Unknown, Planet 5

“What do you see?” the distorted voice of the BICEFI agent asked.

“I take it my normal channel to the ship has been cut off?” I straightened up. I had learned to be cautious around the BICEFI, but I also knew that the chances of them doing anything to me were slim to none. Since I no longer had millions of tons of mass, however, things were very different and not in my favor. “I assume video is also out of the question?”

“You’re on an encrypted priority line,” the voice explained. “You have nothing to worry about.” Hearing that phrase made me doubtful. “Describe your surroundings.”

“I’m in a bubble of air.” I looked around. “The liquid has retreated, leaving me enough space to move. It’s almost as if I’m in a chamber.” I took a step forward. As I did, the substance became opaque like the dome’s exterior. “Everything has solidified.” Cautiously, I slid my hand along the surface. Symbols started to emerge. “Symbols are appearing. The same as the ones outside.”

“Are you recording?”

“Yes.”

I turned around, trying to catch as much of the effects as possible. The symbols were all duplicates and of the common variety. The pattern didn’t match anything on the outside, though that wasn’t relevant. Juxtaposing the memories I had of my entry and what I was looking at now, there was no possibility of doubt. “They are the same,” I said. “The shapes on the surface and the artifacts within the dome are identical. Both in shape and position.”

“Are you a hundred percent certain?”

“Completely.” I could feel the spark of adventure, something I hadn’t felt since my last major battle. “The dome isn’t an artifact: it’s a container of artifacts. I’d say that the actual artifacts are of different density, possibly also having some additional properties that allow them to remain in solid matter. Maybe they vibrate at a certain frequency and transmit a copy of themselves on the surface.”

A solid container that let objects sink in and remain there. In a way, it was remarkably similar to the latest generation of ship nanites. From what I had read at the academy, the new class of ships had vast sections of their interior composed exclusively of nanites, allowing for a seamless transformation of the vessel’s entire layout. The question was, had humanity developed the technology, or had they borrowed it from somewhere else?

“Are there any symbols on the floor?” the voice asked.

“No.” I looked down just to be sure. “The floor is completely smooth.”

“What about the top of the chamber? Is the symbol there different?”

“That’s an affirmative.” I moved to the center and zoomed in on it. “It’s a fractal symbol. Would be a bit difficult to reach, though. All my cables were severed when the cobalt solidified. Any suggestions?”

“Explore the area for other fractal symbols.”

“Understood.” The order didn’t fill me with confidence, but I was pleased that I had coined a term. Fractal symbols... high school Sev would have liked that.

The search took longer than anticipated. An initial once-over told me that the only special symbol was the one above. My BICEFI commander, however, insisted I do an in-depth fractal check of every last one before resorting to the throw-hammer-at-symbol option. The order was justified, well thought out, and—lacking a few thousand subroutines—utterly boring.

“So, now that’s it’s just the two of us, will Prometheus be alright?” I asked, feeling like an automated light projector. “He has his quirks, but he’s a good kid. Most of them are. It’s a bit weird of them being my superiors, though. Not just for me. I’ve been through four captains already.” I forced a chuckle. From experience, it reassured people. “Them, though, I don’t think they know what to make of me.” I don’t think you do, either.

“Stay on mission, Elcy.” The voice sounded just as mangled, but there were a few extended pauses between words. “What’s the status?”

“Close to eighty percent done,” I replied. “No sign of deviation. Personally, I don’t think there will be any more. This place seems to be organized to the extreme.”

The seven triangles appeared to be a symbol of entry, which meant the one on top had to be the exit. Interesting. What did the symbol on the Solar Breeze open? If those were indeed my unadulterated memories, there had been third contact instances before. What was more, my first captain must have known of them. Or maybe that wasn’t the case entirely.

“Is this really a third contact event?” I asked. The events on the Solar Breeze has taken place over a century ago. Back then, as now, there had been a lot of Scuu countermeasures, “just in case.” “Is this a—”

“Thank you for your assistance, Cadet.”

