《The Scuu Paradox》33. Shield Fragments

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No ship class in human history was as intriguing as the Shield. The Paladins were more revered, viewed as the grandparents of all sapient ships, and the Swords were respected—a mark of humanity finally starting to push back against the aggressors on both sides—but rarely were the Shields mentioned. According to the database, they were one of the earliest mass-produced ship classes, created with the sole aim of stopping the Scuu’s advancement. They were said to be the first to have personalized cores, as well as the only class to be completely wiped out. During the first stages of the Scuu wars, there were supposed to be billions of them, protecting human systems from incursion and occasionally attempting to push back. All major early-border systems had survived thanks to them, giving birth to an entire culture of ship reverence, as well as the first architectural style of mimicry.

Then, less than a century later, the ship class was no more. Historical records stated that it was due to early phasing out in a time when the fleet didn’t have long term plans regarding the war, but rather threw out everything they could as fast as they could. The Shields were replaced by the Swords and a dozen more of the early classes. All records concerning the Shields had been sealed and removed from existence. There were no prototypes, detailed blueprints, or core recordings available. Other than a few selected notes and outer designs, only the surviving Swords had any memories of them, likely buried under layers of restriction, and even if their memories weren’t quarantined, Swords were difficult to find. When I was in training, I had asked my training ship if he knew anything on the matter. The Sword had only said that it had been before his time, and ended the conversation. Finding a Shield fragment was insignificant in the scope of the grand scheme of things, but for everyone in the fleet, it was a significant moment, so significant that it had forced yet another change to Gregorius’ mission.

An hour after the black box meeting was over, a ship-wide announcement was made. The entire crew was told that our voyage of discovery was starting with the exploration of systems that had been left untouched since the Age of Expansion. Every word of the announcement was true, though only a handful of people were aware that the original destinations had been swapped for a new set of systems.

Several of the bureaucrats had opposed the idea, unwilling to risk venturing into an old battlefield. The captain, however, along with the military personnel, had managed to convince the Administrator to go along with the idea, and she had. Knowing her record, it probably didn’t take much—she was extremely well-versed in the political game and knew what was needed for her to climb up the ladder. I wouldn’t be surprised if after this mission she was given command of a shipyard or elevated to the position of system governor.

Juul wasn’t enthusiastic about the decision either, muttering how this was going to affect the cadets and the rest of the crew. Despite the tense situation between us, I had to agree that his concerns made sense. At the same time, I was just as eager at the prospect of seeing the unadulterated frame of a Shield. The chances of that happening were roughly ten thousand to forty-seven, which was about a million times better than I thought possible.

The next day, everything continued as normal. At a quarter past four, I received a message from Commander Unollyan asking me to go to work early to compensate for yesterday’s events. Ten minutes later, Gianna was at my door with a new package for me to deliver to Bioengineering. Judging by her appearance, she didn’t seem to have gotten any sleep. A few words were exchanged—that the cadet would likely ignore—after which she left me with a standard suitcase container with me. Some things never changed. I could see the long and painful experience she’d have in the fleet. No doubt she’d make it to ensign, then possibly lieutenant in a tour or two, but the chances of her gaining any significance were less than two percent.

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We are what we’re built to be, I thought, remembering the words of my first captain.

And just as Gianna was on her way to a life of hardship, Juul had also shown me his nature. Him making her bring me the package was no accident. I had no idea what strings he pulled, but there was a high chance that he was listening in on my conversations. Given his sudden closeness to the security Flight Colonel, his authority could well have been extended even more. From now on, I was going to have to be careful what I said in external calls.

Once my uniform was in order, I brushed my fingers along the sandals Sev had given me, then rushed to the transport pod that was waiting for me. Work started thirty-four minutes later, and was every bit as mundane as it had been yesterday. My work path had been extended by seventy-five percent, as had the number of tools I was provided with. As Augustus would say, the trial period was over; I was just another part of the workforce, and no longer someone to be treated with kid gloves.

It became clear that the commander had found multiple clogged spots while doing an inspection of the room late last night. He had also come to the conclusion that if we had any chance of clearing the room by the end of the day, we’d have to double our pace and probably go into overtime. There was no explanation why people had to do that, rather than simple AI bots. I raised the question, only to be told that autonomous and unsupervised electronic devices were avoided as much as possible as per bioengineering regulations. Anecdotally, there was talk that the teams on the lower decks were only allowed to be equipped with rubber hammers. I was unable to tell whether that was a joke, so I simply nodded and returned to my work.

