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Hello, Sev,

I have no idea when this message will reach you. The way things are going, I'll probably be home and tell you in person before it gets the needed permissions to reach you. I know it's your nature to fear the worst, but I just want to tell you that I'm well, just in a lot of trouble. All I can say is that the last time I was in so much trouble I hadn't even met Cass. Any day now, I'm expecting the captain to call me to say I've been discharged.

There was so much I knew I couldn't share. Prometheus had made it clear that even if I wasn't sending the message now, I'd have to be extra careful what I could mention. I had no doubt that both command and the Salvage Authorities were keeping a close eye on me, and potentially the BICEFI as well. Even if I had been allowed, those were details I wanted to share.

I put the datapad on the bed and glanced at the wall. Thanks to the free time, I had managed to brute force my way to seven candidates for the missing third contact symbols. The process was extremely slow, and with my limited processing power I only had an eighty-five percent accuracy rate. On several occasions, I was tempted to slip the parameters to Radiance during our daily chats. In different circumstances, I would have risked it. As it was, I had already risked way too much for my career.

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The mission was quite successful. The other members of the team did their observations, so we're pretty much wrapping the whole thing and getting ready for whatever's next. I've asked to get some pictures of the other suns. Hopefully, they'll send me some nice shots in the next few days once they are done with their medical procedures. All the scientists are busy compiling the data and working on whatever they are working on.

How have you been? Managed to get over your stubbornness and get in touch with your family? It would be nice if you spoke with them, especially your grandchildren. I know you'll grumble, but remember how you felt when you didn't hear from me when you were a child? It would be nice if you reconnected. They used to ask a lot about you before I re-enlisted, I'm sure they feel the same now.

Take care and hope to see you soon.

A warning message appeared on the wall, notifying me of my medical treatment. It was supposed to be my last, but because of my prolonged exposure, Doctor Sim had scheduled a few more sessions. To my surprise, he hadn't poked in my memories once since my return. I could only suspect that he had been ordered not to. The Salvage Authorities liked to keep their secrets secret. Strangely enough, they hadn't extracted my memories either.

“Display space,” I said, as I started getting dressed into my cadet uniform. The walls and ceiling blackened, turning into the void of space. The notification message remained.

“Quite insistent today,” I said. Prometheus ignored me.

Although he never voiced it, I suspected he was slightly annoyed that I kept giving Rad calculations for analysis rather than him. We'd still exchange a few phrases, mostly as I was going to and back from my treatment, or to convey an external transmission from me. Thankfully, he had allowed Buc to get in touch with me, even if it was for me to tell the patrol ship I had my communication privileges restricted. Of course, that hadn't stopped him from sending standard fleet messages to keep me informed what was going on at the academy.

From what I could make out, the academy had started a new recruiting program that had recruitment ships responsible for several academies. Bull Calf had been moving cadet candidates from one place to another non-stop for the last few weeks, which was annoying, though relatively easy. The rate of recruitment concerned me. There was an obvious ramp up, while the rejection rate, outside the elite academy, remained the same. The reason was quite obvious, though the specifics remained unclear.

See you in a bit. I tapped my sandals. It felt like an eternity since I last used them. Their condition hadn't changed since I had brought them to the recruitment office. A shame, though to be honest I preferred walking barefoot when given the chance.

Straightening up my shirt, I left the room. The corridors had become quite lively with all the preparations going on. By all accounts, we were about to leave the system for the next mission as soon as we got the go ahead from the captain. If I had to venture a guess, I'd say we would be off in thirty-six hours, maybe less. Avoiding the groups of running technicians, I made my way to the elevator section. The instant it opened, I stepped inside, expecting Prometheus to direct it to the med bay. To my surprise, the elevator wasn't empty.

“Ally?” I asked. It had been a while since the two of us had spoken. She hadn't taken the cancellation of our previous mission well. There were rumors that she had requested to change ships, although Prometheus had denied them.

“Hi,” she said quietly, moving to the corner of the elevator.

“Med bay, ma'am?” I decided to test the waters.

“Lab C,” she replied, not looking me in the eyes.

“Yes, ma'am.” Clearly, her condition hadn't improved.

“I just wanted to have a word.”

“Ma'am?” This was unexpected. I stood to attention.

“Please don't do that,” Ally sighed.

“Sorry.” I stood at ease. “Habit.”

“No, it isn't.” Her voice was soft, but I could feel the traces of hurt in it. “You say that here, but out there you break every order there is.” That wasn't the truth, but I could see her point. Without knowing my reasoning, it could seem as if I was doing this to spite her.

“It never was my intention.” Not to this extent.

