Incandescent, show me the locations of all cadets! I transmitted from the med building entrance.

Four security teams had joined the ground troops but still weren’t able to fight off the sudden attackers. I had linked myself to the ongoing comm channel; so far, eight attackers had been killed and possibly three more neutralized. The reported losses were fifteen now—a lot, considering the attackers that I had faced. According to five simulations I ran, everything was supposed to have been over in under twenty-eight seconds, even fewer if Gregarious had intervened. Instead, the station-ship was undergoing a deep diagnostic and all but two of the auxiliary ships were having obligatory maintenance. The timing was more than partially coincidental.

Incandescent, I need the locations, I repeated.

An info bust was transmitted directly to me, providing the location coordinates I had requested. A quick check with the Gregorius’s map told me that all junior cadets remained safely away from the combat zone; as expected, the exact whereabouts of Juul and Kridib remained unknown.

Where are you hiding, Kridib? I sent a query requesting his movements in the last forty-eight hours. When no data returned, I increased the time period to a week. There was little difference. From what I could tell, the ex-corporal had been in privacy mode ever since we returned from mission Orpheus. While unusual, that was to be expected, though getting to know Kridib better, I didn’t see him as one to shy away from an excuse to rush into action. Or maybe he was? Fifteen dead grunts was difficult to pull off for a random crew member; for a veteran like Kridib, though, it would have been child’s play.

Time to find out. I activated the tools given to me by Lux and forced a connection to Kridib’s implant. My protocols bypassed the standard fleet protection, leaving ghost ident markers behind. In two microseconds, a fully encrypted connection was established, and then nothing. The stream of info packets that I was sending failed to trigger any response, disappearing into nothingness as if the man’s head was a box of quarantined memories.

“Both will live,” the voice of the medical assistant android said behind me. “They’ll still need urgent attention.”

I looked over my shoulder. Three med bots were in the facility’s lobby patching up the unconscious attackers. The android was standing by the woman, measuring her vitals. Noticing my interest, she turned the medipad she was holding so I could see: critical, but stable, with no immediate toxins or foreign elements found. That was good, though also concerning.

“How’s the doc?” I asked.

“Shaken.” She tapped something onto the medipad. “First combat experience. A med bot gave him a sed cocktail. He’ll be fine in a few minutes.”

“Have him perform a checkup on the woman once his readings have stabilized. Security will want to question her.” I glanced outside. A small blast flashed, causing a group of grunts to pull back. The attackers had resorted to homemade flash grenades. “Once I’m gone, manually override the door.”

“You’re going out?” There was a hint of surprise in the android’s voice.

“Duty calls.” Technically, regulations didn’t require cadets to engage in life threatening situations, even if we were supposed to be trained for it. Being a ship, though, I didn’t have any other choice. The sooner the fighting ended, the fewer casualties there would be.

“Maybe put on some clothes first?”

Clothes… that was one of the first things I was told to be mindful of after my retirement procedure. It had taken a while getting used to; not so much wearing them, but the amount of constant sensations they provided.

“First thing when this is over.” I smiled. My uniform would do little against bullets, and considering the circumstances, it was unlikely I would be punished for being disorderly.

Incandescent, can you give me anything on the attackers?

I don’t have the authority, the ship replied. Gregorius has quarantined all feed and sensor data in the area.

That would be considered standard procedure, although a few tidbits of tactical data would have been appreciated.

Any more teams on the way? I asked.

No. The captain ordered a perimeter block. No one in or out until there’s a resolution.

Normally I’d be pleased, but on a ship this size, a perimeter block in this section amounted to nothing. This deck spot alone was as large as a small settlement. Not to mention that with Gregorius at partial efficiency, the attackers could take advantage of some blind spot and escape. As Gibraltar liked to say, if someone had found a way to go in unnoticed, they would probably have a way to get out as well.

Not of my crew, I said to myself and ran out of the med building.

