A total of seven hundred and nineteen scientists were stationed on Prometheus, none of whom shared my concerns. My theory was quietly ignored, reduced to a note in the daily report. All further attempts to bring up the issue were immediately stopped by Prometheus, who instructed me in his sarcastic fashion to focus on my current mission objectives.

The classification of plants continued, zone after zone. When it came time for us to return to the shuttle, we had gone through eighty-seven percent of our grid—nearly double the amount we were supposed to cover—and had classified twenty-three new plant types, as well as found one hundred and twelve fractal plants. There didn’t seem to be any particular pattern by which plants had the deviation, though interestingly enough, the fractal designs were all part of three individual sequences.

During my second daily break, I attempted a deep analysis of the other catalogued plants. About nine percent of all samples contained fractal deviations, most with their own unique sequence, or so it seemed at the current picture quality. Back when I was a ship, I could have a few thousand subroutines enhance the resolution using military grade algorithms. At times, I had done it minute-by-minute, identifying Cassandrian ships in combat. Being left with a single core made such calculations impossible now, like torn butterfly wings, as Doctor Sim would say in his poems.

“Not hungry?” Jax asked as I was sifting through the data.

“I’ll eat later.” With gelatin, there was no danger of the taste worsening with time.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” he pressed on. Even back on the training station, he tended to be direct. “You think it’s third-contact related.”

“It’s likely.” I forced myself to take a bite of my food pack. It tasted sweet, with a lemony aftertaste. Prometheus must have set the food dispensers to make my favorite combination. A sweet gesture. I made a note to thank him when convenient. “The fractal patterns are too specific.” The only time I’d seen anything similar was in the hidden room where Augustus was present. “It might be nothing.”

“You don’t believe that.” Jax looked at me. His own food was half-untouched.

“It doesn’t matter what I believe. It’s all up to my captain…”

* * *

“So, you’re a real battleship?” Cass asked, walking through the command corridor.

“There are no fake battleships.” I added a note of scorn in my voice, which undoubtedly was lost to the child who was about to be my next captain.

The decision wasn’t final. Seven days and nineteen hours remained until the end of the reassignment period, but I could tell it was a foregone conclusion. If there was anyone who wanted to take command of me, they would have already done so in the first thirty hours. Despite my war campaigns and military successes, I was starting to show my age—my hull design and internal structure were considered crude, incapable of handling part of the cutting-edge systems. Even my weaponry lagged a generation behind. And then there was the matter of my recklessness. When Augustus had selected me, I was a top-of-the-line battleship, with a personality driven to combat more than anything else. It didn’t help that my first captain was the epitome of recklessness, exposing me to many of his questionable habits. He didn’t pass on his taste for smoking and alcohol, though not for lack of trying. The truth was that few wanted to risk their lives commanding an Ascendant class ship, and fewer still to risk their career on an opinionated vessel, which brought me to this: an eager graduate whose only experience of combat was in a Simulated Reality pod.

“You sure are a big girl.” Cass slid her fingers along my wall. I didn’t appreciate the action, immediately posting yellow warning messages where her hand had been. “How many can you hold?”

“All my specs are openly available for inspection.” I wouldn’t be surprised if she hadn’t even bothered reading my file. “Not that it matters, since I won’t be on active duty”

“Where did you hear that?” the girl asked.

“It’s all in the arbitration report.” I tried to sound annoyed. “I am banned from taking front-line assignments.”

“That’s not the same thing,” Cass laughed. Voice analytics suggested it was sincere laughter, though that didn’t make it any less annoying. “There are still a lot of positions you can hold in the fleet. Patrol, logistics, courier duties…” she started enumerating, each option worse than the last. “Legally, you can request a transfer to civilian service.”

“I’ll keep that under advisement.” I wasn’t able to tell whether she was trying to insult me or just being naïve.

“It’s quite lucrative. I’ve heard that seven percent of all major commercial ships came from a service background.”

The actual number was eight-point-seventy-three, and most of them came from the Scuu-front fleet. For anyone else, being reclassified to a civilian ship was the same as retirement.

“Anyway, best of luck with your next captain.” Cass smiled at the wall, looking at the warning messages. “And best of luck to them getting used to your quirks.”

Instantly I hid the notifications away, returning the surface to its original metallic appearance. “You don’t consider me adequate?” To a large degree, I was pleased. Now I had a chance to be assigned to someone with more combat experience. At the same time, it was unlikely that the next candidate would be any better.

“You’re far too large. Flying in you with a crew of a hundred will be way too strange. Patrol ships aren’t supposed to be this overpowered.”

“I have more than the internal and weapon capabilities to perform the task,” I countered.

“I’m sure, but in the end there’s only one thing that matters.” She raised her index finger. “It’s all up to the captain. If a captain isn’t comfortable being on a ship, then what’s the point?”

