No one knew how life formed on planets. As humanity expanded, the myriad of theories of the past had been disproved and replaced by new ones. To this day, there was no single principle that scientists could point at and determine with certainty whether a planet with conditions for life had a high life-factor or not. The only thing known for certain that life was more abundant in Cassandrian space than anywhere else. Supposedly, that was one of the reasons for the second-contact war—humanity had followed a trail of breadcrumbs right onto the plate of another race. Given the memories Otton had shared with me—my memories—it seemed to be the case. For one thing, Cassandrians spread really fast.

The lab I entered was similar to a Cassandrian planet. The spores had spread throughout the entire room, creating fungal colonies clustered round all the heat and light sources. If this had happened aboard me when I was active, I would have quarantined and purged the entire section. Almost on cue, the buffer room leading to the lab flashed in a controlled purge. At least some safety protocols were being enforced.

“Describe what you see,” ‘Bo said through the comm.

“Pretty much the same as you, ma’am. The entire lab is overgrown with some sort of fungal colony.” I looked around. “No single point of origin can be determined.”

That wasn’t supposed to happen. Normally my algorithms would be able to determine the pattern of the spread and come up with an inciting location. In this instance, I was given three equally plausible options, all with a probability of over seventy percent.

“Is there a video feed of the spread?” I asked, knowing full well there was.

“Hold a sec. I’ll send you an info burst.”

None of the sample cases seemed to be affected. Also, according to my suit’s readings, the oxygen in the room had been depleted. A faint increase in background radiation was also detected, though by no means dangerous.

The info burst came five and a half seconds later, transferring two days’ worth of video feeds in a fraction of a second. According to the observations, the source had originated from the protective gear of a lab technician shortly after opening a sample container. Initially, nothing had been observed, then—eight hours, thirteen minutes later—traces of radiation were recorded, triggering the safety protocols. The spread of the spores had continued from there.

“Have there been other instances of radiation increase?” I asked, making my way to the research table with the sample case on it. The equipment seemed foreign to me, though even there the fungal colonies had only developed on certain devices, and none were in the sample case itself.

“Nothing to worry about,” Director Sim chimed in through the comm. “It’s barely noticeable. Unfortunately, due to other equipment in the facility, we cannot use it as a screening method.”

“That is unfortunate, sir.” I picked up the sample case. It still had the label I had put on when I was down on the planet—sample five. “What about Shuttle Two, sir?” A terrible thought came to mind. If I had been the cause of this spread, there was a possibility that I had carried it to Vermillion Green and from there to the Paladin.

“Not a thing, bless the stars. Apparently only parts of the facility were affected. Whatever happened started in that lab, and it’s your job to find out exactly what that is.”

“I think I’m lacking a bit of knowledge, sir.” I returned the container to the original place. “Any chance I might get the information transferred to me?”

“No, despite my best intentions, you’ll have to make do with what you have. There are some authorisation issues, I’m sure you’ll understand. Meanwhile, everyone here is at your disposal for advice.”

Hardly surprising. Med Core wasn’t known for sharing information with other than its own.

“Are there any theories I should look into, sir? The current parameters are a bit on the vague side.”

“Look around, girl!” Captain ‘Bo almost shouted. “We want you there to find things the normal feed can’t see, so start picking up something.”

Not terribly scientific. According to the feed she had shared with me, no attempts were made to use remote devices to explore, which meant, yet again, that I was the guinea pig.

“Roger that.” If that’s the way you want it, that’s the way you’ll have it. “No observable matter at the spot of origin. The container appears completely empty, as does the test chamber.” I moved closer. The helmet was making it difficult. “Correction. There appear to be culture elements on the robotic hands within the chamber.”

“Make a note of that,” ‘Bo instructed. “You’ll be collecting samples for analyses later.”

“Is that wise, ma’am?” Analyzing the initial container was the reason the infestation occurred to begin with. “I’m uncertain whether my actions would risk spreading the spores further in the facility.”

“You’ll do it there. How stupid do you think we are?”

