I kept staring at the sandals. They had been with me ever since Sev had bought them for me, long before I had rejoined the fleet. Back home, I had taken them almost every time I had gone out during spring and summer, more often than not carrying them rather than wearing them. Since I’d come aboard the Gregorius, they had only sat in my quarters. I had promised Sev to have them with me during my missions, yet right now I was unsure if I should take them at all. What was more, I was starting to lose the desire to walk barefoot.

Incandescent told me we’re flying again, Radiance said. She sounded happy. Finally together again, eh, grandma?

A virtual chuckle was added to her transmission, but it somehow felt less enthusiastic than the last time I boarded her. Surveying a graveyard system had taken its toll, even if less than expected.

“Yes, Rad, finally we’ll fly again.” I left the sandals. Once the mission was over, I’d pick them up. Then things could return to being as they were before… hopefully. Depending on the results of the third-contact, there could be another war on everyone’s hands. “Anything unusual in the system?”

Nothing much… if you’re a two-hundred-year-old antique that’s seen it all! She sent the virtual equivalent of a tongue sticking out.

I understood the joke, but didn’t find it funny.

The system is filled with scattered gravitational anomalies. There doesn’t seem to be a pattern, but they’re mostly located between the orbits of the outer two planets. Still mapping them, but I have a general idea of where everything is.

“Any near the debris field?” I took my sack and left the room. Unlike last time, I was wearing full combat gear, complete with a reinforced carbon composite suit made specifically to fit my size. The pistol I was carrying, though, wasn’t.

A few past the pearl cluster, other than the field itself. There’s no way it ended up in one plane. I’ve run the odds. The chances of that occurring naturally are virtually zero.

“Might be a weapon system.” During my second mission on Prometheus, I had witnessed a system with eight suns and an unnatural abundance of gravitational anomalies. I had also found a deserted Salvage ship. Officially, there had been no activity of any kind in the system. That hadn’t stopped the Salvage Authorities from sending an advanced probe to check it out, though. “How are you holding up?”

I’m armed up to my service corridors. If a Scuu or anything shows up, I’ll drill it with enough torpedoes to make the debris field dizzy.

“Radiance…” That isn’t the question I asked, and you know it.

I’m within parameters. No need to worry. There was a fifty millisecond pause. I need to do a quick diagnostic. See you when you get here.

“Sure.”

She was clearly lying, but also seemed to be coping adequately. I hoped that she wouldn’t be put to the test, but knew there was less than an eight percent chance of that happening. third-contact artifacts had a tendency to complicate matters just by existing.

I didn’t see any cadets as I left the building. New security regulations had them in their quarters when not on duty. Juul had agreed on this, and as much as I distracted him in other regards, I knew he would try and make sure they were safe.

The transport pod was waiting for me. Before going on, I took a quick look around. The security teams had increased in size. Several of them tagged me as I went aboard—things were getting tense.

“Gregorius, how are you doing?” I asked as the pod made its way to hangar two.

Static.

“Gregorius?”

Main systems and subroutines are fully operational, the ship replied. All gardens as well. Do you want to visit one before going?

“Thanks, Gregorius.” It was a nice gesture, though at the worst possible time. “I’ll do that once this is over. Is the temporary garden still functional?”

It’s scheduled to be dismantled in sixteen hours and thirty-two minutes. Security concerns made its existence impossible.

“Good to know.” There went one garden. “Keep doing far scans. And be ready. Things might get tense.”

Thank you, Elcy.

The closer I got to the hangars, the more the composition of the security teams changed. The overall size doubled, with full gear grunts taking up over two-thirds. By the time I got off, there were nothing but ground troop personnel equipped with heavy weapons.

“Name and rank.” A rather short grunt lieutenant approached me. For the first time, I was glad to have seen someone my size.

“Senior Cadet Light Seeker,” I said clearly. “I’ve been transferred aboard Radiance.”

The lieutenant flicked through his datapad. Nineteen flicks later, he stopped and looked at me intently.

“Gregorius can confirm my identity,” I said with a slight smile. “So can Radiance.”

“Mhm,” the man replied, unimpressed. “Battleship?”

“Yes.” I confirmed. “Do I need a nanite check?”

The question made the officer tense up. The fact that I knew what procedure he was performing seemed to make him nervous. That, in turn, made me concerned. Someone had ordered that the hangar check points not rely on ship system confirmation. To confirm my suspicion, I attempted to establish a link to his datapad using Lux’s tools. No connection was available.