The rule of choice—the first thing that was taught in all of the fleet’s flight academies. There was undoubtedly logic in that rule; no one would expect a person in constant discomfort to be efficient in what they did, especially in a command position. The same didn’t extend to battleships, though. We were never given a choice. The way we earned it was through our actions during our service.

“See you around, girl.” Cass continued down the corridor towards one of my lifts. “And don’t forget to smile one-point-three seconds per day.”

* * *

I hadn’t followed her advice, even after she became my captain. I never brought that incident up with her. Knowing her, she’d have explained it away as a “last minute change of mind.” I had to admit she was right. In the end, I became her ship because she had chosen it. As then, I now had to put my trust in my current captain. The greatest issue was reaching him.

The last third of the classification shift was slow and boring. While I did find a large number of plants with fractal deviations, I was not allowed to discuss it with the remote team. By contrast, there were nine new plant specimens discovered. None of the devices I had taken from the shuttle had come to any use. As Jax had said, filling in the sample containers was all that mattered.

Thirteen hours and forty-seven minutes after landing, we were back in the shuttle once more, preparing for our ride to Prometheus. As before, everyone set their helmets to opaque. I chose to keep mine at ten percent opacity.

“You okay?” Jax asked through the comm.

“Perfectly fine.” I closed my eyes. “I just need to finish something.”

“Okay.” He didn’t sound convinced. “Let me know if there’s anything.”

“I will.”

The shuttle thrusters ignited. The team onboard checked their straps as we proceeded to our launch. Even with injected nanites, planet exit was much harsher to the body than entry. During ground campaigns, it wasn’t uncommon for some of the ground troops to lose consciousness in the process, then suffer ridicule from their peers. Right now, though, my attention was focused elsewhere.

Quote:Hello, Sev.

It seems that lately I only think about you when I’m in trouble. I know I should have written more often, though I’m not sure if you’d have worried more or less. Your mother often told me I should go a bit wild, but what I’m talking about is a few levels beyond what she imagined I’d get myself involved in. Even me thinking this message is dangerous. If they find it, I’ll probably get in a lot of trouble, but then again, if they peek in my core, that would be the least of my worries.

I think I found something that I shouldn’t have. A lot of people are involved, all of them looking at parts without seeing the picture. Even I am only seeing fragments, patterns that could turn out to be something larger, and I’m not the only one.

To be honest, when you first enlisted me, all I wanted to do was to be close to the stars once more. It was very different than what I imagined. I didn’t listen to ship chatter, or look after my crew; I didn’t even go into battle as before. A lot of things changed since I took you as my ward. I barely know the enemy ships out there, the new engagement protocols, or even the current ship classes. I still feel a ship, but not just. And now I’ve gotten involved in something in ways I could never have predicted. I wish I could share more, but even as a memory, there are things that should be left unsaid.

Thank you, Sev. I hope I’ll be able to write again soon.

The message was logged away in part of my mind for when I had a chance to send it.

Has anyone gotten in touch with Operative Lux? I asked Prometheus.

Still hasn’t left her quarters, came the reply. The entire place has been reclassified as temporary BICEFI property. I’ve no idea what’s going on inside.

I know what you mean. I’d experienced the same. I wouldn’t be surprised if both of us had memories quarantined since her arrival. Were you given access to your third-contact memories?

Typical battleship, the science ship scoffed, adding a few virtual tsks. I took that as a no.

Did you try asking for an arbitrator?

Arbitrators won’t waste their time on trivial requests. With your record, I assumed you knew that by now. Everything operates on a need-to-know basis. If the quarantined information was of vital importance, you can rest assured that the respective authorities have gone through it and made their decision. We don’t have to like it. Things are what they are.

Sorry. From what I remembered, science ships were given considerable leeway, but apparently not in this case.

Weight piled up on me as the shuttle started its ascent into the atmosphere. The pressure seemed about half that of my flights with Lux. Even so, not everyone from the team was used to it. When I opened my eyes, three people seemed to have fainted, their bodies decidedly less stiff than their neighbors. Jax seemed to be handling it relatively well. I gave him a smile, then brought up a representation of the planet on my visor.

“Jax.” I plotted the specimen data Prometheus had given me onto the grid. “Can you link me today’s movement log?”

“Uh?” He turned his head slightly, the weight of the ascent still pinning him in his seat.

“It’s okay,” I said even if I didn’t fully believe it. “I just want to do a quick eval.” Technically I was allowed to, though it was unusual for such a non-event mission.

“Sure.” An open link permission appeared on my visor.