“My apologies, ma’am. I misunderstood your intention.” I moved to the computer terminal a few steps away. “The work terminal screen is completely covered with a thin film of matter. It appears uniform and equally spread out. I can see further spots of colonies continuing down the terminals, ending just above the floor.” I knelt down. “I’m attempting to determine whether there are any traces between the casing and the floor.”

I turned on my finger lights. The moment I did, miniature particles detached from the terminal and floated towards my fingers. It was like looking at dust pass through a ray of light. The only difference was that there was no dust in the lab, and neither was there wind enough to stir the particles. A hundred milliseconds in, I turned off the lights of my suit. The particles became inert again, floating back down.

“The spores are attracted to light,” I said, stating the obvious. “Correction—” I looked at the fingers of my glove. “—they are attracted to energy. All spots observed so far coincide with an energy source.”

A warning message flashed on my visor, attracting a multitude of organic particles like a magnet. A radiation source had been detected in close proximity. The degree of the radiation was inconsequential; however, the reason for it wasn’t—my suit had detected trace elements of astatine. The substance was exceedingly rare, almost non-existent on most human planets. The only places it was found in abundance were Cassandrian dropships…

* * *

Styx VII, Cassandrian Front, 608.4 A.E. (Age of Expansion)

Dropship reinforcements have entered the system, I transmitted. How many can intercept?

Still have some mopping up, the heavy frigate Clear Sight replied. I’ll take my wing there when done. ETA thirty-seven minutes.

Heading your way, Sudden Spark said. I’m at twenty-one percent ammo.

Got you covered, Light Seeker, Aurora Flame joined in. She was one of my original cohort, though we hadn’t seen too much action together. ETA three minutes. You keep an eye on the planet.

Thirty-nine other ships joined in. Most were still occupied with annihilating the remnants of the Cassandrian Fleet in the system and gave me ETAs in the hours. Roughly a quarter immediately changed priorities to assist.

I reran my combat simulations based on the latest data projections and displayed the results on my bridge. So far, this was one of the few exemplary missions I’d participated in on the front. For once, Fleet Intelligence had done its job—we had caught the Cassandrians unprepared and proceeded to break up their formation the moment we jumped in. All in all, there had been less than a hundred enemy ships present—child’s play for our flotilla of ninety-one. I could almost feel pity for them, completely outclassed and, after the first wave of missiles, outnumbered. The only thing that they kept stubbornly defending was the seventh planet of the system. Fleet Intelligence had designated it a Cassandrian colony in early stages of formation. According to my scans, a minuscule part of the surface had been occupied. A heavy orbital strike would have been the optimal solution for eliminating the threat, but for some reason, Command had insisted on deploying ground troops. Since that was the order, I and three other ships had complied.

I’m reading ten drop ships only, I transmitted. Can anyone confirm?

Confirming your readings, Violent Red, an old Forge Class battleship, transmitted. Nice to see the Cassies low on ships for once.

Words from the wise, Grandad. Aurora Flame laughed. Let’s hope it stays that way.

It will, the veteran ship replied. Cassies don’t trickle in if they’re defending something important. If the system was vital for them, we’d know.

As much as I appreciated the easy victory, I had to agree with his logic. The system was nothing more than a backup staging area from which to launch further attacks. From what I could tell, both sides had known about it for months, but neither had invested any troops to capture it. It was only when the Cassandrians had done so that the Fleet had chosen to react, although I was slightly surprised by the size of the response force they’d sent. With the latest ship upgrades, the parity ratio between the enemy and us was three to one.

While the drop ships were making their approach, I monitored my ground troops on the planet. The level of casualties was pleasantly low so far, mostly due to overconfident tactics. Tempted by their number superiority, three of my platoons had charged the enemy head on and walked straight into an ambush. In part, I was responsible for that—I had provided multiple images of the surface using my mini sats, but no deep surface scan. As it turned out, ninety percent of the Cassandrian forces were burrowed underground, like a deadly iceberg. Upon emerging, the enemies had torn my platoons to shreds.

At present, all combined ground troops had encircled the remaining Cassandrians, shooting their way step by step to the heart of the colony. If any of the reinforcing drop ships managed to reach the planet, more combat spots would emerge.

