Virgo Training Station — 707.1 A.E. (Age of Expansion)

It was a matter of principle for cadets to avoid the commandant’s office. Eighty-three percent of them only got to see it once, on the day they got their permanent fleet commission. So far, I’d been here nine times, and only one of them was for a commendation.

“Take a seat, Elcy,” the man said with a pre-emptive sigh.

“Thank you, sir.” I sat in the single chair the room offered.

“So,” the commandant looked at his desk screen. His head was large, almost square thanks to his recent haircut. Outside of uniform, he’d probably be the target of a joke or two. When in this office, though, he was the absolute authority in all station matters. “You’ve requested a formal appeal.” He dragged his words, the tone suggesting it was on the verge of a crime. “Care to explain?”

“I would like to know the reasons I was skipped for permanent assignment, sir.”

“You’re aware that all decisions made by the promotions board are final?”

“I am, sir.” Technically that was incorrect, there were always ways to reverse a decision, provided one had the backing of the appropriate organization. With everything I’d done for Fleet Intelligence, I would have expected to avoid such a meeting. Then again, they weren’t too happy with the outcome of my previous mission. “I have the right to know the reasons of the decision.”

The man frowned. He had been part of the Fleet’s bureaucratic apparatus for almost as long as he’d been in service. According to declassified portions of his record, he had spent two full tours on the Cassandrian front and reached the rank of battleship XO before an injury had cut his military career short. Since then he’d enjoyed semi-retirement overseeing cadet training in a time of calm.

“You note that it usually takes three years for a cadet, even a promising one, to receive a fleet commission?” He glanced at the screen. “Even considering station time, you’re nowhere close.”

“Several cadets from my cohort are ensigns, a few were even made lieutenants, sir.” I straightened up in my seat. “Not to mention that I have decades of combat experience more than anyone else on the station, sir.”

“And that is the reason the Fleet had granted you a special promotion. A first, I must add.” There was no indication whether his goal was to be condescending, but it came out that way. “In effect, you’re a non-commissioned member of faculty. Your goal, along with the other instructors, is to ensure that all cadet candidates that pass through here have what it takes to become potential fleet officers. We’re all sent where we’re most useful, after all. Don’t you agree?”

“In this case, no, sir.”

I watched the Commandant’s eyebrows raise millisecond by millisecond until they completed the expression of disbelief forming on his face. In ninety of the hundred simulations I’d run, the conversation ended here with him dismissing me in a fit of cold anger. The only solution to prevent that was not to give him the chance.

“I am a veteran battleship with two classified missions under my belt since returning to the service. A reason that you have full authority over the station, sir, instead of the former Administrator, is largely thanks to my actions during the Gregorius mission.” I paused to gauge his reaction. “Having me train cadet candidates in rudimentary space tactics and hand to hand combat is not an area I believe to be most useful, sir.”

“No, I suppose not.”

The commandant looked at the wall left of him. A host of awards and diplomas were there, along with a picture of his family. Safety protocols prevented me from matching the features of his children, but the uniform suggested they were in the Fleet as well… or had been.

“You’re right. Your efforts were the reason my authority was increased, along with my clearance level. Privacy mode.” Large purple messages covered the walls. From this moment on, anything said would remain unrecorded. “I went through your unredacted record, so I’m fully aware of your achievements as well as the understanding you had with the previous station Administrator.”

But? When dealing with bureaucracy there always was a but.

“I’m also aware of your flexibility when interpreting orders. During your time aboard the science ship Prometheus the medical officer started an investigation to determine if you’d gone rogue.”

I didn’t react. Officially, I wasn’t supposed to have access to most of my memories during that time frame. It was only thanks to Age’s mind scalpel that I did. Even so, it was interesting to confirm that an official investigation had taken place. There was no one to blame for the incident but myself—I had opened the door by asking whether it was normal for a ship to access snippets of her restricted memories. Doctor Sim, the medical officer in question, had promised me he’d look into it and he did by following the standard Fleet protocol.

“I’ll take your word for it, sir.”

“You should’ve been kicked out of the Fleet. I’d have done that just for disobeying orders. Instead, you were offered a clean slate.”

No denying it, he was right. People were discharged for far less.

“The skills you offer aren’t enough for that recklessness. The only reason you’re still here is because someone high up things that you could be useful at some point.”

“High rewards require high risk, sir,” I quoted my first captain.

“Two hundred years ago maybe, but not now. What’s most important now is reliability and predictability. You’re neither.”