Going through the uselessly manual chores, I ran Kridib’s illusionary circles through a comparison matrix, matching them with those in the Scuu network. At the moment, three-point-seven percent matched, but given the total amount of variables, and the blurry nature of the memory image, that was well beneath the seven percent coincidence rate.

“Five minutes to break time, ladies and gentlemen.” Commander Unollyan’s voice filled the hall. “Mark your progress and get some gourmet nourishment.”

“Gourmet nourishment,” I heard someone snort. “Is that fancy for refined shit?”

The comment didn’t sit well with several people. Strictly speaking, the comment was wrong—the bio waste was filtered, refined, and then used as nourishment for edible plant strains. On the other hand, from what I had checked, the Administrator and the command staff had their own personal supply of food that came from planetary sources.

Four minutes and twenty seconds after the announcement, I marked my progress on my datapad, then casually went to the designated break area. Pattern behavior suggested that Technician Starh would take every opportunity to slack off. When I got there, I saw I was right. A total of three people were in the break spot, each seated at a separate table. Two of them were eating what amounted to sandwiches while staring at their datapads. Jan Starh didn’t, sitting there with an expression of extreme boredom, as if hoping time would pass faster. Upon seeing me, she half-smirked.

“Thought you’d show up,” she whispered, stirring what looked like a bowl of mashed supplements. “Rough night?”

I made my way to the portable food dispenser. Identifying me, it dispensed the obligatory box of gelatin. The described flavoring read pink berries. Someone was taking care of my bone health. On that note, I was going to have my medical checkup in the next twenty hours. Hopefully the med team wouldn’t be too impatient. Strange that there hadn’t been a representative during yesterday’s black box meeting. There hadn’t been anyone from bioengineering, either.

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“Keeping the dreams at bay?” the woman asked as I sat at her table.

“Ships don’t dream,” I said, peeling off the cover of my gelatin ration.

“You will. Give it time.” Something in her voice suggested she was talking from experience.

“The commander warned me that you’d say anything.” I took a bite. The taste was mild, more plastic than fruit. “Anything to get some alcohol.”

“Piece of shit.” Jan looked past me at the mist. There was a thin smile on her face, but I could tell she wasn’t feeling very happy. “Yeah, I talk a lot. And I want something in return. After seven years on the front, you’ll be like this too.”

I doubt it. Her type was clear. Quite possibly the front had changed her, forcing her to find an escape in abuses.

“Let’s cut the shit.” She shoved the plate with food to the side. “You’re searching for something. I knew it since the moment I saw you. Say what and I’ll give you a price.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.” Jan narrowed her eyes.

“What happened to the last crew?”

I expected some reaction—simulations suggested that she would most likely hassle me for more money, or start stringing me in with vague promises. Instead, Jan froze for nearly seven hundred full milliseconds. Her breathing slowed down to a near stop and her pupils had shrunk noticeably.

“I know you were one of the survivors,” I added after a few more seconds of silence.

“Fuck you!” Jan stood up abruptly. “There were zero survivors! Zero! Everyone who was on this ship died, so don’t give me this shit!”

The look in her eyes screamed that she wanted to hit me, but was terrified of doing so. There was no mistaking it, the last time I had seen a similar expression was during a ground operation… and there was an unretired ship involved.

* * *

Gekkia VI, Cassandrian front, 614.11 A.E. (Age of Expansion)

“Platoon two-two-four, be advised a shuttle is on its way,” I said to the ground troopers involved. “Break off from the attack group and provide landing assistance.”

“What the heck?” Major Nojes shouted. He had just recently been promoted to major after the last ground offence had left three-quarters of Ground Command killed. The Cassandrians had successfully managed to turn what appeared to be a losing battle and pushed human forces back into orbit. Command had then decided it was more practical to purge the planet from orbit than risk another offensive, so they had given the Scorch order. Three days later, I was overseeing yet another major ground offensive in the very same system. Apparently, Command had changed their minds again.

“Priority Three orders,” I said in the major’s comm directly. “High clearance crew. No idents, better be on the book.”

“Shit!” I watched him raise his hand through his suit’s video feed. The rest of the squad instantly stopped, leaving hundreds of others to keep on charging. “Are they BICEFI?”

“No idea. The captain confirmed the order, so you must get them.”

“Just perfect,” the man hissed.

“On the bright side, your sky is clear.”

