There was no announcement when the Salvage team arrived. An hour and fifty-three minutes after my treatment had ended, Prometheus had used a subroutine to send a single message to my datapad telling me to be prepped and ready in the emergency docking bay. A nice gesture, considering that up to then he had ignored all my questions about Euclid’s conscience core or anything regarding the mission. For all I knew, the damage caused by my involvement might have been irreversible.

Shuttle underway, the science ship said as I stood silently in the hangar, accompanied by a handful of technicians. ETA is ninety-eight seconds.

“That’s fast.” Docking procedures usually took three times as long. “Did they cause you any problems?”

The Salvage Authorities aren’t the ones to cause trouble, Prometheus said with a note of scorn. I could understand his attitude, although I would be surprised if the Salvage ship treated him better than they had treated me. I hope you won’t, either, while they’re here.

“I’ll be sure to wait until they’re gone before I make a mess,” I said in an attempt to lighten the mood. The lack of response suggested I hadn’t succeeded. “Will Elec be joining me?”

Unlikely. He’s been granted privacy time off.

Unsurprising. Maybe in a few months he’d manage to forgive me, depending on the outcome of Salvage’s visit.

Orange lights flickered as the shuttle entered the docking bay. Moments later, the lights stopped and the inner hangar door opened. The Salvage shuttle had the same design I remembered from back in the day—crude and bulky, but mercilessly practical. I watched the doors slide open, and five operatives wearing identical beige-grey uniforms without insignia.

“You, Cadet!” The woman leading the group waved at me to approach. Clearly, some things hadn’t changed, even after all this time. “Where’s your commanding officer?”

“Yes, ma’am!” I rushed forward, passing three operatives who made their way to the internal corridor. It was safe to assume that Prometheus had given them his layout. “The XO is most likely on the bridge with the captain, ma’am,” I said once I reached her. It would have been nice if I actually had information on that front, Prometheus. “Would you like me to—”

“Forget it.” She waved a hand. A step behind, a second operative handed her a datapad. “So, you’re the ship?” Judging by her expression, she wasn’t thrilled to be talking to me; whether it was because I was the one who had disobeyed their orders, or simply because I was an un-retired ship, I could not tell.

“Yes, ma’am!” I stood to attention.

“Do you acknowledge that you’ve acted against orders and therefore have given up your right to mental privacy, as specified by the Fleet-Salvage charter, section three-point-two-two-seven-one, thus giving us the right to probe your memories for classified information regarding this matter?” the woman read in a bored tone.

This is new. The Salvage I knew never would have asked for permission to skim through my memories.

“Yes, ma’am, I do,” I replied.

“Okay, let’s get this over with.” The woman sighed, handing the datapad back to her assistant.

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll lead you to the nearest available room.”

Can I have some backup on that? I asked Prometheus. An info burst followed, providing me with the route to a currently unoccupied room of the maintenance staff. Not the ideal choice, but I wasn’t picky, and given the circumstances, I doubted the Salvage operatives would be, either.

We left the emergency docking bay and headed down the corridor. The complete lack of people indicated that the Prometheus had cleared out that section of the deck, ensuring that the Salvage Authorities weren’t disturbed during their stay—a disturbing notion that was all too familiar. Back when I was a ship, I had probably done the same many times.

“What are Euclid’s odds for transfer, ma’am?” I asked as we walked.

“Hmm?”

“What are his chances of survival, ma’am?” I clarified.

“Why so interested?” the operative asked. “This doesn't concern you. He’s not a battleship.”

“He’s still a ship, ma’am.”

There was a long pause. Nothing but the sound of our footsteps echoed throughout the corridor.

“Once we get through this, he’ll let you know,” the man added after a while. There was a spark of sincerity in his voice. I knew he was lying, but part of me hoped I was wrong. “Is it much further?”

“Not at all, sir.” I hastened my pace. “It’s seventy-two meters away.”

“Did the Salvage ship tell you anything?” the woman inquired. To her, he was probably just another obsolete relic, a shameful reminder of a mission gone wrong.

“We discussed many topics, ma’am, but nothing regarding his mission.” I’m not giving you an excuse to get him in trouble. “Might I ask what his mission was? This star system was supposed to be deprived of human presence.”

“It was,” the woman said sharply, deliberately misunderstanding my question. “The Prometheus’ crew are the first people to set foot here.”

“I understand, ma’am.”

A few moments later, we arrived at the specified room. As protocol demanded, I stopped by the door, standing to attention as the operatives could pass. The woman was quick to do so, with an annoyed sigh. The man, however, stopped short of following her.

