“So you're an Ascendant,” the man said from the docking bridge. I could tell by his voice and facial impression that he was impressed. “There aren't that many of you available these days.”

I wasn't sure what he meant. Granted, though my class was considered too old to be produced, there remained over two hundred thousand known active ships in the fleet, almost exclusively dedicated to the Cassandrian front.

“Ascendant destruction rate is only slightly higher than average,” I said, performing a search through the fleet's database.

The man seemed small and unimpressive, wearing a wrinkly set of casual clothes like most of the new officers did. Facial recognition identified him as Captain Gibraltar, but I didn't consider him such yet. Records indicated that he had seen a bit of action—only two tours on the front in a supportive capacity—but wasn't a risk taker. Command had pegged him as “safe and steady,” which was a plus, although his academy scores were mostly mediocre. No military legend, that was for sure.

“Are you my new captain?” There was no other reason to be here.

“Still undecided.” He made a path towards my airlock. “Will you let me aboard?”

“Sure.” I opened the boarding hatch. Technically, it was against regulations to allow anyone without approval, but as things stood currently, there wasn't anyone to hold me accountable. All of my former crew had left me nine days ago, along with the captain and all officer staff. For all intents and purposes, I was considered part of the space station and, as such, would be alright with anyone boarding me from there. “Anything specific you want me to show you?”

“Nothing for now.” He slid his fingers along the walls as he entered. Out of habit, I had a few subroutines run a match of his DNA. “You have quite the record,” he said. “Both good and bad.”

“There are no bad ships in the fleet,” I repeated the phrase commonly shouted at all junior officers when it was time for them to be assigned ships. “And if you've read my file, you've probably seen that Captain Augustus was given a certain leeway, considering his military record and overall efficiency.”

“I'm not talking about the admiral.” Gibraltar smiled.

I rechecked my files. Augustus had indeed been made an admiral nine years ago. Strangely, I didn't remember receiving a notification of the event. Knowing him, though, he probably had it kept on the low-down.

“I'm talking about your last captain,” he said, waiting, as if to test me.

I ran a search. There was no information about who my last captain was, or the crew for that matter. My duty log indicated that I had spent one rotation with someone after Augustus, but everything regarding it had been deleted. The only memories I had left were a few jokes and comments here and there; there was no indication of the mission or even any biometric data relating to my crew.

“Could you elaborate?” I feigned curiosity.

“From what I read, he didn't approve of your risk-taking nature. Several complaints that you nearly derailed the mission.” Gibraltar stopped mid-corridor. “Two remarks that he had to erase your memory because of blunders. You barely managed to make up for it.”

“I don't need nanite access to know you're lying.” I combed through his own record, then sent a request to his previous ship for more info. Within milliseconds, a data burst came my way. “Only Fleet Intelligence has the authority to delete an entire rotation from my memory, and you're not Fleet Intelligence.”

“You still humoured me.” He let out a dry chuckle. According to camera footage from Fiery Devotion, that indicated Gibraltar was pleased.

“I'm docked.” That wasn't the complete truth.

Boredom was only a minor factor. Rather, I was curious about anyone who would come to see me in person before the official captain rotation. I'd only had one captain so far—two, if I counted the segment deleted from my memory—so I hadn't experienced actual changes. Aurie, on the other hand, had gone through plenty and always described them in similar fashion: a giant crowd of people approach from the station and start boarding until there's no one left. At present, I had no idea what had become of her. The fleet database listed her as active, but any further information requests were restricted. Most likely she was on an undercover mission.

“Can you take me to the bridge?” Gibraltar asked.

“Only if you're my captain.” This time I didn't hesitate. While there was no regulation preventing me, I found the experience somewhat personal. Even during repairs and refitting, I had refused to allow anyone there unless Augustus or my Executive Officer was present. The only thing I'd allow was remote access.

“Do you want me to be?” Gibraltar looked at the ceiling—a weird habit most humans had.

“I can't choose my captains,” I replied firmly. “If Command considers you adequate, so will I.”

“Harsh,” he laughed.

“I had a harsh learning experience.” The first few years with Augustus had been interesting, to say the least. “And I'm a risk taker. If you're not a good fit, you won't stay long onboard.”

Gibraltar arched a bow. “Statistics,” I continued. “Seven percent of all captains request reassignment after the eighth month. It's granted in three percent of the cases.”

“And the other ninety-seven?”

“Forced retirement, demotion, mission reassignment,” I said. The captain seemed amused. “Or, alternatively, five very uncomfortable years.”

“Thanks for letting me know.” Gibraltar turned around. “Best luck with your next captain,” he said, making his way off me. “Hope you find a good match.”

“Thanks.” I waited, then closed the hatch behind him.

Good luck to you too.

* * *

Best luck with my next captain, you said.