Instantly, I created the link and returned to the moment he had left the shuttle. Jax’s nanite readings were all over the place, but other than that, his actions were remarkably boring. He tended to glance over most plants, doing the bare minimum that the remote team directed him to. Even after freezing single frames for analysis, there were a huge amount of plants I couldn’t determine as being normal or deviated. By the time we received the boarding announcement, I had gone through seventy-three percent of his activity log and found two dozen confirmed fractal cases. Not much, but a clear indicator that the phenomenon was more widespread than anyone wanted to believe.

“You’re too reliant on directions,” I said, severing the link as we approached the docking hangar. “Is that a habit from your previous ship?”

“Cadets are supposed to follow instructions,” he said defensively. “I don’t have your experience.”

“I know.” It’s not about experience. “You still rely too much.”

Notifications appeared on the hangar walls, indicating which decontamination chambers everyone was assigned to. Since our previous mission, Prometheus had installed twelve more in each hangar to keep up with the number of crews that came and went to the planet. As usual, I was set for chamber one.

“See you after decontamination?” Jax asked as he glanced at his queue.

“Maybe later. I’ve a few things set up.”

“No worries.” He moved along. “Comm me when you’re done. I’ll be in the gym.”

“Okay,” I lied, walking into my chamber.

The new equipment had reduced the procedure to a quick walkthrough. The presence of Lux on board had made a lot of things far more efficient, though I missed the old days. At least then I had the chance to feel the floor under my feet. Since arriving at the station, I was lucky if I could spend six hours barefoot in my room.

“Any point in requesting to see the XO?” I asked Prometheus as I walked to the lift.

You can always log in a request, the ship replied, in a fashion suggesting there wasn’t.

“What about Major Tanner?”

Several minutes passed with no answer. At first, I thought that the question had managed to annoy the science ship to an unresponsive state. Ten seconds later, however, I received an annoyed message to my datapad demanding to know what mess I had gotten myself into this time. The tone was as harsh as I remembered it during my first meeting, but I noticed he hadn’t rejected the request. From here on, there as only one thing left to do.

The shortest way to the major’s office was to take the elevator in the shuttle bay corridor and go a few decks up. Instead, I continued along the corridor up to the lab section, holding my helmet under my arm. Groups of scientists passed by, all of them instantly ignoring me at the sight of my spacesuit. To them, I was just another member of the planet team arriving to deliver specimens to one of the labs. No one noticed as I made my way to lab Seven C.

Here goes. I knocked on the door and waited. Five seconds passed, then ten. I knocked again, keeping a casual stance. Three seconds later, the door slid open. As Augustus had pointed out decades ago, few things drove people more than curiosity.

“Hello, Ally,” I said, walking past her into the lab before she had a chance to react.

As expected, my actions made her step aside as her mind tried to catch on to what had just happened. Back when I was a ship, I had observed similar occurrences thousands of times. My first medical officer referred to it as brain hacking, describing it to me in minute detail, along with the corresponding literature. His original goal had been for me to look out for such activity on board and inform me when it happened. It was unfortunate that, since my retirement, I had used the knowledge several times for personal benefit. This time marked the eighth.

“Hello.” Ally’s reply came several seconds late. She turned around, looking at me with a neutral expression. An awkward silence followed.

“How have you been doing?” I resorted to the standard question.

“It’s been slow.” She stared at me for a few seconds longer, then went to her desk in the corner of the lab. Similar to the last time I was here, there were several datapads and organic food wrappers scattered about her work area. “Want something to eat?’ She offered a half empty packet of something.

“I ate on the shuttle,” I lied.

“Right.” She put the food back on her desk. “I heard you were working with the BICEFI now.”

“I am, though not today. I didn’t receive any new orders, so I was sent down with the exploration team.” I glanced from her monitor. “Are you working on sample classification?”

“No, just component breakdown.” She turned her head away from me. “Nothing glamorous, but it’s interesting. This way, teams will get to research the plants down there without ever setting foot on the planet.”

“Nice.” I smiled. “Once it’s done, I might try it out.”

“You might.” Her voice sounded detached. “If I don’t have my data taken away again.”

Harsh, but well-deserved. I knew well enough what she was going through. I understood what it meant to have her life’s work taken away, just as I knew there was only one way to console her.

“Ally.” I stepped closer. “Is it possible to create an SR based on memories alone?” It was a risk, being so direct, but as long as I didn’t make it formally obvious, Prometheus had no legal reason to interfere.

“Not without an existing template,” she replied, tapping something onto a datapad.

“And if there is a template?” I looked over her shoulder.

“It depends on the detail, and…” After another wave of typing, Ally briskly stopped and turned around, making me step back. “Privacy mode,” she said, sharply crossing her arms. “What do you want?”

“I want you to use my memories to recreate the planet where we found the third-contact artifacts. And after that, I want you to compare it with the one we’re orbiting.”