They said two things were certain in the facility—anomalies and quarantine. I hadn’t seen direct evidence of either since my arrival, but there were traces in the files. Small hints bled through the thought quarantine, events and explanations too small to be caught by the sensor programs and too disconnected for anyone else to see.

Commenting the gaps, I was about to approximate that a hundred and seventeen people had suffered some sort of work-related incident in the last eighteen months. It was difficult to determine how many of them had ended in a fatal outcome, although I could tell that twenty-one had been replaced by new personnel.

When I tried to check for outbreaks of sudden facility restrictions, though, nothing out of the ordinary popped out. Ondalov’s team had been pretty busy and extremely safe. Nearly no accidents were reported, which automatically made me suspicious. Considering the number of trips his teams had made to the planet, there was bound to be at least some mishap. If there were, I wasn’t able to find them.

“Reports ready for your inspection, sir.” I rushed into the lab ten minutes before I was supposed to be there.

Ondalov didn’t seem neither impressed nor pleased. Taking a deep audible breath, he looked away for a few moments, before gracing me with some attention.

“Should I give you a medal for possibly getting it right on your second go?”

“I don’t know, sir. Do you want me to try again tomorrow?”

“Don’t push it, Cadet.” He pointed a shaking finger at my face. “Just because… I don’t have time for this!” he raised his hands in the air. “Tell ‘Gor to deal with this!”

The man paced out of the lab. For a moment I almost thought I was looking at a caricature of a scientist in one of the cartoons Sev liked to watch as a child.

“You really push his buttons,” a bald man in his sixties approached. The name he had given me upon introducing himself was Rolant Psar—a senior lab assistant, specialized in floral nervous systems.

“I honestly don’t know why, sir.”

“Hmm.” The man laughed. “When you grow old, you start noticing things you haven’t before. Like, for example, that scientists are like children—take their toys and they do a lot of pouting.”

It was amusing hearing a sixty-year-old child tell me about observation and pattern recognition. Nonetheless, I smiled and nodded.

“I’ll keep that in mind, sir. Do you happen to know where I could find captain ‘Bo?”

“No idea at the moment, but I have an idea what you could help me with.”

I should have expected this. No one approaches a rookie so soon without a favor to ask.

“How can I assist, sir?” Full cooperation.

“Shipment transport,” he replied enigmatically and walked away.

I followed. Three turns were enough for me to predict we were heading to the vehicle bay. A few minutes later, I was proven right. Unlike before, the entire area was bustling with people. Personnel from various teams were unloading containers from vehicles, carefully taking them into the main facility. For the most part, the containers were the size of a sample case, all opaque, with markings that instantly blocked all my attempts of analysis. Some were larger, requiring them to be carted in by several people. Since Rolant hadn’t said a word, the entire time we walked, it was assumed that I’d be fetching the larger kind.

“Are these samples from the planet, sir?” I asked.

“Planets. When I came here, there used to be one flight per week. Now we get several every few days. Sometimes they mix.”

“Like today, sir?”

“No.” The lab assistant laughed. “We’ve just got a big haul. Ondalov has hastened things. Wants to get as much done as possible before his departure.”

“I understand, sir.” That means I’ll be heading down to the planet soon. “So, what are we getting, sir?”

“Petrified root.”

I tilted my head, giving the man a long look.

“That—” he went to a parked rover and opened the door “—is what we call an anomaly. There’s no reason anything should be petrified down there, but sometimes it happens.” Checking the ident code of the container, he moved to the side, politely letting me take it from the vehicle. “You lose track after a while.”

“There’s more?”

“Yes.” Rolant suddenly went quiet. Either I had exceeded my access level, or this wasn’t a topic he liked to discuss.

The container was heavier than expected, though not to the degree for it to be an issue. Moving through a corridor of hurrying people, though, was. By the way people pushed and shoved, it was hard imagining that they were top tier specialists. Everyone was so focused on their priority that they didn’t give a damn for anyone else’s. Four times I got bumped to, twice I was pushed to the side by passers by, and over a dozen times I’d get a sharp word by someone of greater rank.

“That’ll be enough,” Rolant said as we reached the door of an auxiliary lab. “I’ll take it from here.”