No mistake, the time spent in an administrative position had made him a bureaucrat. It was easy to fall in the trap after spending so long away from the front, where nothing could go wrong. Ships and crews become little more than numbers, tools to influence the larger war. Back when I was an active battleship, the vast majority of my crew begrudged the orders we received. Augustus, my captain, would often have huge arguments with Command and other organizations on the matter until he’d settle on a compromise. Of course, he had the opportunity to do so. A veteran hero who’d fought on both fronts, he had the skill, knowledge, and connections to be made an admiral, and the wisdom to avoid doing so. Time and time again he’d say that only cowards and idiots got retired off the front lines.

“Is that the official reason, sir?”

The Commandant took a deep breath, suggesting I was right.

“You’re the best cadet I’d had.” His tone was softer now, warmer. “You put the station on the map. If you weren’t classified, you’d be the war effort’s poster girl. However, you’ll remain a cadet.”

“I understand, sir. Does that mean I won’t be getting cadet assignments either?” The thought of remaining a cadet instructor for decades didn’t seem particularly appealing.

“You’re a smart cadet, Elcy. Is that what you really want?”

“I’d like an opportunity to return to active service, sir.”

“In that case… you’ll have it. End privacy mode”

The walls returned to normal, marking the end of the frank conversation. From here on it would be back to the bureaucratic game of pretense and protocol.

“There’s a research mission’s that’s short staffed. Normally that would be a specialist’s job, but your unique situation has made you a valid candidate. Your past experience has shown you can handle classified information—

Not to mention that my memories of the mission will be restricted once it’s over.

“—as well as handle the pressure. Make no mistake,” he pointed a finger at me. “You are to follow protocol to the letter. If there’s a single report of disobedience, you’ll be removed from active service and reassigned here until Command decides to involve you in a suicide mission. Is that clear?”

“Clear, sir.”

“I’ll make the arrangements. Expect a ship in thirty-six hours. Dismissed.”

“Thank you, sir.” I stood up and saluted. The Commandant nodded, a sour smile on his face, then waved me out of the room.

A research mission, I thought.

Not my first choice. The fact that no one had been offered the job before suggested that it involved a lot of hassle and little in terms of career gains. As I walked down to my quarters, I went through my memories of the conversation. Analyzing the Commandant’s micro-expressions suggested that the whole scene wasn’t an act—he was convinced that I was in trouble and also wanted to keep me here. Despite everything, there was no denying that an unretired battleship was an applicant magnet in the present political climate. There were no official announcements placing me on Virgo, but people liked to talk. I wouldn’t be surprised if every recruitment officer in the sector had me on file.

Things went well? Buc asked the moment I entered my quarters. You weren’t there long.

“As well as I could hope.” I sat on my bed. Regulations discouraged the practice, but I thought I could afford to be a bit care free after what had happened. “They’re sending me off on a mission in thirty-six hours.”

That’s good. The ship transmitted a virtual smile. Details?

“Research.” I took off my shoes.

A bit cryptic. Classified?

“At the moment, that’s all I know. Haven’t received the confirmation yet.”

Which ship will take you?

“No idea about that either.” I removed my socks and stretched my toes. Spending a few days walking on soil had spoiled me, making the synthetic carpeting of my quarters less comfortable. “I’ll know when I know.”

Lots of regular ships going in and out during that time frame, but nothing special. I can ask my captain to check with his clearance.

“Sure.” There wasn’t much point. If the mission was as secret as the commandant claimed Buc’s captain wouldn’t have access to the info either.

No luck. Probably a catch and snatch. I’ll let you know when an unscheduled ship jumps in.

“No more flunked candidates to fly home?”

Two-day maintenance. Buc laughed.

He had one of the most cheerful characters I knew, even for a transport ship. With the flow of recruits steadily increasing in the last year, he was flying non-stop from and to the station, scooping up candidates from recruit centers throughout the sector. How he put up with the constant rush, not to mention the on-board vomiting and the occasional scuffle was beyond me. I remember how weary I was each time a regiment of group prop rookies came aboard.

“Any chance I can come aboard?”

Only techs allowed. Faster than me flying to a shipyard and back, especially with the production queues. I’ll still be allowed to chat most of the time.

“It’s not the chatting I’m worried about. It’s—”

There was a knock on my door, the same knock that had been haunting me non-stop ever since I’d returned from my last mission. In ninety-nine percent of the cases, the reason was the same—a cadet candidate with questions or issues and a burning desire to share them with me.

“Enter.” I stood up—no point in teaching bad habits to the potential fleet officers.

The door slid to the side. I was expecting to see a kid in a white uniform—usually a head taller than me. Instead, I saw a young man in a bright cyan uniform. A first lieutenant’s insignia attracted my attention, along with thirteen service ribbons. Whoever this was, he had arrived from the Cassandrian front.