“How are things going, Elcy?” Wilco asked. He was the only member of the officer staff who took an active interest in the ongoing battle. My captain had taken the relative lull to get some actual sleep, as had a large part of my crew.

“There’s a thirty-seven-point-three percent chance that the planet will be purged within six hours, sir,” I said, based on my current simulations. “I haven’t found any more hidden Cassandrians beneath the surface.”

“That’s good,” the man said in a tone of voice that suggested it wasn’t. “Have ground missiles at the ready.”

“I haven’t been authorized for bombardment, sir,” I reminded him.

“I know. Just have them ready.”

Intercepting drop group, Sudden Spark transmitted in the ship comm channel. Armored bastards. They’ve been modded. Launching full missile volley.

His language was as coarse as his captain’s, but the ship was right. The new drop ship type was stronger than the previous waves. Simulations suggested that there was a one in seven chance that two of the ships, or more, reached the planet’s orbit. If they got there, we wouldn’t have a way to stop them. High gravity and thick atmosphere were the things I hated most about planets—easy to pull a ship in, and quick to scar the hull.

I need more time, Clear Sigh responded. I might not be too much help on this one.

How many can intercept? I modified my path trajectory. The ground troops would have to be on their own for a while.

Of all the ships, only three gave a positive confirmation: not enough to guarantee a full destruction of the enemy.

“Requesting permission to intercept the drop ships,” I said on the bridge.

“Go ahead,” Wilco said. “Keep your ground missiles ready.”

“That would diminish my chances of success, sir.”

“Maybe, but there are bigger things to worry about. Arm missile batch three A.”

That was part of my special ammunition. I had no idea what the missiles contained, or even what they looked like. The only information I was granted was that I couldn’t fire or destroy them without express permission from the captain or my weapons officer. At present, Wilco was acting as both.

“Arming in progress.” I dedicated two dozen of my subroutines to rearm my ground missiles, while a hundred of the rest calculated space combat options.

One of the drop ships exploded, destroyed by Sudden Spark’s attack. According to his data sharing, it had taken eighty-one missiles to breach the hull of a ship. The good news was that none of the ships had any attack capabilities. The bad news was that it was looking more and more unlikely we’d manage to destroy all of them on time.

“Be advised, enemy reinforcements en route,” I informed all my ground troop commanders. “Nine ships are approaching the planet along an entry vector. You are within the projected impact areas. ETA forty-nine minutes. Full cover advised.”

Swearing filled the comm. The ground troop officers were pissed, and I couldn’t blame them. There was nothing they could do in forty-nine minutes. Even so, they issued the order for their troops to start digging trenches; at least that way, there was an illusion of hope.

I ran a few hundred casualty projections, then stopped. The results varied from zero to a hundred percent. That was the problem with drop ships—their landing trajectory was difficult to predict. Everything in a two-kilometer radius from the impact point would be affected, likely killed, except the Cassandrians inside. Then, the troops would pour out of the useless husk and finish what the ship started.

Second down, targeting a third, Sudden Spark announced. Won’t have ammo for more. Sorry, Elcy.

I’m there in a minute fifty-seven, Aurora Flame said. I calculate I’ll be able to take out three before they reach orbit. Transmitting targets.

I’ll take on two, I added. Don’t have the ammo for more.

You kids and your best-case scenarios. Violent Red sent out a virtual sigh. Add a fifty percent buffer to your sims. Things never go as planned. I’ll take on three, so that leaves two more out there.

I’m a minute seven away, Moonlight Globe joined in. Likely to take on two with the fifty-percent-buffer. Transmitting targets.

Running it a bit tight, Violent Red commented.

We can’t go beyond the limitations of physics, Aurora Flame snipped. She was one of the snarky Ascendants, sort of like Aurie but with a sharp edge to her. Simulations look good. Half a ship will slip at most. The planet will take care of the rest.

Never count on a simulation, kid.