“Any other gear?” He pointed at my weapon in an attempt to make the subject change appear natural.

“Just what’s on me.”

“No ammo?”

“I’ll be given more aboard if needed.” My reply earned a strange look. “Ex-battleships aren’t allowed to use weapons unrestricted, sir,” I reminded. “Regulations.”

“Never heard of those.” He waved a sign to his men to open the shield door to the hangar.

“They’re in effect for fleet officers only, sir.” I still wasn’t sure if any retirees were actually allowed to become ground troops. “It’s the same in most civilian systems.”

“If you say so.” It was obvious he had already lost interest in me. “Go straight to the ship. There’s no decontamination or additional checks. Just follow your line path and don’t deviate.”

“Yes, sir.” I gave a quick salute and walked past.

A green line appeared at my feet, continuing into the hangar. The rest of the soldiers appeared somewhat calm, but I saw their fingers on the triggers. The paranoia was reaching levels I had seen in the first-contact memory fragment. At this point, it was impossible to tell whether this was due to Scuu involvement or simply human nature. Despite all the security measures, information about the suicide wave was starting to leak. It was only a matter of time before the nature of the system leaked as well.

No time pressure, though, I thought.

The hangar bay was full with people, the majority of which were technicians and supply personnel. Missiles and equipment were everywhere, as was a healthy presence of ground troops.

“Keep to your line.” A soldier in full gear waved for me to keep on walking. I picked up the pace.

Your hull is intact, I told Radiance as I made my way aboard. The ship just humphed in response. When do we go?

Three seconds aboard and already bossing me around. Radiance said in mock anger. Captain says five minutes, so about half an hour. Still need to finish the weapons diagnostics and get all the crew here.

Is Kridib aboard?

A thousand milliseconds passed without an answer.

Rad? I asked. Is Kridib here?

Why are you so interested in him? He’s just a grunt with chips in the brain.

Radiance… I could never understand why she disliked him so much. Other than on that one mission, I wasn’t sure that she’d had any other interaction with him.

He’s aboard, talking with Flight Colonel Nitel again. Whenever there’s a dark meeting, he’s always there.

He didn’t want to kill me, Rad. And even if he did, he was a human following orders. Unlike ships, humans rarely got court-martialed for loss of ships. Focus on the mission. Everything else will fall into place.

I’ve enough subroutines to focus on everything, Radiance said and deliberately blocked the connection. Her recent maturing experience didn’t seem to have made her any less touchy. The notion made me smile.

“Welcome aboard, ma’am.” A white-haired man gave me a salute as I entered the corridor. He was out of uniform, but I instantly recognized the sergeant from our previous mission. “Nice to have you back.”

I returned the salute. “I’m still a cadet, sergeant.”

“Not this time, ma’am. Orders have come you’re a VIP with operational command. You call the shots now.” The fluctuations in his voice told me he wasn’t pleased with the situation.

If only that were true. “Where do I bunk?”

“Officer’s deck, ma’am,” the sergeant replied. “Ensign’s quarters. You’ve got a choice.”

Several dozen more people stood to attention as I passed by. Some of them I recognized from my previous mission, others were new, all of them murder troops. The atmosphere was much darker than before. If last time people were eager to get some action, despite the rumors, this time they were glum and quiet, not knowing what to expect.

Does the crew know what we’re doing? I asked Radiance.

No response.

I guess not.

My quarters were less stoic than what I expected. Radiance had taken the time to cover the walls and ceiling with images of the current star system we were in. All of the images were static, focusing on the aesthetic aspects.

“Requesting permission to mail images to my ward,” I said. They weren’t as nice as the ones I had sent before, but would put Sev’s mind at ease. “Show me the debris field.”

I put my baggage in the assigned place, then sat on the bed, still in my gear. Four feeds appeared on the wall facing me. The debris field was now divided into sectors. Each of the ships in the pearl cluster—now sixteen in total—were all tracked and had been given specific codenames. Beyond them extended a belt of debris in perfect orbit around the equator of the second planet. Other than a chart of gravitational anomalies, the ring was uniformly spread out, ending abruptly almost half a million kilometers from the planet. Points of interest such as “The Spots,” “The Perfect Plane,” “The Grapeshot,” and forty-three others were marked and highlighted. Two-thirds of the way in, a second belt of larger ship debris was apparent, dubbed the “Inner Pearl Ring.”