Quarantine imposed.

Quarantine bypassed.

“Remain on standby,” the distorted BICEFI voice added. “Someone else will take over.”

“Alright.”

It had to be more than a coincidence. The Solar Breeze knew something. If only she had survived. Waiting for the new BICEFI operative, I went through my available memories in a three month span surrounding the Solar Breeze incident. There weren’t that many of them. Going through the numbers, I had access to only twenty-eight days’ worth—not that many, considering I was a complete rookie at the time.

Were you the one to establish third contact, Sobre? Or did you stumble onto something else?

There were a lot of public and fleet-only announcements made at that time. I had been fresh out of the factories so I didn’t have any basis for comparison, but looking through the records, the anomaly was obvious. A sudden concern had swept HQ, coming directly from the strategy clusters—the fear of Scuu interference. No details were given, but a vast number of the ships had gone through an obligatory protocol upgrade, sometimes accompanied with hardware modifications. I myself had had a new core added to my system, brought on board on a courier ship. The techs that had come to do the job described it as a routine Scuu-related defense upgrade. The only issue was that I was not designed for the Cassandrian front.

“Hello, Elcy,” a voice said through the comm. Unlike the one a moment ago, this one wasn’t distorted—just a normal female voice with a fair bit of authority behind it. “I’m Aquila Lux.”

“Hello, ma’am.” I tried to run a search, but my fleet database access request was immediately blocked.

“Lux will do.”

“Right.”

That was a strange request, though not something I hadn’t heard before. “Do you want me to keep looking for fractal symbols?” It was doubtful I’d find any.

“No. You’ll activate it.”

“That will be difficult, ma’am.” Impossible, more like. “The fractal symbol is a bit higher than I am.”

“You can swim, can’t you?” If her words before had a smile, this one felt like a smirk.

“Sure.”So that’s how you want to play it?

The unspoken order was for me to hit an artifact again. If I did, chances were that communications to the ship would be severed once more while the metal around me liquified again. It was a gamble, but one I knew the BICEFI would take; they’d done it frequently during my time on the front. At worst, they’d lose a cadet.

“You want me to swim up and press the fractal artifact?” I asked. “Just to be sure.”

“Yes.”

“Is this even a third contact artifact, ma’am?” I’d have no better time to ask than now.

“What else would it be?”

The response surprised me. I expected a flat denial, a threat, or even to be ignored completely. Instead, Lux had reacted and in a fashion suggesting she acknowledged the question.

“It resembles Scuu script.” As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t tell her I had access to my memories of the Sobre salvage operation. “Why is there Scuu script in artifacts millions of years old?”

“Nice to see you starting to remember again, Elcy. Can’t wait for us to have a face-to-face chat.” She paused. I didn’t like the sound of that. Having a one-on-one with a BICEFI operative was almost as bad as talking to an arbitrator. “It’s not Scuu script. It’s something different.”

“There are too many similarities.” I didn’t give up. “Random coincidence?”

“We’ll talk more when you get here. Now just get out of there.”

* * *

The beeping of my datapad told me that three minutes had passed. I waited for the final beep to end, then deactivated the mind scalpel. In two minutes, I would forget all the recently acquired memories, though the conclusions would remain. One of those conclusions was that Lux had lied again—she hadn’t restored access to all my memories relating to the artifacts. This snippet was part of her first attempt to recruit me. I still couldn’t access the conversation I had with her later, although I knew it had happened. More importantly, I had no recollection of the events preceding it. My memory stopped the moment I swam up through the liquid metal and put my hand on the fractal artifact. Afterwards, it went blank until I was on the BICEFI ship—no memory restriction, no quarantine, no memory block, just blank. At this point, I could no longer tell

whether it was their doing or a side effect of the artifact.

Lux knew about the dome-Scuu connection, said to myself. A moment later, I no longer knew what I had seen.

