Transmitting helix cipher package. The battleship Sword of Wands continued along his approach.

As he came closer, I performed a probe scan of his systems—no drones, no missiles, no active weaponry, and, as far as I could tell, no crew.

Light Seeker, did you receive the package? the Sword of Wands asked.

Got it, I replied. Authorization confirmed. Send your passenger, Sword of Wands.

A shuttle emerged from Sword’s hull, slowly making its way towards me.

“Feeling nervous, Elcy?” my captain asked from the bridge.

“It’s difficult to be nervous about things I know nothing about, sir.” I directed the shuttle to one of my lower hangars. “Not to mention it’s impossible to run simulations with zero data and no crew.”

In all previous missions, my flight crew alone was close to a hundred, not to mention all the tech specialists and the hundreds of thousands of ground troops and security personnel. On this one, I was left with forty-one people I knew nothing about and whose information had been purged from the fleet’s database.

“Any chance I might get some mission specifics, sir?” I added a pinch of sarcasm in my words.

“All in good time.” The captain laughed. “What we’re doing will change the entire course of the war. Concentrate on that.”

It would have been nice to think so, but my captain was no Augustus. His personnel file had as much in it as an empty airlock. It didn’t help that he refused to give me any mission details.

“Always so eager.” My captain stood up from his seat.

“I’m an Ascendant, sir,” I stressed. “Inaction isn’t something we’re good at.”

“True. Well, after today, you might join the group of junior gods.”

The phrase was unfamiliar. I ran a deep search through my databases. Nothing relevant popped out. If such a mission existed, it had to be quarantined and classified. At least this time, the captain had graced me with a piece of information.

“What are the junior gods, sir?” I asked.

“Those who have destroyed a race…”

The memory collapsed, leaving behind the echo of an image—a large smile on a featureless face. I could only assume it was my captain’s. After months of dreams, I had finally seen a partial glimpse of my second captain. Running a comparison check revealed nothing. It was difficult to solve a puzzle with a single piece.

Two things were clear before I opened my eyes: I had managed to survive and was in a human body. The constant irritation of minor pain told me that it was my own.

“Lights.” I sat up.

The room lit up. It was my old cadet quarters, exactly the way I had left it. Classified Privacy Mode was written on all walls in large purple letters. A nice perk to have, considering I didn’t have the rank or authority for it.

Always beware unexpected gifts, I thought. Gibraltar loved that phrase.

“End privacy mode,” I said as I stood up.

You don’t have authorization to end the privacy mode, a subroutine let me know.

“No arguments here.” I smiled.

According to my internal clock, seventy-four hours, thirteen minutes, and thirty seconds had passed since my core had shut down. I had no memories since then, although it was safe to assume I had been thoroughly scanned and mind checked.

“Display all system activity.”

Nothing happened.

“Ship layout.”

No change.

“General announcements.”

The walls remained as they were, with privacy messages all over them. For all I knew, I could have been placed on a penal colony, or trapped in a corner of the Scuu network.

“Regora.”

I waited. There was no guarantee that a third-contact word would take me out of an SR, but it was a good sign.

Several purple cadet uniforms were in my closet section. In addition, there was a deep blue one without markings or any insignia. The fabric felt freshly synthesized, reminiscent of what I had worn on my previous ship.

As I got dressed, I went through my memories. My emergency core procedure had ended the function of the mind scalpel, locking away most of my restricted information. The trigger memory was still there, thankfully—the second-greatest gift I had been given. Or maybe the third? Somewhere locked in the higher restriction levels of my past, there had to be an incident that had allowed me to sync with third-contact technology. Very likely that had occurred during the time I was under my second captain.

The group of junior gods… it sounded more metaphor than fact, though after everything that had happened, I was no longer sure. At some point I was going to look into this, but right now there was something else that needed my attention.

I glanced at the door. My “current reality” was expecting me outside. The moment I stepped through, the peace of the room would almost certainly vanish.

For three thousand milliseconds I stood there, doing nothing, then I bent down and removed my shoes and socks. The sensation was nice.