“After you,” he said with a smile, gesturing me to enter with his datapad.

“Thank you, sir.” So this is how it begins? As Augustus liked to say, every interrogation is a two-way street. Those who ask the questions reveal just as much as those answering them. My hope was that, within their questions, I’d find some answer regarding Euclid. After everything I had done until now, a little poking would likely not even be registered.

“It's done,” the XO said, sitting across me from the table. “Return to your quarters.”

He didn’t specify what had happened with the operatives or whether Euclid was in condition to be integrated into a new husk, and I didn’t ask. After all, the Salvage Authorities consistently maintained the story that the ship had gone missing over a century ago; it was naive to think they would change their view now, regardless of the transfer outcome. I only wished I could have said a quick farewell.

We left for Leoforge the very next day. The captain made a brief announcement regarding our successful mission—the standard no-information talk, with a little bit of praise sprinkled in for the people involved. Elec was mentioned with distinction, having overseen two significant missions during the final part of his training. A few words were said about everyone else as well: Major Tanner, Ally, even Prometheus got several mentions. Not a word was uttered about me, as if I wasn't even onboard. The message was clear. Despite my intentions and the positive outcome, my execution had been reckless. I had disobeyed orders on several occasions, put officers and crew members in uncomfortable situations, and yet hadn't been given any real punishment. Whispers soon followed. By the end of the day, I was known as “the cadet that could do whatever she pleased.” The only ones who thought differently were Rad, Bull Calf, and to my surprise, Prometheus. For some reason, the science ship held a favorable opinion of me, even after all the problems I'd caused him.

The announcements had also neglected to specify what our next mission was, just a vague mention that we would be getting the specifics when we arrived at Leoforge station. In military talk, that meant that the original mission plan had been scrubbed and we were waiting on additional orders from command. On the front, that usually meant it would be something we wouldn't like. Hopefully, it was different for science ships. Battleships, though, always drew the short straw.

* * *

“Command hierarchy formed and confirmed, captain,” I stated the obvious.

Every ship in the new fleet had accepted the Sword of Wands' authority and was awaiting instructions. Military regulations demanded that we obey, yet a feeling of calculated unease remained, more so among the crew. While there was no denying the new ship's authority, there was no information regarding its captain. Up until a few minutes ago, the ship had been unlisted, its history was heavily redacted, and the crew was reduced to a number: a hundred and seventeen, plus two. I could also assume the plus two were civilians, and that they had a higher security clearance than anyone present.

“Anything from command?” Gibraltar asked, his pulse skyrocketing.

“None, sir. Looks like Sword has been granted full authority.” I checked with several other ships to see if they had learned any more. A mass transmission from Sword of Wands followed.“He's ordering the fleet to go dark and enter tactical combat mode.”

Gibraltar remained silent, then slowly slumped in his chair. “Full alert,” he whispered. “Battle stations.”

“Done.” I had my subroutines plaster a message to every single crewmember awake. “Requesting orders from the fleet leader.”

The orders came milliseconds later: group in a close wedge formation, raise all viral defenses, arm all missiles, and be ready to fire at will. No additional tactics were provided, no base cases or reference simulations, just a vague hint that we were venturing into something new.

The weapons officer had me do a manual deep scan of the immediate area. I did as instructed. According to several simulations based on the data, I couldn't find anything of major significance. The system was more graveyard than battlefield. The only potential danger was stumbling upon active mines or unexploded ordinances.

“Send a mission details request,” Gibraltar said. “Use my authority.”

“Sent.” I gave the request a priority status, adding a few bureaucratic tricks I'd picked up. The response was a firm “await further instructions” sent less than two milliseconds later. The same was broadcast along the whole local fleet network. “And denied.”

“He's BICEFI,” Minyasha Iy whispered what was on everyone's mind. “No classification, no listing, no captain. Command's sending us on a black op.”

“They don't deal with large scale ops.” Or was it? There was talk that the BICEFI was behind the massive push on the Scuu front. There was no confirmation from the fleet or the intelligence agencies, but the result had been a complete reversal of the enemy advancement. “Captain, the Sword of Wands is requesting a direct link to the bridge.”

The silence, as my Augustus used to say, had become “ominously palpable.” All eyes fell on the captain. As they did, three of my subroutines brought an anomalous reading on the fourth planet to my attention. According to the scans, it was metallic, roughly the size of a standard battleship, and had an faint energy signature.

“He asked to talk to me?” Gibraltar looked up.

