Up till now, there had never been a need for me to remain awake for more than a day. At most, I’d move my sleep window to a more convenient time, allowing me to remain active for thirty hours or more. On this mission, I had gone two days without any rest—a first as far as my core was concerned, triggering a rare safety warning. It was strange to get a warning about something that I knew perfectly well; despite my brain being a conscience core, my body wasn’t, and as such, even it required rest. In a few hours I’d get some, though not before I had finished with my mission.

The last two days had ended up being simultaneously the longest and shortest assignment I had been given since rejoining the Fleet. Digging out samples and moving them back to the shuttle was cumbersome, but mentally unchallenging. As I rushed to make it on time for my departure window, I went through old memories enjoying the past or going through analysis I’d already done. That was one of the annoyances I’d faced even back when I was on the front. Even with my reduced processing power, ninety-nine percent of the time a problem, even a difficult one, only exhausted a certain amount of time. That didn’t mean that I’d answered all the questions I’d had, simply that lacking new data, there was no further progress possible.

After months as a cadet instructor, I had run out of problems. Even speculating about the third-contact race had become old. Now, other than risking the mind scalpel and roaming through more of my restricted memories, the only thing I had to speculate about were plants and local politics. The only things that intrigued me were two names and a spore sample I was ordered not to collect.

Why are you so dangerous? I closed my eyes, still waiting for launch permission.

As far as I could tell, there was nothing significant about the spore sample. According to the limited tools the shuttle had, the sample was in perfect condition and not particularly toxic, comparatively speaking. If anything, it was definitely safer than what I had collected for Director Sim.

The area where I had collected it had also seemed harmless. I’d only gone there once, but reviewing my memories of the events, I couldn’t see anything significant. Next time I was sent on the planet, I was definitely going to search the area thoroughly with a hand scanner.

“Sorry about the delay, Shuttle Two,” the operative on duty said. “Staff meetings are dragging on. You should get your clearance in a few minutes.”

“Roger that, Mission Control.”

This was the third time they’d said that. Each time, the excuse was the same, as was the amount of time I had to wait. So far twenty-nine minutes had passed.

“Any details on that meeting, Mission Control?”

There was a seventy-nine percent chance that I was the cause. Bureaucrats everywhere loved free labor, as did a lot of military personnel. It was very much in the realm of possibility that some other director or team leader had sent an official request that I help out with some “minor matter” or other while on the planet. Regulations forbade it, but this wouldn’t be the first time regulations were waved.

“Reassignments,” the woman on the other side said, with a sigh that explained it all. Now I understood why I hadn’t heard from ‘Bo or Ondalov in the last ten hours. “Bureaucracy, can’t live without it.”

“No, ma’am, we can’t.” Funny hearing that from a bureaucrat. “If I had known there’d be time to spare, I’d have taken a stroll. Any chance of that, Mission Control?”

“No can do, Shuttle Two.” The answer came with a slight delay, pretty much confirming my suspicion that the conversation was being monitored. “Start your system check. You’ve been given a five-minute window.”

That was fast and incredibly convenient, though better than waiting. I did a quick system check, as I had done half an hour ago. The shuttle AI gave me the all green, as I expected it would. Now it was back to waiting.

“Hello, princess,” Director Sim said through the comm. “You can come back. Sorry to make you wait. I’d tell you the details, but they’d probably bore you, anyway.”

Liar.

“So, how did it feel? Enjoyed your time in an alien jungle?”

“It felt a bit rushed, sir.” I started the launch sequence. The AI could handle things from here. “Maybe next time, the number of tasks could correspond to the time I’m given?”

“Wouldn’t that be nice,” he laughed. “Don’t count on that. There’s a lot of work, I’m afraid, and only one of you. You’d be surprised how many people are interested in your skills now that they’ve seen you in action.”

“I doubt that, sir. I’ve come to accept it, given my previous mission.”

“Missions,” the Director corrected. “You did a lot of the same last time we were together. Although, I remember you having much more fun back then. Tending to plants isn’t as exciting as gathering artifacts, I guess.”

“I suppose that’s a fact of life, sir. Once one gets a taste of third-contact toys, nothing else really cuts it.”

More laughter came through the comm. At least he was in a good mood, judging by the results of my sound analysis.

“Starting launch sequence. Lift off in two.” I braced myself.

Gravity and propulsion pushed me down in my seat—the least comfortable part of the trip. It also didn’t skip my attention that the safety settings had been marginally modified, taking my body’s tolerance levels into account. A pity that the time saved by the increased thrust was less than the time I was made to wait for an approval.

“Oh, one more thing,” the doctor continued. “There’s been a minor change of plans. Since you won’t be returning to the base, we’ll have to do your debriefing during flight. That’s not an issue, right?”

“Not whatsoever, sir,” I said through gritted teeth.