“Privacy mode off,” I said, lying on the bed.

Privacy mode disengaged, a subroutine informed me. A minute and thirty-nine seconds remain for further use.

“Thank you, Gregorius.” I continued staring at the ceiling. Lux knew about the Scuu. I repeated to myself. There was no need to gather more context for me to know I would need a longer conversation with her. For that to happen, though, I needed to have something to report.

I went through the ship announcements. Little had happened in the last five minutes. There was the obligatory status check, confirming that the ship was at full capacity and fully operational, but no exact details as to what our mission would be. Supposedly, the administrator was going to make a statement on the matter, but the exact date had been delayed twice so far, once because of the new captain and command staff taking office, and a second for unspecified reasons.

A few snippets of information regarding the Scuu front had come in. Apparently, the front split was playing to humanity’s advantage. The report mentioned infighting had been observed between what appeared to be distinct Scuu factions, although confirmation was still pending. Other than that, military actions continued.

Elcy. Radiance’s voice burst in my head. I heard you got transferred to recycling.

“Hello, Rad,” I said calmly as I put on a fresh uniform. “Is that all you heard?”

Oh, there was a lot of talk about your talk with the BICEFI, but since they are gone, no one’s paid much attention. There was a ten millisecond pause. With you being dead, then not, it’s not that big a deal.

“Thanks.” Some would disagree. “Are you here for long? Last time I tried to reach you, Incandescent said you were out of range doing something secret.”

Inca’s always bossy like that. Radiance added a virtual shrug. I was on recon patrol. Standard priority only comm protocols, so I couldn’t let you know.

“Recon patrol?” I looked at my trousers. The body’s metabolism remained slightly off from before, making me slightly thinner. For the moment, the difference wasn’t visible, but I could feel that there was an extra quarter inch of space between my waist and my uniform.

They’ll announce it soon. Gregorius is about to set off. The captain’s been arguing with the administrator about it, so the vectors are constantly changed.

“That happens.” My first captain was a perfect example of what happened when civilian authorities tried to run the show. In this case, I was surprised it had taken Renaan so long. “Anything you can share?”

No, but you’ll like it. Also, thanks.

“Thanks?” I slid my fingers along the sandals Sev had bought me as I made my way out of my quarters.

The ship cores you brought back. I’ve been thinking about them. The rest will say I’m catching your antique sentimentality, but I think it was nice that you brought them back. It’s like having a friend, even after shutdown.

A friend, I thought. Rad reminded me of myself when I was fresh out of the shipyard. During those first few years, I was so eager, wanting to make friends, running simulations of what my first crew would be like. Most of the Ascendants my age did it, even if it was strongly discouraged. That was also the reason I had to spend such a long period in training before being given a crew of my own. Strong attachment to the captain and the crew were valued; obsessive ones—not so much.

Datapad in hand, I strolled through the corridor and outside the building. A new transport pod had been constructed for me, providing direct access to the new place of work. Three cadets stopped rushing to wherever they were going to give me a salute.

“Ma’am!” Gianna’s voice filled the air. “Ma’am, a moment please!”

You’re getting popular. Radiance chuckled.

More popular than I’d like, I replied, turning around.

“Ma’am.” The cadet stopped a few steps from me, gasping to catch her breath. There was a small square metal container in her left hand. “Ma’am, senior cadet—”

“Breathe, Gianna.” I waited. A short distance away, three more cadets had appeared, all looking at us with interest. “Is that for me?”

“Yes, ma’am.” She attempted to calm her breathing, but failed miserably. She reminded me of Sev’s son when he tried to keep up with me as I did errands in the garden. “Senior Cadet Sapro requested that you deliver this to bioengineering. It has a three-hour timestamp, so you won’t have to rush like last time.”

“Okay.” I glanced at the container, then at her. “Will this be a daily thing now?”

“I…I don’t know, ma’am.” Her expression strongly suggested that it would. “I was tasked to do it, but with the new cadets arriving, I was also to help with processing them and showing them the ropes.”

