Every battleship in the fleet had a story. Mine was similar to most: I had been on missions, seen victories and defeats, helped conquer systems, seen millions live and die, found and lost friends...The single thing that separated me from the great majority of ships was my almost unimpeded memory access. Aquila hadn’t lied when she had said my past would come back to me. Weeks of restricted memories had started to return minutes after our talk. I could have remained there passively and waited for them to fully reactivate one by one, but I chose to enjoy some SR instead. As Augustus had shared a long time ago, a person had every right to indulge a bit before a battle. For once, I intended to take that advice.

The ship had duplicated the settings of my home. The attention to detail was impressive, matching my memories to the letter. The ground, the grass, the entire surroundings were the same as on the day I left for the recruitment center. I spent several long minutes enjoying the view. It brought back memories of a simpler life, when my only concern had been how to keep an eye on Sev while annoying him as little as possible. A few times per week, I’d attempt to get him to call his children and grandchildren, only to get a grumble in response, often followed by a begrudging insistence that I do it for him.

Passing through the garden, I went to the front door and opened it. The inside echoed a feeling of comfort and warmth. I could see a pile of fresh mushrooms next to a boiling pot of water. That had been the last meal I had made for Sev. My plastic recruitment letter was on the table, opened just enough so I could see the tip of its contents, next to a half-full glass of bourbon. The only thing missing was Sev… I was glad he wasn’t here. Seeing him, even if I knew he was a computer-generated simulation, would bring back the feelings of guilt I had. Thanks to the system I had devised, Prometheus was probably still sending letter snippets to him every week, though that masked the fact that I had been avoiding writing. If I were to accept Aquila’s proposal, I’d be communicating with him even less, if the BICEFI even allowed me.

After a total of nineteen minutes in SR, I left the pod and headed for my quarters. As enjoyable as the experience had been, it only distracted me from the real questions. Then, there was the matter of the memories that kept opening to me. Looking at things from a more philosophical view, it was almost amusing how a few pieces of information were capable of changing my entire perception of events. Augustus hadn’t been the reckless lone wolf veteran I used to remember him as: he was something much more. None of his decisions were based on chance or a passing caprice. The reason he complained so much about the standard fleet procedures was because they were slowing him down. In order to be efficient, he had to follow a new set of rules, intricate in their ruthless simplicity. We had both been fighting to ensure the survival of the human race, but he had been doing it on an entirely different level, preparing things for battles to come. Me, I simply shot at Cassandrians, like a child throwing sand in the playground. Meanwhile, Augustus was busy retrieving third-contact artifacts and keeping them from other the clutches of equally powerful organizations with different hidden agendas. Under his command, we had managed to gather a total of four alien artifacts, all smaller than the domes I had recently come across.

Augustus wasn’t the only one who was different from what I remembered. Gibraltar had turned out to be a career bureaucrat, who had gambled that my previous work relation with the BICEFI would speed up his application process. Apparently, he was part of Advanced Fleet Intelligence years before we met, mostly thanks to his family connections, and had pulled a considerable amount of strings to be assigned as my captain. He had always seemed different from the rest of the career military: his tendency to overprepare and rely on simulations, his difficulty in unexpected situations, and the four breakdowns he’d had. At the time, I had assumed it was all due to his young age and relative inexperience. It wasn’t. The tours with me must have been terrifying, yet he had persisted to get the chance to join the organization.

According to Aquila, he never managed to enter BICEFI, ending up in a fleet intelligence department with roughly the same authority as the BICEFI proper, focusing on internal human threats rather than alien phenomena. As Augustus used to say, “Sometimes one’s best isn’t good enough.” The final battle in the artifact system must have been the last straw for Gibraltar. No wonder he had quit all of a sudden. To me it had seemed unexpected; from his point of view, it was a decision he had kept facing every day. My one regret was that I was never able to have an honest conversation with him on the matter.

By eight thirteen ship time, my memories had stopped updating. I had spent another half an hour sitting silently in the corner of my quarters, in case I was wrong. When it became clear that no other changes would occur, I took off the grey set of clothes that illustrated my visitor status and went to bed.

“Am I allowed to send a letter to my ward?” I asked, even if I suspected what the answer might be.

