Augustus used to say that anything a person would die for was important by default. I had never possessed the self-preservation instinct of a human; I had always expected to be destroyed in battle, shot down by a Cassandrian. It never crossed my mind not to sacrifice myself for my crew or captain. Based on my memories, I had made five such attempts, each with disastrous consequences. The entities that had constructed our cores had removed our sensations of fear and pain, but they had enhanced the feeling of regret, and unlike humans, it only grew worse with time.

Sorry about this, Sev. It's something I had to do, I thought as I flew through space.I promise to tell you about it.

Forty years ago, he would have enjoyed the story, but right now there was only a fifty-fifty chance that he would find it mildly amusing, provided I returned intact. Unfortunately, with my current state, that was difficult for me to guarantee.

Half of my visor was red with warning messages. Most were radiation warnings and distant alerts. There was very little point to them, now that I was flying through the void with my space suit, strapped to three suicide sats. When I had shared the idea with Elec, he thought I had gone insane. He had pulled rank, ordering me to stop, threatening to have me court-martialed. Five words had managed to change his mind: “I am prepared to die.” Despite not thinking of himself as officer material, he had had enough insight to see nothing would deter me. The discussion had ended there.

“What's your progress?” Elec asked, his voice broken up by static.

“Quite good.” I played down the danger. Using a suicide sat for transport, although theoretically sound, wouldn't be rated high on the sanity scale. Even Elec couldn't argue that the equipment was ideal for such a trip: fast enough to reach my destination, but slow enough for me to withstand the acceleration. “How are things on your end?”

“The nav comp says I should be in position in three hours,” he replied. “‘Should’ is the key word.”

“You'll be fine.” I knew he had gone through basic pilot training, same as me. The tricky part remained the sat launch. Even with the modifications, he was going to have to manually drag them out of the shuttle and set up the launch countdown before pointing them in the general direction of each sun. We had spent twenty minutes going through the steps. Hopefully it was going to prove enough. “If anything goes wrong, head up and call Prometheus.”

“Hopefully I won't have to.” There was a slight pause. “Did you get to talk more with Euclid?”

“A bit,” I lied. The ship had chosen to remain quiet in order to save energy. After so many decades, his energy reserves were low, and it was stupid to waste them without reason. Thanks to the Anti-Insurrection laws three centuries ago, solar technology was banned for ship construction, out of fear that it might incentivise them to go rogue. The only exception, added in the Safety Strength amendment, was for emergency beacon use.

“You're breaking up too much.” Distance and sun proximity were starting to take their toll. “I'll meet up with you in five hours,” Elec approximated. “Be there!”

The transmission continued to crackle for a few seconds more before disappearing altogether. From here on out, we were on our separate paths. He was going to go ahead with our mission, while I did what I was explicitly ordered not to. Aurie would have found this fun. Knowing her rebellious streak, she'd probably congratulate me. A pity she had perished in the last major offensive.

Opaque settings increased to 99.999%.

A new warning message flashed on my visor. My brief trip was taking me closer to the blue sun, forcing the suit to react on its own. Radiation was well within the safety parameters, even if the light intensity would burn through my retinas if the settings were any lower, making me wince even now. A few minutes more and I would set it to completely opaque. Sorry, Euclid. I'll rely on cameras for the first impression.

Four hundred and seven seconds later, the first impression was fact. The suit's visual sensors had spotted the ship—a tiny speck of black on the background of incandescent blue. I forcefully stopped the sat propelling me forward and gradually started accelerating the one in reverse. Somewhere in human space, teams of engineers and space technicians were screaming in horror at the thought. Frankensteining a propeller system that could stop without full frontal impact wasn't anything complicated. As a ship I had to control multitudes of opposing forces all the time. It wasn't aesthetically pleasing, and definitely a bit on the crazy side, but achievable.

Almost at you, Euclid, I transmitted, twisting slightly to correct my course. So far, the environment had been kind to me. There had been no major gravity anomalies, requiring only minor adjustments on my part. Excluding the particular circumstances, I would have described the trip as boring.