“Zoom in on the inner ring,” I moved closer to the wall.

The debris were unmistakably ship components, though running through the blueprint database yielded no results.

“Are those Shield model debris?”

General fleet access four required for that information, a subroutine informed me.

“Request authority access from Gregorius’ Administrator.”

Request sent.

I waited.

Request granted. The ship fragments remain unclassified. There are no matches with any models of the Shield or Sword classes or existing prototypes.

“Are they Paladin fragments?” A brief spark of fear went through me.

According to the official claim, no Paladin ship had been lost in battle. Due to the massive drain of resources, at the time, only twelve such ships had been built and brought nothing but victories. All of them had sustained heavy damage at one point or another during the war, leading to a few being brought back from the front and eventually shut down or transformed into space stations. Everything else relating to them was classified. Knowing what I knew now, could it turn out that there had been more Paladins? Paladins that had been destroyed in combat?

Ship fragments do not match any Paladin class components.

That’s good at least. “Do they match known Scuu ship models?” I had seen enough Cassandrian ships to know they were completely different.

Ship fragments do not match known Scuu ship models, the subroutine replied. The ship fragments remain unclassified.

“No further queries.”

Unknown ship types. I was seeing more and more of those lately. It was normal to see new classes on the Cassandrian front. Approximately every two and a quarter years, a new ship type emerged, usually in response to one of the fleet’s new models. One of the things that was drilled into my memory during initial ship training was to be thorough when self-destructing so as not provide information to the enemy. Here, though, we were dealing with debris at least centuries old. For none of those to make their way in the databanks meant the fleet had encountered something new which hadn’t been recorded since.

“Show me the other planets.”

Two new images emerged on top of the field. Due to fears about the Scuu, none of them had been actively scanned. If Prometheus were here now, he’d have a fit at the unscientific methods used. In this instance, I had to agree. It was standard practice to send a few disposable probes to check out planets, even in combat theatres. At present, the captain had imposed a million kilometer safe zone around every planet. All the ships and sats had managed to do was get a general view of the planet and basic spectral analysis. By all indications, the planets were dead—just lifeless blocks of matter with no atmosphere or satellites. There was no indication of valuable ores or minerals, though without a scan, there was no way to know for sure.

I got the go-ahead, Radiance said. Will be out in fifty-three seconds.

“Okay.” The new mission was starting. Skimming through my datapad, I checked for mission briefings. There was a stream of events taking place on the ship, most restricted to anyone but ship security, but nothing relating to me.

We’ll get the mission name and details when we get closer. Orders.

“Orders…” Another black op mission. “ETA?”

Seventeen hours and twenty-seven minutes. Then forty-two hours more.

“Thanks.” Her max speed was faster than mine had been. The fact made me slightly jealous. “Tell me if I have any outstanding orders.”

Sure thing, grandma. Radiance mocked. Don’t fall asleep till then.

“Privacy mode.” Messages covered the images on the walls. The Administrator had kept her word.

The first thing I did was try to reach Lux. The second, to get in touch with Age. In both instances, I failed. The response I received from Lux was that I didn’t have the authority to establish a connection, and in the case of Age, the comm attempt timed out.

Never good timing with you. I put my datapad on the bed, then composed the message directly in my core.

Arrived. No doubt it’s a contact system. Lots of ship fragments in the system, I don’t think all of them are ours. I think there might be a sphere here. Will investigate.

I encrypted the message as best I could then sent it directly to Lux. With some luck she’d be able to read it in the next few hours and contact me before I lost my communication privileges. If I was right, there could be a third-contact dome on one of the planets. The Administrator had stated that artifacts weren’t her priority; if she knew the specifics, she might reconsider. Another dome would get the BICEFI all that much closer to attempting to assemble the artifacts. Or maybe there wasn’t an artifact here anymore… this wouldn’t be the first time the fleet had destroyed an artifact just to prevent the other side from obtaining it.

* * *

System Unknown, Cassandrian front

Salvo commencing in sixty milliseconds, I announced, sending the final instructions. Throughout the fleet, weapon systems responded, awaiting the final synchronized order. And all the while, I still had no idea about the purpose of this entire operation. Since the start of the wars, ships had been wasted and sacrificed every day, but there always was at least some indication as to what the overall goals were. To make things even stranger, the Cassandrians had responded by sending a massive fleet of their own to reconquer a strategically useless system. And based on the amount of ship remains, this wasn’t the first time.