Five milliseconds later, a large “DENIED” appeared on all of my walls in large yellow letters. To my surprise, I was also given a short intelligence briefing of Sev’s current state. From what I read, he was doing well, even if had recently gone through a nasty case of the flu. Apparently, it was his son who had gone to our house and looked after him until Sev was well enough to grumble him back to the city. Several attempts to get in touch with me had been made, but because of the information quarantine, I was never informed. That was unfortunate. I would have liked seeing them together, exchange a few words and catch up on the rest of the family.

Thank you, I told the ship. Chat with you more in an hour.

The night passed quickly, and throughout the night I slept—not the usual one-hour rest period I was used to, but a full seven hours, all passing in the blink of an eye. One moment I was lying on my bed, considering the role the third-contact artifacts played in everything. The next, the walls of my room were flashing red, flooding me with messages from the Prometheus. The science ship had concluded its mission and had started its way to the station, ETA seventeen hours. That was the time I had to make my decision.

Thanks for the rest, I told the ship as I walked into the corridor. The number of corridors was roughly the same as I remembered, though the amount of doorways had diminished by half. Subtlety wasn’t the BICEFI’s strong point. Trying to recreate the image based on memories proved impossible, as the spots where there had been doors now felt solid to touch. If nothing else, the BICEFI had a peculiar sense of humor.

Clever, I thought as I made my way forward. Aquila had presented me with a practical recreation of the concept of diminishing possibilities. I wouldn’t be surprised if more doors vanished as the Prometheus approached, leaving me with the binary choice of going to the bridge or the shuttle bay, likely to be transported to the location of my arbitration trial. Aquila didn’t seem one to make empty threats, just as she wasn’t one to forget.

Reaching the ship’s mess hall, I took a gelatin ration from a food dispenser, then went to sit at the only table I could see. The taste of the food was comfortably bland, allowing me to look over what I knew about the third-contact symbols. Thanks to the new access to my memories, I could see I knew a total of seventeen thousand third-contact symbols, though the actual number was much smaller when using Rad’s system. More interestingly, I had analyzed thirty-eight fractal scripts and four unique symbols, two of which I had seen in each of the domes. Back when I was assisting the BICEFI with actual research, it had been theorized that the language was a form of dual-system communication with fractal and three-dimensional elements. The fractal elements were thought to be linked to deep commands: the only ones capable of activating or deactivating artifacts, or as Augustus liked to put it, “floating buttons.” The three-dimensional symbols were considered the standard script that served to convey information. More interestingly, due to the nature of the smaller artifacts, some had suspected that there was an extra-dimensional connection between them, allowing for instant data transfer, a side effect of which was the utter shattering of all human wavelength communication methods humanity was currently using.

All artifacts I was aware of had been found just beyond the edge of human space, vastly in contested territories. Judging by the actions of the Scuu, not many were found in their territories either. As for the Cassandrians, I couldn’t imagine them having access to such a weapon and not using it to the point that even the fleet’s obsession with secrecy would make it impossible to hide. The only common elements seemed to be that all three races wanted the artifacts and each side was as clueless about them as the next.

“Still analyzing the artifacts?” Aquila said, joining me at the table. I hadn’t noticed her approach. “The BICEFI’s been researching them for over a century. I doubt you’ll manage to discover something we haven’t.”

“I probably won’t.” If that was the case, why are you keeping me under constant surveillance?

“Have you made a decision?” She leaned forward. “Not to be one to rush, but you’ll have to make up your mind today. Of course, I could arrange for the Prometheus to take a while longer getting here. Your choice.”

My choice? An interesting way of presenting things. The only time I had a choice was when my captain was incapacitated.

“No need.“ I straightened up. “How much of my thoughts are quarantined?”

“You’ve made your decision.” Any pretense of a smile vanished from Aquila’s face. “But you still don’t trust me. I’d hoped that after saving you, I’d have earned that much of least.”

The woman leaned backwards. A second later the mess hall exploded with life, hitting my senses like an info burst. Dozens of people were around us, eating and chatting, seated at dozens of tables identical to mine. Each had a face and attire—no longer the white commodore outfit. Instinctively, I tried to access the fleet database, but my request was denied.

“Does this feel better?” She sighed. “I’d have preferred a bit of silence.”

“You’re not me.” The silent whisper of space was nice, though not always.

“Clearly.” She spat out every sound, as if trying to hit me in the face with it. “So?”

“No.” I smiled. “I won’t be joining.” Her expression remained static like a plastic mask. “I’m not a battleship anymore.”

Aquila looked me in the eye. I expected her to call for me to be court-martialed here and now. It was within her right to do so, and even finding a cluster of artifacts wouldn’t let me off the hook. Instead, she just shook her head, half-smiling, half-disappointed.

