Gamma-Engidea, Cassandrian Front, 608.1 A.E. (Age of Expansion)

“Aurora Borealis has jumped in,” I announced on the bridge. “Three more Ascendants expected within the minute.”

“Show me arrival projections,” my captain said.

There were many things captain Augustus was good at, being easy to work with wasn’t one of them. Even the behavior pattern I had created of him, only was adequate seventy-one percent of the time. When it came to skill, though, there was no denying his expertise. One of the few living legends, he had seen multiple tours on both fronts and still refused to be promoted to admiral.

“Have the Ascendants separate,” the man added with a grumble.

A hundred and nine ships had responded to the Fleet’s priority one request for reinforcements. Eighty percent of those were estimated to arrive no sooner than eight hours. Nearly all of them belonged to older classes, some of which had been discontinued decades ago. Of the remaining twenty-three ships, nineteen were Ascendants.

“Not enough firepower to go in two hours, cap,” Lieutenant Wilco said. Of the entire command staff, he was the one closest to the captain, even more so than the ship’s commander.

“Far too much to stay here and do nothing,” Augustus said under his breath. “Rookie tell all ships to prep for a jump in one minute. Let me know if any of the captains has anything against.”

“Transmitting, sir.” I conveyed the request.

Confirmation transmissions came through in seconds. It was rare that a captain would ignore Augustus recommendations, even when he wasn’t officially in charge. Given his success rate it was no wonder.

Still annoyed you got a grumpy captain? Aurora Borealis transmitted directly.

I had made the mistake to tell her I didn’t appreciate the way my captain ignored regulations. Since then she’d never let me forget, mentioning it every chance she got. Initially, it had been mildly irritating. Now it had grown to become outright annoying.

Think he’ll take charge of the reinforcement flotilla?

I’ve no idea, Aurie. Looking through past statistics the chance was greater than sixty percent. Why don’t you ask him?

It’s not proper to talk to another ship’s captain while in battle. Even so, I heard things aren’t going well in Delta. The Cassandrians are determined to keep this one. We’ve lost two hundred and fifty-seven ships in the last sixteen hours. Command estimated we’d take the system with less than fifty down, so they’re scrambling.

That was the thing about Aurie, one of the chattiest ships I knew, she always managed to find information before anyone else. A lot of the times her info was only partially true, but since I’d known her, she’d never been outright wrong. The stranger thing was that she loved chatting with me… possible because I did so little of it.

We aren’t relics, I replied. We’re also better armed.

I sent a query for the Delta-Engidea combat report. According to the data, we had the enemy outnumbered three to one. Given the Cassandrians inferior combat strategy, the system should have already fallen. All enemy ships were clustered in orbit around the two innermost planets, surrounding themselves with mine fields. There were no indications of additional fleets or any other hidden support, and according to Command, heavy reinforcements were not expected.

They were combat ready, Aurie noted. Same as us.

“Inner Glow, Ray of Hope, and Twilight have jumped in,” I informed Augustus. “Approximately seven minutes till the next ship arrives.”

“Send the order for everyone to jump in five seconds.” The captain stood up from his chair. “Launch a mini-sat, let them know what happened.”

“Orders transmitted to the flotilla, sir.” Ten of my subroutines maintained a constant communication link with the ships present while I dedicated millions more to my weapon system. “Mini sat launched. Jumping in two… one…”

Normally, there was a certain beauty in jumping—a brief moment of relief, after billions of calculations. When jumping into a war zone, the moment was next to nonexistent. The moment I entered the system, I was bombarded with hundreds of comm requests. Info bursts ran through my processing cores, giving me strategic data, observations, and relevant memories of the ships that sent them. It took almost nineteen hundred milliseconds to get up to speed.

Based on the combat reports, I had initially estimated there would be a few hundred Cassandrian ships. After triple checking my scan I could confirm there were thousands more.

“I’ve been targeted.” I went to red alert. “Missiles inbound. Impact in a hundred and ninety seconds.”

The delay gave me plenty of time to deploy countermeasures. However, it was concerning that they had targeted me this fast.

“Give me a status, Elcy,” Augustus ordered.

“Estimated force one thousand three hundred and forty-two.” I displayed a tactical representation of the star system on the bridge wall. “Unknown class. I can’t determine their attack pattern.” At least there weren’t any short-range fighters.

