External communication approved!

The message flashed in large green letters on the wall. Two weeks and a day I had been waiting for this, and now that it was here, I found myself hesitating. It was illogical by any standard. A while back, I had asked Cass, in one of her moments of clarity, why she never wanted to have a conversation with Sev. She had smiled at me and replied with one single sentence: I don’t want him to see what I’ve become. I also had fears, but they were the opposite—I didn’t want to see what had become of Sev.

According to the mass of messages I had been granted access to since the end of my mission, he had suffered some health issues. Alexander described them as minor, quickly fixed by a trip to a medical facility in the city. Looking through the med reports, I agreed, but the fact that he had to be sent there in the first place was alarming enough.

Compared to me, Sev remained a child… a child that had been shown no mercy by time.

“Establish connection,” I said. Damn the odds.

A feed image appeared on the wall. To my surprise, there were no warnings or reminders. There was, however, a countdown timer. Five minutes: that was all the time the fleet had granted me.

“Elcy?” Sev asked, narrowing his eyes. He looked slightly thinner than I remembered, clean shaven, and in a set of clothes that twenty years ago he had considered “highly formal.” Back then, he wouldn’t dare wear them for anything other than a special occasion. Judging by the signs of wear and tear, he must have had a change of heart.

“Hello, Sev.” I smiled in my grey cadet uniform. “Glad that you’re all right.”

“I’m always all right,” my ward grumbled. “A person can’t have indigestion with Alex going all crazy.” He glared to the side. “At least I got a taste of proper food there.”

“And antibiotics,” I added.

“Bah! Always about the antibiotics.”

Discreetly, Alexander stepped into view, bringing a half-glass of what looked like brandy. Some things never changed. I waited as Sev took a few gulps then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, placing the glass on the chair’s armrest.

“So.” Sev leaned forward. “How much trouble are you in?”

“Not much.” If you only knew. “Missions are often classified.”

“Training missions?” He smirked as if he was someone who knew more about the fleet than the entire bureaucratic apparatus itself. “I asked a bit. Those aren’t classified.”

“Even training missions are classified. It depends on the commanding officer.”

The nod he gave me said it all. No matter what I said, there was no way he’d believe me.

“What have you been up to?” With less than four minutes remaining, I changed the topic. “I read that the family is spending more time at the house now.”

“Heh.” Sev snorted. “They can’t wait to get me out of here. As if the city’s any good. Noise, smell, dirt, everyone going on about the war on and on and on… You know that Liski joined the fleet?”

“He did?” The BICEFI had kept their promise. I would have preferred that they hadn’t.

“Idiot. Just like his sister.” Despite the grumbling, I caught the note of sadness in his voice. “Idiots that think they can change the war. Keep an eye on him, okay?”

“I will.”

Fleet procedures strictly forbade family members from being stationed in the same training facility. I had no idea if Sev was unaware of that or if he was asking me to keep an eye on his grandson using other means. Either way, I was going to do my best.

“Good! That idiot… wasting a career in art because of things on the news. Think he’ll come back once he’s done with that nonsense?”

“The odds look good.”

“Mhm.” Sev nodded a few times.

Both of us could tell we were lying, and still we hoped it to be true. That was the issue with family—it was like having a whole bunch of captains simultaneously: enough to cause constant worry, but not enough to make me leave the fleet. At the end of the day, I was also doing this for them. The more I got involved, the greater the chance that others wouldn’t have to, especially now.

“When will you come home, Elcy?”

The question hit me like a drilling missile.

“I don’t know.” I can’t come back, Sev. Not anymore. “I’ll come visit soon.” I had been sending requests for weeks with no result. “Is the house still standing?”

“Somehow.” Sev looked to his side. “Alex is keeping it running. Somehow. Still can’t cook for crap.”

“I’ll be sure to show him how.”

The one-minute timer flashed—the notification for me to wrap things up. There was so much more that we had to say, and yet nothing at all.

“I have to go now, Sev. I’ll try to call again soon.”

“Duty calls, I know.” The man sighed. “Promise to stay out of trouble, all right? It’s bad enough I have to worry for the grandkids.”

“I’ll keep on writing. Maybe send a picture if it gets cleared.”

“You don’t need to send me pictures of places, Elcy.” Sev smiled. “I just want to see you.”

“Okay.” In all my existence, that wasn’t something I had ever considered. “I’ll do that.”

“Thank you, Elcy. Stay safe.”

The connection ended almost immediately afterwards. It seemed that it was more difficult for Sev than I had estimated. From his point of view, it had been several years since I had rejoined the fleet, and he already wanted me back.

“Clear wall,” I said and sat back on my bed.

Life and time kept on moving forward, dragging us all behind. I knew it was important for the past to define me, but I also knew that I could never keep hold of it.