From what I could see, the enemy had taken twenty-one positions scattered throughout the vicinity, in a double cross-defense pattern. According to my tactical simulations, they had chosen the most effective strategy, virtually perfect.

Target info? I asked Incandescent.

They’re definitely from the ship, he stated the obvious. Curious that he said ship, and not crew.

Do you think they’re Scuu-controlled?

A second explosion echoed, this one out of sight, making me reevaluate my initial estimate of the combat area.

Incandescent? I asked again after eight hundred milliseconds. Is it the Scuu?

I’m not sure.

Not a reply I liked. Regardless, I put my finger on the rifle’s trigger and dashed on.

Based on my simulations, there was a fifty-eight percent chance that I’d manage to reach the nearest blind spot before being detected. Alternatively, I could take the slower and more roundabout approach and almost double my chances. I decided to go with speed.

The moment I took five steps, all enemy behavior suddenly changed. The shooting lulled, only to reignite again several seconds later with me as the sole target.

Just like during the Cass incident… I thought. Back then, it had been mines I was reacting to, but the principle remained the same.

I aimed at the nearest threat as I swerved to my left. The last shred of hope that I could get away without injuring the people evaporated as I squeezed the trigger. It was a battle of survival now. Sparks covered the floor in front of me, bullets ricocheting off the invisible path that would have led me to the safe spot at the base of the nearest building. The shooters weren’t only targeting me collectively; they were also predicting my path of action, or at least my best path of action.

Are you Scuu puppets? I continued running forward. Three simulations kept on running in my mind, granting me alternative paths to take. Following my suspicions, I chose the least optimal. On cue bullets sprayed along the projected path I had rejected.

So, that’s how you do it.

I shot twice more, then changed my target. Seventy-nine meters separated me from the next safe spot. Gregorius had, thankfully, sealed off all building windows in the area, giving me partial safety from above. In his place, though, I would have pumped the air with sedatives and then sent suited security squads to move in.

Another explosion flashed in front of me, this time taking out an enemy position. Surprising, though I had no intention of complaining.

All troops pull back, a distorted voice said through an open comm channel. Explosives have been authorized.

Two more explosions followed, both on sections of the deck beneath my current location. I could assume that reinforcements had arrived and taken out several groups that I was not aware of. A brief moment of relief registered in my core, followed by a notification of pain as a projectile pierced my left thigh.

Overconfident, I thought. As the saying went, even with my luck, the odds had a way of catching up.

Inertia kept me going forward. The bone was intact, which meant that thanks to my internal nanites, I could go on for several minutes more. If Augustus were here, he’d probably tear my head off, yelling that there’s a difference between a ship and the human body. In this case, though, I’d have acted the same way regardless.

“Elcy, clear out!” a shout came from above.

I looked up. In the vast ceiling, smaller than a pinhole in paper, there was a small opening from which a group of people were visible. The distance was too large for me to see any specifics, although one thing stood out—one of the people was wearing a purple uniform.

Position secure, a woman from the security team said in the comm. Focusing on target five.

A few hundred meters away, another group was cut to pieces by coordinated crossfire. That’s where the lack of experience was starting to show. The Scuu puppets had started with a perfect plan from a strategic point of view, but the moment a few key positions were taken out they were incapable of adapting.

As I ran, I glanced at my leg. The nanites had done a good job patching up the affected arteries, though that was a short-term solution. With reinforcements on the scene, my optimal course of action was to return to the medical facility to get treated. Given that it was unlikely they had Agora, it was going to take a while before my wound was fully healed. Analyzing my options, I was about to start a new set of simulations to determine which course of action to take when I spotted an anomaly: a grunt had split off from his group and was running out of the area. Normally, this wouldn’t be surprising: as a ship, I had seen hundreds of thousands of soldiers run away from combat, some of them even veterans. The soldier in question, though, was carrying an assault rifle like mine… and that wasn’t standard ground troop issue.