“Wonderful. Oh, there’s nothing to worry about. No one’s sending you back or anything.” There was more laughter, only this time it was somewhat tense. “A ship will be picking you up in orbit. Your prior commitment, if I may say? We decided that it would be faster and more appropriate for everyone if you don’t have to go to the base and back.”

That way you also get to keep your secret projects secret.

Experience had taught me that secrecy bred paranoia; the more involved a person became with the big picture, the more they would see patterns in random coincidences… just like on the Scuu front. In this case, I suspected it was more of a turf war reflex. My first captain couldn’t stand the Salvage Authorities, and he was pretty annoyed with liaison officers from the admiralty. “Envoys,” he liked to call them. In his view, they were nothing but semi-competent lackeys that reported back to “the idiots in HQ.”

“Permission to wait until I break orbit to start, sir?”

“Of course. Take your time. We’ll be with you when you’re weightless.”

I’d rarely known anyone who could mix poetry with bureaucratic practicality in such a way. This wasn’t the first time either. And just like last time, Sim remained true to his word. There was no talk for the next six minutes and twelve seconds. An instant later, however, I was sent an official briefing code though voice comm.

“We’ll keep this brief since many of you have a lot of things to do,” Director Sim started. “First of all, let me confirm that the first part of the samples arrived safely to the base and were put to good use. Thank you for your efforts, cadet. You’ve helped quite a lot of projects.”

“Officer candidate, sir,” I corrected.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m no longer a cadet.”

Several seconds of chilling silence followed. It was bad practice to correct a direct superior in a meeting, but if Augustus had taught me anything, it was to know my own worth. If I didn’t correct him now, I wouldn’t be able to correct anyone on the base ever.

“Right, my apologies.” I could catch no tension in the director’s voice. “Old habits die hard, Candidate Light Seeker. In any event, we’d like to know: were there any concerns while you were down there?”

“Sample collection went smoothly, sir. The only thing out of the ordinary was the sudden change of orders. Would this be common for future missions?”

“Normally no.” By the slight changes in voice volume, I simulated that Sim had turned to someone while saying that. “It was an unexpected emergency and hopefully won’t happen again. In the future, no changes will be made to the list you’re initially given. I understand you had occasional technical difficulties several times?”

You went there, didn’t you?

It was a game I had to play, but I didn’t like it. There was a fifty-three percent chance that everyone listening in the room knew exactly what the situation was, but were pretending for the sake of auditors in Fleet HQ.

“Nothing of major significance, Director.” I made sure to use his title. “At no point was the state of the shuttle or the specimens at risk. I checked myself.”

“I never had any doubt. And during the gathering process? Anything unusual?”

“Sample number five, sir.” Time for a misdirect. “I had already collected it by the time I received the second mission update. As I informed Mission Control at the time, I removed it from the auxiliary shuttle. Subsequently, since I wasn’t granted permission to take the sample to base, I left it on the planet and tagged its coordinates for future retrieval.”

There was a brief moment of agitation before silence cut in. It only lasted less than seventeen hundred milliseconds, but I heard it clearly. When the silence reached fifteen seconds, I knew that something serious had happened.

“Which samples was sample five in proximity to?” Ondalov asked.

“One through four, six through eleven, fifteen, twenty-four, twenty-six through forty-one,” I replied.

“No others?”

“You were very specific about the order of sample acquisition, sir. Those are the only samples its container was in proximity to. Indirectly, there is under a zero-point-three percent possibility that I have transmitted other instances from the sample unknowingly through my space-suit.” Why freak out now? Things were much calmer when I made Mission Control aware. “Would you like further details, sir?”

“That’s fine, Candidate,” Director Sim said. “The sample will be retrieved in due course. I strongly advise you go through a full decon once you board your next ship.”

“Understood, sir.”

“Wonderful. And the state of the second batch of samples. Any concerns there?”

“As far as I could tell, all samples were in perfect condition prior to launch.” I had done a visual check, although my request to use any form of even rudimentary scanning had been denied.

“Any weird sensations while you were down there? Drowsiness, headaches?”

“None, sir, although I could use some proper food after two days of suit capsules.”

“We’ll see what we can do. Anyway, unless there are any other questions, I suggest we end the debriefing here. I’ll be expecting a full report once you return from your extracurricular activities, of course.”

“I’ll have one ready, sir.” I’ll have two ready, one without certain details. ”Might I inquire if Rolant is doing better, sir?”

“He’s perfectly fine, no need to worry. And no, you haven’t been exposed to anything remotely as dangerous, if that’s your concern.”

“Glad to hear that, sir.”

“In that case, I’m ending this. Thank you, Officer Candidate Light Seeker. Looking forward to your next assignment.”