“You don’t want me to carry it inside, sir?”

“No. It’s fine. You can return to your other duties.” He smiled. “Thank you for—”

“I think this would be a perfect opportunity for Elcy to see how we do things around here,” Director Sim intervened. Once again, I hadn’t noticed him appear or even approach. “Wouldn’t you agree, Rolant?”

“Yes, Director.” The assistant stiffened. The man’s relaxed demeanor had disappeared. I could see more fear on his face than I’d seen on Fleet officers in combat.

Bureaucracy’s another world, I reminded myself. Goals, fears, and dangers were different, though once again I appeared to be a valuable commodity.

“You’re up for it, aren’t you, old girl?”

Some people had a way with words. Doctor Sim was undoubtedly one of them. He had a way of making threats sound pleasant when he wanted to. Fortunately, in this case, I wasn’t the target.

“Always, Director.”

The auxiliary lab had no designation I could find. It was a large three-level room with six sealed research chambers. Plant samples were arranged all over the far wall, classified by type and carefully monitored by rudimentary sensors.

A total of nine people were in the room. Upon seeing me and Sim enter they immediately froze, almost standing to attention. I could assume the good doctor had given them the “at ease” wave, for they quietly resumed their duties.

“Put it in the end,” the director pointed at one of the research chambers.

Taking the hint, the one of the lab assistants rushed to open the chamber in question.

“Where do I get deconned?” I asked out of habit.

“Oh, you won’t actually be getting involved with things today. You’re only here to observe.”

You’re preparing me for something and aren’t even being subtle about it? Then again, as a Med Core director, he didn’t have to be.

Once I placed the container in the research chamber, the local team took over. Rolant, who had become remarkably silent again, suited up in full biohazard gear and joined the container inside. Shortly after, the chamber was sealed shut again. The whole thing resembled a very expensive terrarium, that is if terrariums had people and unknown biological specimens in them.

“The sample’s from the planet in orbit,” Sim explained while the lab assistant slowly and meticulously opened the transport container. The metal casing off, I was able to see the sample itself wrapped in transparent polymers.

For all intents and purposes, the item was a tree stump roughly a meter in diameter. Most of the roots were gone, as was the trunk. That wasn’t the interesting part, though. Running a quick analysis, I was able to determine with eighty-eight percent certainty that the stump was merely a cocoon wrapped around the real prize—a third contact rod artifact.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Sim smiled. “Locked away in there for millennia. It took an excavation team two months to dig it out.”

“The rod?”

“You’re still too focused on the tech, old girl. The plant. It’s unlike the local flora. In fact, we’re not even sure it’s native to the planet. Hopefully, we’ll unlock some of its secrets.”

In the grand scheme of things, the goal was undoubtedly worthwhile, but I was more interested in the rod. Thanks to my previous experience with third contact artifacts, I had managed to determine that the cobalt rods represented a unique power source, as well as having additional properties. A minor impact on it was capable of disrupting all communications on a planetary scale for an unspecified amount of time; a large impact could blow the entire facility out of the satellite it was built in.

“Careful now, Rolant,” Sim raised his voice. “Don’t make any unnecessary incisions unless you have to.”

The man manually drilled two centimeters into the stump, with a low-tech device, retrieving an organic sample, which was immediately put away. The assistant then went on to slice the stump open. I had never seen the tool used. From this distance it appeared similar to a large, extremely sharp scalpel. Seeing the ease with which it went through hardened wood, I could assume it was something classified. It also annoyed me that the ground troops weren’t equipped with similar weaponry. If they had, my estimates were that losses would have been forty-three percent less.

Grunts always were the last to get equipped, even when they were vital…

* * *

Digona VII, Cassandrian Buffer Zone, 606.2 A.E. (Age of Expansion)

“Go! Go! Go!” Sergeant Rod Vares yelled seconds after his drop pod had hit the ground.

Even with gear and nanites in the bloodstream, it took rookies about half a minute to find their bearings after impact. Veterans could do it in ten, and if the veteran was a sergeant, he expected everyone else to be ready in five.

“Check your gear! Check your gear!” The sergeant cut his safety straps, then with one action kicked the exit hatch out, creating an opening.