Initiating salvo. I gave the trigger command.

As the rays shot at the target, a single image came from my minisat, providing me with a visual. The spot was surrounded by molten smothering rock of the planet’s crust, amid balls of smoke and fire. The deep scan, though, had revealed something: a single anomalous spherical object of dense metal buried deep under the rock. I watched the cluster of rays drill up to it… then the entire planet exploded with the might of a supernova star.

Quarantine Imposed.

Quarantine bypassed.

“Brace for impact!” I announced on all decks as I directed my subroutines to reinforce my outer hull.

The explosion didn’t have the mass expulsion of a star, but the shock waves were stronger than anything else I’d experienced. All my simulations screamed that the chance of survival was virtually nil. Even if I hadn’t sustained any damage, my frame wasn’t constructed to handle that much power; no ship was supposed to be.

Final shutdown imminent, I transmitted in the fleet comm channel. No survivors expected.

Eighty-one similar messages were transmitted simultaneously. A millisecond later, all comm lines were severed. I attempted to do a general scan of the system, but my sensors were blind. Based on my latest data, the explosion had the strength to tear apart every ship in orbit up to those at the far extremities of the star system. In effect, nothing was going to survive.

“Engaging evasion maneuvers,” I lied on the bridge. If this could grant a moment’s peace of mind before their death, it was worth it. Redirecting all my subroutines, I filled all occupied spaces with a sedative cocktail—there was a theoretical chance that some of the crew could be affected before I was vaporized.

Thank you for being my captain, Gibraltar, I thought and started counting out the microseconds.

The first five hundred passed slowly. Halfway through, I redirected ten subroutines to run a simulation on how to maximize survival rates: a futile exercise that helped distract me from the imminent demise of my crew.

Another five hundred microseconds passed. Then a thousand more. My hull nanites didn’t pick up any fluctuations.

Ten milliseconds… twenty-five… a hundred and fifty and still nothing.

One second… five... ten… twenty… the sedative mixture had started to affect some of the personnel in the smaller rooms. A few were already knocked out, their readings stable.

When the five-minute mark came, I knew that something was wrong. By this point, I wasn’t supposed to exist. Using what systems I had, I ran a quick diagnostic of my comm protocols, then launched a minisat. The moment I did, my link to it instantly vanished. That was expected. Eighty-six seconds later, the link reappeared without warning, along with all of its sensor readings.

According to my simulations, the planet and the surrounding fleet was supposed to be missing. The data from the minisat, though, said otherwise. Less than two kilometers away, positioned between me and where the planet was supposed to be was a ship… the Sword of Wands.

* * *

Thousands of ships on both sides had been destroyed in that system, and still the Sword of Wands had somehow managed to survive. There was no telling what had happened to the system. Other than the memories I had access to, all information about it was classified. Was it possible for the same to have happened here, but for someone else to have initiated the blast?

Communication request from the science ship Prometheus, one of Radiance’s subroutine informed. Request has been approved by fleet command and Radiance.

“Understood.” I focused back on the present. “Who is it from?”

Information not provided.

“Accept.”

Radiance has requested to join in the communication channel, the subroutine continued. According to privacy ship regulations, you are not obliged to accept.

“Accept.”

Establishing communication protocols. Link generated.

I felt Prometheus’ familiar comm query protocols immediately after I connected to the link. It had been less than a year since I had been aboard the science ship. With everything that had happened, it felt like an eternity. Back then, there had been minor friction between us. He hadn’t appreciated the fact that he was younger than me and that I was a retiree to begin with, and his opinion had only grown worse with BICEFI’s open interest towards me. I wouldn’t be surprised if part of that bitterness remained; after all, his memories regarding the third-contact artifacts had been restricted. Mine weren’t.

“How are you, Prometheus?” I took the initiative. “Staying out of trouble?”

“He is,” a female voice said. “Unlike you.” A chuckle followed.

“Alicia?”

“Hey, Elcy. Been a while.”

The last time we’d spoken face-to-face was during our training in Libra. Both of us had doubts she’d make it till the end of training. Her efforts managed to put her in the top ten percent, which led her to be assigned on a prototype ship. In contrast, I ended up being in the middle of the pack. There was something funny about her being on the ship I was first assigned to while I was on the ship she had been on.

“How’s Radiance?”