The comm link was closed. I had to say that this was one of the least professional debriefings I’d seen in a while. It couldn’t even be called a staff meeting; rather, it was an instance of documented insurance so that the people involved could cover their asses. The question remained, though—what was the cause that had led to that? In my experience, there was only one thing that had the power to scare any organization equally—an Arbitrator.

“Ping me when something happens, shuttle.” I closed my eyes.

In the past, I’d had several run-ins with Arbitrators, none of them particularly pleasant. Given what had been at stake, though, I had to admit I had gotten away pretty lightly. Interestingly enough, of all bodies within the Fleet, they were the only one that was in constant public view, yet so little was known about them.

Officially, they were the supreme decision power—the ones who stood above judges and whose opinions could not be appealed. Actually, they were the appeal. Everything else could be seen as little more than a prelude. Records had no clear date when the Arbitrator office had been created, nor who exactly it reported to or who its members were. On the record, it was stated that they reported to the Fleet Admiralty and the Gubernatorial Council, though to date I had never seen any reports outside of case decisions. Their names were kept strictly off the record, and all their biometric data was sealed. The only reason no one was particularly concerned with them was because the chances of anyone encountering an Arbitrator were virtually nil. By the looks of it, things were different further up the bureaucratic totem pole.

Everyone had their worries, I thought. The troops were worried about their lives, the command staff were worried about their assignments, the organizations were worried about their takes on the big picture, and ships were worried about people. That made me think back to Sev. He’d started getting closer to his family, and thanks to Alexander, his health was good enough for him to enjoy a few decades more, and still I couldn’t help but be concerned. Having two grandchildren join the Fleet must have weighed heavily on his mind.

The shuttle’s notification couldn’t come fast enough. By the time I heard the ping, I had gone through all my third-contact related memories multiple times, as well as reviewed all available data on Director Sim.

Emergency mid-flight cockpit transfer authorized.

The message blinked on the screen. Of course it would be. It was the Paladin that did the authorizations.

“Confirming that,” I said to disengage the life safeguards, as if it wasn’t obvious. “Leaving controls and heading to the outer hatch. Mission Control, did you copy that?”

“Roger that, Shuttle Two. We’re following your transfer to Vermillion Green. All authorizations are A-okay.”

“Thank you, Mission Control. Elcy heading out. See you again once this is over.”

Red lights flooded the cockpit as I opened the outer hatch. I didn’t feel any massive change. With no air in the cockpit, there was nothing to be sucked out. All that I had to do was a well-calculated jump into Ve’s cockpit. When the door was fully open, though, the only thing I could see was space.

“Very funny, Ve.” After the last two days, I wasn’t in the mood for the kid to be cute. “Remove the quarantine.”

Now you know how I feel for having to pick you up. The ship became visible to my eyes. I had to construct a decon chamber just for you.

A bit fancy, are we? I thought. As an “elite courier,” she wasn’t used to transporting large crowds, if any, and definitely not someone who’d been on a planet. Serving directly under a Paladin was a good reason for her attitude, though not an excuse.

“I’m sorry to inconvenience you. Maybe I should ask the Paladin for someone else to collect me so I don’t sully your corridors.”

Harsh words, but they hit their mark. The ship remained silent for precisely three thousand milliseconds, after which she opened her airlock and aligned it with the hatch’s position.

Step in.

“Thanks.”

Only a single step was needed for me to get from the shuttle onto the ship. Vermillion had both the processing power and the thrusters to be exceptional if she wanted to be. I could never be as precise. Warships weren’t designed for micro-maneuvering. We compensated with size, firepower, and defense systems.

“Any chance I could wash up and get a bite?” I asked as the airlock door closed behind me.

I’ve set up decon to get rid of your stink. There was a minor attempt to appear hostile, but it was obviously for show. I had acted the same way to the technicians while I was still a core. And your suit. I’m not letting that thing touch anything outside my chamber.

“Fair enough.” I walked forward to the inner door. “And the food?”

I’ll set up something. Anything particular you want?

“Anything that’s outside a capsule.” And hopefully edible.

The decon chamber was unlike any I had seen before. It was as if someone with unlimited budget had constructed it to be functional and comfortable. The size of the room was four times larger than it had to be. All walls were covered in feeds displaying full information on the actual process, as well as Fleet and media feeds. Ve had done her homework checking on my habits.

“I suppose a call back home would be too much to ask?” I asked with a clear joke intonation as nanites started spraying on me.

I’ll see what I can do. Take off your suit and clothes, and leave them on the floor. I’ll burn everything once you’re done.

Given her nature, I suspected she was being literal—that was the safest and most effective way to deal with any contaminants. Also, I wasn’t in the least bit attached to my current clothes.

“Full thought quarantine again?”

You know the rules.

“I know. I was just hoping I’d be allowed to remember a bit more of our conversation while getting there.”

