The six hours we were supposed to be collecting data were extended to eight, then nine, then eleven. Each time, the science team onboard Prometheus would find a new reason for us to remain: instrument recalibration, sunspot focus, extended data gathering. The explanations made enough sense to remain logical, but always came with a faint aftertaste of bureaucracy. That was one thing that remained the same since the time I was active. On the surface, Elec handled it quite well, mostly with sarcastic remarks and the occasional grumble. Hidden under his spacesuit, I couldn’t really tell how he felt, though I suspected he didn’t want to be here longer than necessary. In a way, he reminded me of ground troop veterans; their only goals were to go down, achieve their mission objectives, then go back up again. Some would spend some time alone when they got back, most would get drunk, but by the next day all would be ready to start the cycle all over again. I had no idea how Elec dealt with pressure—it wasn’t alcohol or SR—but I hoped he had an adequate outlet. If not, Prometheus would have to get involved.

Fourteen hours after I went into orbit of Blue Monday, the long-expected transmission arrived. Normally, Prometheus would communicate to us directly, but the recent solar flares and gravity fluctuations had made it necessary that he revert to text messages.

“About time,” Elec yawned. “Finish up, I’ll go back to get a nap.”

“Are you sure?” I asked as pushed his way out of the seat. “It’s certain we’ll run into some bumps.”

“I’ll take my chances.” Sleeping in the chair was clearly less comfortable than it seemed from the side. “Muting comms.”

“Okay.” I linked to the shuttle control system to transfer the collected data to a hard carrier. I had been asked to make two copies, three if I counted myself. On the battlefield, storing information on physical carriers was strongly discouraged. Data was streamed directly to Command via the fleet network. Everything else was purged or erased at the earliest convenience. According to rumors, the last command in the forced shutdown sequence of a ship was to have all data scrambled so there was no chance it could be exploited by the Cassandrians. From what I had heard, things were even more extreme for ships on the Scuu front.

Someone wants to talk to you again, Prometheus transmitted with a healthy dose of unspoken annoyance. Redirecting.

Thanks. I finished backing up the data and started the shuttle’s autopilot. The navigation update Prometheus had sent was supposed to guide me to him without issues, though due to the nature of the gravitational anomalies, I could expect a significant number of bumps.

The blue sun gradually disappeared from my screen as the shuttle set on its course. A few warning notifications appeared on my visor, informing me I should move away from any radiation source.

The transfer is too difficult to maintain, Prometheus transmitted. I’ll try again when you’re closer.

Anything I should worry about? I turned towards the back of the shuttle. Elec had strapped himself on a portable bed attached to the side. From this angle I couldn’t tell if he was asleep yet.

Nothing threatening. The explanation was too vague, and where there was vagueness, there was danger. I’ll let you know if there are any changes.

For the next five minutes, I kept monitoring the radiation and gravitational readings. With no unusual anomalies or further warnings from Prometheus, I closed my eyes and concentrated on the symbols once more. A few thoughts lingered on Sev. The distance between us did little to ease my concerns regarding his health. He never took care of himself as a child, and things had only gotten worse with age.

I haven’t forgotten you, Sev. The symbols moved around in my mind. Just have a bit of patience. I knew he wouldn’t. Ever since I had known him, he hadn’t been the patient type. I could only imagine that the personality trait had come from his father. Cass had remained easy going to the day of the incident. If it hadn’t been for that, she would probably still be as carefree as when she was my captain. Sadly, humans were fragile. Far too fragile.

* * *

“You’re wasting your time.” The receptionist gave me a look bordering condescension. “She is in no condition to have visitors. Try again some other day.”

The same conversation all over again. This was the second time I had come to visit Cass, and went through exactly the same experience. A receptionist would take one glance at me and come to the inevitable conclusion that I was some distant relative come to waste some time. It didn’t help that the stature of my new body was far shorter than average, even for my “age group”. At least during my last visit, the receptionist was polite enough to explain the procedures—even if I already knew them—and schedule me a meeting for a day and time when the recovery center would be “less crowded”.

“I can wait,” I said calmly. “When will she be in a condition for visitors?”

The receptionist looked at me, his features shifting slightly in the equivalent of a mental sigh, then stood up, forcing me to raise my head to look him in the eye. I resented the attitude, making me regret not choosing a taller body before my retirement.

