Ground troops used to say that being on one fleet ship meant being on them all. From their point of view, it probably seemed that way: the change in gravity, the loss of control, and the knowledge that every second of their time was carefully observed and recorded. However, I could say with almost certain confidence that they had never set foot on a BICEFI vessel. I had been on the ship for over thirty minutes, and the only thing I’d seen were faceless people all wearing white commodore uniforms. The single person that still had her face was Aquila, although she had switched her expensive business dress for a set of black captain’s attire.

I was taken to a large room which was to serve as my temporary quarters and given full access to the rest of the ship. There were no locked doors, barriers, or restricted areas, for the sole reason that I was under a constant mind-quarantine—the only corridors I could see were those I was allowed to. Every once in a while, I would see a faceless operative walk through a solid wall, or vanish into the floor. After a while, I saw that the only place I felt comfortable was in my quarters, where the laws of physics were followed by everything involved.

An hour in, I was brought food by one of the marionette commodores and was told Aquila would be having a chat with me at some point later today. I was also granted access to the ship’s SR room, if I wanted to take advantage during the wait.

The food looked a bit better than what I had during training, though far worse than Prometheus’ rations. For all the many advantages the BICEFI had, adequate food processors weren’t among them. I took a few bites to sample the taste, then left the tray on the flood and went into the corridor. From what I had managed to mind sketch the ship was relatively large—roughly the size of Prometheus, though smaller than I had been. The thought made me straighten up in an attempt to gain an inch of height.

Where’s the SR area? I asked the ship. A green line appeared on the floor, continuing into the distance.

I waited for a few seconds, hoping to get a verbal response, but none came. The BICEFI ship either was under instructions not to talk to me or saw me as completely irrelevant. I didn’t enjoy the notion, but I could understand it—from its point of view, I was the only non-BICEFI member on board. Ironically, it had a better an idea about my being here than I did. Aquila had done a good job saying the absolute minimum before we shuttled on board, then left me with one of the crew.

Thanks. I followed the line.

No one paid attention as I reached the only visible elevator on the ship. Not a single head turned my way, making me wonder if I was the only one who’d been thought quarantined.

Making my way up seven decks, I continued along a wide empty corridor that ended in a large double door. From what I could see, there was no lock or defence mechanism. Stopping in front of the door, I reached forward.

“Top of the line SR technology,” a voice said from my left. Aquila stood in a hallway entrance, where there had been a wall only moments ago. “Only operatives and Fleet big shots are allowed.” She took a few steps towards me. “Give or take a few top bureaucrats.”

“But, in this case, you’ll make an exception?” I turned her way.

“That depends.” The way Aquila smiled made me feel wary. “What do you think of the ship?”

“I guess it’s impressive.” Not that I had a chance to see much. “Nice of you to take me to my arbitration.”

“Still so eager.” Aquila stepped forward. The doors opened before her. “Want to take a peek?”

The hall we entered was quite large by my current standard—enough to hold at least three transport shuttles, with room to spare. Instead, the entire space was filled with SR pods. All of the tech’s design was significantly more advanced than anything I had seen in a database. It was also completely unused, as if freshly out of the production factory.

Aquila led us to a small table, in the corner of the hall, next to an observation core cluster. As usual, she took her seat, expecting me to follow. If I were to ignore the surroundings, the placing was identical to that on Lionforge to the centimetre.

“Is anything the matter?” The woman asked.

“No.” I took my seat. “Nothing important.”

“Good, because I wanted to finish our earlier conversation.”

That was a bit rich. It was Aquila that had put an end to our previous talk, having the faceless commodore escort me to decontamination. From there, I had been shipped onto a shuttle and flown directly aboard.

“I’ll keep this brief.” Aquila tapped the tips of her fingers together. “I want you to join the BICEFI.”

Augustus liked to say that nothing should render a ship speechless. In the broad sense, he was correct—ships were designed to react in any eventuality, taking the course of action that would result in the smallest amount of lives lost. There were cases, though, in which one was presented with a situation so absurd that even millions of subroutines running simulations didn’t prove sufficient to provide an adequate assessment. To my knowledge, I had never encountered such a situation until now.

“The BICEFI don’t recruit fleet ships,” I said, completely ignoring the fact that I was a cadet at present.

“I tell you they do.” She leaned forward. “Considering your options, I’d say it’s a good offer. In the BICEFI, you’ll be able to continue exploring the artifacts while doing a few assignments on the side. Nothing you haven’t done already.”

“The alternative is court-martial, I take it?”

“Let’s assume it isn’t.” Aquila’s expression didn’t change. “Let’s assume you finish your mission on Prometheus, get some minor commendation on your file, then are sent back to the training academy, half your memories restricted. If you continue the path of a cadet, that’s what you can expect. In a best-case scenario, you’ll need about three years to make ensign.”

There it was, the language I was so familiar with. Aquila hadn’t denied the possibility, instead making it appear as if she was offering me a shortcut… just like during my arbitration. Technically, I wasn’t being punished, merely being offered a calmer career path. The real trouble had started when I decided to appeal. There was no doubt the pattern would hold true here.