The next moment, I was facing the airlock door. The entire decontamination chamber was gone, replaced by the standard corridor section I remembered from my first visit. I, myself, was wearing a fresh set of clothes along with one of Ve’s custom made space suits. According to my internal clock, twenty-three hours and nine minutes had passed, during which I had no idea what had happened, just a vague memory of good food.

Time to go, Ve said. I’ll be waiting here like last time.

“Anything I should keep in mind?”

No.

The airlock opened. The same tunnel as last time took me aboard the Paladin. There were no lights this time; as a ship, he knew I’d manage to make my way to the bridge from memory.

“Hello, Otton. Sorry for the complications.”

“Don’t be. You wouldn’t have come here if you didn’t want to. I suspect you haven’t come to a decision, yet.”

“That is correct. You’ve constructed a behavior model of me.”

“I have several. Given so much information and processing power, what else is there left to do? In the early years, I spent a lot of my time running combat simulations against the Scuu. After a few centuries, even those get old. The Cassandrians were a nice distraction, but they’ve become stale as well. Now there’s nothing but talk with artificial constructs of ships and people.”

That was both a fascinating and terrifying prospect. In his place, I would have done the same, creating an SR reality in which I’d converse with Sev, Augustus, Cass, and even Gibraltar. Maybe I’d have their constructs meet each other. It would be a flawed interpretation, but at some point, even that would be better than the real thing. Did Otton spend time talking to the shut down Paladins? Or maybe with the members of his first crew?

“I take it you’re convinced I’d agree?”

“The odds are more in my favor than not. You being here now increased them by a few percent.”

“Isn’t that a bit of a risk?” I continued forward through the darkness, memories of corridors preventing me from bumping into something.

“I’m risking nothing. When the Fleet gave me permission for an offspring, it wasn’t specified who the second model would be. If you refuse, there will be someone else. Given the time I have left, I could wait.”

Logical, though, that he had picked me first. “Couldn’t you have requested to have a conscience core built based on your specifications?”

“Possibly. There’s a certain intrigue in not knowing. It brings me a bit closer to being human.”

“I know what you mean.”

The bridge was lit all up when I got there, retaining its majesty. I had only been here once, but I could honestly say that it was the second place I most wanted to be, after Sev’s house. This time, though, there was a new element—a small nightstand-like object made of black and gold-coated alloy.

“The captain’s food dispenser,” the Paladin said, his image appearing on the massive screen. “It hasn’t been used in a while, but is very much functional. I had a team of technicians hook it up.”

“Would I be staying that long?”

“There’s always the chance.”

It was impossible to tell whether this was a calculated move, or if he was just being polite. Pre-conscience core ships’ logic was very different from mine. Still, I appreciated the gesture.

“Do we start straight away?” I asked as I sat in the command chair.

“Is there anything you’d like to know before we do?”

There were a great many things, but I doubted I had the authority to hear them. Then again, I would lose nothing by asking.

“Can you tell me anything about my current assignment?”

“I can request that you be transferred elsewhere, if you want.”

“No, it’s not that.” Why should anywhere else be different? Besides, as Augustus had said, if I can’t handle the small things, how would I be able to make the really big decisions? “There are a few things that don’t match up. More than usual for such an assignment.”

“I can discuss everything you tell me as an outside observer, but I cannot provide any information you don’t already know, even if you can easily find it on your own.”

“So, it would be like talking to myself.”

“Possibly, but also not exactly. We are different ships. I can provide parallels with some of my past experiences, just nothing beyond your authorization level. It would be like two people talking.”

“Small talk without a solution.”

“In a way. I won’t guide you or leave you hints. All conclusions would be your own.”

An interesting proposal. On the surface, it was no different from me talking to Buc or Radiance. Knowing that the Paladin had all the answers, however, made me not want to. It reminded me too much of a theatre play, in which only one performer knew all their lines while the other had to improvise.

“Maybe during our next visit.” I leaned back. Similar to Otton, I too had run a few simulations. My conclusion, though, differed from his. “How much time will I remember? Twelve minutes and thirteen seconds?”

“Last time’s demonstration was for your benefit. I didn’t want to get your hopes up before you had enough time to seriously consider it. You’re a resourceful ship; there’s always the possibility you obtain your memories through other means.”

“Are there other means?”

“Perhaps. They won’t be as complete, though.”

You sly Paladin, I thought. After all the grandstanding that he wouldn’t be able to provide me any hints about my current assignment, he had gone ahead and dropped the biggest hint of them all regarding my memories. The fact that he was so certain that I wouldn’t find a full record of my memories elsewhere meant that there wasn’t one. The information was probably split up into bits, and unimportant segments had been purged out of existence. Or maybe it was the important ones?

“I’m ready.” I took a deep breath. “Let’s begin.”