“That really wouldn’t be advisable,” the receptionist said, stressing on “really”. He was fairly young—mid-twenties as far as I could speculate without access to his personal file—exceedingly thin and pale-skinned, with the seventeenth brightest orange hair I had on record. It was almost as if he had drained all the color out of his body and put it in his hair. “I’ll book you another time, when Ms Linna would be in condition to see you.”

Ms Linna... After her near-death experience, in one of her few moments of sanity, Cass had chosen to revert back to her maiden name. I failed to see the need for it and personally didn’t see that episode as an act of sanity, but the fleet medical board seemed to disagree since they had gone along with it. At the end of the day, it was just a few symbols in a file: it didn’t change anything.

“I want to see her attending doctor.” I tilted my head slightly.

“Unlikely.” My persistence was visibly annoying the man to the point where he was having difficulty keeping his polite tone. I suspected that the only reason he bothered at all was because of the increasing number of people entering the recovery center. “And just for your information, wasting the time of military personnel without any reason can be considered a serious offense.”

“I’m her battleship,” I said sharply, choosing to ignore his lie. “And I want to see her.”

The receptionist’s expression changed from annoyed to angered. My claim was too serious to be ignored, but not enough to be accepted without proof. I patiently remained still as he went back to his terminal and rechecked my credentials. According to the Harmony Act, the nature of retired ships was not to be “obviously visible” on any of their documentation. The intention was to guarantee retirees a normal life. While I agreed with the logic, I never made it an issue to hide my nature. Rather, I had difficulty getting people to believe me when the subject got brought up.

“Light Seeker?” The receptionist asked, his tone markedly more polite.

“Elcy would do.” I nodded. “Do you need my fleet number?”

“No...” He paused for long enough to subconsciously swallow. “That isn’t necessary. Apologies for the inconvenience.” He started tapping in commands on his terminal. “Doctor Florelise will be with you shortly. Would you like any refreshments while you wait?”

“No, I’m fine.” I offered a faint smile.

By the time Doctor Florelise arrived at reception, a steady flow of visitors had started to pass through the lobby. The huge majority were family members, though there was a large amount of military acquaintances as well. According to fleet statistics, a family member was eleven and a half times more likely to visit in person, while service friends tended to choose distant communication, even if they did it far more often. To a degree, I could consider myself both.

“Elcy?” asked a large chocolate-skinned woman in a white medical uniform.

“Yes, ma’am.” I instantly noticed her military assignation—fleet colonel, orbital forces.

“Doctor would do.” She smiled. That was to be expected. From her point of view, I was a civilian. “This way, please.”

Colonel Florelise took me through a crowded hall to a smaller corridor marked Authorized Personnel Only! I hastened my pace as I tried to keep up with her giant strides, almost breaking into a semirun.

“Sorry about earlier,” the doctor said without looking back. “It’s rare to have a ship visit.”

“So I’m not the first?” The notion suddenly intrigued me, even if it made little sense.

“No,” the woman replied.

I waited for twenty-five seconds in the hopes she’d elaborate. She never did.

“You’ve served on a ship, haven’t you?” If I had access to the fleet database, I’d know exactly who she was. Sadly, that was one of the memories taken from me during the retirement process. “Support cruiser?”

“Battle line med-ship.” Her voice softened a fraction, the same way veterans did after meeting one of their own. “He’s going through repairs. With luck, I’ll be back on board in three months.”

“Cassandrian front?” I finally managed to catch up to her.

“Scuu territories.” Too far away for us to have any common acquaintances. “It’s almost here.”

We continued on past fifty-seven doors. Each was identical to the last: a white door on a white wall, with a number and a high security key lock. I tried to catch a glance of what was inside as medical personnel went inside, but the only thing I managed to catch was nondescript whiteness. When we reached room twelve dash eighty-eight, Colonel Florelise tapped the panel of the security lock and opened the door.

“Please.” She held it open for me to enter. Once I did, she followed, closing the door behind us.

The room was occupied by a smaller room, entirely made of transparent polymer. It was no larger than an ensign quarters, though looking at it from my new perspective made it look more impressive than it was supposed to be. A single bed filled the inside of the glass room, as well as an aerial med-bot floating just beneath the ceiling. I didn’t recognize the model, but could guess its purpose: monitoring and sedation.

“I’m sad to say that her progress is slow,” the doctor bluntly said. “We’ve had a few rounds of reconstructive synapse surgery with little success. At most, she enjoys a few days of sanity before reverting to her insane state. Legal is consulting her family concerning available options, but frankly I think it’s a lost cause.”

