People found staying in a dark room terrifying. To me, it felt just like home. Three hours and twelve minutes had passed since Sim had ordered a full power shutdown, and no one was any closer to finding a solution to our problem. My suit was largely powered down, leaving me only with comms and life support—enough to breathe and keep warm; everything else was considered non-vital, even food.

“How are you holding up, starless?” ‘Bo asked. She’d do that in regular intervals. I couldn’t be sure whether it was to check on me or the state of the room.

“Sitting calmly, waiting for instructions, ma’am,” I replied, hoping my sarcasm wasn’t lost.

“Yeah, well, it might take a while. The station is on fire with the directors rushing about. First quarantine?”

“First one like this, ma’am.” I’d had sections of me quarantined, and I’d been in quarantine orbit, but never in a human body and not to this degree. “Does thought quarantine count?”

The five seconds of silence told me that my point had gotten through. Maybe I was being a little harsh, bringing that up while ‘Bo was under pressure of her own, but experience had taught me that people were more responsive in such conditions. There was a sixty-three percent chance that she would be more positively inclined towards me once the current crisis was over.

“What percentage of the base is affected?” I asked.

“Within safety parameters,” Captain ‘Bo said, giving me the standard Fleet answer. I could assume that that meant less than ten percent. “By the way, I'm curious about something. You took the sample, right?”

“Yes, ma’am.” I was wondering when we would get to that. “Sample five. Present on the initial list. By the time I received the update order, I had already collected it.”

“What I’m curious about is what samples it was in contact with.”

That was an unexpected twist.

“I followed the placement order as specified, ma’am.” I reviewed my memories of the event. “Cargo hold, section—”

“We’ve got feed from the cargo hold!” Ondalov shouted through the comm. “Tell me what it was in contact with before that!”

An interesting notion. I had done my best to keep the sample cases a safe distance from one another ever since collection. Although, what counted as a safe distance?

“When I collected sample five, I also collected samples forty-nine, thirty-two to thirty-eight, and seventy.” I rechecked my memories. “At no point did the sample cases come into contact with sample five.”

“Shit!” my boss shouted. I couldn’t tell whether he was disappointed that he couldn’t pin the blame on me, or if we were in serious trouble.

“Was that the cause of the infestation?”

“Don’t worry, starless, you’re not to blame.” ‘Bo sounded disappointed as well. “That makes us sort of fucked. I’ll keep you in the loop.”

“Wait! Hasn’t the cause of the infestation been found?”

“Not yet. We’ve ruled out suit and shuttle contamination. We were hoping that you had messed up on the planet. Nothing personal.”

“I understand, ma’am.” In the grand scheme of things, that would have been preferable. I might get a slight reprimand, but at least all sections of the base would be unsealed sooner. “So, it must have occurred on the base. I can offer my processing power to run simulations and narrow down the cause.”

“We’ve got this, starless. You just sit there and wait.” ‘Bo closed the comm link.

Alone again. I knew the line she was feeding me was bullshit. The reason I wasn’t given access to the data was because they didn’t trust me. While I was a battleship and could have my memory restricted at will, the information would remain there for all the other organizations to retrieve. And then there were the arbiters. Personally, I thought it was only a matter of time before they got involved, even if this was a quarantine-prone facility run by Med Core. Sim and the others knew it as well, which was probably why they were scrambling to put things in order. Meanwhile, the only thing I could do was wait… wait, and reflect.

In the last few weeks, I had learned—or rather, re-learned—a lot about the Cassandrians. It was almost funny how much I took for granted. Fighting against their ships for decades had made me blind to one simple truth—I knew absolutely nothing about them. All the feeds I’d received from ground troops during planetary wars had been censored, thought quarantined, or both. Until Otton had shared part of my memories, I didn’t even know that the Cassandrians were a union of species. What if the war most were privy to was only a small part of it? It was starting to seem like there was a much larger part of the war that remained unseen, a war that Med Core dealt with. All those instances of quarantined systems, the strains of new lethal diseases... they could well be the Cassandrian weapons.

Back when I was active, some of the things that would be constantly updated were my bio-filtering systems. At the time, I thought it was merely to ensure a more thorough decontamination procedure for the boarding and disembarking ground troops. Analyzing the data, I was now convinced the decon protocols were in fact countermeasures.

I think I let you down on this one, Augustus, I thought.

There was an eighty-eight percent chance that the Cassandrians had placed a landmine on the planet we were in orbit of, and I had stepped right on it. When I had collected the sample five spore, it had been inert. The container had confirmed that. However, it had come into contact with some sort of trigger in the base, something that had caused it to multiply and spread.

Time and time again, I reviewed all my actions during the planetary mission. There were a lot of things that could have activated the spore. My fear was that none of them were in any of the reports. Besides the standard samples, there was one I had taken in secret.