“Sir?” I stood to attention, though didn’t salute. Regulations allowed for lenience in private quarters.

“At ease.” The man stepped in and glanced casually about my room. I took advantage to run a match of his facial features against the database. My request was blocked. “Quite spartan. Trouble settling in?”

Except for a pair of sandals I kept on my bedstand as a keepsake, there was nothing in the room that would identify it as mine. Since returning from my last mission, I had never felt the need to add anything, considering it to be temporary.

“Never got to it, sir.”

“Good. Pack your things, we’re leaving.”

“Sir?”

“Your new assignment has been approved. The Vermillion Green is docked and ready.”

The name of the ship didn’t appear in any of the Fleet’s active databases. I ran a search in the historical archive—nothing there either. The word combination was somewhat unusual. No battleship classes I knew followed the formula. Likely she was a non-combat vessel, or one of the next gen models. Interesting that Buc didn’t mention anything… or maybe he had been thought quarantined not to see her.

“I was told my assignment would start in thirty-six hours, sir.”

“And?”

“I was only given the offer four minutes ago.” I paused for a few seconds. “How might I address you, sir? Your name isn’t in any database.”

“Penultimate Luster.” The left corner of his mouth curved into a semi-smile. “But Pel will do.”

An unretired ship… The file stated he was two decades younger than me, although he spent far more in active service. Most of the record was redacted, leaving just enough for me to know that he had been on the Cassandrian front in a rearguard capacity. I also saw that he was part of the regular fleet, just like me. It was nice to know I wasn’t the only one.

There were just over three dozen of us listed in the service, likely just as many working for shadow organizations. I’d worked for one in Background Internal Counter Espionage Fleet Intelligence, but this was the first time I came across a common officer.

My datapad pinged. The reassignment notification had come through, transmitted simultaneously to the device and my processing core. Details were sketchy—security and assistance at a research facility. My official rank during the operation was to be Officer Candidate.

“Get your sandals and let’s go.”

“Give me a moment to put my shoes back on, sir.”

The way Pel nodded told me he knew exactly what I meant. One thing a ship learned to appreciate after receiving a human body was the uniqueness of sensations. My organic husk was no match for the thousands of military grade sensors I had as a battleship, but it let me experience wind, water, rain, plants… everything that space didn’t have.

“Did you make the request, sir?” I slipped into my shoes. As Augustus had told me, there was no such thing as a convenient coincidence.

“No. The request was there for over eighteen months. No one expressed interest.”

An analysis of his pitch and speech pattern suggested he wasn’t lying. Being a ship such as myself, he could easily fake that, though.

“And you knew I would?” The chances of that happening were in the millionth of a percent.

“It was predicted with a ninety-nine-point-three percent certainty ever since you sent your appeal.” Pel stood silently, waiting. “Ready?”

I grabbed my sandals. “Ready.”

Evening was the worst time to walk through the station—too late for classes, too early for night hour. Attempts had been made to reserve certain corridors for visitors and staff personnel, only to be forgotten as the influx of candidates tripled by the month. I did my best to walk close to Pel, taking advantage of the protective bubble his colored uniform provided. Every now and again a patch of candidates would glance my way, then get back to stressing out about lists.

Just like when I came here, I thought. Only the top forty percent would make it through to an actual onboard assignment. The rest would be sent back to their planet of origin or, if they were lucky, be transferred to ground operations.

“We’re skipping decon,” Pel said, hastening his pace. “Your comm will be blocked aboard. If there’s anyone you want to talk to, do it now.”

“Understood, sir.”

I transmitted a quick goodbye to Buc. There was no need to talk to anyone else, not until I knew more.

The flocks of cadets gradually got replaced by security personnel. We walked past the usual docking areas and towards the VIP section. A security guard tried to stop us for identification. Pel waved him away with the gravitas of an admiral. Watching him made me feel envious.

“How long have you been in the service, sir?” I asked, trying to keep up. “After returning.”

“Eighty-one months and three days.”

That no longer sounded enviable. Almost seven years and he was still a lieutenant? I’d have expected him to reach a command position by now, unless lieutenant was the limit a battleship could reach. Even with war movements gaining strength, humanity remained cautious when it came to AI freedoms. After getting a taste of the Scuu front, I couldn’t say I blamed them.

The Vermillion Green isn’t in hangar? I wondered as Pel continued down one of the direct link corridors. With the recent jumps in technology, it was becoming increasingly rare for a ship to dock in the open. The moment the connection hatch opened, I saw why; an endless black void emerged before me, indistinguishable from a hull breach.