Quietly, I reran my simulations accounting for an increased Cassandrian armoring. Provided there were no further surprises, Aurora’s estimations were correct: nine ships destroyed and one severely damaged. However, I couldn’t help but be concerned at the antique’s words. He had been fighting in this war decades longer than either of us, witnessing overwhelming victories and catastrophic defeats. There was no question that the current ship classes were better equipped and with superior processing power. Sadly, as the seconds passed, everything he said came to be true.

Sudden Spark failed to destroy the third Cassandrian ship. Exhausting all his missiles, he then broke off from the attack. Moonlight Globe was the one to finish the enemy off, before tackling her own target. Aurora Flame and I followed suit.

Every fifteen thousand milliseconds, I ran a new batch of simulations, and each time, the results were vastly different from the batch before. By the time the enemies were down to four ships, it was clear that we could take out two of them at most. That left two landing on the planet.

I relayed the information to my bridge and the ground troop officers. Neither seemed particularly pleased, though by no means surprised. They had come to expect the worst; this was just one more such instance. Pain screamed through me at the thought of expected casualties. Over thirty thousand of my ground troops were on the planet. The odds were none of them would make it back up.

“Hold steady, Elcy,” Wilco whispered. Somehow, he knew what I was going through. Just as he knew that one of the drop ships would make it through. Like Augustus, Wilco often surprised me. “We can’t fight the inevitable.”

Breaking off, Aurora Flame said. Two left. Do you have anything left, Mog? It won’t take much to burst my last target.

Completely out, Moonlight Globe replied. I don’t even have shuttles to throw at it.

I’m out as well, I said. However, I still had shuttles. If I rammed all of them into the target, there was a seventy-three percent chance that I would destroy it. If my troops survived, there were plenty of other Fleet ships in the system that could assist in transport.

“Permission to launch shuttles,” I asked on the bridge. “Chances are good.”

“How many?” Wilco leaned back in the captain’s seat.

“All of them.” I displayed a simulation of the operation on the wall. “I won’t be putting myself at risk.”

“Might be a bit overkill,” Wilco mused. “Go ahead. I’ll take responsibility.”

Hundreds of subroutines started the calculations, while several more focused on the technical aspect of getting the shuttles out of the hangars. With the limited window of opportunity, I had seven minutes to destroy the Cassandrian, which meant I had to move in closer until I was almost at point-blank range.

Break off, I’ll be launching all shuttles, I said in the ship comm channel.

That would still leave one, Violent Red reminded.

I’m aware of the calculations, but there’s nothing I can do. One is better than two.

Easy, Kid. I’m just offering to take care of the last one.

How would you do that, Grandpa? Aurora Flame asked. You won’t do much damage with shuttles alone.

I know.

Swarms of escape pods streamed out of the old ship like sparks. The moment I registered them, I knew what he was planning. Realizing it, I now regretted my snarky comment. Vir was going to ram the Cassandrian ship himself. He didn’t expect to survive, more than likely he was going to initiate his self-destruct just to be certain of his success, all for ground troops that weren’t his own.

It was fun serving with you, kids. Keep the battle going and scoop up my crew. They’ve earned this.

There was nothing left to say. Each of us targeted our enemy and waited. Two hundred and ninety-two seconds remained to the first impact. The first of my shuttles would be first, followed by the old battleship twelve seconds later. Simulations had him destroying his target a full minute ahead of me. Even during final shutdown, the experience of an older class trumped all our weapons and tactics.

“Shuttles launched,” I announced on the bridge. “Four minutes until contact.” I ran a long-range scan. “No further reinforcements expected.”

“What’s the state of the shuttle’s external sensors?” Wilco asked.

“All are fully operative, sir.”

“Record a full read of anything in the Cassandrian ship from the moment of impact. Make an external backup copy as well.”

“Understood, sir.”

While this hadn’t been the original goal, the information would prove useful. Despite everything, the Fleet knew few details when it came to Cassandrian drop ships. As best as it could be determined, they were used for troop transport and system colonization. They were also used as weapons. Unlike us, Cassandrians didn’t carpet planet surfaces with missiles. Instead, they had their transport ships drop down through the atmosphere, cratering vast areas. After the blast, their troops would pour out and attack all remaining human troops while also constructing their colony. Officially, few attempts had been made to discover what a drop ship contained. Unofficially, I knew of several breach attempts, all of which ended in failure.