“He requested to link to all bridges in the fleet.” Analysis of the planet surface near the anomaly suggested that it had been on the planet for several centuries partially covered by layers of rock. I sent an information request to the rest of the ships, but got instantly blocked with a desist protocol. Sword of Wands, was obviously touchy when a ships didn't devote all their subroutines to him. “Shall I establish the link?” I asked, observing the chain of command protocols, as if the captain had any real choice in the matter.

“Go ahead.” Gibraltar crossed his arms. I could tell the posture was for show. The man was terrified.

“Hello, captain,” Sword addressed him directly, as he probably was with every other captain in the area. “I have been given full authority from central fleet command and expect you shall comply with all my instructions.”

Not the warmest introduction, though I had heard worse, mostly coming from Augustus when he addressed someone he didn't like. The behavior was identical to my first training instructor decades ago.

“You've made that clear,” my captain tried to add in a note of defiance. “What is the mission goal? I wasn't informed of any breaches in the front.”

Memory Restriction Imposed.

Priority one plus fleet communication protocols. Removing restriction.

Memory Restriction Imposed.

Priority one plus alpha fleet communication protocols. Removing restriction.

“The mission isn't part of the Cassandrian campaign,” Sword of Wands continued. “All ship memories relating to it will be extracted. Discussing anything heard, seen, or experienced from this point on will be considered battlefield treason.”

Thousands of questions formed in my mind, but I found myself unable to ask any of them. I had been put in a mental block, all my subroutines quarantined off and unresponsive to my commands. There wasn't supposed to be anything more important than the “Cassandrian campaign,” and yet the ancient ship acted as if there was and had been given the authority to back it up. This was the first time in my existence that I had witnessed an active captain be threatened with battlefield treason. I wasn't even sure how that was supposed to happen. The entire purpose of battlefield treason was to allow a captain to detain or kill rebellious or hazardously incompetent officers at a moments notice without going through a court martial.

“You really are BICEFI,” the captain whispered.

“That's hardly relevant,” Sword of Wands replied calmly. “You and your ship have been selected for this mission. Upon success, you will resume your previous duties for another six months, after which you'll be given the option to retire if you so choose and given compensation equivalent to two ranks above your current level.”

Gibraltar didn't respond. His left leg had started to tremble.

“The arrangements also includes all officers with the exception of your medical staff.” The command ship paused, probably syncing with the rest of the fleet. I wondered if the other ships had their thoughts quarantined.

“What's the mission?” Gibraltar's voice was that of a defeated man.

“The fleet will go in geosynchronous orbit round the fourth planet and execute an all-out bombing strike.” Another pause. “Light Seeker will be one of the ships coordinating it.”

Memory Restriction Imposed.

* * *

Coordinating planetary bombardment...

Until a moment ago, I had had no memory of that. Like other fragments of the past, it was leaking through, fragment by fragment. I remembered the start of that mission. I had always believed it to be a standard military operation somewhere on the Cassandrian front. Over two thousand ships had set out, less than a hundred had returned. Based on my existing memories, I had lost an eighth of my hull and a significant portion of my crew. I had immediately been sent to get a full retrofit at one of seven mobile shipyard cluster—seven months of extensive repairs and structural upgrades. It was also one of the only times that Gibraltar had left without an explanation. At the time, I thought he was taking some overdue rest. Now I couldn't be sure this incident hadn't caused him to quit the service a year later.

You've been invited to Elec's parting ceremony, Prometheus said in semi-formal fashion. It's starting in seventeen minutes.

“I'll try to make it.” I said from my bed. The captain's announcement still glowed with bright green letters on the wall.

There was some initial reluctance, but in the end calm reason and logic prevailed. Prometheus continued. It was obvious he had earned my invitation, and was determined to let me know. After all, it's not your fault you're a battleship.

“Yes, just an obsolete reckless battleship.” I smiled.

Sev used to call me that as well after his first child had left for college. He had become bitter towards me at that time, yet also starting to acknowledge what I had gone through raising him. The internal conflict had continued festering for years, until one day it climaxed in a fit of drunken rage. I remembered every word he had shouted at me, the sobs of pain, and the regret that followed. Sev had smashed a chair in my arm, shouting, then broken down crying on my shoulder as he had when he was a child; one of his darkest periods, but he had managed to go through it.

“Thank you, Prometheus.” I owe you one more.

Also, you have an external call request. Take it in SR, but try not to be too long.

“I thought I wasn't allowed external calls.” Or SR.