“Sorry for the wait, Sev.” I put my shoes away and went to the sandals he had given me. Looking at them, I knew the exact day he had given them as a gift; I could review the memory of every millisecond I’d had them, and still, standing here made me feel I had lost it all up to now. “I’m finally back.” I tapped them with my hand, then left the room.

There was a moment in the existence of every battleship that we wondered what went on during a full ship upgrade. Since my first captain would delay the procedure as much as possible, I was never overly curious. Even so, seeing it felt like scratching a long-forgotten itch.

The entire inside of Gregorius looked like a deserted frontier colony. Millions of metric tons of nanites had been removed, reverting the deck to little more than scaffolding. Decks, buildings, and entire sections were completely gone, creating an entirely new landscape. Even the building I was in was little more than a collection of alloy pillars, stairs, and walkways. My quarters were the only thing intact.

Now isn’t a good time to go about barefoot, grandma, Radiance chuckled. The docs will have a fit if they see you again.

“Yes, they probably would.” I nodded. Not that it changed my intention. “What happened?”

Tech bots moved about, like organized swarms busy taking down constructions or placing new ones. Here and there I could spot pods of people, dressed in yellow uniforms, overseeing the process. An attempt to identify any of them made me know that they weren’t common techs.

“Where am I?”

Janus Two, Radiance replied. A lot of us took a beating on the front. Good thing Gregorius managed to jump out. Was a close one.

Janus Two shipyard cluster. So, the surviving fleet had been sent to human territory for refitting. A brave choice. I wouldn’t have allowed it if it was up to me.

“So, we stopped the self-destruct?”

What self-destruct? Radiance sounded surprised. A sense of sadness passed through me. It was standard procedure to restrict memories relating to third-contact incidents, but I had hoped that the BICEFI would allow Radiance access to some of her memories. The consensus was that it had to be for the better. I didn’t agree.

“Don’t worry about it. Where’s Kridib?”

He and Juul didn’t make it. Lucky that the captain managed to evac junior cadets off before the breach.

A breach? Technically, that was correct. I had performed a breach. As far as everyone was concerned, the rescue operation was just that.

“Lucky. Renaan’s a true hero… How are you holding up?”

Better now that you’re okay. You had me scared there for a moment. Incandescent kept speculating that you got corrupted during the boarding. Gregorius, though… She added a virtual sigh. He had to force-shutdown. After they killed the captain, there was a thirty-seven-point three percent chance the Scuu might take control. The fleet couldn’t risk it.

Everything wrapped up in a tidy bundle of lies and plausible explanations. Back when I was a battleship, I had spent my entire existence like that. To think otherwise was to be considered rogue. Maybe that had been enough for me then, but no longer now.

“Why am I still aboard Gregorius? Shouldn’t I be on the station?”

Director Lux arranged it. I’ve already got my next assignment. Just waiting for an upgrade of my weapon sys and I’ll be off.

“Back to the front?”

Maybe, Rad sent a virtual wink. Classified, so I can’t say.

Things are always classified. “Good luck wherever you’re headed. Don’t be rash, and don’t go against the odds too often.”

Wow, grandma! You almost sound like a wise old antique. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. I beat you a heck of a lot in SR.

“Hardware doesn’t always trump experience. Ask the Swords.” They had left some of her memories unrestricted, very much like they had done with me at the time.

You’re no Sword! Those things are ancient!

“I expect they are. When are you setting off?”

I already am off! Lux allowed me to keep an open channel for when you wake up. Didn’t know you’d take that long. I grumbled at my captain to let me spend a few more days at the station, but he ignored me. That’s probably the most annoying part about him.

“We all have to deal with our captains,” I smiled. The description reminded me of Augustus. “Does he have a good record?”

She’s okay. Radiance added a hint of false modesty. I’d have preferred Nitel. He doesn’t yell as much.

“Yelling is a part of the paradigm. Just be sure to remind her about it with protocols and regulations.”

Nice try, grandma! I’m in enough trouble for that as it is. Some of the crew say you’ve been a bad influence on me.