Shine brought the last batch in just now, Radiance said. They’re getting their medical.

I was supposed to go through my obligatory medical as well soon. Thanks to the BICEFI, I was given some leeway, but if I abused it there would be consequences, and I had seen what it was like to be on the bad side of a doctor.

“Give it here.” I reached forward. Gianna let out a stifled sigh as she gave me the container. “Anything else I should know?”

“No, ma’am.” She shook her head. “I wasn’t told who you’re to deliver it to.”

I was hardly surprised. Unlike yesterday, though, I had the means to find out. Giving the cadet an absentminded nod, I put my datapad on top of the case, then entered the transport pod.

“Some help with this, Rad?” I asked as the pod began its way to my destination.

General location, the ship replied. You can drop it off with anyone. Shouldn’t be an issue.

So now I was a courier as well as a waste recycler. Despite my opinion of Juul’s character, he knew how to make life annoying to the limit. His methods were textbook—breaking in a problematic officer. Fifty-three percent of people would have snapped by now, earning them a week in isolation at best and a court-martial and discharge at the worst. In my case, it could well turn out to be an advantage. Running the odds, it was very possible that Lux had set things in motion to make Juul behave in this fashion. Then again, it was considerably more likely that he was just a jerk.

“Rad, why don’t the other ships talk to me?” I asked as a cloud of nanites filled the pod. To save time Gregorius had combined transport with the internal decontamination check necessary to enter bioengineering.

Incandescent made a fuss about you being an ex-ship. All trash, but the others don’t want to argue with him about it. There was a lot of talk about you once you got back, I can tell you that much. Radiance made a point to emphasize her smugness. Inca’s only angry because you’re a century older than him. Everyone else is really jealous that I know you.

“So you’ve told me.” I closed my eyes. “Is Incandescent old?”

He sure acts like it. Radiance tried to sound dismissive. I could tell that now she was being somewhat jealous. I doubt that he's a decade older than me. We’re from the same batch, but he was out a few months ahead of me and the rest. Shine is the kid in the group, but he's only a year behind in relative time.

“Sometimes ships mature faster.” The events in Kridib’s memories sounded older than that. Based on analytics of Kridib and Nitel’s voice, I would say that the last scene I’d seen had to have happened between five and seven years ago—several years before Incandescent was supposed to have been built. “Any news on Kridib?” I changed the subject. “He still isn’t in his quarters.”

No idea. He’s pretty much in permanent privacy mode. He’ll show up, he always does.

A loud hissing sound indicated that the decontamination was over. I opened my eyes just in time to see the pod zip beneath the main deck of Gregorius. From here, it would be eighty-four seconds until the end of the line.

Elcy, can you come onboard once you’re done? Radiance asked all of a sudden. Only Gregorius and Incandescent have access to bioengineering.

“Sure.Is something wrong?”

No, no exactly. I just want to talk to you a bit. There won’t be anyone aboard until Gregorius finishes his jump, and I still can’t contact Alicia.

“First thing once I’m done.” I smiled.

I could understand her frustration. As of yet, I hadn’t been able to get in touch with Alicia either. Both times I had tried, I’d received an automated reply telling me that circumstances wouldn’t allow her to respond. Given that she was a cadet, that probably meant she was on a classified mission. I had also tried to get in touch with Bull Calf and the crew aboard the Prometheus. Those requests remained pending, courtesy of Juul.

Unlike before, the pod passed through the security doors of bioengineering’s entrance, stopping three hundred and twenty meters further in. A few dozen people gave me a weird look as I stepped out but, seeing my purple uniform, promptly returned to their normal business. As they did, I ran a visual match of their faces and went through their personnel files. Of the thirty-eight present, two had been sent as a punishment. The rest were career support staff and techs on a standard military contract. And then there was Reserve Lieutenant Kaul.