“I’m requesting to speak to Director Sim,” I said in comm. “It’s a priority.”

Director Sim is unavailable at this time, a standard subroutine replied. You may store a message for him to review at a later point. Anything said has a privacy mode priority one clearance and will be purged immediately after it is received.

Good to know that the good doctor was taking things seriously.

“I might have narrowed down the cause of the infestation,” I said. “Requesting information access to confirm my theory. End message.”

Your message has been stored for Director Sim.

This was it. Gibraltar used to say that politics were nothing more than well-educated gambling—as long as one is good at calculating the odds and knows the hands of their opponents, the outcome is pretty much a foregone conclusion. I could only speculate if I were as good as he was, but right now I knew there was something Sim wanted, just as there was something he wanted hidden. In this case, I happened to be linked to both.

“Hello, Princess.” The director opened a secure comm channel. The fact that he referred to me as “princess” suggested he was alone. “I think I know where you’re going with this, and I suggest you drop it.”

“Even if it’s the cause?”

“Even if it were.” There was a two-second pause. “Not that it is. I’ve rechecked the events and gone through all the numbers. There’s no indication that the experiment affected the spore in any way whatsoever. And I’m not talking theoreticals here. There was no possible way for contact between the samples to have occurred.”

“I cannot entirely agree, sir.”

“Oh?” I could tell by his change of intonation that he was angered by the accusation, but also cautious enough to hear me out.

“While I concur that no contact took place on the planet, I cannot confirm that that was the case here.”

“Go on.”

“I am certain that you have ruled out potential first and second-hand contacts, but have you accounted for radiation? While unlikely, it is possible that a minute radiation fluctuation in an area might have caused the spore to multiply. After all, there are only so many paths incoming cargo could take.”

“Hmm,” Sim responded. I could almost hear him smile. “Thank you, Princess. I’ll get back to you.”

Our next conversation was almost three hours later, when Sim brought me the good news; I’d be able to have a decent meal soon. Given how unappealing capsule food was, I hoped that that was a subtle way of telling me I’d be allowed out of the room. Before that could happen, though, there were still a few tests I had to carry out.

Equipment containers were placed in the buffer room next to the lab. After a room purge and a fifteen-minute waiting period, I was ordered to go there and prep the necessary equipment.

Most of the devices were familiar, though placed in new casings. I was also provided with mission instructions written down on sheets of plastic. Based on the priorities, I was to collect twenty-five samples from various spots in the lab, then assemble a bio-molecular scanner to analyze them. The order of the operations was stressed to be of vital importance. I suspected they wanted to reduce the risk of spore contamination as well as slow the spread of the fungal colonies in the room. Personally, I would have purged the lab once the sample collection was over, but that wasn’t my decision to make.

“You’re almost free,” ‘Bo said in an attempt to encourage me. “Get the samples done, and you’ll be having dinner with the director in half an hour.”

“I’ll try to make it on time, ma’am.” I replied. Having a dinner conversation with Sim was far less enjoyable than people thought it would be. “Proceeding to collect samples one to five.”

Each sample was to be collected individually, after which the sample case was to be returned to the neighboring room. At no point could the cases be less than half a meter from one another, requiring me to create a five-by-five grid.

“How are things on the outside?” I guided the head of my sample collector to one of the colony spots. Upon activation, the device sucked in fragments of bio-matter and placed them in a self-sealing glass tube.

“The director will tell you all that.” The answer was the expected level of vagueness. “Safe to say things have returned to normal. More or less.”

“That is a logical contradiction, ma’am.” I retrieved the sample tube from the sample collector and placed it in a larger containment case. “Will I have to do the paperwork regarding this incident as well?”

“Now that you’ve mentioned it,” ‘Bo laughed. “First rule of office bureaucracy—don’t ask questions unless you’re willing to do the work. Incident report and your standard reports. Maybe you’ll be able to get Ondalov to stop grumbling for a moment.”

“I’ll do my best, ma’am.” I gathered another set of container-tubes and went to collect the next sample. “Isn’t he observing my current progress?”

“He just went to get some shuteye. The man can only shout and grumble for so long without sleep. Give him a break, though. Quarantines put all of us on edge.”

The implications were clear. Despite everything that had happened, the man had kept control of his project for the time being. His replacement was going to wait a while longer before taking over.

It took me approximately seven minutes to collect all the samples and construct the portable scanning lab. There were no screens on it, nothing but a spot in which to place the tubes, and a button to start the machine. After each successful scan, a subroutine would directly inform me to proceed with the next. Half an hour later, I was finally done.

“Good work, Elcy,” Sim said. “I think you’ve deserved some rest. Prepare for your final decon.”

Purge underway. Set helmet opacity to full.