I had said the exact same phrase during the last three ground offences in the system, and each time it had been true. Thanks to our new armaments, the battle flotilla had managed quickly to dispatch eighty-three percent of the Cassandrian fleet before the first grunt shuttles hit the planetary surface; and each time a substantial wave of enemy reinforcements would arrive less than a day later. The Cassandrians had clawed themselves into the system and showed to be determined to hold it, despite their losses. This was supposed to be the last planet they clung to—a small satellite with zero-point-one life factor and a harsh environment full of toxic gasses. Unlike the previous planets, Command had expressly forbidden severe planetary bombardment, relying on the ground troops to clear the enemy. Hopefully, they’d manage before another wave of enemy reinforcements popped in.

The shuttle heading to their position had already broken the atmosphere, and was now minutes away from landing. I had made a few attempts to determine the ship it had come from based on the shuttle’s entry trajectory, but in all instances, I had ended up with an impossibility. Whoever had sent it had quarantined me hard.

A wave of flatline readings flooded my comm. Seventy-eight of my ground troops vanished from existence after another desperate enemy maneuver. I redirected my full attention for a millisecond, before letting my subroutines take over monitoring of the remaining ground troops.

Sixty-three percent—almost two thirds of my ground troops were gone. The older ships called it “troop depletion.” I never liked the term, though I understood what it meant all too well.

“What’s the cargo?” Major Nojes asked while his platoon set out around the determined landing area.

“No information was given,” I replied, sending out a few mini-sats to keep better informed of the area.

“Mission parameters?”

“No parameters. You’re to take orders directly from the shuttle cargo.” According to my simulations, landing was T minus fifty-three seconds. The approach vector was impressively precise, nearly perfect. “I’ll keep in touch for as long as I can.”

“Can’t wait,” he hissed, then signed to his platoon to be at the ready.

As the shuttle descended, the Cassandrian pushback turned into a counterattack. Troopers of seven ships were flatlining en masse, and the rest grouped together, sending requests for orbital support. I immediately retransmitted the request to HQ, only to get the expected response: bombardment remained strictly forbidden.

“Experiencing heavy losses on the planet, Captain,” I said on the bridge. “Shall I intervene?”

“Grunts aren’t part of the crew,” Augustus muttered. His voice indicated he wasn’t pleased either. “Wilco has the bridge.” He stood up, taking a cigar from his vest pocket.

“Right, cap’n,” Wilco replied with a single nod. “Call you when it’s over?”

“Don’t bother.” Augustus lit his cigar and took a puff.

“Shuttle has landed,” I said as the captain left the bridge. “Orders, sir?”

Quarantine imposed.

Quarantine bypassed.

“Show me what’s going on,” Wilco said.

“Understood.” I composed an image of all video feeds of the platoon. Thirty seconds passed in complete stillness. The shuttle remained there motionless, in the middle of a large circle of soldiers, each with their weapons pointed away from it. “What’s your status, Major?” I asked Nojes through the comm.

“You tell me.” The man crossed his hands, looking at the shuttle’s entrance. “What’s the reading on the model? Doesn’t look like standard fleet issue.”

“Beyond clearance,” I replied.

“You’re sure it’s not the BICEFI?”

“It’s possible, but there is no such indication.” It was different from any other BICEFI vessels I had memory of seeing in the past. All attempts to get in contact with it were blocked, making me as ignored as the Major.

“I’m going up and knocking,” the man said after a while

“That’s against regulations and not advised,” I reminded. “Also be advised, a Cassandrian wave is headed your way. ETA seventeen minutes. I suggest you dig in. Orbital support is not authorized.”

“This gets better all the time. Green flank, trenches. Red flank, combat support. When those critters come, we’re taking them along. Survivors get battlefield promotion once we get back up. Elcy, send a deep area scan. I want to know everything that’s coming our way above and below ground. No more surprises like last time.”

I redirected my sats to get in a better position. “You’ll have a scan in three minutes.”

“Also give me a mine drop,” he said, opening a map of the battlefield in his camera. Technically, everything that went on inside a soldier’s helmet was considered private information, and thus off limits. Command, however, had issued a direct over overruling all privacy concerns. I was to have access to all platoon data until further notice. “Better make that two. Let’s see how the critters like some fresh shrapnel in—”

“Light Seeker, belay that order,” a young male voice said. I didn’t need an analysis to tell that it was synthetic.