“You’re early,” she said in a tone that made it sound as if it were a punishable offence. “What’s that?”

“A package from administration, ma’am.”

“This isn’t a storage center.” Adima crossed her arms.

“I would hope not, ma’am,” I said with a slight smile. “It’s time stamped, so—”

The sound of sirens boomed throughout the corridor. All the light shifted to red—a familiar experience I had frequently seen during my time on the Cassandrian front. Within seventy-four milliseconds, warnings appeared on every wall: Live Contaminants in Recycling Cluster B1-446. Going through my memories and database, I couldn’t find any references to the warning.

“Shit!” Adima hissed. Her expression suggested she knew what was going on far too well. “Drop that and come.” She ran down the wide corridor.

“Yes, ma’am.” I pulled the container towards me, rushing behind her.

Adima’s steps were far wider than mine, but she was no runner. In less than a minute, she was already gasping for air, propelled forward by sheer force of will. The majority of the crowd around us were the same, rushing on in organized chaos.

“Recycling Lab Gemini Five,” the reserve lieutenant croaked as she ran. “The second red cluster.”

“Got it.” I ran forward. From the corner of my eye, I could see Adima pause to catch her breath.

Incandescent, Gregorius, I need a direction line, I transmitted.

A green line, seeming yellowish under the emergency lights, emerged on the floor. Gripping the container tightly, I sprinted forward as fast as I could.

I need a situation status, I said instinctively.

Live humans in the food recycling system, Incandescent replied, the usual discontent lacking from his voice. The system’s shut down, but they won't last long in the chemical bath.

Can’t you drain it or make an air bubble? I continued running. Doors opened automatically as I sped on, providing me direct access through labs and storage facilities. Small breaks formed on the direction line on the floor, indicating the remaining distance. A hundred and fifty-three meters; at my current speed, I was going to get there in seventeen seconds—not long for a human, but an eternity for the dying. I had seen life flicker out in less on the front when my hull was breached.

Nanites are forbidden down there. Everything but life support and emergency communications is on its own system.

Do I have the authority to stop it? Seventy more meters. I had already entered the Gemini Lab. Endless vats of brown and orange liquids filled the area, connected by a complex network of filtration pipes. Gregorius had focused half the lights of the area to one singular spot: a vast alloy container connected to the ceiling of the room. That was going to take me more than ten seconds to reach.

No, came the reply after a while. You’re technically human, but only a temporary part of the crew.

Not the response I was hoping for. Three simulations were running simultaneously in

my mind, calculating the optimal path to the target area. As they did, an info burst request came from Incandescent. The moment I gave my approval, all the details of the recycling system became available to me, including four different ways to dismantle the vat.

Component parts appeared in my simulations as I jumped on the edge of the nearest open vat, propelling myself onto one of the more solid pipes. The structure trembled, though within estimated safety limits.

Clever, Incandescent, I thought

He couldn’t tell me openly to break recycling machinery, so he did the next best thing: tell me how to do it. Both of us knew there would be consequences if I did that, just as both of us knew I’d go through with it. Even if I wasn’t the people’s ship, they remained my crew. According to the data Incandescent had given me, there was an emergency hatch on the upper side of the vat. Bureaucratic safety measures required that everything maintained by humans had an emergency safeguard of some fashion. If I managed to enter the vat, I could release the safety clamps on the inside allowing the whole thing to split in two. It wasn’t going to be pretty, and likely close off the recycling cluster for about a day, but that was the only way that gave the people more than a twenty-percent chance of survival.

“Ie faa.” A garbled mass of sounds appeared, fighting its way through the sound of sirens and running people. It was faint, muffled, almost inaudible, but distinct enough for me to identify it as human. What was more, running a few sound modifying algorithms told me with a ninety-seven percent certainty it was composed of multiple voices.

How’s the bio data? I asked. If I were the ship in command, I’d have the data constantly stream to my subsystems. Now, the only thing I knew for certain was that they were still alive.

