Ships aren't built for indoors.

The saying had first been coined during the Lieutenant's March, two hundred and seventy-nine years ago. At the time, large parts of the fleet's junior officers had been of the opinion that allowing ships to retire was a waste of resources, especially when humanity was constantly losing ground in the war. Every day, thousands of ships perished, hardly slowing the Scuu’s advance. Projections were that humanity ran the risk of being completely wiped out in a century and half. Faced with such an outcome, the first battleships had requested that all retirement be frozen until humanity amassed enough forces to keep the enemy at bay. The practice had persisted for twenty-one years, by which point the Scuu invasion had been driven to a halt. The phrase, however, lived on. I had heard it on the first day I arrived at the training station, and every day since.

“I'm going to stretch my legs,” I told Alicia as I left our room. She didn't react, focusing on her strategy studies. I still wasn't convinced she would make the cut, though not for a lack of trying. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

Alicia waved her hand absentmindedly, without looking up. I paused for a bit in case she had some words to go along with the wave, then left the dorm.

The station corridors were mostly empty. The majority of the cadet candidates were studying or asleep, letting me enjoy some peace and quiet. Normally, I’d go to the mess hall or another empty part of the station, but tonight I just wanted to walk about the corridors aimlessly—it was one of the things I found I missed the most since going off-planet.

Well, Sev, things are very different from what I imagined. I slid my fingers along the wall as I walked. There was no telling where I'd be assigned, provided I passed my basic training. The question went beyond that: I wasn’t sure where I'd fit. When I was a battleship, I knew exactly what was expected of me. Now, I had to speculate. Going to the front was the logical choice, though as a cadet, it seemed unlikely. Rather, I’d probably be put on a transport ship such as Bull Calf, focusing on trivial tasks of low significance while waiting for my next assignment.

“You aren't built for indoors,” a voice said further ahead. Looking up, I saw Jax standing in the middle of the corridor.

“Evening, Jax.” I ignored his comment. While we were in the recruitment center, he had been the epitome of cheer and support. Ever since I had been outed as being a ship, his attitude towards me had changed. A pity, since he had a higher chance of being assigned to a ship than most.

With a quick glance around, I walked on. Back when I was active, it would be normal to see “crew ambushes.” Veteran troops used to do it each time new recruits arrived aboard. The ground troops used to call it a rite of passage, but Augustus referred to it a waste of time. As far as I knew, there were no such practices at the academy, although I wished there would be. At least then there’d be a chance to clear the air and put everything behind us.

“That won't change no matter where you hide,” Jax added as I passed by.

I stopped and looked up at him. He stood a head and a bit taller than me, perfectly calm, with the same dark expression he'd had since we came aboard.

“I know.” I offered a casual smile. “That won't make me drop out.”

“Why return to the fleet?” Unadulterated confusion appeared on his face. “If you wanted to fight, why retire in the first place?”

“It's complicated.” I tilted my head. “I missed the stars.” And I also made a promise to someone. ”Everyone here has a reason. Does it matter what mine is?”

“No,” he said after a while.

“You wish I'd quit?”

“I don't know.” At least he didn't lie outright.

You want to prove yourself, don't you? That was one of the certainties among fleet personnel. Nearly all who joined the fleet did so to prove themselves. They toiled through the selection process, striving for a command of their own to fulfil some deep-rooted, primal desire. Those without the skills were dismissed, those without the psyche quit on their own, leaving the ones who stood a chance in actual battle. I was different. Unlike them, I had been selected upon my construction. Joining the fleet had always been an absolute certainty. The only thing we had in common was that, right now, I too had things to prove.

“I'll never reach the top ten percent.” They wouldn't allow me to. “But I won't quit.”

“Maybe you should.” Jax's tone made it unclear whether this was actual advice or a veiled threat. “Things will be simpler.”

“Probably.” I shrugged. “They're simple now. Those who make it will continue, those that don't won't.”

“I wish I'd never met you!” Jax hissed under his breath. At that moment I knew: he didn't only want me to fail, he didn't want to have anything to do with me. “You should have stayed a ship!”

* * *

You should have stayed a ship! The words echoed in my mind. As a ship, I was unable to speculate on what-ifs; but even so I knew that Jax was wrong.

“Wow, look at you.” He looked at me from head to toe as if we were schoolmates at a twenty-year class reunion.

He seemed different from how I remembered him—more seasoned, less angry, and actually smiling for a change. His cadet uniform was pale red, with two golden lines embroidered on the sleeve. From what I could recall, that put him in the ranks of internal fleet security—not an assignment I would have pegged him for, or any other cadet for that matter. Fleet regulations required a minimum of three years combat experience before applying to security.

“You haven't changed a bit.” He let out a slightly forced laugh. I nodded with a curt smile. For some reason, being reminded that I remained a head shorter annoyed me to some extent. “You look well, though.”