“They aren’t attacking,” the captain said no louder than a whisper. “They’re defending. Who’s in charge?”

“The initial command ship and all three substitutes have been destroyed. Ice Breaker has seniority.” I looked up the ship. “Pathfinder class. Captain Aira Isla, three-tour veteran.” Neither of the names rang any bells. The record suggested they were competent, but not outstanding.

“Wide transmission. I’m assuming command.”

“Aye, sir.”

Seconds after the transmission was made, I was pinged and targeted once more.

“I’ve been targeted again.” I calculated dedicated ten subroutines to triangulate the source. “Ninety-six missiles. Estimated source is near the second planet. First impact remains at a hundred and eighty seconds.”

Confirmations came flooding in. Most of the ships were relieved to have someone take command, the rest accepted it despite me not being a command vessel. There was little doubt they had viewed Augustus’ record and estimated it was the optimal solution for the time being.

Hundreds of comm links parsed into one, establishing a new hierarchy in which I had temporary authority. Half my subroutines focused on that, giving me a full up-to-date picture of all combat activities. The sheer processing power forced me to re-prioritize my subroutine distribution. I cut off everything from my external sensors and emergency escape systems. The experience was taxing; there was a reason that only command ships assumed singular command—they were specifically built to take the info load.

“Cassandrians have bunkered two planets,” I reported on the bridge. “There are signs of additional ships in lower orbit and the surface of the planets themselves. Minefields and two perimeter rings are protecting them. All other groups are splinter squads aimed at disrupting our formations.”

“Wilco?” Augustus turned to the Lieutenant. “What are the odds?”

I felt slightly hurt that I wasn’t the one asked that. I knew the two had gone way back, but even so there was no question that I was far superior in calculations than a human.

“Looks like a double, cap,” Wilco scratched his chin. “One’s halfway there, the other’s just starting. If you spook them, they’ll grab it and run.”

“We’ll lose a lot more if they get two anchors here.”

“Missile impact in two minutes thirty seconds,” I announced.

“Reinforcement status,” the captain shouted.

“No enemy reinforcements expected in the next three hours.” I passed the question through the combat network. “No substantial fleet reinforcements expected in the next six hours.”

“Chances of reaching the second planet’s orbit?”

“Two thirds of our forces will likely be destroyed before we reach the enemy’s inner perimeter. There’s a nine-point-eight chance that five ships breach through. There’s a ninety-nine-point-seven percent chance that I won’t be among those ships.”

There was a brief silence. I registered a few spikes in the command staff’s bio readings. Any veteran knew how low the odds of surviving the front were, though that didn’t make them eager to throw away their lives for nothing. If there weren’t people aboard, I would without hesitation if it would give us a tactical advantage.

“Create a restricted message, single helix encryption.” Augustus returned to his seat. “Send a priority one request for assistance to the BICEFI.” He hesitated for a few moments. “Then send one to the Med Core and Salvage Authorities.”

“Chances of them arriving in time to assist are less than point-one percent, sir.” I ran a few hundred simulations.

“They’ll arrive,” Augustus muttered in his beard. “First one gets to keep the prize.”

“Transmission sent. Two minutes and fifteen seconds to impact.”

* * *

Back then, I couldn’t find a valid reason for any of the organizations to assist us. Even the threat of the Cassandrians gaining a new foothold was supposed to be irrelevant as far as they were concerned. That hadn’t stopped three specialized fleets from appearing along with a command ship. All relating memories from then on were restricted. I knew that we had managed to take the system, though not at what cost. In the grand scheme of things, it was all chalked down as another minor victory in the front. Given what I knew now, I got a much better idea of the big picture: it wasn’t about the Cassandrians keeping another system, it was about obtaining the third-contact artifact they had used to attempt it.

“Elcy,” captain ‘Bo’s said through the comm. “Lead wants to see you, so get your ass here!”

“Yes, ma’am.” I stood up from my bed.

The room that had been assigned to me was barely larger than a cubicle: a bunk, a toilet tube, and a closet cabinet, all clumped in a space of eight cubic meters. For once, being short had its advantages.