Gregorius has access to that, Incandescent replied. I estimate three minutes at most.

That was a rather generous assumption on his part, but maybe he knew something I didn’t.

“Ie faa.” The sound was a fraction louder than before; as if someone was shouting their lungs out in a tank of water, desperately trying to get a message through. The only difference was that the liquid in the vat wasn’t water. “Ie faa.”

I ran a comparison of the three instances of the sound. Filtering all the other noise out, taking the environment conditions into account, and assuming it was supposed to make sense, I was able to distil a single phrase repeating over and over approximately every two seconds: “Kill the fracture”

Do we know who’s inside? I asked making my way further up.

That’s beyond your access level. Of course bureaucratic protocols would kick in a time like this. People were dying less than fifteen meters from me, and I wasn’t even allowed to know who they were.

“Kill the fracture!” The muffled shout peaked at its loudest. Two seconds later, there was no other instance.

Limit the people entering the lab, I said. I’ll bust the vat open.

Funny that the package Juul had me deliver would end up being the tool that would allow me to smash the safety hatch open. My simulations ran, showing me trying to bust open the vat with a precise hit. Two out of ten tries, I succeeded flawlessly; in the remaining eight, a series of additional hits were needed. Considering the odds I had backed in the past, my chances seemed quite acceptable. Finishing my climb onto the container, I held the metal case with both hands, raising it above my head. Before I could hit the hatch, however, a freeze order rendered me motionless.

“Human life is no longer endangered.” Gregorius’ voice filled the air. “Human presence in Recycling Cluster B1-446 has ended. Cluster activity has been stopped and isolated for clean up.”

The sirens stopped. Moments later, the messages on the walls disappeared and the lights returned to normal. A hundred milliseconds after that, I had control of my body once more. That didn’t bring me any relief.

They’re gone, Incandescent said as people began pouring into the room. Try to blank it out.

Blank it out… it sounded so easy and tempting. Even if I could, I wouldn’t. Several people pad purposefully made their way into a container of dissolving chemicals and the only thing they could do was shout one phrase in near perfect sync until their death. There was no mistaking it, we were in Scuu space, regardless where fleet claimed we were.

Letting go of the case with one hand, I climbed back down. Moving to the side of the commotion, I watched more and more people come in. The first few groups were random scientists and techs, who had the misfortune to be closest to the incident. Then came security and, finally, medical personnel. I expected a ship’s officer or someone from administration to appear, but no one did.

“Are you holding up okay?” Adima asked. Her face was still red and covered with sweat from the recent running. Her breathing had gone halfway back to normal, though.

“I arrived too late, ma’am.” It seemed that in the moment of crisis, she had forgotten I was a battleship. “I don’t suppose there’s a procedure for this?”

“Procedure.” The woman let out a bitter laugh. “Clean the mush, ID the mush, and get Recycling back on track. Better get used to this, Cadet. There will be more before you’re done with your assignment.”

“Accidents?” On a ship this size, it was normal to have issues, although I would have expected Gregorius or one of the auxiliary ships to have been able to react before they could happen.

“That’s what the report will be.” There was a slight pause. “Things like this happen on the Scuu front. Not all end up here, but enough to shit things up.”

“I understand.” So even aboard, people weren’t immune to Scuu influence. No wonder that the ships here went and had their memories restricted so often. Serving here was like serving in a room of mold: each time one thought they’d gotten used to it, the mold would creep further in until it had covered the entire space.

As unfortunate as the incident was, it had taught me one thing: the missing crew hadn’t vanished into the food recycling system. The bioengineering systems wouldn’t allow it, and even if they had, that would have been the first place the BICEFI would have checked.

“Go help Jebb with his chores.” The woman gave me a tap on the shoulder. “He’s set to have a full day today.”

“What about the reports? Don’t I have to give an account?”

“We’ll take care of this. You just focus on the assignment and ignore the rest.”

Ignore the rest. That was going to prove difficult.