they always had been, along with the realization that they hadn’t been a moment ago. My subroutines froze for a microsecond, starting three simultaneous diagnostics to confirm that I wasn’t going rogue.

Not this again. I couldn’t tell how many times I had been through this, but I had become painfully used to the sensation.

The official phrase was “Temporary Restriction Removal”—the process of returning access of certain restricted memories for a short period of time. It was primarily used in cases when restricted information was needed for the completion of restricted missions. Unofficially, it was referred to as “the hiccup,” since it was nearly always followed by a brief system freeze. Should I survive to have my memories re-restricted, the knowledge of these terms would vanish with them.

“Diagnostics complete, captain,” I announced. Now I finally knew the reason the commander was calling the shots. The redacted parts of her file visible, I could see that she was also a BICEFI operative sent to extract an anomalous object from the system. Also, I could see that we weren’t the ones defending the system… we were attacking.

Scans revealed the outer planet of Sicorda II to be a Cassandrian hive. The fleet’s mission was to extract an item from the planet and deliver it to a BICEFI ship within human space. So far, seven attempts had been made, and despite obliterating thousands of Cassandrian ships and scorching eighty-nine percent of the planet in question, the mission remained unaccomplished. I went through the millions of video logs of the event. Thousands of our own ships had been destroyed, creating a perimeter so that the ground troops could be dropped; millions of soldiers had through enemy infested territory, reaching the enemy ship production zones.

Feelings of intense pain returned, as I had to remember all of my ground troops that had perished. Knowing they weren’t part of my crew didn’t help. I had known some of them for years, sometimes even more. Two platoons were composed of veterans that had served on me during my first years of combat.

“Don’t get involved this time,” Augustus said, taking out a cigar from his front pocket. “Drop them off, pick up what’s left, and move on.”

“I’ll try to remember that.” I added as much sarcasm as I could.

The operation was called Mission Seedling. We were told that, if successful, we could unlock the principle by which the Cassandrians created their ships and reverse-engineer it. The advantages were obvious—gaining the ability to produce ships at a rate ten times faster than now. As everything else in the view of the fleet’s bureaucratic apparatus, a price tag was also added in the form of acceptable losses.

“Let’s go,” said the commander. Three simple words spoken by a BICEFI operative that held full authority, as well as the power of life and death for millions. Moments later, all existing ships headed towards the outer planet. The eighth wave had begun…

* * *

Eight waves, I thought. Eight attempts to fight our way through the Cassandrian defenses and claim our prize.

Even now, I had no idea if I had succeeded. All I could access were the onslaught around the planet as well as the deaths on its surface. The sector fell to the Cassandrians a few weeks later. There was talk of bracing for a following enemy incursion, but such never materialized. From all I remembered, both sides lost interest in the sector, until it was gradually reclaimed by the fleet two years and a month later.

Had I done similar things in System Four? Judging by the images I’d seen, it was likely. So far, I only had a few glimpses of my entire time down there, along with rumors and a few slip-ups from the troopers aboard. The pieces weren’t enough to give me any picture of what had happened, though there was enough to start looking. Once things calmed down, I’d probably do just that. For the moment, though, I had to let things play out.

“I won’t,” I told Kridib. I had no idea what he wanted me to keep secret, but if I ever got another hiccup, I would.

Permission to leave granted.

The message on the walls changed. Three thousand and six hundred milliseconds later, the nanite wall shifted, opening the path to the hangar.

You’re showing off, I told Radiance.

Only to antiques without nanites, the ship replied in her usual fashion.

Kridib was the first to head out. I paused a moment to see if any of the troopers would follow. When they didn’t, I went forward. I was most likely never going to see them again. I would probably have my memories restricted as well.

A few dozen mechanics and support staff filled the hangar. Whatever crowd Rad had seen had vanished along with the captain. I glanced at the floor to see if there were any lines instructing me where to go. Thankfully, there weren’t.

Fancy that. I tilted my head. By the looks of it, I was being treated as a human after all.

Taking out my datapad, I sent a query to check my status. My mission debriefing had been postponed to tomorrow due to the new captain assuming command. I expected all the ship’s officers and administrators were going through their miniature version of bureaucracy hell, setting up everything for a quick transition. Until then, I was given full leave. My communication privileges, though, were still restricted.

Guess it’s back to letters, Sev. I scrolled through the backlog of announcements. Most of them were the standard routine things I would expect on a ship this size: additional ground troops arriving, a few fights, a few maintenance issues, and a lot of rotation shifts. A few things stood out, buried in the wall of text. There was no mention of the BICEFI visit. Instead, there were five instances of a hangar being set off limits to the general crew. One of those times coincided with Radiance’s arrival, a few minutes ago. The remaining four had all taken place in the last week and were shortly followed by fleet officers assuming high-ranking positions among the ship officers.

Seems like Renaan wasn’t the only person we were sent out to get.