“That's what Prometheus says, but I'm not sure he knows either.” The elevator stopped, but the door remained closed. “That's not what I wanted to talk to you about.” She looked up, facing my eyes for the first time. “You're still analysing the symbols.”

I arched a brow.

“No need to deny it, I know,” Ally added quickly, as if scared I'd contradict her. In truth, I didn't regard it as a secret. Even with private room settings—assuming I hadn't completely lost my privilege to that—a simple check would reveal it at any point. My intention hadn't been to hide it in the first place. “And you've made a breakthrough, haven't you?”

“Yes, I have.” Are you asking that I share it?

“Good.” I could feel the relief in her voice. “Don't tell me.”

“Don't tell you?” I wished I had full access to her nanites, instead of relying on surface voice characteristics and speculation. “Prometheus is fully aware of all my onboard activities. Any information—”

“Prometheus isn't here,” Ally interrupted. “I... I put in a request for a unmonitored personal conversation.” She paused a moment, then took a deep breath. “I made the request a week ago on medical grounds. The irony is it wasn't my idea. The therapy specialist decided that it would best for my progress if I faced the people I considered the cause for my...” There was another pause. Ally broke eye contact, turning to the side. “For my depressive breakdown.”

You're predisposed? That wasn't in her personnel file. Back in my day, psychologically predisposed individuals were discouraged from the fleet, even on science ships. Exceptions were granted on a case-by-case basis with only the very skills or very connected making the cut. The only hard rule was that they were strictly banned from going anywhere near the Scuu front.

It made sense why Ally would be removed from the third contact involvement after my experience in the dome. The report must have lit up all the red flags, making command and the BICEFI react. The reason she had been avoiding me wasn't so much that she despised me—or so I could hope—but because she was required to.

“I'm sorry,” I said quietly. The words came unnaturally. I knew that there was nothing for me to apologize about. I hadn't caused her condition, even if I wished she didn't have it. Spending half a century with Sev, though, had taught me that people liked to hear that phrase, despite pretending not to most of the times. “Any recommended actions?”

“Increased external therapy and in-person evaluations every few months.” The answer was vague but I didn't want to inquire more. “They forbid me from doing third contact research.” The bitterness seeped through. “All files, research, simulated realities... they took them all, down to my notes.” Ally looked up. “The entire mission, all my work, everyone's work has been sealed for six months when it will be reviewed.”

Six months was a rather generous estimation. From my experience, the fleet sealed data for entire rotation cycles. Back when I was on the front, the practice was to seal embarrassing incidents for two years, and unexplained for twenty.

“BICEFI combed all my personal files, went through my mail, even deleted things I'd scribbled down on your datapad,” Ally went on. “They took everything! Except you.”

So that was the root of the issue. I could understand her sentiment, even if I didn't agree with it. Unlike her, I didn't own any of my memories; the fleet had leased them to me for free until my destruction, but could take them back at any point. If I still had the form of a ship, Ally wouldn't bat an eye. Now that I stood at her in the form of a human, her mind processed things differently.

“They'll take them in a few days.” I semi-smiled. “Once the mission is officially over, someone will take care of it.”

“Elcy, you don't get it.” Ally was trembling, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. “The mission is already over. We received our next assignment. We're waiting for Salvage to pick up their property before we go.”

No one had informed me of this. Elec barely spoke to me, and whenever I had asked Prometheus or Doctor Sim, both had denied it. Even Major Tanner, who had shown some initial interest in my health, had said it would be a while before the official end of the mission.

“I see.” I expected the mission to end with a court-martial, or at the very least a shouting session from the Salvage Authorities.

“The reason you remember what you do is because you need it to perform something command needs from you.” Ally's voice had become a whisper. “I don't know what it is... but I'm scared.”

“Scared?” Another unexpected development. As nice as Ally was, I didn't view her as young enough to form an emotional attachment to someone in a matter of months. It was possible her predisposal was a key factor. Without her full medical file, I could only speculate. “I'm a battleship. I'm built for hardship.”

“That's what terrifies me.” She stepped to the door of the elevator. Within seconds, it opened, revealing the corridor to the deck the med bay was on. “The rest of us aren't.” Pausing a while, she then took a step forward. “You disobeyed orders four times since you came and you still haven't been recalled. That means you're supposed to be here.”

Both of us stood still. Up to now, I had imagined Ally to be a carefree, if slightly awkward, part of the fleet's science division that would remain beyond comprehension as she rose up the ranks. She had never experienced battle, never seen it beyond media coverage or video clips; she wasn't capable of comprehending the horror of war, and lived in her own personal box of terror, yet unable to say a word. That was the reason predisposed were discouraged from serving in space: it hurt them more than they were willing to admit. In a few years, decades at most, Ally was going to lose her internal struggle and leave the fleet altogether. A pity, seeing how much devotion and determination she held. There always are things we cannot go against, no matter how much we try.