As Euclid approached, I zoomed in on him, analysing his outer structure. At a simple glance, it was obvious why the Salvage Authorities didn't want anyone looking into this. Despite all their assurances, and modified ship images, it was painfully obvious that the ship had been weaponized. Missile and beam modules covered large parts of its small frame, as well as several other systems that I couldn't identify. The shielding seemed light, though, mostly protecting from radiation effects.

Hi Elcy, I'm sending you a marker, he transmitted. A green vector dot appeared on my visor, attached to his midsection. Keep your suit. I don't have any air in me.

Understood.

That wasn't the best news, although it was a relief I didn't have to worry about automated defenses. Ordinary Surveyors and anything relying on AI were packed full of those. Augustus would frequently have me disable any such vessel rather than go through the trouble of passing through their defense grid the proper way. Command didn't approve of the practice and neither did I, to his great annoyance, resulting in a brief escalation of communications that ended in both sides mutually turning a blind eye. Only I continued to send reports, receive complaints, and store all of them out of sight.

Someone has been sneaky. Now that I was near, it was obvious that the full size of the ship was approximately three times larger than initially described. The Salvage department head had done a nice trick with the scale, making it seem like a beefed-up Surveyor. I wonder what else you're hiding.

Nearing what appeared to be a cargo docking area, I balanced the output of the reverse satellite to match my inertia, then cut all propulsion. As I slowly drifted, the designated door opened, letting me in. Total darkness greeted me, very much in contrast with the outside light. Within seconds, half of the warning messages on my visor disappeared.

Sending you my schematics. The ship forwarded a data burst to my spacesuit. Sorry I can't offer any light or gravity.

Or air, I added mentally.

The cable claws should be okay, Euclid added. Pull your stuff in and tell me when to close.

Definitely not the welcome I had hoped for, but one that I expected. Running on power reserves, it was natural for him to cut access to all secondary systems. Vibrations of the sats grinding along the walls went through my body. My visor displayed a picture of the area as if I were in a simulated reality. Back in the day, ground troops underwent blind navigation manoeuvres every two weeks. It was considered standard practice when entering an unknown area and the source of constant ridicule for the newbies who messed up, assuming they came back alive. Right now, I was a newbie and I didn't have any experience.

I unstrapped myself as quickly as possible, then took a deep breath and pushed myself to the ground. The gravity felt slightly better than that of the shuttle, though not by much. The cable claws flashed bright orange in my visor. Floating my way to the nearest, I detached the end from the wall, then propelled myself to the cluster of sats. According to the safety manual, in situations like these, I was supposed to make no fewer than three loops around them before attaching the end of the cable claw to a stable point of the heaviest rocket. I chose to do what Augustus would have done and simply clicked the claw to the makeshift harness between the three. That done, I floated along the cord until I reached a grabbable part of the wall and pulled them in.

“You can close now,” I said once the end of the satellites had cleared the entrance. Immediately the doors closed shut.

Some stunt you pulled, Euclid said with a transmitted smile. What did you use? Spy sats?

“Science probes.” It didn't come as a surprise that his understanding of technology was outdated. Looking at the schematics he had shared made me feel almost young. “They're supposed to collect data about the suns of the system as they fly into them. That's the theory. I've no idea if it's working or not.”

Good luck. All the data I managed to get wasn't worth a thing.

“It happens.” I moved along the wall. In thirty-seven meters, I reached a double closed blast door. “How much power do you have?”

Enough for a few more decades, Euclid replied. Years, if I open too many doors.

“That low,” I sighed. “I can get the sats' power sources if you give me some tools.”

No point. I'll be out before you cut through the first frame. Thanks for the offer, though.

“Sure.” So powerless that he was incapable of recharging. “Does talking drain you?”

A bit. There was a slight pause. You aren't here to take me back, are you?

“No.” I leaned on the wall. “I'm here to collect data on the suns. I caught your transmission by accident.” The last of the warnings disappeared from my visor. At least I was in good condition.

Not part of Salvage?

“Just a cadet candidate that used to be a battleship.” In the light of the situation, that sounded slightly dark. “We informed them, though, so they'll probably send someone soon.”

I somehow doubt it. This isn't a system ships can navigate easily.