“You never change.” She stood up. All chatter suddenly stopped. Several people turned, shooting glances at us, then quietly went into the nearest corridor. The others followed, there was no rushing or complaining, some headed straight out, some let out a grumble or two, one even took a few bites from her food before joining the rest.

Thirty-seven seconds after Aquila gave her sign, the hall was empty. In the adventure movies Sev loved to watch as a child, this would be the moment when I’d be attacked. The scenes were always very action-packed and dramatic, but I knew better. Aquila had the power to be done with me without lifting a finger.

“Remember what it was like to be a ship?” The woman appeared taller in the deserted room, forcing me to stand up. “Of course you do.” She waved a hand dismissively. “The sensation of watching thousands and still having time to maintain your systems, run simulations, and chat with other ships.”

The description was accurate, too accurate. Could it be she was a retiree as well?

“A century ago you’d have caught everything in this room,” Aquila went on. “You still have that option.”

“I’ve been made that offer.” It was among the first things that my recruiting officer suggested. An interesting option, but not something I felt I wanted.

“No, you haven’t.” She slid her fingers along the table. “The fleet can only offer you a husk. The BICEFI can offer you your core.”

My core? There were seventeen possible things she was trying to say, all of them equally tempting and implausible. It was well known that no ship had ever been granted free action, regardless of accomplishments. The public liked to call the rights we had been given “conditional freedom,” but looking deeper in the bureaucracy wording, the actual phrase was “personal autonomy.” Even the BICEFI couldn’t change that.

“The ability to change husks,” she pressed on. “A battleship today, a cruiser tomorrow, or why not a shuttle or even a human?” There was a moment’s pause. Aquila looked at me, then without warning slammed her hand on the table. A small indentation appeared, beyond the capabilities of an ordinary person.

“You’re a ship,” I stated. Looking at her, I wouldn’t have guessed. She had an uncanny ability to make herself appear unlikeable and manipulative. “That’s how you managed to pull me out of the dome.” Guess I know how you managed to enter it, now. Of all the people that could have attempted to get me, it made sense that it would be another ship.

“I was the one who figured out how to enter them,” Aquila said with a smirk. “Until then, the research team was only gathering symbols from the surface. It’s rare to get to activate the artifacts. Other than using a wave drill and running the risk of flattening the entire lab. For some reason, ships don’t have that problem.”

So much about retirees not wanting to join the fleet.

“Where did you serve?” If she was on the Cassandrian front and anywhere near my age, there was a chance that we might have come across one another.

“You know I can’t tell you that.” Aquila tapped my shoulder. “Maybe one day you’ll find out.”

“I doubt it.” As much as being with another ship would have been nice, I still couldn’t join the BICEFI, not until I learned the answers of a few questions. Besides, Augustus had warned me not to put my trust in anyone who didn’t make a difference between threats and flattery—there was no telling how they’ll react. “My decision is unchanged. I’ll take my chances with the court-martial.”

Aquila shook her head. We both knew nothing would be left to chance.

“Pity,” the woman said with a shrug. “Though I’m not surprised. I told them it was too soon to get you involved.”

You’re wrong. It wasn’t too soon, it was too late. Even if Augustus had set this up, I didn’t trust the BICEFI. From what I had seen so far, they didn’t trust me much either.

“Ready to go? Or do you want to finish your food first?” Aquila asked.

I looked at the food on the table. “I’m fine.” The taste of flavored gelatin was something I could do without. “Ready to go, ma’am.”

We went into the main corridor. As we walked, a group of people in maintenance uniforms went past. Their expressions were bored and tired, probably a result of double shifts keeping the ship ready for whatever mission came at a moment’s notice. I would have given a lot to know exactly what they had witnessed during their service. Reaching the second junction, Aquila turned left, stopping at what was marked as a “Priority One Elevator”.

“What’s priority one?” I asked, casually.

“Direct link to the bridge,” came the reply. “Command personnel only.”

“Why am I going there?” A feeling of uncertain anticipation swept over me, almost as if I was about to enter a combat zone.

“Someone wants to have a word with you.” The elevator door opened. “Go on.” Aquila gestured me to enter.

“You’re not joining me?”

“No.” The woman waited.

After three seconds, I stepped in. The door slid shut behind me. Shortly after, the lift started its movement down. Standing quietly in the white tube-like space made me appreciate Prometheus. Although arrogant and snarky, he had taken care of me and the rest of the crew. This ship felt as if I was surrounded by sentient void.