So this is what you’ve become? I looked at Cass. She appeared to sleep peacefully in her hospital clothes, tucked gently in the bed. Her face had been entirely reconstructed to what it had been before I’d been torn apart by mines. From a medical point of view, she was considered fully healed... with the exception of her mind.

“We’re keeping her sedated most of the time.” The doctor went to the polymer wall. “Keeps her from harming herself.”

“I know.” I had seen the effects of battle trauma often enough. It hurt me that my last captain had to go through the same. “How much time does she have?”

“With the fleet’s assistance, decades.” Florelise crossed her arms. “The fleet takes care of its heroes. In terms of actual life...” She gave me a side glance. “Maybe a year. A bit more if any of the treatment works. Even then, she’s likely to remain insane.”

“One year spread along a lifetime.” The prospect sounded terrifying, even if I couldn’t comprehend it entirely. “When she spoke to me, what was her condition?”

“Verifiably sane.” Florelise tapped me on the shoulder. “Her request can stand up in any court, if that’s your concern.”

“That’s not my fear.” I had made a promise to Cass to take care of her son and I was going to keep it, regardless. “I just wanted to know if I was talking to the captain I knew before.”

* * *

Cass had never been the same since. She managed to beat the odds and was able to walk and eat on her own, but her victory ended there. Her mood swings persisted, driving her from one extreme to the next. Every few days, she’d burst into an uncontrollable rage or crippling depression, requiring a med-bot to sedate her. Two things had remained constant, however; I was to send her a letter every month, bringing her up to speed of recent events; and Sev was never to see or get in touch with her. Sadly, that was an area in which I let her down. While I maintained a one-sided correspondence with Cass until her death, I was aware of two instances in which Sev had as well. To this day, I didn’t know whether the experience had had a positive or negative effect on him. The only thing I could hope for was for it to have been more positive than not.

Your signal is in the clear, Prometheus said. His communication was crisp. I can redirect that transmission if you want.

If it’s still an option, sure. After five hours of waiting most would have given up. Go ahead.

I checked the flight path. Prometheus had moved slightly beneath the plane of the ecliptic, reducing the distance from the inner suns. He still maintained a rather large buffer zone from the outermost gravitational anomalies. If it were me, I’d halve that distance.

Hello, Elcy, a familiar male voice said. Busy at work?

Hi, Buc. I was expecting the call to be from Radiance. Having him be so insistent was a surprise. I’d say yes, but that would be an insult to button pushers. How are things on your end?

Boring in the typical chaotic way. He laughed. Lots of changes going on at the academy. Recruitment rate has almost tripled, though even that can’t keep up with the reduction rate.

That bad? So my suspicions were right. The fleet was entering a new war state. With recruitment on the rise and a twenty-percent reduction program, only the best candidates would be given command. I made a note to ask Alecia more on the subject, provided she was cleared to talk about it.

Worse for the cadets. Fifty percent of the current cohort is to be assigned to the new ship class. By the looks of it, the next one will be sixty.

New recruits, increased readiness, and now a new fleet of ships. It sounded as if humanity was about to have a new warfront. The only question was when.

There’s more gossip, but I’m not sure I’ll be allowed to share, Bull Calf went on. It’s nothing major, but you’re on mission so you might want to check with your commanding officer.

That might be a wise idea. Prometheus is sort of a stickler for protocol. I could almost hear the science ship grumble at my comment.

Yeah, he seemed like it. Well, I must get back to collecting recruits. It’s much more hectic than before. Now I’m going on a run every week.

Keep your insides clean, I said, although I knew it was wishful thinking. Based on statistics one of three rookies threw up the first time they entered space, more if their first experience was on a military ship.

Good one. Bull Calf laughed. One last thing. I found that list you asked a while back. Want me to transfer it here or use the standard channels?

Standard channels. I knew what he was asking me. Stickler regarding rules, remember?

It’s difficult to forget, Bull Calf ended with a verbal smirk. Talk to you again sometime.

The communication came to an abrupt end. I couldn’t be sure if Bull Calf had flown off to gather the a new wave of recruits or Prometheus had decided he had had enough of our jokes. Either way, it didn’t matter: Bull Calf had told me what I wanted. Now I only needed to get on board to receive it. As much as Prometheus suspected something wasn’t right, regulations forbid him to search through personal communications sent through the standard fleet network, and thanks to a bureaucratic loophole, there was no law keeping active ships from being the sender. In a matter of hours, I was going to have the list of retirees from the Scuu front and, if they agreed to it, have a long talk on the matter.