“Displaying feeds.” I segmented the bridge walls into a single grid of video feeds.

The seconds dragged on. The remaining Fleet ships in the system had almost eliminated all enemy forces. Less than a few dozen Cassandrian vessels remained, gathered in clusters in an attempt to prolong their existence. Within two hours, they would have become a memory, but that was too late to help me. Even now, the few ships that were boosting their way towards the seventh planet wouldn’t arrive on time.

“Permission to pick up Violent Red’s escape pods?” I requested. “I have already prepared the necessary space.”

“Sure. How many decks will they take?”

I checked the ship’s specs. The crew was listed as being eighteen thousand, one hundred and twenty-two. No ground troops were present.

“A deck section will be enough.”

“Quarantine it and send in med bots,” Wilco said. “I want all of them to go through a full medical. I’ll inform the cap when he wakes up.”

“Yes, sir.” I made the arrangements. At least some good was going to come of this. Saving a life didn’t make up for the pain caused by losing one, but at least it put things in perspective.

Four minutes on the dot, the first of my shuttles rammed into the dropship. Aurora’s missiles had weakened a section of the hull to the point that the Cassandrian repair-capabilities couldn’t shield the breach. More shuttles followed. The first few dozen popped on the surface, causing minor damage, but as the pressure built on, the enemy hull gave in.

“Focus on that one,” Wilco stood, pointing at one of the many feeds. I blew up the image. There was little I could see—all the thought quarantine allowed me to observe was complete blackness. Wilco, on the other hand, could see everything. His reactions told me he was more than intrigued. “Run a surface scan and give me all atmospheric readings.”

I complied. “Registering high levels of background radiation.” That was unexpected. None of the battle-classes had displayed such readings. “Registering small quantities of xenon, helium, and argon.” I reran my readings several times. “And vast amounts of astatine in gaseous form. Over seventy-eight percent.”

“Astatine…” Wilco whispered.

“Readings indicate it’s decaying at an accelerated rate. However, according to the data, something is constantly producing it.”

“Thanks, Elcy. Full feed quarantine.”

* * *

That had been the first time that I’d learned that astatine was present in Cassandrian drop ships. Throughout the years, other instances had occurred, all of them classified as a footnote of the original report. While everything relating to dropship schematics remained restricted, the presence of astatine wasn’t. Apparently, the bureaucratic apparatus didn’t see the information as significant. Good thing, too, otherwise I wouldn’t have discovered what I was dealing with.

“I’m recommending a full base quarantine.” I quickly stepped back. “And a priority one distress call.”

“Whoa, whoa there, starless.” Notes of alarm rang in ‘Bo’s voice. “You can’t impose a quarantine! We’re the ones that—”

“What did you find, Elcy?” Director Sim interrupted.

“Traces of astatine,” I replied. “I’d speculate the spores are releasing it as a byproduct of a sort of thermosynthesis. At least the ones on the terminal case reacted to the finger lights of my suit and the activation of my visor. I strongly recommend full evacuation.”

Director Sim didn’t respond. At his level of information access, he had to know exactly what I was saying, as well as the possible implications.

“What’s the big deal with astatine?” ‘Bo asked. “Is it toxic or something?”

“It’s radioactive, yes,” Sim began. “However, that is not the issue. As it stands, there’s only one known method to produce it at such speed—Cassandrian thermosynthesis. Elcy, I want you to stay put. Cut all power to lab zero and all affected sectors. I want a full hand sweep for background radiation fluctuations and astatine traces. Immediate purge of all premises near the reactor and artifact rooms.”

I could hear shuffling the background, no doubt people rushing to follow the director’s orders. The level of calm was impressive. Whatever qualms I had with Med Core, this was just another day of work for them. As the ships on the front dealt with war, the people here dealt with quarantines, and after so many decades, they had likely become very good at it.