“You look changed.” And you act differently as well. The Jax from the academy would have made it clear I didn't belong in the fleet by now. “You're security now?”

“No,” he chuckled. This time it didn't seem forced. “Standard cadet uniform on my last ship. Escort ship. She would have driven you crazy.”

Without a doubt. I didn't get along with escort ships; most battleships didn't. The running joke was that they were built using defective parts from the core farms. From a technical point, there was nearly no difference. Our processing power and weapon systems were similar, as was our initial training. In terms of destructive power, an escort was no worse than a battleship. Instead of going to the fleet, they remained safely within the human star systems, dealing with “internal disturbances.” According to official statistics, there were ten thousand battleships for every escort, and they disliked us just as much.

“I think she was impressed by your record,” Jax continued. “She didn't say it in so many words, but that's the notion I got.”

“You don't have to lie.” You made it very clear what you thought of me a few months ago. What would Augustus do right now? Probably yell and call Jax a rookie. Sadly, that tended to work less when the “rookie” was towering above me. “Are your transfer protocols set?”

“I’m not the idiot I was at the academy, Elcy.”

“Good.” I straightened up, trying to gain half an inch of height. Failing, I relaxed back down. Some things were not meant to be. “Report to the Prometheus if you want. I need to get my med check done first.”

“I’ll wait.” He remained there, as determined as Sev was when I used to work at the mine. “You really haven’t changed at all, you know. Always looking for a place to be alone any chance you got.”

“Probably true.” He was wrong. I had changed, and a lot at that. “Let’s go.”

The medical facility was different from the ones I’d seen so far. Back on Prometheus, or even at the academy, people avoided going to sick bay. I was pretty much the only person who went there on a regular basis. Here, there was an entire structure packed with people. The majority were civilians waiting impatiently in a room ten times the size of my quarters. Seeing my uniform, an android assistant—a tall slender woman with glass arms—came up to me and led me to the far side of the hall, where there was a security door with the fleet emblem on it. Jax didn’t follow, choosing to take a seat in the waiting area until I was done. The android didn’t particularly care, guiding me through the door.

We continued along a short corridor. Open quarantine pods stood along one wall, ready in case of virus outbreak. Thick metal plaques described the pods as quarantine containers for virus prevention, certified for level five viral and biological diseases. A list of specific diseases followed, including one I hadn’t heard before.

“What’s Agora?” I asked, looking up at the android.

“Just a precaution,” she replied, which was code for “no comment.” To be expected, considering the changes that had taken place since I was active. I sent a request to Prometheus for a refresher on current diseases. Hopefully he’d see it fit to send me an info burst with the latest database. “When was the last time you had a full medical?”

“During my retirement procedure.” I’m sure the android was going through my file as we spoke. “I’ve had a lot of partial check-ups. My memories were examined several times.”

“Did the fleet poke in your mind?” She gave me a sympathetic look. If it weren’t for her unnatural arms and features, she could almost pass as human. “Don’t worry, your thoughts are fully protected. All tests are designed to check your physical state, nanites and viruses included,” she added with a warm smile. The casual way she did suggested that such tests were a popular practice.

Two doctors and another assistant, this time human, were waiting for me in the examination room. Like the outside, the place was years ahead of everything I had seen. Other than the magnetic ring, there was no other device I recognized. A few of the handheld tools resembled skin probes, thought that too was speculation on my part.

“Cadet Seeker?” one of the doctors—an average man—asked, his face partially covered by a medical mask. He gave off the demeanor of someone who couldn’t wait to finish so he could go home.

“Elcy,” I corrected. “Here as instructed, sir.”

“She’s the ship, Uri,” the android semi-whispered.

“Oh, right.” It took a few moments for the doctor to register what had been said, then a few more for him to figure out what that actually meant. “Right, right,” he looked at his wrist pad. “Retired battleship, right?” I saw his eyes twitch, scrolling through my file. “Retired and returned. Quite the combo. Had enough of boring calm and decided to get back to the action?” He let out a loud laugh, which almost sounded genuine.

“Yes, sir.” I glanced at the magnetic ring. It occupied the center of the room, large enough to scan someone twice my size and completely devoid of additional components.

“There’s nothing to worry about,” the other doctor said. Unlike her colleague, she seemed to read the situation far better. Other than me, she was the shortest of the room, her deep beige skin contrasting with the light-green lab coat, granting her an air of familiarity. I noticed the remains of tattoos on her wrist, poking out from under her sleeve. They were military. I caught a glimpse of another on the male doctor as well.

Ground troops. In my experience, they were the only ones who had tattoos made and refused to take them off even in civilian life. One of my first crews had a policy of adding a detail after every mission as a way of displaying their veteran status.

“Planet cleaner?” I asked pointing at the woman’s hand.