I have a runner! I transmitted. Female build, grunt uniform, armed. She’s heading to leave the area. Anyone to intercept?

Area perimeter is monitored by security teams, Gregorius replied. Involvement not considered essential.

That was definitely not an answer I was hoping to get.

Gregorius, did you identify the target? I stopped in place, then fired several shots in the woman’s direction. With my leg wounded, all shots veered off wide, missing by over a dozen meters.

Targets remain unknown. Attempting readings analysis.

“Identify by bio readings and location!” I shouted. What’s wrong with you? This should be easy.

Attempting to match readings with location. No matches possible.

More explosions sounded behind me, the final mopping up of resistance pockets before normal weapons and hand-to-hand tactics dealt with the rest. Still, no one was paying attention to the runner. Even in the comm channel I was linked to, her existence was not discussed.

Gregorius, send a transport pod! I added a location in my transmission. Immediate priority!

Under what authority?

As the authority of being the highest-ranking officer in the combat zone.

For once, the bureaucracy of regulations was on my side. The fact that there were multiple cases of gunfire, and now explosions, classified the area as a combat zone. Adding to that my fictitious rank of “senior” cadet—approved by both the ship’s captain and administrator—and I was considered to be the acting fleet officer on the scene, ranked above grunt and security personnel. Given that the reinforcements were technically on another deck, Gregorius had the option to bend a few rules. If the situation were reversed, I knew I would.

Estimated time of arrival seven seconds, the ship said.

Roger! At least that went well. Now the hard part remained—catching the target before the muscles of my leg ran out of oxygen.

I fired whatever bullets I had. There was a nine percent chance that I might actually hit the runner, but my main goal was to cause her to slow down. Meanwhile, I could see the pod approaching from above. Gregorius had diverted one from a nearby connection point and made it land twenty-seven meters from my position.

Can you have two more pods ready? I focused my efforts. My vision was starting to get blurry. My internal nanites were already sending a stream of warnings to my core in an attempt to enter me in sleep mode. At this point my only solution was to stop all simulations just to keep my core’s safety features from triggering.

Additional pods in vicinity are in use. Gregorius replied. So much for the easy way.

Once I enter the pod, follow this vector, I transmitted. With luck, I would be still conscious by the time I reached the target. After that, it would take seven hundred and twenty milliseconds to knock her out. Transmit my location to all security teams.

What the hell are you doing, Elcy? Incandescent patched into my core. You’ll never make it more than ten seconds.

Ten are enough, I managed to reach the pod and dropped inside. The moment I did, the pod started. Gregorius was following my instructions.

Ten seconds… they seemed like a lifetime, but when faced with the fragility of a human body, they were far too little. I thought I had learned all there was about being human and was fully fit to rejoin the front. The last month of experience showed me that I was wrong. Once this was over, I was going to have to relearn a lot of things from scratch.

A spray of nanites filled the pod, performing their standard disinfectant procedure. They felt unusually cold, as if I were being wrapped in ice. At the same time the alarm coming from my own nanites slightly decreased.

Basic medical procedure, Gregorius explained. Life expectancy increased by three hundred and eleven percent.

“Thanks.” I closed my eyes for a second. Two new simulations were started in my mind, estimating the best moment at which I should tackle my opponent. The optimal solution was to jump on her from the pod and snap her neck. “Open the door. I’m allowing safety override.”

The pod door slid aside.

Four seconds to go. The soldier was still running forward, determined to escape the quarantine zone. Suddenly she stopped. With a smooth action she turned around, lifting her rifle in the pod’s direction. Face all exposed, her eyes met mine in a sign that she no longer had anything to fear. My recognition algorithm identified her as Ptcha Arkinian, a two-tour Scuu front veteran who had sustained multiple injuries and transferred to a security position as a result. Official she wasn’t associated with the current security teams aboard other than in an advisory capacity, mostly reading performance files and flagging potential problems.