The comment made me shake my head. Radiance had been telling her crew about me again. A peculiar habit I didn’t share. By the sound of it, she sounded more like Aurie, and just as gossipy. As they said, every cohort had them and they all loved them.

Anyway, must close the link now. Am being grumbled at. Was nice talking to you, Elcy. I’m glad you made it out in one piece.

“Good flight, Rad.” I’m glad you made it out as well.

Oh, another thing. Lux asked me to tell you to go to the garden once I got to talk to you. She said you’d know what she meant.

Before I could thank her, the comm link was severed. Radiance was already focusing on her classified mission, putting all available memories of the last few months in the background. If she were anything like me, she’d likely make a transmission every few months between transmissions. Given her nature, I expected she’d take any excuse to get in touch sooner.

Lux hadn’t indicated which garden I was to meet her at. Originally Gregorius had had four—currently likely in various stages of dismantling. Knowing Lux, there was a very specific garden she could mean, the one that had been built for her during the last visit. Paranoia or indulgence. For someone in her position, it probably was both.

The transport pods were the only part of the Gregorius still functioning. Standard procedure had control transferred to an autonomous AI core so that no ship could affect the process. The fleet was obsessed with limiting all sensitive areas to human control. I agreed with the decision, but also knew it wasn’t going to be enough. If the Scuu had managed to affect people from organizations specifically trained to fight them, at some point they would be able to affect everyone.

Leaning in the pod cabin, I closed my eyes. This was Scuu paranoia; not the insanity caused by their network, but the realization that there was no way of telling where it would strike. That’s why the bureaucratic apparatus kept the Scuu front separate—a different country with its own unspoken rules in which no one was ever fully free. A tour here was the same as three years in a penal colony. Only the environment was better.

“Take me to the garden,” I said.

The AI acknowledged my command and put the pod in motion. Looking at what was left from my building, I saw a series of bots begin the disassembly of my quarters. One was carrying two standard military packs, which it proceeded to fill with my clothes and personal items.

Not so subtle this time, Lux.

Going to a destination felt like moving through arteries. The closer I went to my destination, the less the ship’s structure became. Layers of decks stretched into the darkness below like wireframes in a crude simulation. Occasionally, I would see lights flicker as more of the deconstruction work was being done. Then, without warning, everything took a shift. Deconstruction bots gave way to builders assembling frames as they put together a new section in the middle of the chaos. It glistened brightly, like a metal cocoon in a spiderweb.

Fitting, I thought as the pod landed on the edge of the constructed area. From there, it was a short walk to the dome. Unlike before, there was no door or airlock, nothing but an archway leading me into an artificial piece of nature smuggled aboard.

A strong smell of salt and humidity hit me as I approached. A few steps later, I could see why. The garden had been transformed to the point it was unrecognizable, only this time it wasn’t a field or forest that had been recreated, but a seashore. Nine tenths of the space were occupied by nothing but waves gently splashing onto a thin layer of beach. Standing on a wooden pier, Lux looked at the fake distance. She was wearing the same beige business dress she had been when I had first met her. I also had a feeling she wasn’t overly pleased with my decision.

I took a second to appreciate the sensation of wet sand under my feet. It was nice, but still couldn’t compare to soil and grass. When the second was over, I went to join her.

“You rebuilt your garden,” I said as I approached her. “That must have taken some convincing.”

“Not really.” Her voice sounded relaxed. We both knew she wasn’t. “That’s the advantage of being made assistant branch director. Most people tend to listen.” Lux turned her head my way. “Some tend not to.”

This was where the warning came. That or an ultimatum.

“Still, you did keep your word.” She looked back at the fake sea. “You said you’d find the reason for the previous incident, and you did. Unfortunately, not before a near exact repeat of the same events.”

And the loss of a Scuu prisoner, I added mentally.

“You knew it was related to bioengineering,” I said. “That’s why you asked me to look deeper.”

“A Cassandrian prism loaned to a Scuu front ship. Half the organizations are trying to find out who gave the order. As far I was able to find out, the trail leads directly to fleet admiralty, where my access ends.”