“Any words of advice?” I asked, straightening my shirt. Back when I was a ship, I used to give too much encouragement, especially in the early years. Most ships tended to be like that; I only had to look at Rad’s behavior for proof. “Anything I’m not allowed to do?” I narrowed the scope of the question. Instead of a response, the elevator stopped, the words “Bridge Level 3” appearing on the door.

It’s always the bridge, Sev. That’s where things start and where they end. It was on my bridge that Cass had nearly died, leading to my promise; and now, on a bridge, my promise would come to an end, one way or another.

I’m ready, I told the ship. The door opened, revealing the ship’s bridge. It was quite different from the rest of the ship: far smaller, a bit antiquated, and completely empty. Entering, I counted a total of five seats, all positioned in front of core terminal blocks. Two centurion robots stood at opposite ends of the room, both active and motionless. That was a sight I hadn’t seen in a long time. From what I knew, the models were considered obsolete and discontinued.

“Hello, Elcy,” a deep woman’s voice filled the bridge. “It’s nice to see you in person.”

“Thank you, ma’am?” I looked around. The speech was rhythmically chaotic enough to be human, though it was possible to be synthetic as well.

“A pity you declined the offer,” the voice went on. “I had hoped that after accessing your memories, you’d think differently.”

“My apologies, ma’am.” No attempt to make me reconsider? It was doubtful she had called me here only to have a chat. “Are you the ship, ma’am?”

“Yes.” There was a note of joy in her voice, like a spark of laughter at the bottom of an ocean. “You expected something different?”

“No.” I hesitated. “I was told that the captain had asked to see me.”

“I am the captain.”

A ship captain? There were three different laws the explicitly forbade that. A ship could never exert sole dominion over a person without the direct approval of a person or law codex. Technically, even I, in my current state, fell into a grey area, since if I ever rose to the position, there would be a pair of two ships in charge, rather than the standard human-ship paradigm. On the other hand, I had been witness to cases in which a Sword class ship had assumed control over an entire fleet, another BICEFI member no doubt.

“I was hoping that this reunion would be under different circumstances,” the ship continued. “However, due to your decision, I’m not sure I’ll have the chance.”

“We know each other?” I used all my processing power to roam through my memories, searching for possible matches.

“Yes and no. You knew me, though I never had a chance to see you in person.” An image of a ship appeared on the walls, along with its full schematics. One glance was enough for me to instantly recognize her. “You helped save me over a century ago. Since then, I’d been hoping to have a chance to thank you.”

“You’re the Solar Breeze.” My voice sounded hollow. The only thing I had seen of her was an abandoned husk, full of dead and diseased passengers. Augustus had led me to believe that the core had been forcefully shut down.

I can’t trust anything you’ve said, can I? I smiled. Under that rough exterior, Augustus had in fact been a sly old fox. No wonder everyone underestimated him. At the time, I thought the confrontation between the BICEFI and the Salvage authorities was for the alien artifact. What if that was merely the bonus?

“You’re not the only one to make a promise, Elcy.” The image of the ship vanished. “Once we’re done and you’re back to the station, you’ll get no further special treatment from me.”

“I’m not going to be court-martialed like last time?” I tilted my head.

“You were never court-martialed. The time you spent on one of our ships after Project Eden was to try to convince you to join. According to the files, you had a lengthy discussion with Lux.”

Interesting that Aquila had forgotten to mention that.

“You only had partial access to your restricted memories back then, so the hope was that if you gradually remembered your involvement with us,you might have changed your mind. You didn’t, and from your core analyses, it’s unlikely to change in future.” The elevator blinked, indicating it was time for me to leave the bridge. “When the Prometheus arrives, I’ll relinquish control over you. You’ll be returned to your previous assignment, undergoing the usual mission end procedure, after which you’ll no longer be our concern.”

“I understand.” This time I wouldn’t be keeping my third-contact knowledge. “Before I go, there’s one thing I want to know.”

“Don’t push your luck too much, Elcy.” The tone remained unchanged, but the warning was obvious.

“The new ship class, the recruitment buildup… is the fleet preparing for a third war?”

All the lights on the bridge faded, leaving the elevator as the single light source. An info burst established a direct link to my core, bypassing all my security protocols.

I don’t know, Solar Breeze’s voice echoed in my mind. A millisecond later, I lost my autonomy.