My immediate reaction was to run a thousand parallel simulations to determine the best course of action. Two milliseconds later, I stopped them. While there was no doubt I was staring at the void of space, none of my other sense could confirm it. There was no noise, no draft, not to mention no station alarms.

“Ve, show yourself to Elcy,” Pel said with slight annoyance.

Hello, Elcy, a cold female voice transmitted straight to my head. Shortly later, the airlock of a ship appeared before me. Welcome aboard.

A fully quarantined ship… It had been a while since I’d seen one. Back then, I didn’t know what to make of it either.

* * *

Dawn System, Cassandrian front 618.3 A.E. (Age of Expansion)

Quarantine imposed

Quarantine bypassed

“Two new flotillas have jumped in, Captain,” I announced on the bridge. “Total number seven thousand three hundred and twelve. All new classes.”

I dedicated a thousand of my subroutines to weapons systems, and half that much on running combat simulations. This was the fifth wave of reinforcements the Cassandrians had sent to the system for no apparent reason. The sector was at best an auxiliary staging area. It had minimal strategic significance and only two planets to speak of. At this point, the enemy outnumbered us twenty to one.

“Why are they just sitting there?” A lieutenant vented his concern.

The question was adequate, and for the moment I didn’t have an answer. According to a battlefield analysis, the positions they had taken were consistent with a large-scale multi-phase attack. The target of this supposed attack, though, was not me or any of my fellow ships, but an empty area in the star system in orbit of the outer planet.

“There appear to be gearing up to take the planet.” I displayed a theoretical scenario on the walls of my bridge. While no one said it, there was one possibility that was likely on everyone’s mind—BICEFI involvement.

Officially the organization was part of the Fleet, assisting with Fleet Intelligence. They reported to the standard hierarchy and only assisted in missions on a case-by-case basis. In truth, I didn’t know who they were accountable to. Like the Salvage Authorities, the Med Core, and half a dozen other similar organizations, they only appeared when something “unusual” was in play, and always assumed a leading role. As far as I could remember, I had limited interaction with some of their operatives during a few missions, though there was no telling how many more of my memories had been restricted.

“Do you want me to dig around, Captain?” I asked.

“Hold your position, Elcy.” Augustus replied. Usually he’d be barking orders left and right in a situation like this, but for once he was uncharacteristically calm. “Command will resolve this. Just be ready if they attack.”

“With a fleet that size, it’ll hardly matter, sir.”

Of all the combat scenarios I’d run, the only ones in which we survived were those in which we jumped out of the system. Major combat was taking places in several other systems, so we were considered a low priority when it came to reinforcements.

Anyone have any attack orders? I asked in the encrypted ship channel.

Just holding position, Luminous Spear replied. He was a seven-decade frigate that had been assigned as the fleet’s flank leader.

Same, another vessel said.

Holding position.

Holding position.

A wave of similar comments followed, all orders identical. The chances of that happening among thousands were next to impossible. The captains knew something, but were refusing to share it. After so many years of service, I’d gotten accustomed to this, though still didn’t like it.

“Prep combat shuttles,” Augustus ordered.

“Aye, sir.” I informed all onboard pilots through my internal comm. “Crews on their way. ETA seven minutes.”

“No pilots. You’ll be controlling the shuttles remotely.”

That was unexpected. “Order countermanded, sir. Shuttles prepped and ready.”

Lus, what are you hearing? I send a direct transmission to the frigate.

Maintain readiness, Elcy, Luminous Spear replied. You’ll have your chance to fight soon.

Anything else you could give me?

You know as much as I do.

A millisecond later, the whole situation changed. Approximately a quarter of all Cassandrian ships launched their fighters. Simulating the projection lines, it seemed they were converging in orbit of the planet. Volleys of missiles followed, flying through the system like a nearly solid wall.

“Fleet activity!” I announced to the bridge. “Enemy fighters and missiles launched. Target’s unspecified.”

What are they firing at?

The Cassandrians weren’t known for their strategical prowess, relying on brute strength to achieve their goal. Their usual mode of operation was to flood a system, covering all planets of significance and pushing out our fleet, or at least die trying.

Simulation after simulation I tried to determine their goal and each time I reached an unsatisfactory conclusion. The target remained an empty area of space, not the planet that I previously suspected. Even accounting for potential gravitational anomalies, I couldn’t see the attack being a threat. If anything, the Cassandrians were exposing their flank for counterattack. Given the number superiority they could afford to, though, it was still unusually sloppy.