She glanced down, then back at me again. “Field medic,” she replied without further details. “Ready to begin?”

I nodded. “Where do I undress?”

“No need for that.” The woman put on her mask. “Just step into the center of the ring. It’ll take care of the rest.”

“No neuro cords?”

“Technology has advanced a bit since your time. We’re mostly observers now.”

That didn’t sound at all believable. Given no choice, I walked to the end of the room, stepping over the massive white ring. The moment I walked inside, the loop activated, rising up from the floor to waist height.

“You won’t feel a thing,” the man said, as the android assistant handed him a small device.

A low hum filled the room. I felt an external connection latch onto my info channel. A wave of data flooded over me, overriding my security protocols and body motor functions. A millisecond later, eight hours had passed.

“All done.” The android assistant smiled. Neither of the doctors were there. The magnetic ring was deactivated, lying inactive on the floor. “You’re in relatively good condition, considering the amount of radiation you were subjected to. Your bone density is slightly low, but nothing that some onboard treatment can’t fix. Doctor Kindrian sent a report to your ship so they could adjust your diet.”

“Thanks.” This was the first time I was consciously aware I had time missing. Eight hours was a long time to spend on tests. I wouldn’t be surprised if they had been as thorough as the time I had acquired my body. Thinking about it, maybe I could have asked for them to add a few inches to my height.

“We’ve upgraded your nanites,” the android woman continued. “They are even better than mine. The software won’t be public for a few months.”

“Good to know.” This wasn’t standard procedure. I tried to perform an internal check, but got slapped with a series of denied access messages. “Is the cadet with me still outside?”

“He was recalled to your ship a few hours in. A Major Tanner called as well. He seemed concerned that you might have gone AWOL.”

Of course, he would. I wouldn’t be surprised if he sent people to check all the gardens on the station. I was hoping to spend some time there after my check-up, though that now seemed unlikely.

“I should report in.” I slid a hand over my uniform. The wrinkles were the same as I remembered them.

“Go ahead.”

“You aren’t going to ask me the standard questions?” All the doctors so far had been all about the headaches and nausea.

“If there’s anything wrong with you, we’ll know,” she said with a smile that warned me not to go deeper. With the BICEFI involved, I wouldn’t be surprised if my new nanites were transmitting constant reports to the respective operatives. “Rest assured, your privacy is completely protected.”

“Yes, ma’am.” At least there was that. Back when I was a ship, the concept had been almost alien. “Thank you.”

By the time I returned to Prometheus, everyone was prepared for departure. The days necessary to replenish the crew had been reduced to hours. The captain wasn’t pleased about it, but by the looks of things had no say in the matter. The same went for the rest of the crew. Everyone was worried. There were less people walking about the decks, silent and serious, as if they had an intelligence officer looking over their shoulder. Apparently, Operative Lux had used her resources to rush the selection and vetting procedure, going completely over everyone’s head. From what Doctor Sim had told me, when the XO received a message from command informing him that all new and current personnel had been vetted, he hadn’t even bothered to read it. The captain, though, had taken it badly, which in turn reflected on Prometheus. Things became even more tense when Lux had arrived a few hours later and virtually commandeered a room for herself. As my luck would have it, the one she took was the only one available—Shiala’s room, right beside mine.

We left the station the very next morning. There weren’t any grand announcements, no explanation, just a brief message on my data pad that my cadet privileges had been restored and all lost leave would be compensated. Still no information on the mission, other than a hint that it would officially be starting in a few days. The level of vagueness made me think of Gibraltar when preparing someone for bad news. He had the habit of starting out vague until it was painfully obvious what would follow. I’d only known Lux for a few minutes, but she didn’t give me the impression of someone worrying for anyone’s feelings.

I picked a great time to be senior cadet, didn’t I, Sev? I stared at the ceiling. A representation of our last star system spun around, bringing light to my quarters.

“Planetary field,” I said. “Slight wind, evening.” The image shifted. Black walls were replaced by a perfect image of a field. Prometheus’ subsystems had taken the planet where I’d raised Sev as a reference, picking a spot near the recruitment center. It was much more tired and tame than what I was used to, but it brought a certain degree of calm. A pity I could still feel the hard floor beneath me.

“I never thought we’d be working with the BICEFI.” The sound of rustling grass surrounded me, yet I couldn’t smell it.

Work for them, Prometheus corrected. His concern was apparent. Have you done this before?

“Not that I can remember.” One could never be sure. For all we knew, both of us might have and we would never have a clue. “It’s just another mission. Lux is just a passenger.”

You went against orders to save a ship you didn’t know existed, but you’re not worried there’s a BICEFI operative on board? How did you survive the war?! Prometheus added with a virtual grunt.

“Sometimes I wonder.”

An orange notification message appeared on the wall. I had received an external message. The sender was Sev.