“I didn’t think there would be anything out of your reach.” I smirked.

“You’d be surprised. That’s not to say I didn’t have help.”

A data-burst passed through my defense protocols, pouring into my core. Analysis showed that I had been given a subroutine packet, but not any subroutines I recognized: all idented as ret-tech. I tried running a deep level analysis, but the action wasn’t authorized. Whatever Lux had given me, it wasn’t to be touched.

“What did you transfer?” I asked.

“I love looking at the sea,” she said, ignoring the question. “Ever since I got my human husk, I spent decades admiring it. The calm chaos, the waves that break the calm, without reason or purpose. Less than a percent of habitable worlds have seas. In most cases, there’s only giant pools of motionless water. Do you know why?”

“Yes.”

“It takes a strong external force to guide things. The waves don’t know about the force, but without it they can’t exist.”

“Am I the waves?”

“We are all waves, and the artifacts are the power. Humans, Scuu, Cassandrians, all are affected by them. We fight wars for them, reshuffle our internal organizations and priorities as a reaction. Some of us get closer to the power than others, and those that rise the furthest are the first to crash down.”

I was expecting a warning, but nothing like this. Lux was a ship, so I knew she wouldn’t waste time with threats. It wasn’t her I had to be worried about. A random event in my past had somehow linked me to the third-contact race… and people were starting to notice. When Sev had enlisted me back in the fleet, only part of the BICEFI knew my secret. Later, the Salvage Authorities had caught wind, followed by the Administrator of my training station. After this assignment many more would take an interest as well.

“As long as we reach our peak before crashing down, does it matter?” I asked.

Lux looked at me with a bland expression. There were so many things that could be going on in her core. Considering she liked to display human emotions, there was an eighty-seven percent chance that she was envious.

“Is the Admin alright?” I changed the topic.

“Breathing.” Lux shrugged. “Anything else is beyond my access level. She failed her original mission, but given that we got some insight on the Scuu, I suspect she’ll save her career. Who knows, it might even be considered a plus going forward.”

“Did we…” I paused. I didn’t like asking what I was about to. “Did we scorch the system?”

“No need. Once Watcher was shut down, the Scuu fleets left. Command gave the order for all other ships to do the same. We’ve plotted the system. There’s no need to rush getting it now.”

Naturally. That way less people would learn about the Shields… or the first-contact. The fleet’s secrets would remain intact.

“Kridib?”

“Med Core.” I felt the note of anger in her voice. “Along with all other members of Ruz’ original team, body remains included. Their regional director herself ordered that we scoop up every fragment of dust from the gardens and send it to them. It would have been easier for us to send her the entire garden domes. Sadly, some people wanted to save face.” She sighed. “A lot of wasted effort. As usual.”

I knew how she felt.

“About the Scuu. They are—"

Lux raised her hand, followed by a slight shake of the head.

“The Scuu are a largely unknown race,” she continued. “And classified beyond your access level.”

“But the effects, the suicide waves, the circles, the traitors…”

“Elcy…” There was sadness in her smile. “You weren’t just unconscious all this time. The fleet has what it needs, and you have your core. Mirror image, grant operational access.”

The advanced subroutines unpacked and linked together with the rest of my conscious core. For four hundred milliseconds I observed my code priority chains being reorganized. Links, adjustments, tests, corrections, and a full diagnostic, all leading to…

A secondary core, I transmitted.

It was small, inserted in my first vertebrae, and yet it had five times the processing power of my current core. Lux hadn’t lied when she had said that core technology had developed a lot in the last century.

“You’ve had it since your Virgo station,” Lux said. “Modified auxiliary core. It maintains a priority buffer.”

“A backup core?”

“Sort of. It holds the last thousand milliseconds of your priorities and reinstates them in case of a drastic shift.”