We can only move on, I thought.

No news relating to the Scuu had reached the media. As far as humanity was concerned, the new war effort had been successful, pushing further into Scuu territory while keeping the Cassandrians at bay. Even the internal military reports were gradually moving away from Scuu topics, shifting focus to new weapon programs and developments.

The war movement had won a few battles on the political side, successfully increasing conscription numbers without a formal policy. Recruitment centers and training stations were becoming filled to capacity, with many of the central systems constructing new facilities. Virgo Station was no exception. The amount of cadet candidates had tripled since I had last been here. There was even talk of a secondary station being built in the vicinity to cope with the influx of volunteers.

“Your schedule has been updated,” the station AI informed me. Since my return, it was the only non-human entity I was allowed to talk to directly.

“Thanks, Virgo.” I put the datapad away.

The official reason given was that I needed to pass a period of medical observation following my return. No matter the amount of med checks I went through, though, the results always remained inconclusive. Lux had been right—I had attracted attention, and until it died out, I would remain a permanent feature on the station.

“Your leave request has been approved,” the AI said. “Your departure is set for forty-three days from now.”

That was a surprise. Everything considered, I thought I wouldn’t be allowed off the station. Apparently, the old administrator had kept her word.

“And my medical review?”

“Results are pending. Do you want to file a complaint?”

“Yes.” It had become more of a habit. “Same as before.”

“Your complaint has been logged. You will be informed when there’s an opinion on the matter.”

I knew I wouldn’t. My hope was to annoy some bureaucrat somewhere to the point where I was either granted comm permissions or at least told a reason so I knew what further action to pursue. It was almost funny how often that method worked. In the past, I had always assumed that a conscience core filtered the complaints, transferring only those of major importance to an actual person. After spending a few months on the Scuu front, I knew better.

“I’ll go to the garden area,” I said as I tucked my datapad in my uniform. “Let me know if anything comes up.”

I straightened up the shirt of my grey uniform, then left my quarters.

Despite the many things that had changed on the station, my routine wasn’t one of them. There had been no greeting when I came back, no fanfares or talks with the commandant; nothing but a small announcement buried among the hundreds of others in the station feed. Even now, the faculty staff had barely registered my existence. I didn’t think it was personal. The changes in overall politics had led to sweeping personnel change, making everyone fear for their position. Veterans with real combat experience were coming in, while professional teachers were being transferred to less prominent locations. I felt bad for losing some of the instructors I knew, but also glad I would be able to hear more stories from the front.

The corridors were packed with candidates, even if they were walking in a more organized fashion than before. Instructors and station officers were almost nowhere to be seen; even cadets like me knew better than to move around until curfew hours. Personally, I didn’t mind. The number of candidates had grown to such an extent that competition was fierce. Even a small infraction had the potential of costing someone their spot, which guaranteed that no one would risk bumping into me despite my small stature.

As I made my way to the garden section, my datapad pinged. I took it out of my pocket. A message had arrived. It was marked personal, but unlike all the recent ones I received, it required personal identification to be opened.

Age? I wondered.

The last time I had returned from a mission, he had contacted me and given me the mind scalpel. Could it be he wanted to share something new again?

I linked to my datapad directly and used my personal ident code to confirm my identity.

Authorization confirmed. Internal comm-link established.

The space around me blinked. A microsecond later, I stood in an empty room. It was similar to the one Lux had created during our covert talks, but the walls were smoother, black and glistening like smoked glass. There were no reflections to be seen, no images or charts, just one blue plastic envelope stuck on the surface across me.

“Lux?” I asked looking around. There was no answer. “Aquila?”

A timer appeared on the envelope, counting down from thirty, in white block digits. Whatever I was supposed to do, I had a limited time to do it.

Moving forward, I pulled the envelope from the wall. There was a loud peeling sound, as if I had removed a sticker from a screen.

The envelope resembled the standard issue military letters I had received back home. It had no seal or writing, only hinting that there was something inside. Slowly, I opened it and took out the contents—a picture card. Looking at it made me freeze up for a moment.

The picture was of a wide view shot of a bridge, undoubtedly a still from an internal sensor feed. Forty-one people were present. None were anyone I knew or could even recognize. They had no distinct uniforms, no identifying features, just a set of faces that didn’t match anything in my memories of the fleet database. The bridge, though, I knew well—it was my bridge from the time I had received my final refitting under Augustus.

As I looked, the words “The Squad of Junior Gods” formed on its surface. It wasn’t a memory I knew, but I recognized the phrase. My second captain had mentioned it to me once… or I thought he had.

“Who are you?” I looked up. “Who are the junior gods?”

The walls around me turned white. The letter disappeared from my hand, as if it had never existed. Instead, a message appeared all around me.

Happy birthday, Elcy. Enjoy your gift.