Hi Sev,

I hope you are well. Sorry for the silence lately. I’m still writing to you every day, but there’s a lot of time dilation, according to Prometheus. I’d write more often, but I’d end up repeating myself and I know how much you hate that. I’ve arranged for Prometheus to send pictures of the star system to fill the gap. Think of them as a daily hello, and also a reminder to treat the android better. I understood from Bull Calf that you’re in the habit of changing his name periodically—the last one I’m aware oft was Alexander. Please settle on one name soon. I’m sure he doesn’t mind, but the constant change isn’t good for you.

We finally finished with our observation of Thursday today and are moving on to the Monday twins. Between you and me, the data gathered seems pretty standard, even if my scientific supervisor seems to be exalted by the readings. The Twins will be different, though—they are white and blue and intertwined in a way that is forcing us to be creative to get uncontaminated readings of each.

I paused for a moment, considering how to continue. I wanted to suggest that he use the pictures as inspiration for his fractal art, but that might be interpreted in the wrong way by BICEFI. The third contact symbols continued to be a sensitive topic, and I had no doubt that all of my communication was being watched. And then there was also the ship’s medical officer. Lately, Doctor Sim had been requesting more check-ups than normal under the pretext that he was monitoring the suns’ radiation effects on my body.

I took a crash course in shuttle piloting recently. With the high radiation levels in the system, I’ll be doing solo observations once we get past the third orbit. Even now, Elec will only be joining me once every three sorties. Hopefully my supervisor’s team will provide instruments that won’t fry up. It’s the usual dilemma—equipment can be precise or durable, but not both, so they are fighting over the balance.

How are the kids and grandkids? I thought about them the other day. I know you prefer not to be bothered, but I think you should talk to them. Maybe even invite them to dinner since you have an android now? I’m not telling you what to do, but should you decide, give them my best.

I must get back to my duties, but I’ll write again tomorrow.

Take care of yourself,

Elcy

I sent the message to Prometheus, then placed my datapad on the shuttle wall.

Is that your kid? Radiance asked. Her captain had requested she be given a permanent communication link to me, and Prometheus’ captain had agreed.

My ward, I corrected. And yes. He’s in his seventies. I didn’t want to go in further details concerning Sev’s age.

I can’t imagine being so old! Radiance said with the right amount of fascination to make it forgivable.

I’m twice that and more, Rad. I remained calm, even if the statement bothered me. Don’t you have any tasks to perform?

My subroutines are handling that. You’re the only ship I’m allowed to talk to.

I couldn’t blame her there. Every few days, I’d have a chat with Bull Calf. Most of the time we’d just share stories about the academy, and that gave me a sense of belonging. Back on the front, I wouldn’t miss a chance to exchange transmissions with hundreds of ships. A large part was gossip, but there’d always be time to share a few memories, exchange simulations, or engage in speculation and analysis. Aurie was one of the chattiest ships when it came to that. She’d discuss pretty much everything: her staff, her crew, the enemies she’d fought, even other ships. At the time, I used to mute most of the chatter, preferring to keep to myself. Now, I missed it. I could only imagine how bored Radiance must be feeling, especially with Alicia gone.

“Readings good?” Elec asked from the cargo area. He had been assembling the suicide satellite for the last hour, following the updated instructions Vexinion had given us.

I checked the instruments. “No unexpected fluctuations.”

There was a note of tenseness in the air. We had already lost two satellites in the last few days. The reason? An error in calculations that didn’t adequately predict the effects that sunbursts would have on the sat’s trajectory when combined with the surrounding gravitational anomalies. In the first case, the satellite had completely shattered before reaching Thursday’s corona. Since some data had been acquired, the operation had been declared a “partial success”—commonly known as “an officer’s failure.”

The second satellite had managed to withstand the external forces, yet had veered off course just enough to avoid the star’s surface, rendering the data useless. Since a second failure could no longer be disguised as a partial success, it was given the vague “unforeseen failure,” followed by a meeting of senior scientists. As a result, Prometheus had constructed a new satellite and the team had become a bit more testy in their communication.

“Do you think we’ll get it right this time?” I looked back at Elec. The cadet didn’t appreciate the question. I could feel his glare even under his helmet.

How many times did you mess up? I heard Radiance ask in my head.

Two, though technically none. It was best to provide some context. Apparently she had had her own experiences with fleet bureaucracy, for there were no follow-up questions.

“Tell me when we’ve set it up.” I tried to relax into the chair. The lack of gravity made my stomach feel weird, even if I enjoyed the sensation of weightlessness. At some point I’d have to tell a doctor so the data could be sent to the ship retirement program. For the moment, though, I planned to avoid Doctor Sim as much as possible.

Closing my eyes, I envisioned all star system data I had managed to obtain—star classifications, orbits, intensity, but most importantly the system’s actual location. It had taken considerable amount of work to calculate my relative position, but with enough persistence and observation equipment at my disposal, I had managed to do so undetected.