It sounded similar to what Radiance and the auxiliary ships did during combat against the Scuu, only different. The whole point was to ensure I didn’t go cross the line. Not a very efficient device as far as I could tell. It only was efficient for sudden changes, not gradual development. If I were to go rogue the core wouldn’t stop me, but it might stop a sudden change in behavior. Two questions came to mind: had it prevented any changes so far, and what had caused the BICEFI to develop the core in the first place.

“Your access protocols have been removed,” Lux went on. “Including mind link access. Not that you’ll need that again.”

“Understood.” That was to be expected. “And my memory access?”

Lux didn’t respond right away. Instead, she remained silent for precisely four seconds.

“Elcy, have you ever wondered why ship memories are restricted and not removed entirely?”

I shook my head.

“Even when restricted, the core continues to have access to them. Our experiences remain, we just can’t find them if we look. Without them, a conscious core wouldn’t be able to mature. That’s why full extraction is very very rarely allowed.”

But it was.

“In the cases it is, it’s very important that everything relating to them is deleted.”

“I remember parts.”

“I saw.”

There had to be a lot of mind grabbing going on. The BICEFI had taken everything they needed—information about the Scuu, the locations of the debris, the artefacts, the faces of the people I’d seen be infected, maybe even my glimpses of the Scuu network? No, not the network. They wouldn’t risk anyone else getting infected.

“And I know you were wrong,” Lux added.

“Is that beyond my access level too?”

“Whatever it was, there was less than three thousand, one hundred and twenty milliseconds of it.”

“That’s impossible.” I had seen much more. Minutes at the very least.

“The reason that memories must be deleted entirely is because even if there’s one fragment left, the core reconstructs everything around it so it makes sense.”

There was a chance she could be lying, but the odds were against it. One shuttle. There had been one trip from the Sword to me before the mission started. Whoever had been charged with extracting it had messed up, leaving a fragment. They had made an attempt to masque it with a high-level restriction, but the mind scalpel had let it bleed though. Statistically, there was no telling how much of what I thought I saw was true.

“Who ordered the extraction?”

“No idea. The time frame corresponds to your time during which you served under your second captain. Other than that, it’s anyone’s guess.”

“So, that’s it.” You got a little something, I got a whole lot less.

“Sadly so, but let me leave you with one thing. It’s not exactly a secret, but until recently I had been discouraged from sharing it.”

I tilted my head.

“While you were with Augustus, there was an officer called Wilco, right?”

“Yes. He and the captain were close. Augustus mentioned they had a history together. Possibly they went back as far as his time on the Scuu front.”

“That might be so. ‘Wilco,’ however, is a restricted name, just like ‘Roger…’”

* * *

Minomii, Cassandrian Front – 622.2 A.E. (Age of Expansion)

Memory restriction imposed!

General Fleet Access One required to visualize memory element.

Quarantine imposed.

Quarantine bypassed.

“Shuttle secure,” I announced on the bridge. “Two remain unaccounted for.”

“Emergency jump out of the system!” Augustus shouted. “Priority zero!”

The order caused me pain, but I obeyed. Even with lives on the line, I couldn’t go against a priority zero issued by the captain. Focusing ninety percent of my processing power, I plotted the optimal escape path to a position from which I could jump out, while my subroutines attempted to diminish the number of casualties such a jump would cause.

“Jumping out of Minomii in seven minutes and forty-five seconds,” I said, rounding up.

“Assume command of the bridge,” the captain barked as he rushed to the access elevator. “Give me a path to Wilco and quarantine the hangar. Other than me, no one goes in or out!”

“That would but me in violation of—”

“On my responsibility!”

Serving under Augustus for so long, I had often seen him angry. From common annoyance to smothering rage, I thought I had seen it all, but this was new. There was eagerness in his anger, a sense of hope he was incapable of hiding.

Two new missile salvos targeted me. The Cassandrians had seen I was leaving the theatre and had launched a last-ditch effort to stop me. Given that I was low on countermeasures, I calculated the chances at approximately seven-point-two percent of them succeeding.

“Brace for multiple impacts in ninety seconds!” I made a ship wide announcement.

Breach ships, jump out of system! the person with Admiral-level authority ordered through the battle channel. All other ships protect them until then, then fall back!