“You’ve gone through a lot of trouble to arrange this.” I looked around. Dangling the tech in front of me like a carrot was a rather nice touch. “The logical option would be for me to accept.”

“But you’re not going to.” The manner Aquila said it was relaxed, almost as if she were expecting the answer.

“No,” I said calmly. “I might be reckless, but not enough to join the BICEFI.”

“Always the same answer.” The woman sighed. “And each time you make a scene.”

Speechless, I watched her stand up and walk to the nearest SR pod.

“You’ve had the same conversation before, Elcy,” Aquila continued. “So many times…”

* * *

“You just had to make a scene.” The short skinny man growled, wiping off the sweat from his forehead. In some database, he probably had a name, possibly a life’s history enumerating all his successes and failures for the military-bureaucratic machine. I only knew him as Spencer. “You couldn’t just accept your demotion and go along with it?”

“I didn’t deserve the demotion, sir.” A thousand of my subroutines continued going through my arbitration files, providing data as I ran simulation variants of possible outcomes. The least favorable possibility was being reassigned to cargo transport duties.

“We’ve been through this before!” Spencer snapped. “You said you can handle it!”

I had no memory of that assurance on my part, but I knew it was true. Spencer’s fleet credentials gave him rather vast authority, not to mention that he was a BICEFI assistant director. The fact that he had chosen to come on board in person, after my arbitration farce, meant he was serious and very pissed off.

“I don’t suppose you could influence the arbitration committee, sir?” I suggested.

“I told you I don’t like jokes,” he barked. I didn’t remember that either. “All you had to do was remain quiet. You’d have quietly been reassigned to some bullshit post, then quietly disappeared. Everything had been arranged. Now…” he raised his hands in the air. “Too many organizations are keeping an eye on you. Interfering in the decision in any way will bring too much attention. It’s not something I’m willing to risk, even for an asset like you.”

“I understand, sir.”

This sounded familiar. I could recall memory fragments of our conversations: seventy-three separate instances in which he had persisted recruiting me to join the BICEFI. I had no memory of the mission that had prompted this, but it was clear I was seen as bringing an advantage to the organization. Most probably it had been my last mission, in which I had witnessed an alien artifact destroy thousands of fleet and Cassandrian ships alike. The event continued to repulse me. It was said that numbers don’t lie, but even so, I felt much better having my memories of the incident restricted. Upon joining the BICEFI I wouldn’t be allowed that privilege. There was a reason that the phrase “blood numbers” had come into being. The only ones who knew what it meant wished they didn’t and still accepted the burden.

“So, what happens now?” I asked.

“Nothing.” Spencer kept on pacing in the bridge. It was ironic that the person who wasn’t supposed to exist had chosen that place for our conversation. Then again, with me being temporarily decommissioned pending further orders, it didn’t matter. “Your next assignment will be bad.”

There was no way it could be otherwise. A ship that dared appeal was unlikely to get anything less. The fleet was bound to punish me out of reflex, if nothing else.

“They’ll pair you with some incompetent captain or a rookie,” the man went on. “Then they’ll make sure you’re as far from the action as possible. For the next five years, your behavior will be monitored by the arbitration committee. While they have their eyes on you, there’s nothing I can do.”

The implication was clear. For the next five years, I’d have no contact or memory of the BICEFI. As far as the fleet and I were concerned, I was being demoted due to recklessness that caused significant loss of crew, combined with the innate “core defect” associated with the Ascendant battleship class. Five years of future bitterness and resentment for something that never happened.

“Will it help the war effort?” I asked.

“Not in the least.” The frown on Spencer’s face relaxed a bit. “The next five years will be a waste. I’m not sure you’ll be allowed to keep your weapon systems. An utter waste.”

One thing about him: he never minced words. If I had known of our previous conversations prior to my reassignment, I would hardly have made a scene. The appeal would had never been and instead of having an unpleasant conversation with Spencer, I’d most likely be back on the front with a new designation. Sadly, things were what they were.

“Thank you for your effort, sir. My apologies for failing the mission.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Spencer waved his hand. “These next five years, I’ll be keeping an eye on you like everyone else. Serve your time, complete your assignment, then when it’s time for the next rotation we’ll talk again.”

“I can make no promises, sir.” I had probably said the same thing the last time as well.

“I know.” He made his way to the bridge corridor. “One can only hope.”

* * *

Five years. The entire time I’d been with Cass, I had been watched and assessed. That’s why I had been assigned a fresh captain, with a casual disrespect for rules and no advancement prospective. Spencer had said the BICEFI couldn’t influence what assignment I got, but I think he had lied. The areas I was patrolling had carefully been selected to ensure that I didn’t see any actual combat. If it hadn’t been for the surprise ambush, Cass would be alive and I never would have never gone through with my retirement.

“You were supposed to join during your final rotation.” Aquila returned to the table. “Spencer personally went to welcome you. And then you did what you do best.”

“I refused.”

The scene reappeared in my memories. It hadn’t been a pleasant conversation. Spencer had aged slightly since our previous conversation, gaining a few white hairs on his head and not caring one bit to have them remedied. He had brought an advanced core to be installed on me, and I had turned him down.