“Eagerly listening in,” I said. “She’s been pestering me to get in touch with you for a while.”

“Is that true, Rad?” Alicia laughed.

There was no answer, but I suspected Radiance was enjoying the banter.

“Well, with our current schedules, it’s been impossible to meet up. Prometheus isn’t in the call, by the way. He sends you his best, same for a lot of the command staff. Oh, and a special hi from the doc. He said you’d understand.”

“Thanks.” My medical experiences on the Prometheus weren’t the best. “Tell them a hi from me as well. Did you get transferred there? I thought that wasn’t your type of assignment.”

“Oh, I’m not assigned here, just visiting while they find me my next ship.” There was a long pause. “I made ensign. It’s not in the database yet, but the official part passed.”

“I never had any doubt… ma’am.” If there was anyone who deserved it, it was her.

“You’ll make it too, I’m sure.” The doubt in her voice was as palpable as her pity.

“I know.”

There were no official statistics regarding how fast a ship got to a commanding position. Some of the cases had taken a few years, while others had needed half a decade. Considering my skillset and experiences, I could have been a lieutenant already if I had accepted the BICEFI’s offer. Instead, it was looking like I would need a few more years to become eligible for an officer’s position.

“Who’s the Prometheus cadet now?” I asked.

“Funny you should ask,” a male voice joined. The voice match instantly told me who it was—Jax. Like Alicia, he had been in the first group of recruits I had joined on my planet; he was also my junior on the Prometheus, when I had disobeyed orders and entered the third-contact dome. Our relationship was strange. Apparently, he’d had a crush on me since the training station; also, at the time, he didn’t like ships. “Glad you’re alright, Elcy. Missed you.”

“I didn’t have comm privileges.” I felt a certain amount of guilt. During my last mission, I had gotten him involved in something that could have had Jax court-martialed. What was worse, for a moment, I had taken advantage of his confusion regarding me. Everyone in the fleet knew that there were two things ships couldn’t experience—not like humans at least—fear and love. When it came to retirees, though, the perception of people started to blur. “Glad that things are picking up for you.” I mimicked his sentence construction.

“I know. Prometheus told me your assignment was restricted. You aren’t in trouble, I hope?”

“Just a bit. What about you?”

“He’s getting promoted,” Alicia chimed in. “Once this mission is over, he’ll get his own assignment.”

“It’s still not a given… I mustn’t mess up the next few months.”

“Is it a smart move to talk with me until then?”

There were many ways I could have said it better, but I didn’t want to risk his career again, or Alicia’s for that matter. Even in privacy mode, subroutines were monitoring the conversation, ensuring that censorship principles were followed. If anything confidential was mentioned, it would be blocked and a warning sent to the respective institution.

“We’ll be fine,” Jax answered after a few seconds. “Don’t worry.”

“What’s on your mind, Elcy?” Alicia had gotten the hint.

Should I lie? If I did, we could continue catching up and have the conversation we’d been trying to have for months. A few weeks ago, I would have done so without a second thought. I’d have listened to anything they were allowed to say, occasionally adding a comment of my own. It could have been so calm and carefree, but those weren’t my priorities anymore.

“Why might someone request murder troops?”

“Murder troops?” I could almost hear Jax blink.

“Your first assignment,” I reminded. “You had murder troops abord.”

“Yeah, I know, but… why ask about that? They’re human space only. Same as the ships. And no one calls them that. They almost never get involved. Most of the time they just escort logistics ships from place to place." He hesitated. “Nothing valuable, nothing that can’t be found elsewhere.”

“So they can be involved with smuggling?”

“I guess it’s possible, but it'd be one hell of a complicated system. When I was assigned there, we weren’t even allowed to near the log ship. It’d have to be done while on a space station, at which point, why bother with escort troops at all, when logistics could be easier?”

“Makes sense.” But in that case, why are they here?

“You sure you aren’t in trouble?”

“I probably am, but it’s not related to this,” I lied. “I’m just trying to figure out something.”

“Only thing I could tell you is that when on a planet, escort troops have full immunity. They don’t go where they weren’t called… and they’re always right.”

“Thanks, I’ll keep it in mind.” A useful warning, though it still didn’t answer my question. With two million ground troops aboard Gregorius, why pick murder troops instead of experienced grunts?

“That’s not quite right,” Alicia suddenly added. “Sometimes they can be reassigned to the Scuu front… when the loyalty of an entire ship’s crew is under question…”