“Thirty percent transparency,” I ordered. The walls of the room changed color, letting me look at the plants around. Director Sims had kept his word, changing one of the observation modules into my living quarters. It was too early to tell whether that would lead to some office drama, but for what it was worth, I’d accept the consequences.

A ladder shaft outside the cubicle connected the module to the main garden research lab. No elevator, of course, as much was to be kept as low tech as possible. Stepping onto the ladder, I started my long descent down. Two minutes later I was at ground level. That hadn’t kept ‘Bo from pinging my datapad five times in the process—her subtle way of reminding me to hurry up.

I straightened my new officer candidate uniform, then punched in my access code for the research lab. The security door slid open.

“Officer Candidate Elcy, reporting as ordered,” I said, standing to attention.

Three dozen people stared at me as if I’d forgotten my shoes, then quietly returned to their normal activities. Only captain ‘Bo kept looking at me with a mocking smile on face. Beside her, a tall man with dull orange hair and beard was holding a hand over his face, pressing against his temples with his thumb and middle fingers. Now that I had access to the base’s personnel files, I could identify him as Kime Ondalov, research lead of the lab.

“Nice entrance, starless” ‘Bo gave me a thumbs up. “You should do it again sometime.”

“Anything to please, ma’am.” I smiled back.

“Just get here,” Ondalov hissed through his teeth. His expression looked as if someone had surgically drained all the humor from his life then spit him out to sort files. Then again, maybe he had been doing just that.

“At once, sir.”

“And stop with the “sir.” We haven’t become the military yet.”

Civvie bureaucrat, I thought. That explained some things.

“She’s just a ship,” ‘Bo tried to calm things down.

“A ship with connections to Director Sim!”

If there was anyone who didn’t know about that already, they knew now. Ondalov paused for a moment, took a few deep breaths, then focused his attention on the projector table in front of him. I remained silent. All my simulations suggested that things would remain tense for at least a few weeks, barring something extraordinary happening.

“What have you been told?” the man asked in a lower voice.

“That you're my direct superior. All memories regarding my time here will be restricted after my assignment is over. Director Sim also informed me I might be doing missions on the planets under his supervision at some point.”

“Heh,” Ondalov snorted. “At least he treats you as shit like everyone else.”

“She has clearance.” ‘Bo whispered next to him.

“Good.” The statement made him raise an eyebrow. “At least I won’t waste my time going through the basics.”

It would have been even better if you had bothered to read my file.

“Your primary duties will be to compose and backup reports. You do that for this lab. If someone else comes to you with orders to do their shit, you come to me. Got that?!”

“Crystal clear.” There was no point to tell him that with the secondary conscious core the BICEFI had provided me, I had the processing power to do everyone’s reports in real time. Bureaucratic battles weren’t something I wanted to get involved in, unless I was forced in it.

“Have you done plant identification?”

“I have on a previous mission.” I nodded. “The focus was gathering plant samples.”

Ondalov looked at ‘Bo.

“BICEFI operation,” she said, her face stretching with contempt.

“Well, here, we do things properly. You’ll be given access to the full specimen list. You’ll memorize it and only collect samples that are new.”

“I’ll try to remember that.” It was difficult not to be sarcastic when he was explaining things, as if I were a kid fresh from the academy.

“You’ll be expected to gather a viable specimen. No twigs or leaves, we want the full thing! If you sample it you should be able to plant it. If the sample is too big, you tag it, take photos and mark it on the sample list as uncollected.”

“No scans?”

The question had the effect of a grenade. Everyone pretended to continue with their tasks, but a quick behavior analysis revealed they were waiting for a reaction; as if I were a rookie who did one of the grand taboos on her first day.

“No scans, no comms, no tech down on planet. You take samples carefully, no cutting, no breaking, no tearing.”

“What if I find something that isn’t a plant sample?”

When the BICEFI had run a similar mission, they had been interested in the third contact artifact domes. They were more interested in the devices themselves.

“If you find a stray core, you tag it, mark it, and don’t touch it!” The man pointed a finger at my face. “Disturb one of those things and we’ll be gathering your pieces from here to—”

“She’s been blown up by artifacts already,” ‘Bo interrupted. There was an eighty -two percent chance she had done so to deliberately let him humiliate himself. “I’ll make sure she gets the basics.”