Prometheus wasn’t joking when he said that we were far from human space. According to all archive information, the sector we were in was of no interest and had never been touched by war. It was nowhere near any of the two fronts, which technically classified it as a safe system. This is where things stopped adding up. Surveyors were built for circumstances; neither them nor gravity distortion mines were supposed to be used in non-strategic star systems. Having both in the same place at the same time was too convenient for comfort.

I adjusted the shuttle display’s image, zooming out to get a nicer view of the sun. Somewhere behind, there were supposed to be three more, hidden by the first’s light. If I were still a ship, I’d be able to see them without issue. Being human, though, I had to get used to certain limitations, and not only my eyes, as I had found out five days ago. A search I had performed—an inquiry on gravity weapon systems—had been rejected on the grounds of insufficient security clearance. Apparently, bureaucracy had caught up to me, restricting my access to only common ship information. It had taken me a whole night of brute force reading until I came across documents detailing emergency behavior during gravity distortion detonations. The specs of the weapons had been omitted, but a careless line of text had snuck through, telling me all I needed to know: the weapons had been developed from Cassandrian technology.

“All set to go,” Elec said, floating to the head of the shuttle. “Things ready on your end?”

“Ready.” I floated out of my seat. The final phase involved me taking the sat into open space and manually launching it. It was ironic that after trillions of credits in investment and a century of combat experience, I had been reduced to a button pusher.

Rad, check some calculations for me. I sent her a moment’s memory.

Link severed! A bright red warning flashed all over my visor. Unauthorized transmission of data! Memory transfer is in breach of section I-34-11s-a of fleet communication security protocol.

Prometheus? I felt like crossing my arms. Since when is calculation sharing forbidden?

Since you stopped being an active ship. The reply was swift. Bureaucracy had struck back at me by creating a new ship category and sticking me in it.

Can’t you grant me permission? You’ve already seen what I’m about to send. No doubt he had analysed it as well. Or should we increase the chances of a third sat failure?

It was nasty of me to pressure him in such a way, but I knew it would work. The mission couldn’t afford another lost satellite—messing up would require a number of recalculations and could cause me to miss my optimal travel window to the third orbit, which in turn could delay the overall mission by six days.

You’re not a battleship, Elcy! Prometheus said sternly. I believe that has been made clear to you by now.

Must be my human nature being slow on the uptake. I had no intention of backing down. If you don’t have the authority, I officially request that you link me to someone who does. As a human, that is my right.

I had to admire the irony; the dismissal of my appeal to remain in active duty had now given me the means to automatically win an argument against another ship. Active or not, in the eyes of the bureaucratic apparatus I was classified as human and, as it was known, no ship had ever won against a human.

That was nasty. I could feel the bitterness in Prometheus’ voice, as well as a note of awe. Not the way I wanted to impress him, but I wouldn’t say no to a minor victory. You’ll have your memory sharing, but all communications will pass through me.

Sure. It was obvious he was going to analyze everything, searching for ciphers, patterns, and info caches. I don’t mind.

“What’s taking so long?” Elec grumbled.

“Just double checking my calculations.” I smiled beneath my helmet. Having one grumpy co-worker was more than enough. Radiance?

They are fine, the ship replied. Can I watch you launch the sat?

I don’t think that’s allowed. There was no need to push my luck. I’ll see if I can send you some pictures once I’m done.

Getting a sat prepped for launch was an annoying experience. Back when I was a ship, I could launch a hundred in under ten seconds without it affecting any of my other functions. Now, I was forced to spend fourteen minutes gently floating the sat out of the cargo area. The instant I left the shuttle doors, the nanites in my suit moved to the surface, creating a triple coated outer layer. Even from this distance, I could feel the radiation bombard my body. Based on the medical data, I would survive for three hundred and nineteen minutes of direct exposure. I didn’t intend to remain outside for more than three.

“Moving sat three into position,” I said loudly in my comm as I pushed away from the shuttle, nothing but a single cable keeping me attached to safety. “Requesting permission to initiate trajectory software.”

“You have a go.” I recognized the unmistakable voice of Major Tanner. “Proceed as instructed, Elcy.”

“Roger that, sir.” I grabbed hold of the rear end on the suicide satellite and opened the control panel, uncovering two mechanical switches and a small display.

“Software initiated,” I said as I flipped the lower switch. The display lit up, its white symbols contrasting with the black background. I waited as the final systems check was underway. Twenty-three and a quarter seconds later the message appeared: OK. “Final check is okay,” I said. “Permission to launch?”

“Go for launch.” The order came.

I flipped the switch and closed the panel. From this point on, the rudimentary onboard computer would assume control of the sat’s thrusters. My final job was to point it—with near perfect precision—at a predetermined point on the sun then quickly return onto the shuttle before launch. Normally, this would be done with an exo, but because of my particular nature, I was selected as the better choice.

You have forty-five seconds, Prometheus reminded, as I applied the precise amount of force on specific parts of the sat’s outer case. You’ll need twenty to return to the shuttle.