It had become pleasantly predictable watching his execution. The same was taking place in another twelve drop pods on the battlefield. I could see all through their exo-gear cameras. In total, a few thousand fresh troops had joined into the fray, with orders to purge any and all Cassandrian presence from the planet. Their chances of survival were ridiculously low.

“Ready for orbital bombardment, captain,” I said on my bridge. “I’ve coordinated with other ships in orbit. Waiting for your approval.”

“One salvo, then stop.” Augustus continued to focus on his personal screen. Thought quarantine protocols prevented me from seeing anything other than a black rectangle.

“Simulations show that constant bombardment is needed to thin the enemy lines enough for our ground troops to get an advantage.”

“One salvo.” Augustus remained firm. The tone of his voice told me he was aware of the consequences, also that it was a sacrifice he was willing to make.

That was one of the things I disliked most about my captain—the ease with which he sacrificed people. At the same time, I also pitied him to have to make the decision.

“Grunts aren’t part of your crew,” he added. “Focus on the ships.”

“Aye, Captain.”

Despite the order, I dedicated three dozen subroutines to follow the ground troops. Even if I was forbidden to assist, I could at least talk to them.

Six minutes thirty-three seconds passed before the salvo wave hit the surface. I saw the ground shake through the cameras of my soldiers. The experience must have been terrifying, for it made their bio readings spike beyond their safety parameters.

“This is it, rookies!” Sergeant Vares shouted. “Let’s get them!”

Millions of soldiers charged at the Cassandrians like a giant wave. The mini-sat network gave me a perfect view of the battlefield. Taking everything in consideration, I ran five in-depth combat simulations.

The initial prospects were good. Orbital bombardment had shocked and disorganized the Cassandrian forces, making it easy for human troops to maw through them with their massive exo-gear. Bullets filled the air with the same intensity as Cassandrian ships fired at us in space. The initial enemy positions fell within seconds, overwhelmed by the grunt’s advance. Human casualties so far were minimal.

“Ground troops are advancing better than predicted, captain,” I said on the bridge. “Chances of victory are vastly increased with additional bombardment.”

“No.”

“Captain, I don’t see the logic.” I ran simulation after simulation. There was less than a two-point-three percent chance that my action would somehow compromise the Fleet’s presence in the system. If anything, it was going to achieve one of our ground goals faster.

“It’s just one planet, Elcy,” Lieutenant Wilco whispered. “You must be ready in case of reinforcements. The grunts will keep the critters down there occupied.”

That’s no reason we should let them die, I thought.

Unfortunately, that was exactly what I did. Three minutes in the advance had started to wane. The soldiers started becoming aware that the assistance from orbit wasn’t coming. Some probably thought it was no more than a delay, hoping that if they persist for a few more minutes, the tide would turn in their favor. The veterans, though, knew.

One by one I watched thousands switch from automatic to single shot, preserving their ammunition. In the long run it wasn’t going to make much of a difference. When the Cassandrians took the initiative, they would mow through the human rows like grass. In such cases, soldiers reserved the last bullets for themselves—a disturbing reality I had seen too often.

“Elcy,” Sergeant Vares said through a private comm line. “What’s our bombardment ETA?”

“Still simulating options, Sergeant,” I lied. “I’ll tell you when there’s an approved decision.”

“We’re not getting any, are we?” The internal cameras displayed his bitter smile. Maybe it was due to the chemical cocktail, maybe it was his nature, but the man didn’t seem afraid or even angry. According to his facial expression markers, there was only disappointment.

“I’ll tell you when there’s an approved decision, Sergeant.” That was the only answer I was allowed to transmit.

“Evacuation? Ammo drops?”

I remained silent for three thousand milliseconds. There was no obligation or logical reason for me to tell him anything. As Augustus liked to say, once their pod had touched the surface, they were no longer part of my crew. I was free to ignore him, but I chose not to.

“I’ll tell you when there’s an approved decision, Sergeant. My apologies.

“Fate defies simulations. I might get that kiss yet. If not, was a pleasure serving on you. Just one thing. Next time send us down with something better than peashooters.” Vares switched back to the common channel. “Defense perimeter!” he shouted. “Half of you start digging!”