It's gone through the proper channels, Prometheus said with the equivalent of a virtual shrug. It's up to you to take it or not.

“Who's it from?”

I don't know. It's marked private.

I cleared the screen, then got up. A private external message that had been okayed by command and the captain himself... A flicker of concern flashed in my mind. Back when I was active that usually meant one of two things: a recruitment attempt or a family emergency. If it was an emergency, there was only one person it could involve.

"I'll take it here.” The wall turned black. From this moment on, Prometheus had no visual or audio access to my quarters. One of his isolated subroutines established the connection. Seconds later a the image of a battleship appeared on the screen. It was largely obsolete, almost as old as me, but I couldn't make out the model.

“Weren't you told to enter SR?” a low-pitched male voice asked. I could tell it was synthetic.

“I was.” The slowness it took to get to the point irritated me. If I were a ship, the whole conversation could have ended three times already. “I was also told there's a family emergency.”

“There's nothing wrong with your ward.” The words took a giant weight off my shoulders. “This was the only way I could get in touch. But you should know that with how inventive you've been lately.”

“You're fleet intelligence.” I knew it was a matter of time before they officially made their presence known. Although not as ominous as the BICEFI, they kept a constant eye on all fleet matters, from information leaks and security breaches to suspicions of rogue ship behavior. At present, I was guilty of almost all of the above. “I didn't know that hundred year ships were still in service.”

“You'd be surprised.” There was a soft laugh. “Although this particular model isn't. It's my form from before I retired.”

“Age?” His voice was different from last time. “You look different from what I expected.”

“Modifications. A must when fighting the Scuu. They adapt quickly and we have to adapt with them if we're to keep up.”

“I see.”

That was a piece of information that wasn't reflected in the official records. Every ship that had been on the front for over a decade knew that the nature of the conflict was constantly changing. Each side was driven to develop new weapons and strategies in the hopes of gaining the upper hand in battle. So far, it seemed like humanity was slowly winning.

“Do you still want to know about the Scuu?” Even through the voice modifier, I could tell he was serious. If only he had asked the question a week ago. There still was no guarantee I wouldn't be discharged the moment I set foot on Leoforge station.

What would you do, Cass? Augustus would always aim for the offhand chance of victory, Gibraltar would err on the side of caution. Cass hadn't seemed to have done either, reacting to the universe as it threw things at her. She had lost her husband and her sanity, but still managed to ensure that Sev was taken care of.

“Yes,” I said at last. I didn't need to be in the fleet to learn what I wanted. Augustus had told me that the day he had retired.

“Where you're going you're not coming back from,” Age said. It reminded me of the time I was part of the war effort—memories of a forgotten time. “You're noticed the anomalies haven't you? Centuries of war and still no known Scuu prisoners, no bodies, no pictures. Any tech we manage to get is snatched away by some black agency and is never seen again. I bet it’s the same with the Cassandrians.”

In truth, this was a point with which he was mistaken. I had seen Cassandrians and more than once. The details had been classified away from the general public, but their existence was never in question. He was right about one thing, though: prisoners were rare to none. HQ only considered the Cassandrian ships and resources of importance. Ground missions were considered a unpleasant necessity.

“How often did the BICEFI get involved during your time?” Age asked.

“Every now and again.” Eighteen percent of all ground missions were accompanied by a no-go zone. I had never made a big deal of it because I was most focused on the ships above the planet. Ground missions were always considered mopping up and none of my business. Thinking about it, maybe they should have been.

“I was involved with eleven ground missions.” Age didn't sound thrilled by it. “All of them failed, and BICEFI was involved in each one. That was before the change of policy took place and we had ground missions. I have no idea what happened on those missions, but for each one, I'd get a new ground crew. Sometimes I'd even get a new captain.” There was a slight pause. “At the time it seemed normal.”

“I know what you mean.”

“I hope not.” There was a prolonged pause. “I've got a few minutes before red flags start popping up. Is there anything specific you wanted to ask?”

“How did the Scuu communicate?” I shot the question. “Do you know anything about their language?”

“Scuu communication?” he sounded surprised. Maybe I should have danced around the subject a bit more. “Why do you want to know?”

“I can't say.”

“I see,” Age replied. I could hear his smile clearly. He suspected what was going on, he was too experienced not to. “It's not something I would know. Although, there might be ways to find out. Good luck with your training, Elcy. I'll be hearing more of you.”

Connection has been terminated from called, Prometheus' subroutine informed me. All relative data has been purged.

Half a minute later, Elec called to invite me to his parting ceremony.