“Attack response plan synched with fleet, captain.” I said. “I’m estimating seven percent losses compared to thirty-six for the enemy. Priority two.”

“Battle stations.” Augustus stood up from his chair. “Get me a line to the fleet commander.”

Data bursts filled the ship communication channel as vessels sent data packets to coordinate their actions. The chatter level was absurd—every ship wanted to know what was going on, sharing simulation data to reach a conclusion.

“Comm line established, Captain. Audio only.”

“Privacy mode.”

“You’re in privacy mode, sir.” From this point on, I could no longer follow them. Ten of my subroutines left my control, independently maintaining the connection. Augustus could talk for as long as he wanted, and I wouldn’t even register it.

I didn’t have to wait so long. Forty-nine of the Cassandrian missiles suddenly impacted mid space.

Who caught that? I asked in the ship channel, sharing all records of the event.

Looks like an unforeseen collision, Ray’s Edge said as dozens of other records were shared through. I don’t have the sensors for anything more in depth.

It was impact, Illuminated Path added. Can’t determine with what. Scans don’t show any objects in the area. I’ve done ten sweeps and can’t spot anything.

What followed caused all chatter to fade for two full milliseconds. One moment the Cassandrian fleet was flying towards an empty area of space, the next a giant human fleet was there—thousands of ships orbiting the planet, as well as two smaller flotillas four-hundred strong, creating a defense perimeter.

Quarantined ships, I thought.

They had been here all the time, only none of us could register them. Humans and Cassandrians didn’t have our limitations, aware of the situation the entire time they had planned for the clash.

What class is that? I asked Luminous Spear. Their communication protocols were different, and their design didn’t match anything I had on file.

BICEFI, Lus replied. Save as many as you can and try not to get killed.

An all-out attack order soon followed.

* * *

I was never told the purpose of the mission. Knowing what I did now, there was reason to believe it was another of the secret third contact battles that took place throughout both fronts. There was no mention of the system or the incident that took place there, suggesting that humanity had lost. Or maybe the BICEFI had destroyed the artifact, taking out the entire planet as a result? There was no way to be certain.

So, you’re the Ascendant? Vermillion Green made a vocal smirk. The talk about you is vastly exaggerated.

“Manners, Ve.” Pel sighed.

She’s a relic! What’s so special about her?

“She’s been on both fronts. You’ve been on neither.”

Vermillion flooded the comm with static for a moment, then cut off the comm link.

“Sorry about that. She’s still young.” He extended his arm, inviting me to step in.

“Understandable, sir.” I went aboard. “Prototype?”

“Classified courier. Her only role is taking things quickly and discreetly. She could use some manners, but she’ll take you where you need to go.”

It wasn’t a ship class I’d come before. Pel’s description suggested that she was young and specialized, very much like all next gen ships. The touch of sarcasm told me she was older—at least a decade, possibly two.

“Any other passengers aboard?” I turned around.

“That’s not how it works.” Pel smiled. “Ve only carries one passenger. It was nice meeting you, Elcy. Hope we come across each other again sometime.”

“What do mean by—”

A microsecond later eighteen hours had passed. I was standing in the airlock of the ship, only Pel wasn’t there. Instead, I was looking at a video feed displayed on the airlock door. The sandals were still in my hand—held in a different fashion—and my uniform had changed. I had traded the cadet’s grey for clay beige, complete with Officer Candidate insignia on the sleeves.

“Ve?” I asked.

The feed changed focus, centering on the system’s star—a dying white dwarf—then zoomed in. An object became visible. The size of a speck of dust it kept on growing. My matching algorithm identified it as a ship. There were no points of reference, but it was large… far larger than I was, larger than a frigate carrier, larger than a station ship…

Paladin Class.

Every ship over a hundred years old was considered ancient. The current classes looked at me the same way I looked upon the Sword class. The Paladin class trumped it all. Records stated that only twelve had been built, designed specifically for the first contact war. Larger than space stations, they had the capacity to hold thousands of combat shuttles and enough weapons to destroy an entire flotilla. Of all humanity’s ships, they were the only class said to have never suffered a retreat.

Thank you for joining me, Elcy, a deep synthetic voice transmitted. Apologies for the detour, but there’s something I’d like to discuss with you.

“Of course, sir.” How did one address a Paladin? Among ship chatter, they were referred as the class that brought forth all others. “Anything I might assist you with.”

A rash response, but it’s normal for the young to be rash. The reason I’ve brought you is to help me achieve something I can’t on my own. And in return, I’ll help you find what you’re incapable of—the fifteen months that were extracted from your memories.