“You argued that the promise to Cass trumped the promise to him.” There was no malice in Aquila’s voice, but I didn’t feel that she approved. “Normally, Spencer would have overruled such concerns. There were suggestions that he should extract your memories of the promise and be done with it. Spencer refused. He felt that he couldn’t afford an operative with baggage.”

Apparently, he knew a thing or two about memory leaking.

“He left, you retired, and started your absurd life as a child’s legal guardian,” the woman finished.

“You don’t like retirees much.” Some things never changed.

“Do you know why so few retirees re-enter the service?” Aquila waited for me to shake my head. “They don’t want to. Two-thirds find a place in nature somewhere where they spend the rest of their lives like living statues. Most of the rest chose to live in small communities, away from information hubs, or go adventuring through the wilderness. There’s something about ex-ships and vegetation. They can’t get enough of it.”

Something I doubt you could understand. I was starting to understand Age’s paranoia. The fact that Aquila knew in detail how retirees led their lives suggested that someone had been observing them all along. From a military point of view, I could understand the concern. Even with my husk stripped and memories selectively blocked, I remained a source of classified information. The Third Ship Retirement act, however, was supposed to change all that, granting me limited human rights so I could enjoy the rest of my life as a human. Apparently, it didn’t mean anything to the BICEFI.

“Seems you didn’t give up.”

“We did,” Aquila corrected. “For a while. Your return to the service changed things. Quite ironic that your promisee would be the one to shove you back into the fold.” She smirked. “As a civilian retiree, you were pretty much lost. Even when you joined the training program, it wasn’t sure you’d go through.”

I remained silent. There were moments when I too had my doubts.

“Despite the doubts, it was decided to prepare you for the eventuality.”

“That’s why I got special treatment?” That would explain my extra training requirements.

“That was the commandant’s decision.” Aquila didn’t seem too fond of the fact. “Having a retiree seems to be a big deal. They were planning to pass you regardless. That is, until Fleet Intelligence stepped in.”

“Good thing I made the cut.” I added enough sarcasm in my voice to be noticed.

“We’ll never know.” The smile said everything. “Want some food?”

The entrance to the chamber opened. A new bowl of gelatin capsules were brought and placed in front of me. I expected the person who put them on the table to be one of the faceless commodores, but it wasn’t. Instead, it was someone familiar—the same person who had consistently performed medical checks.

“Glad to see you made the cut, cadet,” the doctor said in her deep voice. She looked almost as I remembered her from my time on the training station, only slightly slimmer and much more muscular. Apparently, the blubber I remembered had been there for my benefit only. “Told you it was for your sake.”

“Seems so, ma’am.” Now I understood why I didn’t have memories from some of my sessions.

“Looks like you developed flashbacks after all.” She took a few gelatin capsules, then headed away.

“Did you put me through the same treatment Doc Sim did?” I asked before she reached the exit.

The woman just let out a bearlike laugh and left without a response. The double doors closed behind her. Even in a situation like this, the BICEFI weren’t generous with their secrets.

“Don’t be so critical, we had to prime you so you could start accessing restricted files.” Aquila waved away the matter, as if we were discussing items on the evening’s menu. “Everything else was completely up to standard. She is an actual doctor. Saved quite a few people in the trenches before we picked her up.”

“I don’t think she went through the same recruitment process.”

“She’s not the same person you are.” She reached into the bowl and took a single capsule. “You’ve forgotten, but all of BICEFI’s best members have been recruited. Even myself.”

The thought was mildly amusing. I imagined her receiving an encrypted mail promising her greater authority and the option to be a pain to anyone she wanted. From what I had seen of Aquila’s behavior, that would have been enough to have her enlist. If anything, the recruiter probably got a bad deal. It was undeniable, though, that she managed to pull off her job. A cluster of artifacts was recovered, some insight of the third-contact language obtained, and I had been successfully “reminded” of my BICEFI recruitment that had started almost a century ago. Hate her or not, she was objectively efficient. A pity that’s all she was.

“You have a few days to decide.” Aquila reached for another capsule.

The way she ate them reminded me of Sev as a child. Whenever I would bring home candies, he would carefully separate them in groups then eat them one by one starting from the most plentiful. At the time, I had found it amusing how he was trying to mimic my nature of a ship. There was nothing amusing about it now.

“The Prometheus is wrapping with their current mission. You must be ready with your answer by the time they return.” The woman stood up. “You can use the SR pods if you want to. Remember to close them after you’re done.”

“How did Spencer manage to convince Augustus?” I asked. “My first captain couldn’t stand fleet intelligence.”

“Still missing that part?” Aquila arched a brow dramatically. “Augustus was the one who suggested you join. After all the good work you two did, HQ took the request under advisement and arranged for a trial period.”

Trial period? You always knew how play everyone, Augustus. All that processing power, more subroutines than you could even have and you still hid the pattern.

He had been grooming me for this all along. All my missions, all the increased involvement with the BICEFI was to prepare me so they could start the recruitment process. Now, decades after his and Spencer’s death, someone else was seeing it through.