So the gravity anomalies weren't something new, but that was only part of the story. The Salvage Authorities never did anything on their own. As buried as they were under layers of bureaucracy and secrecy, they still relied on others. And yet, they had refused to use us to save Euclid. Someone somewhere had made a decision to leave him stranded until his inevitable shutdown, sacrificing him for a reason that would never see the light of day. I, however, wasn't going to accept it. Sacrifices were part of war, but only when there was a goal in mind. As Augustus liked to say, “Sacrifices without a purpose are a waste.”

“How long have you been here?” I asked.

A hundred and seven years, give or take. The reply was vague for a ship. I've been off the network so long, I can't be sure.

“You can link with me,” I offered.

Thanks, but there's no need. It'll take too many subroutines. Let's say it's a century and keep it at that. What's a few decades difference?”

“Right.” His humor was much better than mine at the time. “Why did they send you here?”

Same as you, I guess. Exploration, discovery, and all that. We both knew he was lying. I've some backup drives near my main core. You can take them if you want. They're light enough so it shouldn't affect your flight.

“Thanks. That will be nice.” I moved to the floor. “Is there anything you can tell me?”

No, I don't think. Mentally, I could imagine the sad smile as he said it.

“Even when you're so close to shutdown?”

We are what we are. Euclid added a virtual shrug. It was nice to hear someone from home, though. I owe you for that.

“Yes.” I smiled, patting the wall with my glove. “Yes, you do.”

What's it like being retired?

The question caught me by surprise. In his situation, I would have asked about the latest development on the front, current ship classes, and maybe technology updates.

“It's difficult to explain.” It was almost as difficult as explaining to Sev what it was like to be a ship. “You lose a lot of mass and start worrying about things you never did before. To be honest, I'm still getting used to it.” I hesitated for a moment. “Do you want me to share some memories?”

This was the first time I had offered voluntarily. Back when I was a ship, I'd constantly share simulations, battle info, but had never given anyone the right to freely roam. None of the ships I knew had. It was funny why, since there wasn't anything I regarded as personal—it was impossible to keep anything private when crawling with tens of thousands of people. The truth was that I had simply never considered it until now.

Maybe later, Euclid declined.

“After you're retired, you get to feel and smell.” The most important aspect suddenly hit me, making me wish I could walk through the grass once more. “And taste. Everything seems different, even gravity. Simulations can't prepare you for it.” Because, unlike a simulation, you can never log out.

Sounds interesting.

“Are you thinking of retiring?” I sorted through my memories sorting out a few select ones in case he changed his mind. All of them were of my time with Sev.

I'm a ship. We don't retire— he began.

“—we get retired,” I finished the phrase. A while back, I had said the same to Cass. “I took a ward when I retired. It was the son of my last captain. He's all grown up now, has children and grandchildren of his own.”

Why did you do that? the ship asked, the question soaked in curiosity and a drop of confusion.

“I made a promise to my captain.” Before she had gone insane. “What about you?” I changed the subject. “You asked if I were here to bring you home.”

There's not much I can tell you, he said, using code that I didn't have the proper authorisation.

“I know.” I switched the opacity of my visor to a hundred percent. The virtual layout merged with the darkness of the ship, faintly illuminated by my helmet lights. “You're a salvage ship, aren't you?”

When I had first come here, I was full of questions. I wanted to know more about the system, the gravitational anomalies, and the Salvage Authorities' involvement. In a large part, I couldn't accept that they would leave a ship stranded for a century without plans for a retrieval. I had broken seven regulations and a direct order, taking it on myself to find out what was going on. After five minutes of conversation, I no longer cared. The fleet was full of secrets, the universe even more so. It wasn't for a single cadet to uncover them all. The only thing I wanted right now was to see if I could help a ship.

“I know your core can be extracted,” I continued. “Do you have instructions how to?”

You're not qualified, Elcy. I could feel the sad smile again.

“You can share the instructions.” I leaned against the blast doors. “If your core is near the reactors, you only need to open two doors for me to reach it. I'll crawl the rest of the way.” For once, my small size would be useful.

I wasn't built for a crew in mind. And I still can't share the info even if I wanted to.

“Yes you could.” I lit my finger lights, illuminating the area. “And you can delete my memories later.”