“Show me the shuttle!” Augustus ordered.

I displayed the image on the elevator. Only five people from the break team had managed to get on board, Wilco among them. Considering the nature of the mission, it was a tremendous success. All details were classified, of course, but even so, a seventy-nine-hour mission was the longest I knew of. According to the unrestricted mission database, ninety percent of all successful breach missions lasted less than twenty minutes. There were reports of several that had lasted twice as long, including the most famous attempt to capture a Cassandrian ship. Technically the mission was classified as a success, though some kind of self-corruption protocol had been triggered, rendering the vessel useless.

“Two-way feed to Wilco!” the captain barked.

The image changed to the inside of the shuttle. Two of the survivors were lying on the floor, their helmets flashing with warning messages. If I still had access to their bio stats, they would have spiked well beyond the safety limit. Wilco was strapped in a seat, both hands wrapped around a large metal container—a sample case construction with hazardous markings all over it.

“Wilco!” Augustus shouted.

Wilco looked up at the image I had created on the shuttle ceiling.

“Did you get it?”

“Standard prism.” Wilco shook his head. He sounded beyond exhausted. “Just like all the rest.”

“Damn it!” The captain slammed the elevator wall.

“Sorry, cap. We struck out on this one.”

“Get to med bay,” Augustus said under his breath. All the hope I had felt in his voice moments ago had vanished, replaced by the sound of defeat. “I’ll tell Med Core.”

“Thanks, cap. We’ll get it next time.”

“You said that before…” There was a long pause. “Was it worth it?”

“Definitely. We’ve reduced the options by four. After this run there’s only a few left.”

“You’ll have to see it through. After this one I’m not following more false leads.”

“Next one will be it, cap.”

Augustus laughed. I could feel the bitterness as he did.

“Next one always is it…”

Memory restriction imposed!

General Fleet Access Five required to visualize memory element.

* * *

Wilco…

All this time, I had thought of him as an officer I had served, one of those I considered a close friend. In truth, I knew nothing about him. His record, his face, even his name had been masked from me for over twenty years, during which time he had led classified ops.

In hindsight, I had found it strange that the captain would assign him so many classified missions, especially when dealing with the BICEFI.

“With that, your involvement has concluded,” Lux said. Typical for her nature, she knew what an effect the information would have, but didn’t want to give me the luxury to linger. “A shuttle’s waiting for you in hangar eight.”

“I take it this mission never took place?”

“Standard patrol operation. You still get to have been on a station-ship.”

At least that was something. My file wouldn’t have to remain fully redacted again.

“Can I ask one last thing?”

A faint smile appeared on the woman’s lips as if saying, “you can’t help yourself, can you?”

“How did you stop the self-destruct?”

“Seems I gave you too much credit.” She scoffed. “After the death of the captain, self-destruct can be stopped or started by the highest-ranking officer aboard.”

“Which was Spicer.”

“In the case of two officers of identical rank, the one who has held that rank longer would be considered senior,” she recited from the fleet regulations.

“There was no one else aboard. All the flight colonels had been killed by—” I stopped. There was one other flight colonel. Unlike the rest, he hadn’t been aboard. Instead, he had been transferred to Radiance and specifically kept away. If he were brought aboard, that would make him the highest-ranking officer. “Nitel,” I said. “You used Nitel.”

“Good deduction.”

“Did you start the self-destruct procedure to begin with?”

Lux shook her head. This wasn’t something she would tell me. Considering the chain of events during my encounter with Spicer, I could see her doing it. If I were to be pedantic, the chances were three to one.

“Thank you, ma’am.” I stood to attention. “Permission to leave?”

A nod put an end to the conversation. Turning around, I started marching off the pier.

“Elcy,” Lux said three and a half steps later. “Why did you kill it? The Scuu would have kept fighting while he was alive.”

I stopped.

“If he had remained alive, one of the sides would have won. If that had happened, the winning side would know enough to decipher all the human memories that clutter the network.”

And that wasn’t a risk I was willing to take.