Thank you for reminding me. I aligned the body according to the vector displayed on my screen. Hopefully Elec had set up the nav system correctly.

“Sat aligned, heading to shuttle.” I pulled along my connection cord.

“Cutting it a bit close there, Elcy,” Major Tanner said.

“Satellite transmissions clear,” Prometheus added. “Data readings are as expected.”

It took me seventeen seconds to return to the safety of the shuttle. Seven seconds later, my visor notified me that launch had started. In the past, I’d be able to feel the unmistakably faint ripple caused by a launch at such proximity. Hundreds of my subroutines would receive, monitor, and analyze the ripple, gathering all known info as to its cause. Now, however, I was unable to feel it. Just like the time you lost your hearing, Sev, I thought. My memory of all past experiences remained perfectly crisp, and at the same time I knew I’d never feel the sensation outside of SR.

I have to go, Radiance said, putting my thoughts on pause. My captain needs me.

As I started to reply, Radiance dropped her communication link.

“Sat’s holding steady,” Elec said from the cabin. “Any issues out there?”

“Nope, I’m fine.” I made my way forward through the shuttle. I could bet that back on Prometheus, dozens of scientists were clustered in their labs, following the progress of the satellite. For most, I expected these were going to be the longest eight minutes of their lives.

Several warnings appeared on my visor, informing me of mild radiation exposure. I promptly ignored them. My suit, although far from comfortable, had been built to keep me alive far longer than the electronics it contained. Just to be sure, I checked all internal sensors—all readings were within the safety limits.

“One third there,” Elec said as I joined him, taking my place in the pilot’s seat. “Can’t wait to be done with this sun.”

“Don’t you like science missions?” I glanced at the data feeds we were receiving from the sat. So far everything was within expectations. “The Twins will be more interesting.”

“I’m sure.” His lack of enthusiasm could crush planets.

“Are you worried about the radiation?” I pressed on. “Between the shuttle shielding and your suit, you should be safe.”

“I know.”

Obviously he didn’t want to be on the shuttle, though his concerns didn’t seem to be radiation. At present, neither were mine. The more we approached the heart of the system, that would change. That aside, the two stars were a notable exception to their surroundings, possibly unique in the entire visible universe. For starters, they managed to maintain perfect balance with the other suns, even while spinning around each other perpendicular to the ecliptic plane. In similar circumstances, any other system would be torn apart into chaos, but something here had managed to hold all eight suns together.

“Want me to send you photos?” I affected a smile. Elec must have seen it, for despite himself, he let out a stifled chuckle.

“Just get the shuttle there.” He strapped himself in the seat. “Assuming the sat doesn’t blow up again.”

“We’ll know in another two minutes.” I stretched. The sensation felt nice, even if the suit was starting to irritate my skin.

“I’ll never figure you out.” Elec let out a sigh. “You walk away from the greatest discovery in history, but are obsessed with staring at stars.”

Obsessed was a strong word, even if in a sense he was right. I had become fascinated by stars after my retirement. I couldn’t be sure if it was a gradual process or a sudden impulse due to my human body.

“There aren’t many systems like this one,” I argued.

“Stars are stars. I used to live in a binary system. I didn’t like it.” Clearly there was no accounting for taste. “Just because two have an orbit parallel to all the rest doesn’t make them special.” The exhaustion in Elec’s voice was obvious. The frequent sorties, as well as his personal fears about the future, were constantly weighing him down and making him irritable. “Humans just aren’t three-dimensional creatures. We have depth perception and that’s it.”

“A few dozen scientific fields of study might disagree.” I wasn’t able to help myself.

“Your jokes are worse than my sister’s,” he scoffed. “The day people start reading in three-dimensions I’ll admit I’m wrong.”

“Actually, there are studies that—” A sudden realization made me stop. Three-dimensional perception, I thought. If Augustus were here, he’d shout his head off at my stupidity. No wonder I wasn’t making any headway with the symbols! All my brute force attempts to come up with a single classification were based on the assumption that the third contact race was similar to humans. That had been my mistake. The reason that so many symbols shared characteristics of up to three categories was because they were linked along three dimensions. The race wouldn’t read only side to side, but also front to back at the same time. It was logical to think they’d arrange their alphabet in similar fashion.

“That what?” Elec asked, a hint of interest in his voice.

Before I could answer, shouts and cheers flooded out of the comms. The suicide sat had managed to maintain its trajectory, sending a full set of readings to Prometheus and everyone onboard, right up to its final moment. The teams could finally start work on their theories and the practical applications, and the captain could send a positive report update to HQ. All that was important, yet also irrelevant.

“Guess we got a win,” I said. “Off to the Monday Twins.”

“Wake me when we get there.” Elec set the opacity of his visor to zero. “I’m muting comms.”

“No worries,” I initiated the navigation sequence.

Get some rest, Elec. You’ve earned it more than you know.