“Fine. Good. Great.” Ondalov ran the fingers of both hands through his hair. What wouldn’t I have given now to have access to his bio readings. It wouldn’t be bad to know what had brought him to this condition as well. “Get her prepped and put her on the monthlies. I’m heading to the meeting. One last thing,” he turned towards me. “Ranks don’t mean shit here. If anyone from my lab gives you a task, you do it. If you have a problem, file a complaint with me afterwards.”

Without waiting for my response, the man stormed out. The atmosphere changed as he left. The invisible tenseness that hung in the air evaporated almost instantly. Like everyone, I had heard stories about bureaucratic infighting, but this was the first time I was directly involved.

“Don’t worry about that.” ‘Bo pulled me to the side. “He’s been moved off the project so he has a short fuse. Give him a lot of space and you’ll be fine.”

“I’ll do my best, ma’am. Anything else I should know?”

“Go about the lab, get to know everyone, and start writing up those reports. No one expects you to get everything right the first day, so don’t stress too much. Just one piece of advice. Don’t offer to help. If someone needs something, they’ll ask you.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

First day and I’m already in trouble. Only difference was that this time it wasn’t my doing.

There were a hundred and seventy-eight people assigned to the lab I was part of, linked to forty-seven different projects. While the people were far more pleasant than the lab supervisor, they remained cautious. Many described their work within the vaguest terms, some even choosing to give me a reference number instead.

After a few hours, though, thanks to the fragments of information and the local project archives, I got a pretty good idea what the overall goal of the lab was. We were investigating artifacts in a fashion completely opposite of what the BICEFI were doing. While the BICEFI explored high life-factor planets to extract artefacts from the existing flora, the Med Core was more interested in the plants surrounding the cores. Several labs in the facility were investigating the relation between artefacts and living matter. If the code was cracked, there was no telling how fast humanity could conquer space, possibly even reaching a point at which any planet could be colonized. An interesting approach, even if I calculated the odds of success at less than two-point-seven percent.

By the end of the shift, I had composed the first very incomplete version of the lab’s daily and quarterly reports. With Ondalov nowhere to be found, I gave the report to captain ‘Bo. She, on her hand, skimmed through the reports diligently, focusing on a few key sections. Ten minutes of nods and sighs later, I was told that my work was “pretty sparing on details” and I was to redo everything the next day.

The piece of advice I was given was to review older reports to “see how things were done.” I didn’t see the point in reminding her that I had already done that and my reports followed the template that had been used in the last five years. As Augustus liked to say, there was no pleasing bureaucrats, so why try? Tomorrow I was going to use a behavior algorithm to determine what exactly my superiors wanted and compose several versions for each. For the moment, there were other things I wanted to devote my processing power to.

The tech restrictions on the base made it, in theory, easier for me to use the mind scalpel to access restricted memories. Because of my previous experience with Director Sim, though, I preferred to do that while on planet. The third-contact memories were an exception; since the BICEFI had officially granted me access, I was free to do whatever analyses I wanted with them, and thanks to my new auxiliary core, I had been brute forcing combinations in an attempt to decipher the third contact race ever since.

Progress had been slow. The lack of new data on the subject had left me with the sole option of brute forcing combinations in the background, hoping something would eventually pop up. That was until I had come here. While most information regarding the artifacts was still restricted, pending review, all geological data of the planets wasn’t. If there was one thing I knew about the third contact race, it was that when it came to seeding planets with artifacts they were reliably consistent. The pattern in which the artifacts had been scattered on two planets I’d visited on my first mission as a cadet was identical. There was a high probability that might hold true here as well.

Dedicating a quarter of my processing power, I created a simulation of the planets in the system and populated them with all biological data the project had amassed. I then ran an analysis to find leaves whose leaves had distinct fractal patterns. Taking those as my points of reference, I then ran a matching algorithm attempting to superimpose the artifact dispersion of the old planets to this one. The process took longer than expected, but in three hundred and eleven seconds I had my answer—the pattern didn’t hold true.

Relief and disappointment registered at the same time. The chance of the system holding an artifact dome fell to a fraction of a percent. At the same time, that also eliminated the potential dilemma I might face: break orders again and try to sneak into the dome, or ignore it altogether.

There will be other chances.