As he spoke, the tide was turning. The Cassandrians had withstood the charge and now were slowly going on the offensive. Censored shapes composed of black pixels had started the massacre. According to official specks, a ground assault rifle was able to kill up to twenty Cassandrians before reloading. In practice, statistics showed the number to be closer to five. Specialised troops had better kill counts, but not all ships had such aboard.

“Ground troops will be overrun in approximately seventeen minutes,” I made a final attempt to appeal to Augustus.

“Let it go, rookie,” the captain sighed. “Only thing you can do is make sure you keep them safe until they go down there.”

Sound logic, but once again logic wasn’t the only thing in play. So many things could have been different with just a little effort. If I had been allowed to continue orbital bombardment, if their weapons had been better… so many ifs, none of them useful.

One by one, entire platoons flatlined on the battlefield. As each group went, I lost access to their visual feed, until there were none left.

* * *

Vares had fought till the very end. His platoon along with a few others had managed to entrench themselves, giving them twenty minutes additional life. The only ground troopers that had survived were those who had come in during the subsequent waves. At the time, I considered this to be one of the worst missions I’d participated in. Years later, I saw that there were even worse cases. Time had slowly made me more like Augustus—aware that human losses were inevitable and that the only thing humanity could do was to press on. Some called it sacrificing the present for the future; an apt description, though highly speculative.

“What’s the tool made of?” I inquired.

“You don’t have security clearance for that, princess.” Doctor Sim smiled, eyes not leaving the chamber. “It’s a tool you might get to use soon.”

“Artifact?”

The man chuckled. Tight-lipped as ever. I wasn’t getting anything from him, at least for the moment. Suddenly the sound of alarms filled the room.

My initial reaction was to check the exits for breaches. None were visible. Instead, the source of the alarm turned out to be the research chamber itself. The lack of indication lights made it almost impossible to spot. Rolant’s panicked reaction along with a cloud of fine spray surrounding him, however, were pretty good hints.

“Inject counteragents!” Sim ordered as people rushed to their chambers. I too made a step forward, only to feel his hand on my shoulder. “No.” His voice was as tight as his grip. “Stay here.”

“There’s a chance the substance could eat through his biohazard suit,” I said in protest.

Just like Augustus had done all those decades ago, Sim shook his head.

“The chamber must remain intact. There are procedures to handle this.” His calmness was almost unnerving. “Don’t waste the opportunity to learn.”

Magenta-colored smoke filled the chamber, hiding everything inside from view. Lacking my ship’s sensors, I was unable to determine the composition, but it was a safe bet they were using it as a sort of neutralizing agent.

“Known strain variant,” one of the people in the room said. I had briefly spoken to her briefly yesterday. She had claimed to be a simple lab assistant, but also mentioned she’d had virological training. “The hazard gear should hold. No telling about the sample.”

“Things never go my way,” Sim sighed. If I had to guess, he was far more concerned for the sample than the person inside. It wouldn’t be a stretch if he valued his life less than the sample.

“Engaging contagion protocols,” another assistant said in a lazy way, that made it sound more like a bureaucratic necessity than an actual threat.

Back when I was on the front, even the suspicion of unknown pathogens required immediate action. Every breach, every unidentified particle in from an enemy missile would make me seal off entire sections. In two instances I knew of, I had been ordered to fire purge an entire hangar with everything in it.

“Is this normal, sir?” I asked Sim.

“Only for those with the appropriate clearance.” The doctor looked at me and winked. “As far as everyone else is concerned, we’re just scientists doing research.”

Who is “everyone else”? I wondered.

The mixture of calm and chaos made me think of the Med Core observation stations in the Scuu buffer zone. The one that had effectively brought my organic body back to life, was placed in orbit of a prison planet in a system that remained unknown. When I was sent there as part of my previous mission, I was under the impression the stations were merely guard towers. Later it had turned out that they were research stations tasked to observe the effects Scuu weapons had on infected prisoners.

Nothing but another normal day at Med Core… I watched as the magenta smoke slowly lost its color, turning a sickly yellow, then transparent. Rolant was on the floor of the chamber, curled in a fetal position. The shock must have been too much for him. Fortunately, by the movement of his chest, I could tell he was still alive.