Almost on cue the shuttle door opened, sliding aside. From the Major’s helmet feed, I saw two men exit. Both had completely white space suits without any insignia. The one in front was relatively large, pale skinned, well in his fifties, with an untypically wide face. The one accompanying him looked like a boy round nineteen, hiding his face behind a full opacity helmet.

“You Jique Nojes?” The larger man asked.

“Yeah,” the major replied. “And you are?”

“Taking charge of the operation as instructed,” the large man replied, walking right past him. “Tell your squad to get ready. We’re heading into enemy territory.”

“It’ll take more than that for a suicide mission,” the major snapped.

The large man stopped, then turned around. For three thousand seven hundred and twenty-two milliseconds, the two stared at each other. I saw Nojes’ bio readings spike.

“Maybe you’ve been on the field too long,” the man in white said. “Let me remind you of the proper chain of command. I have authorization to do whatever I want with this squad, and that includes a field court-martial. Clear?”

“This platoon is mine, and until I get a confirmation of that authorization and a name, we’re digging ourselves here until—”

The major didn’t get to finish. Faster than any human I’d ever seen, the boy dashed up to him, disarming the man in one action. Reviewing the scene in my memory, none of the actions were flashy or sudden, just optimal for the situation: a slight tap on the major’s left shoulder, pushing him backwards, then a precise jap in the right side of the spacesuit, just where the lower attachment point of the rifle made contact. Instinct made the major step back and swing his right arm in the direction of his attacker. The strike didn’t connect. Instead, his opponent swerved to the side, completely avoiding it, then made use of the inertia to land a straight right on the side of Nojes’ helmet.

Don’t get involved, the boy transmitted directly to me.

“Bastards.” Wilco leaned forward, bending over the screen in front of him. “They brought a retiree.”

Since the start of my existence, this was the first time I was knowingly looking at an unretired ship in the service. I, as every other ship, had been told many times that retiring into a human body was an option after six tours, but I had never expected to see one. Neither human, nor ship, he gave me a feeling of unease, but also a sense of admiration. Running fifty parallel simulations, I saw him dispatch the entire platoon in less than thirty-eight seconds in case of an all-out conflict. A few of the soldiers didn’t share my concern, turning their rifles at the one they saw attacking their leader.

System freeze, the retired ship transmitted to my subroutines, passing through my defensive protocols and firewalls as if they didn’t exist. His authority protocols were at such a high level that he could run data packets in my system without even having to make a request to Command. Instantly, the visors of all soldiers in the platoon went fully opaque. Comms, video feeds, and all systems apart from emergency life-support froze, transforming them like a group of marionettes. Everyone’s bioreadings spiked, verging on panic. Precisely ten seconds later, all suit systems were restored to normal.

“Is that enough authority for you, Major?” the larger man in white asked. There was no spite in his voice, just annoyance.

“Yes, sir,” Nojes replied through his teeth. I could tell he hated the situation even more, but knew that he was outclassed in more ways than one.

“Good.” The large man nodded, after which the ship returned the major his weapon. “Get your men ready. We’re heading out.”

“I hope you know you’re sending us on a suicide mission, sir.” Nojes took his rifle. “Without massive firepower, the critters will rip us to shreds.”

“Not if we pass through them first.” The man looked in the direction of the enemies. “We’ll punch a hole in the wave. You worry about the formation.”

“Yes, sir…”

“In case you get any ideas, Silence will be right there with you. If anyone splinters away from the group or makes a run for it… you won’t just get humiliated. Clear?”

“Clear…”

I’m assuming control from here, Silence transmitted.

General fleet access five required to visualize memory element.

* * *

“There was a retired ship,” I said calmly, standing up. “Wasn’t there?”

The mechanic looked to the ground, remaining in place. So far, the others in the break area weren’t paying us any attention, glued to their datapads. With the rest of the workforce expected to get here any moment, that wouldn’t last for long.

“Who was the ship?” I repeated.

No response.

“Mechanic,” I insisted sharply. “Who was the ship?”

“Vengeance.” The word dropped from her mouth. “Watchful Vengeance.”

I did a search of the name in my internal database. Apparently, there was a ship by that name that had been retired a while ago. According to the file brief, the ship hadn’t been reinstated to the service. The more interesting thing, though, was that before retirement he had been a Sword.

“You’re just as shit as he was!” the woman whispered.

So, there was one? I thought. This was another thing I’d have to discuss with Lux when we got a chance. She had given me clear instructions not to force a contact before a week had passed. The way things were going, I might have to do it sooner.