I only had to remain here for a few months. After that, I’d be given a ship commission and could start hunting for the remaining marker stars. It was a patience game, although the current arms race and looming war made me feel uneasy.

My datapad pinged. Director Sim had set up a meeting two days from now. No details were given, just a reminder to visit his office after my standard work shift. There were no other base announcements other than a persistent reminder that outside communication was restricted.

Thanks, doctor. I might touch on the topic of getting external comm privileges during our meeting.

As the “night shift” started, I decided to do what I usually did when left to my own devices: explore and map out my surroundings. Ondalov had given me strict instructions not to meddle with anyone outside of his team. However, Director Sim had upped my base access permissions, creating a temporary loophole for me to exploit.

One thing that became clear immediately was the lack of actual nights in the garden areas. The orbit and rotation of the satellite we were on made it so that darkness only occurred once every fourteen and a half universal days.

The number of people walking about was largely unchanged from earlier. Med Core seemed to have adopted a three by eight schedule system, ensuring maximum efficiency. Unlike any of my previous missions, no one seemed bothered by my presence to the point they hardly noticed me. The only instances in which I was asked any questions was after entering lab facilities I wasn’t assigned to. In most cases, Sim’s clearance was enough of an explanation. In the remaining I was told to send a request through proper channels, which I instantly did.

The base itself had a total of nineteen labs I could find, each supervised by a lead scientist like Ondalov. Above them in the local hierarchy stood twenty-one assistant directors and five full directors. In theory no single person had full control of the base. All decisions were made through committee, or sent down from Med Core HQ. Officially there were no military personnel and a handful of security guards. Looking through the personnel files, I suspected that the organization had more than its fair share of hidden operatives sending secret reports.

Most important, and missing from any report and map schematic, the base had a rest and relaxation hall. The size of the vehicle hangar, the hall was a place where people could remove the stress of the day, and also the one free link to the rest of the human space.

The air reeked of alcohol and tobacco. A quick analysis showed that the aromas were synthesized and released through a discreet spray system to create an idealized frontier atmosphere. Scores of cubicle pods were scattered throughout the open areas, allowing those who wished to enjoy their entertainment in private. A bar area stretched between the columns in the middle of the hall, providing food and drink in authentic looking glass and ceramic containers. Large screens hung from the ceiling above, running sports, news, and media channels.

Psychologists had a word for the phenomenon—controlled rebellion. Its purpose was to provide a stress valve so that people lose it on duty. That was the reason the Fleet turned a blind eye to smuggled food, alcohol, and cigarettes, sometimes even medical substances. The front was harsh, as it is to prevent people from having the illusion of joy. The Med Core seemed to have taken it to a whole new level, bringing everything in the open.

Maybe here I could get some food that didn’t contain gelatin. I made my way to the bar.

“Welcome to D and D,” a small woman in a grey cadet uniform greeted me. Running a facial search on her, I found that she was Tiff Quod, a genetics researcher in lab two. According to the personnel file, her rank was listed as major. “Nice that you found it on your own. What will you have?”

“D and D, ma’am?” I tilted my head to the side.

“Destress and disconnect.” The woman laughed. The bright yellow lighting made her skin seem darker than it was, creating the impression she came from a planet with a tropical climate. “And it’s Tiff. While you’re here, there’s no rank.”

That explains the choice of clothing. “I’m Elcy.”

“I know. First ship in the base. Everyone was talking about it.”

“So I keep hearing.”

“Gossip travels fast here. As long as you do your chores and don’t get too involved, everything’ll be fine.” She placed a small glass of ruby red liquid in front of me. Analysis of the sip told me it was synthetic cherry liqueur. “So how do you find our gem? Not what you expected?”

“I didn’t expect much of anything. I’m glad there are a lot of plants.”

“Right. You were the one that loved plants.” Tiff poured a second glass of liqueur for herself, then gulped it down. “As they say, someone has to. Expect to get a lot of planet missions.”

“No one likes plants?”

Tiff’s laugh was filled with bitterness. It was like someone who’d accepted their helplessness and trying to smile through the bitterness of it.

“There are only two things certain here.” The woman filled up her cup and downed it, as if she were drinking a shot. “One—plants and tech don’t always mix. And two—you never know if the next quarantine event won’t take you out.”