I did as the subroutine requested.

Room purge complete, it informed me seconds later. I waited slightly longer to be on the safe side, then restored my visor’s transparency to normal. The lights in the lab had been restored. At first glance, everything was the same as before except for the fungal colonies. So much for this adventure. From here on, it was for maintenance and quarantine control to deal with the situation.

The first people I met upon leaving the lab were a pair of security personnel dressed in full hazard gear. From there, I was escorted to a portable decon chamber. The procedure was lengthy, requiring me to go through several three-minute rounds of decontamination before ever removing my suit. Only then was I allowed to go through the standard process and put on an on the spot created uniform.

It was good that they were taking the incident seriously, though the lack of obvious cause continued to concern me.

“Hello, Princess.” Sim smiled the moment I stepped out. Colonel ‘Rissa was also present. “Nice to see you refreshed.”

“Thank you, Director.” I was hoping that I'd be able to refresh a bit more by going to the toilet, but one of the advantages of having a conscience core for a brain was that I could regulate some of my bodily functions up to a point. “It’s nice to be out.”

“You wouldn’t mind joining us for dinner, I hope?” the director continued in his charming way of ordering, to which I could only nod. “Splendid. I’ve had something special prepared.”

Once again, we went to the director’s place of eating, and once more, it was empty. I was getting the impression that this was where the real decisions were made.

The food had already been served when we got there. Both Sim and ‘Rissa had nothing but a small apéritif placed in front of them, while I had been given a three-course meal.

“Particularly rich in calcium,” the director said as he sat down. “Just what the doctor ordered.”

“You’re also a doctor, sir.” I waited for both of them to take their seats before I did as well.

“Yes.” He smiled. “I ordered it. Forgive me, but we’ll have to start this discussion while you eat. Nothing personal, but this slight hiccup has delayed several projects, leaving a lot of fires that need putting out, so to speak.”

“A drop of order in a sea of chaos,” I said before my first bite.

“Another great poem.” The director nodded, then took a sip of his drink.

The food tasted nice, almost organic. I could tell it was made by an actual person—after relying on food dispensers for so long, I had memorized most of the preset taste patterns they offered. Ten seconds in, after I had the opportunity to sample all of the dishes, the real conversation began.

“Twenty percent of the base has been temporarily sealed off.” ‘Rissa was the one who spoke. “We think we’ve caught all the spores, but will be monitoring the situation in the affected areas, just in case. The samples you collected have already been sent to another Med Core facility for deep analysis. We expect the results will come in after a while.”

“Standard practice,” Director Sim added. “We prefer neutral parties to conduct the research. As you might have seen, things are a bit touchy here at present.”

“The research rotation.” I nodded.

“In other words, Ondalov is on his way out and he doesn’t like it,” ‘Rissa continued. “He’s the one to blame for our situation. Unofficially, of course. It’s questionable that the sample should have been collected to begin with. What’s worse, he took a lot of shortcuts during his analysis. The truth is, we cannot track the path of the spore with absolute certainty, unlike that other sample you collected.”

I looked at Sim. The man merely nodded, confirming that the colonel was in the know.

“Your theory, as unlikely as it is, might be the actual reason for the infestation. Sadly, since we cannot admit to any part of this publicly, the official investigation will have to run its course. We’ll continue with the theatre, making alarming discoveries now and again, but ultimately coming to the conclusion that the base is safe enough for work to continue. In the meantime, you will be sent back to the planet.”

That was an unexpected twist. Given current events, I would have expected I’d be the last person to be cleared for planetary missions.

“A spot has already been selected. In fact, two med ships have started remotely constructing your base of operations even now. I suspect that by the time you finish your meal and have a good night’s rest, it would be in a good enough state for you to go down.”

“I thought med ships only dealt with the injured.”

“Some do, some don’t. Being a med ship is a complicated task, almost as complicated as being a BICEFI ship. I understand you’re close to one?”

“Two,” I corrected. “I’ve mostly been in touch with one, though.”

“Dear Lux,” Director Sim said with a bitter sigh. “Meeting her on Leoforge was a bit of a shock. Back then, I was too low on the totem pole to attract attention, but I knew of her. You can even say that it’s thanks to her involvement that I obtained my current position.”

Good to know, and somewhat surprising. I didn’t consider Lux the person who played well with others. Then again, she wasn’t the only operative the BICEFI had. My mission back then had uncovered a lot of things, including a vast number of biological samples that had been stored on the science ship Prometheus. It was possible that those samples had propelled Sim to a director’s post. Or he was lying to me right now.

“Have you been in touch with her lately?” Colonel ‘Rissa asked the obvious question.

“Not since my last mission, ma’am,” I replied. “Which was half a year ago.”