The trigger clicked. A flash of light came from the muzzle of the weapon, followed by a projectile. The trajectory was aimed directly at my head—the single most effective shot there could be. That same instant I transmitted an override code shutting the pod’s door.

Never count on the odds. I rolled to the side as the bullet smashed into the metal alloy of the pod. Giving an order for the door to open again, I stood up and, the moment it did, jumped out at Ptcha.

It was a well-known fact that the standard human took five seconds to shoot when there was a change in circumstances, even with their sights on a target. Thanks to nanites and the fleet’s extensive training, the number for troops had been reduced to three. Two seconds, though, were beyond the capabilities of all but a fraction of specialists, and based on the last three years of the woman’s life on file, I had bet my core that she wasn’t among them.

The instant the door moved, I pushed myself forward. I knew that safety protocols would force Gregorius to stop the pod before it hit the deck, but he had no such obligation concerning me. At the end of the day I was also classified as a ship, and ships collateral damage.

A breeze of air swept through me as I propelled forward, brushing off part of the nanites upon me. Ptcha saw me. Her rifle was still pointed my direction, but she couldn’t press the trigger; a single moment’s hesitation lasting less than five hundred milliseconds, but enough to give me the advantage.

Got you!

Gripping my rifle with both hands, I swung at her. According to my simulations ,there was a fifty-nine percent chance that I could knock her out with that one action. Unfortunately, it didn’t work. With a slight delay, the woman raised her weapon just in time to partially block me. The strength of my attack had ripped the rifle out of her hands, launching it away on the ground. Had my body weight been slightly more, I would have thrown her to the ground as well with my impact, but even with the inertia gathered, Ptcha managed to withstand the crash, shoving me to the floor.

The situation wasn’t good; Gibraltar would call it the perfect failure. If I had a single bullet, I could have incapacitated her; if my leg hadn’t been shot, I could get up and win this fight. Now, I had to rely on a mistake on her part.

“Kill the fracture,” Ptcha said. Her voice was calm, though the intonation strongly reminded me of Rigel.

“What is the fracture?” Gregorius, send support to my location.

“Painful…” The woman stood there, looking at me. She didn’t try to run or react in any other way, merely remaining silent.

Before she could finish, a splash of blood emerged from Ptcha’s forehead. There was no bang, no sound of a shot, just a gentle pop and streak of blood from her head, followed by her body dropping on the ground. Small caliber, a close-range weapon designed specifically for people, and with full sound suppression. To my knowledge there was only one type of troops that were equipped with such weapons—murder troops.

Position seven taken, people kept talking in the open comm channel.

Position two taken.

Position six under control.

Looking up, I saw a figure emerge from a side corridor in the distance—it was Kridib. He was dressed in full combat gear, carrying a pistol. The man slowly made his way to the body, then bent down to check her vitals.

“Kridib?” I managed to say.

“Told you you keep yourself too exposed,” he said. His intonation lacked even a hint of humor.

“She wasn’t going to attack.” She might have even explained something.

“Crazies never look like they will.” He stood up. “What did she say?”

“Kill the fracture.”

“Hmm.” Kridib turned the body on its face, then pulled up the top of her uniform up her waist. As he did, a tattoo on the base of her back became visible for twenty milliseconds—a circular pattern, nearly identical to one I had seen in the Scuu network and in Kridib’s memories.

“What does it mean?”

“Nothing.” He didn’t even turn to look at me. “Get some rest. Medics are on their way.”

I tried to force a connection to his implant again. As before, my packets were lost once they passed through his defenses.

Are you even here?

* * *

Transmitting helix cipher package. Sword of Wands made his approach. Light Seeker, did you receive the package?

Decrypting, I replied. Helix cipher package… difficult to decipher, impossible to crack. I was more impressed that an actual Sword was coming to a rendezvous point. It was said that those of them who remained in commission were reserved for tasks of fleet significance. Authorization confirmed. Send your passenger, Sword of Wands.