The very next day, Gibraltar had been assigned as my captain. To this day, I couldn't tell whether he had received the assignment before or after our meeting. It didn't matter either way. We had formed an almost perfect team, lasting several rotations. At the time, I thought we would serve together until his retirement, as it had happened with Augustus. A pity it had ended in such a fashion. Learning that my captain had classified me as unsafe for battle, along with his sudden retirement, was the second most unpleasant event I had felt in my existence.

You're thinking about something, Euclid said. Your movements lag a bit when you do.

“I was.” I unhatched the safety compartment of the power core. The process wasn't difficult so much as annoying without adequate tools. “Do you think of your past?”

I used to, during the first few years, but then I got bored. I don't have energy to waste. Right now even the automated beacon has more power than me.

“You'll have power soon.” I tried to reassure him, even if there was no point. The chances of me successfully extracting him were seventy percent at best. The data burst he had sent me made the whole endeavour possible, though still not optimal. The only lucky break of it all was that he had been constructed with a quick evacuation in mind. The Salvage Authorities were clearly aware of the risks and had modified his main core container jacket so that it could be retrieved without the need of drills or plasma cutters.

Slowly, I slid off a heavy metal plate from the side of the reactor, revealing a mesh of connectors. The heavy lifting was over. Now I only had to deal with the last layer of countermeasures.

“I think I see it,” I said, pointing a beam through the mesh with my fingerlight. “Grey metallic frame with red flakes?”

Do the flakes spiral clockwise or counter? Euclid asked.

I zoomed in as much as the helmet would let me. “Counter.”

That's the failsafe. If you touch that, you'll trigger a forced shutdown. There're supposed to be a pair of handles on each side of it under the mesh. Use them to pull it out. My core's underneath.

“Okay.” I moved the light a bit. The edge of a handle was visible under the mesh. I couldn't see the other, but I expected it to be there. From what I understood, I had to remove the failsafe without it touching any of the sides or the mesh itself.

I felt the equivalent of a mental shiver. The thought that I would handle another ship's core filled me with awe and possibly a touch of organic anxiety. The core was the most sacred thing there was; some would go as far as to call it intimate. It was more than a heart and a brain: the central core was the essence of a ship—more than memories, more than experience, more than sentience. The small box I was going to extract contained Euclid's entire personality. The only time anyone had meddled with my core was when putting it into my battleship frame and when taking it out.

“Tell me when you're ready.” I moved back, replaying a simulation of the procedure in my head. A sequence of a hundred and twenty-seven actions that had to be performed in absolute precision. Only then could I remove it and get to pulling out the failsafe cover. The entire process seemed ridiculously easy, everything considering. I hoped that I had more layers of protection when I was active.

Give me a few more minutes, Euclid semi-laughed.

I nodded. There was a chance he would never be rebooted after this. Transfer or final shutdown—there was no way of him to know how it would turn out.

“So did you see any Scuu?” I asked. We had touched upon the topic vaguely, mostly while I was removing his outer panel.

Almost.

The reply intrigued me. I took the makeshift pair of pliers and tested them—by no means a masterpiece, but good enough for the task.

For a moment it looked like we had him, the Salvage ship went on. All capture protocols were looking good. All measurable activity had ceased. I got the order and went to encapsulate him. When I got three hundred meters away, it imploded. The only thing I got was the husk.

“I've never seen a Scuu.” I wasn't sure whether the information he told me was classified or not, but I appreciated it regardless. “I've watched fleet recordings and simulations.” I moved into position. “A few shared fleet memories, but never the real thing.”

Consider it a blessing in disguise, the ship said. The concept felt strange. The new front breaks, but the old front bends.

“What's that?” I didn't recognise the phrase. “Is it a Salvage thing?”

Hopefully you'll never find out. There was a hint of regret in Euclid's words. I'm ready now.

Silence filled my mind. I let three hundred and fifteen milliseconds pass—the time required for him to enter his sleep state. Three milliseconds later, I took a deep breath and began the removal procedure. One by one, I disconnected elements of the mesh, following the preset time sequence he had told me.

What were you doing here? I wondered, knowing he wouldn't tell me. In the hour we'd spent together, we had spoken on many topics, mostly suggested by me. During all that time, he had slipped up only once.

No, he hadn't slipped up. He had decided to tell me. Maybe he thought I'd lose my memories either way, or maybe he thought it didn't matter. Whatever the case, he had shared that at one point his task was to try to capture a Scuu ship for reverse engineering. I could only speculate if that was the reason he had been sent here as well.

The last key connector detached, the mesh loosened up, floating away from the failsafe cover. Firmly, I grabbed it and pulled it out. The two handles Euclid had spoken about were barely visible on both sides. Reaching in I grabbed each with the tip of my fingers and pulled. A single moment of tenseness registered in my mind; and then it was gone.