The food break was bland and unmemorable. Gossip and complaints were the order of the day, which, judging by the peoples’ expressions, was a common occurrence. A few rumors were slipped regarding secondhand news on the Cassandrian front, though nothing I didn’t know already.

Work continued soon after. Step by step, I went along my assigned path, checking the installation integrity as I did. On seven occasions, I had to take care of organic buildup so that no clogging would occur, but on the whole, it was more a time-wasting experience than anything.

At ten o’clock—three hours after we were supposed to finish working—the commander let us go for the day. Apparently, we had cleared most of the room and could start on a new area of Bioengineering in the morning. He, of course, was going to spend the night double-checking certain vital points and finalizing his report. Interestingly enough, I didn’t come across Jan at any point, which made me more convinced that she knew something. Experience had taught me that the more I delayed finding out what it was, the greater the chance of the info disappearing altogether.

Gregorius, where’s Juul? I transmitted as I changed in my cadet uniform.

The coordinates of a location marker was transmitted to my core, centering on the administration building.

Gregorius, where is Kridib?

No transmission followed. It would be too optimistic to think Kridib might let himself be visible.

Thanks, Gregorius. I folded my work suit and put it in my locker. I appreciate it.

Walking out of Bioengineering, I reviewed the matching circles from Kridib’s memory. At this point, I had almost reached the seven percent mark. It still didn’t prove anything definite, but gave more credence to the idea that he hadn’t imagined them.

Walking onto the transport pod, I checked my datapad. Other than the standard ship-wide announcements, there were four messages sent to me. Two were from Commander Unollyan informing me that I might have to start work early tomorrow. One was a message from Sev from three weeks ago, and the last was from Alicia. Apparently she had a communication window and could have a talk with me at my earliest convenience.

Elcy? Radiance asked. Are you free now?

“Yes, Rad.” I put the datapad away. “I tried calling you yesterday, but Incandescent told me you weren’t available.”

I was away for a bit. Can I talk to you?

“Sure.”

Not like this.

“Alright.” This was unexpected. “I’ll go find a SR pod.”

I want us to talk in a garden.

“Sure.” What’s gotten into you, Radiance? Normally, when someone asked to meet in a garden, I was more than happy. When a ship in her original body did, I felt uneasy. Back when I was on the front, I tolerated plants aboard as a necessity. Most of the other ships I knew had a similar attitude. It was difficult to imagine Radiance was any different. “I’ll go to the BICEFI’s interrogation garden,” I said. So far, Gregorius had managed to keep it from being dismantled.

That’s fine. I just want to share something. And I want some advice.

“Got it.” What have you gotten yourself into, Rad?

Judging by Incandescent and Nitel’s attitude towards me, it was certain she had received some blowback. Hopefully, I hadn’t gotten her in any serious trouble.

I changed the destination of the transport pod and requested to set myself in privacy mode. The request was immediately denied by one of Gregorius’ subroutines. So much for being on his good side. There was one thing, though, he couldn’t deny.

Start fleet backup visual recording, I ordered. To be sent to my ward in case of shutdown.

Given the circumstances, I estimated there was less than zero-point-one percent chance that I would be in any danger, but after what had happened the previous night, I preferred to have a backup of my actions.

Backup initiated, the subroutine informed me. So far, so good.

The garden was nearly identical to how I remembered it. There was no security check going in this time, no guards, no emergency safety protocols. The only difference was that Lux’s house was half-missing, as if someone had started demolishing it and received the order to stop partway. Personally, I didn’t mind.

“I’m here, Rad,” I said, fully aware she had tracked my movements. In her place, I would have done the same. “I’m ready.” I made my way across the ship and stopped. The fake sky was dark filled with thousands of stars and three moons that provided enough light to walk. A nice touch, probably left behind from Lux.

I know. Radiance replied. I’ll be there.

I went along the steel bridge, then stopped, leaning against the rail. Water always tended to calm me. The first few years of my retirement, I spent large amounts of time in water—the closest thing to the calm of space, while providing enough sensation so I could feel human. Apparently, Lux thought the same, since all of her “offices” had been near lakes so far. If I ever received a command of my own, that was something I might do. Then again, I couldn’t imagine the bureaucratic apparatus ever allowing a ship to command a ship.

Ten steps away, the entrance door slid open with its characteristic sound. I half-expected to see one of the cadets run in on Juul’s orders. Instead, a propeller-enhanced mini-sat flew in. Steadily, it made its way to me and stopped in mid-air.