I didn't voice a thank you. Instead I watched Ally walk off down the corridor. In all likelihood, she had imagined and replayed the encounter hundreds of times. I watched her disappear among the mass of technicians that filled this section of the deck. Her body kept trembling slightly as she walked. Precisely ten seconds later, I stepped out of the elevator.

She was just as nervous as you that one time, Sev. And just like you, she had the strength to see it through. I hoped she managed to beat the odds and stay in the service until retirement. Clearly she wasn't built for the front, but there were other areas she would excel at. After all, following her logic, the fleet hadn't recalled her either, so she was of some worth to them.

The visit to Doctor Sim was identical to all my recent visits: the basic questions—headaches, dizziness, nausea, and the obligatory anomalous behavior. I answered no to each, then lay on the slab to receive my nanite injection as well as several liters of blood plasma. Normally the doctor would ask a few questions during the procedure, mostly to pass the time. This time, he didn't.

“A Salvage ship is on its way, isn't it?” I broke the silence half an hour in.

“Oh?” Doctor Sim asked from his seat, completely disinterested. “Where did you hear that?”

“Ally mentioned.” Better to expose something small than something big. “Part of her process, from what I understood.”

“Did she?” I could hear the doctor's lips curve in a smile. “Quite the tragic circumstance. Second highest score in her year, and still afflicted in such an unfortunate way.”

“I'd hardly call her afflicted.”

“I'm sure you wouldn't, but this isn't the battlefield, princess. Missions like our last occur once per assignment rotation.” I heard the sound of rattling—the doctor taking something from a shelf. “And even then they're uneventful, provided there isn't interference.”

“Should I have left Euclid to die?” My voice remained calm. I knew this was a deliberate provocation so he could have more grounds to classify me as potentially rogue, and I didn't care.

“Do you consider one ship as good as another?”

“As long as they are in the service,” I said without hesitation.

In truth, I was in one of the greatest grey areas there were. On the one hand, my life had more value than any ship. Officially, I had been classified as human, with everything that entailed. At the same time, I was a still a cadet and, as such, my battle value was substantially less than a ship on the front. A well-trained bureaucrat could probably come up with a precise formula comparing my exact value to that of Euclid, but at the end of the day it would hardly have made any difference.

“A Salvage team will arrive in about ten hours,” Doctor Sim began, after a long pause. “We are to hand over Euclid to them, along with a copy of all our data portraying the mission. It's likely you'll be asked to provide some clarifications.”

You're a poet, doc. That was the most eloquent description of memory extraction I had ever heard. Once I returned back home, I might try to pick up poetry. Space, wind, and grass were too valuable a sensation to have them squandered because of a lack of words.

“I'll be available,” I said, as if I had a choice in the matter. “Will Elec be questioned?”

“Unlikely. Our dear senior cadet has already received his next assignment. Traditionally there's a celebration to mark the departure of ship officers, cadets included, but given the circumstances Elec has asked to dispense with it.” Doctor Sim cracked his fingers. “Of course, the captain convinced him of a small, discreet goodbye event. You'll be invited too, I think.”

I doubt it. And even if I am, I'm not sure it'll be a good idea. Kids need time and space to figure out things on their own.

“Oh, I almost forgot.” I heard the sound of fingers tapping on a datapad. “We're heading for Leoforge station soon. Our next mission awaits there, along with our new cadet. One that you'll have to take charge of, I must add. Better brush up your leadership skills. The moment Elec steps off, you'll be our senior cadet.”

“Unless something happens in the meantime,” I muttered. The thought of having to command someone felt annoying. When I had been a battleship, I had never found an issue of being in control of huge amounts of people. Half a decade with Sev, however, had taught me different.

“That would have been my initial guess, but it seems that whatever was on Euclid's core proved sufficient to make up for your disobedience.” I heard the faintest rustle of fabric. Typical for the doctor to shrug dramatically even when he knew I was in no position to see him. “Then again, it's their mission, so who are we to complain?”

Their mission, I thought. A classified mission, discontinued and forgotten over a century ago. It was highly questionable if the information had any significant value in the current age. At least it was good to know that Euclid was functioning again.

“We are but specks of dust blown about in the hurricane of war, knowing no past or future, merely seeing a way forward,” I recited. The silence told me that the doctor was surprised, if not impressed.

“Quintallion's poems?” the man asked.

“Early cycle,” I clarified. “From the time he was an ensign.”

“Ah,” the doctor said, the sort of way a person did when condemning something to a lesser work. “Not his best, but we all have to start from somewhere.”

Indeed, doctor. We all have to start from somewhere. Often dozens of times.