“Thanks, Euclid,” I said, taking his core out into the open. It was different from what I expected. More rhomboid than cube, the container was warm to touch, covered in the design he had told me would be present. There were no visible openings or connecting parts I could see, just a nearly solid case with an etched serial code visible at the edge of my maximum magnification. “Now it's time to go home.”

I made my way to the entry point. Euclid had used most of what energy he had left to give himself enough external inertia so I could launch straight in the direction I needed without having to manoeuvre. It was a nice gesture and appreciated, even if potentially his last.

Sev's wife used to say that she felt the house empty when their children had left for college. She never particularly liked me, but that one time, she felt the need to share her sadness with me. Now I thought I felt the same as I floated through the husk of Euclid. The dark, empty corridors appeared the same as when I had last seen them. Knowing, however, that there was no core in the ship made me see it as just an object.

It took me four minutes to reach the satellites I'd arrived with, then another fifty-seven until the husk had reached the optimal position for me to launch, an incredibly long time of which I spent re-watching close and distant memories. Both types of experiences were vastly different and yet similar at the same time. Back when I was a ship, I had seen far more ships be destroyed and people die. It had been unpleasant, devastating at times, yet also strangely distant. If I experienced the same now, in my short organic body, would I feel the same?

At the precise hour, I strapped myself to my makeshift space sledge and activated the last full sat. The propulsion launched me out like a sparrow out of a beehive. I felt the pressure push me back as I held onto Euclid with both hands. A wave of warnings filled my visor screen. As usual, I ignored them. Behind me, the empty husk of the the Salvage ship continued on its orbit, transmitting the emergency beacon's signal. Maybe in a few decades, some other research ship would enter the system and capture it again. Potentially by then, the Salvage Authorities would have found a way to reclaim the wreckage. If Augustus' opinion was anything to go by, it wasn't very likely.

As time passed, the signal beacon's transmission became weaker and weaker, gradually taken over by static, until it was completely gone. A while later, the twins started diminishing in size. By my calculations, if I maintained my speed, in just over seventeen days they would be the size of a speck of dust. Of course, a few dozen times that and the inertia might take me to the edge of the star system.

I closed my eyes, losing myself to the sensation of space. Going back through my memories, it couldn't compare to any past sensations. At the same time, it was serene. Floating with almost no sensations, only knowing I was in motion because of the suicide sat’s propulsion. Back home, I would hold my breath and spend time underwater at the lake, trying to recreate the sensations of space. I failed, of course, but I had learned to enjoy the touch of water with its dozens of currents going around me. I also enjoyed feeling pebbles under my feet.

“Elcy?” Elec's voice echoed in my helmet, shattering the silence.

“Hi, Elec,” I said, opening my eyes. Some of the warnings had disappeared, replaced by new ones. “Ready to pick me up?” I cut the propulsion of my leading satellite.

“The AI's trying to match your vector. Give me a few.”

I did, unstrapping myself from the sats. They were useless now and the least of my worries, considering what I had done. Silently, I kept floating, waiting for the shuttle to fly buy. It didn't take long. At such easy parameters, even a dumb shuttle could perform the manoeuvre without question. The few gravitational pulls were mild, requiring minor adjustments, which even I was able to do in my mind. When the small craft moved next to me, the shuttle door opened.

“Ready?” Elec appeared from within, holding a freight cable.

“Set,” I replied, pressing Euclid's core against my stomach with my left hand.

“Catch.” He threw me the cable end. I grabbed it firmly with my right hand and used my legs to twist my way inside the shuttle. Moments later, the shuttle door closed. I had made it.

“How did it go?” Elec asked as I was making an effort to stand up. “Found anything in—”

He stopped. I didn't need full transparency to know what had happened, but I turned it on nonetheless. Frozen still a few steps away, the cadet was staring at me in disbelief that his space suit couldn't hide.

Sorry, Elec. I looked back at him. I had to do this.

“Did the mission go smoothly?” I broke the silence. “I see you've used up all the sats.”

“Yeah,” he replied, then turned around, floating his way to the pilot section. Moments later, I joined him.

We didn't speak another word on our way to the rendezvous point. Elec remained still in his seat, looking at the reading's monitor as if it were active. I did the same, clutching to the core. Not once did I let it go, nor did I try to explain what had happened. There would be no point—Elec was incapable of understanding, and I didn't want to try and rationalise it to him.

It's always the first time that gets you, Augustus would say, usually after putting me through some particularly nasty experience. In the grand scale of things, he was right: the first time I go through something, I am prepared for the next time. Sadly, it didn't make it feel better. When I returned to the Prometheus, I was going to have a lot to answer for. No matter the outcome, however, Elec was going to have it rougher. When the fleet were done with me, they were going to let me go and extract my memories. Elec was going to keep his.