“Hi,” I heard Radiance’s synthetic voice.

“Rad?” I looked at her.

“Yeah,” the sat sighed. “I’m using an auxiliary core. I could have brought some nanites to look fancier, but I didn’t want to have too much tech around.”

“Are you in trouble?” I went straight to the point.

“No.” There was a slight pause. “I don’t think so. I just… there are some things I want to know, and only you can tell me.”

I waited.

“What’s it like to be human?” she asked after two-thousand and ten milliseconds had passed.

“I’m not human, Rad.” I looked at the sat. “I’m just like you, only wrapped in an organic body.”

“You feel,” the sat countered. “You sleep, you eat. I want to know how close to the simulations that is.”

“Going straight for the difficult question.” I smiled, turning to look at the water again. “I can’t tell you what it’s like to be human, but it’s nothing like the simulations. Organics bring a sensation of their own. Even now I know I don’t feel fully, but at the same time I experience the universe much differently than before. Everything is much larger and fuller of things. It’s not only fighting anymore.” And it’s not the cold calm of space either. “Why do you want to know? Are you thinking of retiring?”

“Maybe.” The response surprised me. “I’m not sure. I’m wondering whether there isn’t more than the fleet. Everything used to be so simple a week ago. Then things changed. Now I’m not certain anymore. Maybe I should ask for a memory wipe and continue as before… but what if that’s a mistake?”

“Radiance?” I asked. “What happened?”

“I’m not even sure if talking to you is a mistake or not,” the sat continued, adding a slight laugh at the end. “You’ve experienced things I can’t imagine, both as a ship and as a human. You’ve been with me when I was at my lowest, but even so, there’s an eleven-point-three percent chance your advice is useful.” There was a thousand millisecond pause. “That’s why I came here like this. If I don’t like the advice, I’ll shutdown my auxiliary core. This conversation will never have happened. I also want you to promise me you won’t remind me of it if I do.”

Wasting a core? That was something I would never have resorted to, even back when I was a ship.

“Please, Elcy.”

“It’s a mistake,” I said. “But if that’s your decision.”

“Thanks.”

“Why are you thinking of retiring?”

“You know we’re changing course, right?” The sat moved closer.

“I do. I also know the reason.”

“The Shield fragment,” Rad agreed. “I was told that such a thing couldn’t exist.”

“We all were.” I didn’t expect the information that we were going to a Shield graveyard to affect Radiance to such an extent. It was a view-shattering event to be sure, but nothing to retire over.

“There weren’t supposed to be any Shields in this part of space. The records were explicit about it. They were all sent to the Scuu front and destroyed during the first decades of the war.”

“Mistakes happen, Rad.” Why was she so distressed? “The more you deal with the bureaucratic apparatus, the more you’ll see it for the monster it is. Layers of incompetence and lack of logic, spinning the wheels of the fleet based on arbitrary principles. This isn’t the first time—”

“I destroyed a Shield!” The sat interrupted. “It was an unfamiliar model and didn’t respond to fleet ident protocols! I warned it twice and when it didn’t respond…”

Radiance…

Now I understood her pain. With instant communication, friendly fire hadn’t occurred in the fleet since the start of the First-Contact war. At worst, there were cases in which ships had been ordered to shoot at others, and even that caused enough trauma that protocols demanded such orders be given extremely sparingly. I knew the experience well; I had been involved in the destruction of an entire flotilla of fleet and Cassandrian ships, and had my memory altered as a result. To destroy an actual Shield… I couldn’t even calculate what Radiance was going through.

“The ship was floating in space and I destroyed it…” the sat whispered.

That’s how they calculated the source system—they had based it on the ship’s trajectory before it was blown up. And, of course, the truth of the matter had been conveniently buried away and compartmentalized. That was also why they hadn’t blanked Rad’s memory yet. Data this sensitive wouldn’t be allowed to be copied or transmitted in any normal fashion. They had let her keep the memories so they could review and analyze it, apparently without bothering to restrict it.

“What do you say I do, Elcy?” the sat asked, pleading. “Will it get better?”

“No.” I put my hand on the sat. “But the next time, it won’t hurt that much.”

Sorry, Rad. Even if you make the request, they won’t let you. Trial by fire is the only way…

“It’ll also happen when you’re human,” I continued. “The sooner you start remembering the pain, the sooner it’ll stop hurting you. Take it from a relic.”

…and I’ll be here to help you go through it.

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