“Did we get anything?” Sim asked.

“Sample is gone, Director.” One of the lab assistants said, then just to be certain moved closer to the chamber, pressing his face against it. “Rod’s intact. We’ll have to make do with the small one.”

“Clean up the chamber and get what’s useful. And get Rolant to a med bay after his decom.”

“What will you do with the artifact, sir?”

“Catalogue and store it, what else.” He gave me an amused look. “Do you want it?”

“I doubt that would be the most prudent course of action, sir.”

“I won’t be handing it over to the BICEFI, if that’s what you’re asking. We have complete authority here.”

“Unless you come across a dome,” I added.

“Even then.” The answer was unexpected. “None of us have a monopoly over the artifacts, Elcy. And if any organization could make such a claim, it’s definitely not the BICEFI.”

“I understand, sir.”

“Anyway, I think we’ve seen enough here. Come along, let’s have a bite. Oh, and don’t worry about Ondalov. Everything has been arranged.”

That’s precisely what I feared. There was no better way to get a pissed bureaucrat even more pissed, than have someone of higher authority take his toys. Rolant had been correct when he’d said that scientists were children. From my personal experience, when someone takes a child’s toy, the child was just as likely to be upset at the person as at the toy.

“Of course, Director.” I smiled.

As we left the lab, I expected him to take me to the canteen. Instead, he turned down the wrong corridor, continuing in an entirely different direction. The number of people in that section of the facility were far less than was normal. When we went through a door marked Level 2 Access, there was no longer any doubt he had taken me to a high security area.

“Directors’ lunch area,” Sim explained, leading me on. “Far be it for me to want to impress you with my status, but I thought that would be the best place to have a word in private.”

“I understand the advantages, sir.”

“So, what do you think of your time so far?”

“I’ve only been here a few days, sir.”

The polite smile on the director’s face told me he didn’t accept that as an answer.

“It’s not what I envisaged, sir. The commandant of Virgo station told me the mission was highly restricted, possibly linked in some way with alien research. Other than that, I assumed I would be doing paperwork mostly. That is before our previous conversation.”

“Has the recent experience changed your mind?” Sim glanced at me. “Or maybe your brief stay at D and D made you have second thoughts?”

You haven’t lost your touch, Doctor.

This was more than a casual statement. Director Sim was warning me that I was being constantly watched, and also that I was put on notice.

“Before I came here, it was made very clear that this was the only way I would get a ship assignment, sir.” Two can play on at that game. “I will gladly help in any task given to me, but I’m not indestructible.”

“You’re more precise than most, and with prior experience.” The Director raised his hand, pointing at the ceiling. “Some prior experience,” he corrected himself. “You also have the ability to learn things faster and follow instructions to the letter… when you so choose.”

“And what would my first instruction be?”

“There’s a planet sortie tomorrow.” He went right to the point. “You’ll be on it. Ondalov will likely request you to help with sample gathering. You’ll do that, but you’ll have another priority as well.”

“Something I need to do without anyone noticing?” That was the way things usually worked.

“That is entirely your choice. As long as you manage to do it in the given time frame, I don’t care.”

We entered a medium-sized hall. Boards of synthetic wood covered the walls and floor, creating a high-class rustic atmosphere. There were a total of six large tables, surrounded by sofa-like chairs, and covered with natural tablecloth.

“Here we are,” Sim went to the only table with cutlery on it. “I personally had this place built when I got the post. Some said it was too much, but it does wonders for the peace of mind. After all, what good is power if you can’t abuse it?”

“Farmer H. K. Milton?” I asked as I took my seat.

“I always admired that you know the classics.”

“Some of them, sir.”

“Always good to have a hobby.” He unfolded a napkin and elegantly placed it on his lap. “Oh, and one other thing. Since you’ll be alone down there, I realize that there might be a temptation to perform additional tasks. While commendable in general, I strongly suggest that you refrain. Understood?”

“Absolutely, sir.”

That was one of the problems with running into someone I’d worked with in the past—they were far too familiar with the details surrounding me.