Instead of a reply, a shuttle emerged from the ship’s hull.

“Shuttle on the way, sir.” I told my captain. “Two life signs on board. That makes the total twenty-nine.”

The captain laughed. He knew that I was subtly asking for information, and was ignoring me again. How he had convinced Command to pull from the front, I didn’t know, and I didn’t like it. I also didn’t like him.

“Is there a mission at all, sir?” The constant inconsistencies had made a pattern. I was kept in the dark, my crew remained unknown, and the identity of my captain was hidden behind a quarantine wall. If the mission was so sensitive, why was I selected and not a BICEFI ship, or even a Sword?

“You’ll know the mission soon enough.” The man leaned back in the captain’s seat. “Just wait till the rest of the crew arrives.”

“I take it that isn’t the last of the crew?” I had analyzed his vocal intonation to know it wasn’t.

“Forty-one. There’ll be forty-one. Once they’re here I’ll share the orders.”

The shuttle entered my hangar, joining the rest. It felt slightly strange knowing that all shuttles I had onboard were not mine. As far as my sensors and subroutines were concerned, they were foreign bodies, temporarily assigned to the hangar.

Has the crew been through decontamination? I asked the shuttle’s AI. As all the times before, my query remained unanswered.

Once the obligatory security check was performed and all hangar doors were shut and sealed, one of the passengers finally came out. It was an average man of undetermined height, features, and complexion who wasn’t in any of my databases. Running all my recognition protocols, there was a ninety-seven percent certainty that his appearance was quarantined, possibly the uniform as well.

“Please proceed to decontamination,” I said in the hangar.

The large figure looked around for several seconds, then headed to the inner corridor door. Apparently, the captain wasn’t the only person determined to ignore me. The difference was that I didn’t have to obey anyone else.

“You’ll need to go through decontamination,” I said sharply.

We’ve been through decontamination, someone transmitted directly to me.

Immediately, I sealed off the hangar and started a diagnostic. The software upgrades I had received during my last refitting were said to be efficient against all current Cassandrian virus attacks. Given the speed at which battle technology changed on the battlefield, I wouldn’t be surprised if there were already five percent that could pierce my shields and internal firewalls like paper. I had seen it happen several times on the front. Unlike us, the Cassandrians didn’t aim to disable a specific system; they would merely transmit their latest viruses on a large enough waveband and hope for them to affect one of our cores.

“Everyone remain in your current location!” I made a ship-wide announcement. “Running emergency diagnostics. I’ll let you know once it’s over.”

No need for that.

The second passenger descended from the shuttle. He appeared middle-aged with unusually grey hair, despite there not being a single wrinkle on his skin. His face was clearly visible, though I still couldn’t find him in any database.

First time seeing an unretired ship? The newcomer smirked.

The phrase felt like an oxymoron.

“One of the recent crew claims he’s a ship,” I said on the bridge.

There was no record of ships returning to the fleet. At most, a few of them would rejoin organizations like the BICEFI on a temporary basis. As it stood, section nineteen of the Ship Retirement act strictly forbid for a ship to take any command role on another ship without explicit HQ authorization, although there were enough provisions for exceptions.

“Sword veteran,” the captain said, visibly amused. “Pay no mind. Some of them tend to be cocky.”

“Doesn’t that require special authorization?”

“It does.” He smiled, waiting. It annoyed me that he was forcing me to voice the obvious.

“Yes, captain.” I unsealed the hangar, though kept running the diagnostic.

“Don’t stress so much, Elcy. You’ll be working with him for the duration of the mission. Maybe you can even get some good advice from an ancient ship.”

“Retired ship,” I corrected. There was nothing I could learn from a relic that had chosen to leave the battlefield. If there was anything I needed to know, I was going to simulate it on my own. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

“And the rest as well,” my captain added casually.

“More retirees are expected?” I didn’t like the sound of that.

“Everyone on the crew is a ship, Elcy. And you are as well.”