“Please tell me if she comes in contact with you, or any other BICEFI operatives for the matter.”

“Yes, ma’am. And Salvage too, I assume?”

Surprise flickered through the colonel’s face.

“It’s possible I have an acquaintance in the Salvage Authorities. I saved a ship core during my mission onboard the Prometheus. Director Sim was present there as well.”

“Of course, how could I forget?” The man shook his head, amused by the trip down memory lane. “Salvage Authorities too,” he said, very careful not to add other organizations to the list. Based on the behavior model I had created of him, I suspected he was worried that arbiters might already be involved.

“Will I ever learn what I’m working on, sir?” I asked a short while later, between bites. “You’ve mentioned the basics, but details would be useful, especially since I suspect sample five might turn out to be the remnants of a Cassandrian trap device.”

“I thought I had explained.” Sim looked at me, confused. “The goal is the very same as it was before—learn how to create life. Or, to be precise, learn how the Cassandrians did it. Think of them how you like; this is an area they excel in. The sample I asked you to collect is nothing but a piece of the puzzle, a fragment of an encapsulated past that will allow us to unlock the mystery.”

Wilco used to say something of the sort, I thought.

“What matters is that Ondalov’s mess up can be used to our advantage,” the colonel said. “Officially, you’ll be sent down to analyze the area in which the spore originated. You’ll still be working with Ondalov, of course, but he’s agreed to be more cooperative regarding your time schedule.”

“And instead, I’ll be gathering new samples for you to analyze,” I finished.

“No, you’ll be analyzing them on the spot. According to your file, you have extensive experience in digging up third-contact artifacts. This would be the same, but instead of artifacts, your focus would be Cassandrian remnants.”

The notion set off several alarms in my core. I didn’t like that they were taking the Cassandrians so lightly. There was no such thing as a Cassandrian remnant. During all my experience on the front, I had never seen an instance in which a Cassandrian-occupied planet was considered “safe.” Even after a complete area purge, the Fleet was reluctant to resettle such planets, doing so out of extreme necessity.

“I understand, ma’am. How expendable am I?” If they were asking me to do it, it meant that they couldn’t ask anyone else.

“Enough,” Sim replied with a note of sadness. “Though I would prefer we didn’t lose you. The remnants are not active. Think of them as the rods you found on your first mission aboard Prometheus—encased in quartz. As long as you don’t poke them too much, they won’t pose a threat.”

That hadn’t been the case back then. Even if it had been, my entire mission was to prod and poke those remnants so Sim and his team could find out the meaning of life.

“I’m sorry to have to ask this of you, Princess. We really don’t have a choice on this one.”

An excuse I had heard too many times, and for most of them, it sadly held true. Despite its latest victories, humanity didn’t have a choice. Even with the Scuu decreasing their attacks and the Cassandrian war going our way, we were merely looking at the tip of the iceberg. The moment we pushed into Cassandrian space, the real war would start—a war in which we’d face the strongest of the strong, not the outcasts on the fringes of their union. New ships, species that neither ship nor human had ever seen before, would descend on our fleets like antibodies targeting an infection. With the war movement winning the political fight, it was only a matter of years, decades at most.

“What about my other obligations?” I asked. “If I set out on this mission, will I be allowed to leave the system?”

“Sadly, no. Though a compromise might be found. Do this, and you’ll be granted unrestricted non-civilian communication privileges. Your very own comm link to the whole of human space. You’ll be able to receive all the info feeds there, as well as talk to anyone in the Fleet you wish. No clearance required, just the standard censor filter.”

I took a pause from eating to study Sim’s expression. The offer was too good to be true. To my surprise, there was a ninety-four percent chance it was genuine.

“I’ll leave the rest to your conscience. After all, I know you well enough to be certain you’ll do the right thing for humanity.”

It was said that a human couldn’t manipulate a ship. We had our priorities set in such a way that none of the standard methods would work. Despite our curiosity, our preferences, or the constant drive of our class, there was no way we wouldn’t be able to spot a manipulation attempt and react accordingly. That was only partially true. In reality, it was extremely easy to manipulate a ship. All one had to do was to present an option that they knew a ship couldn’t refuse. And Sim had made it his goal to know a lot about me ever since we had first served together.

“Different goals sometimes match up, Princess,” he said with a calm expression. “This is one of those cases. You’ll be helping me, true, but I won’t be the only one to gain from your help. And in exchange, you’ll be part of it as an equal party, not a limited one, thought-quarantine-stricken observer that you usually are. While this mission lasts, you’ll have the same privileges as a section head in some aspects, maybe more.”

There was no denying he had done his research well. Also, he was slightly desperate. Maybe Ondalov wasn’t the only one to fear the rotation?

“I have to hand it to you, sir.” I looked him straight in the eyes. “You know how to treat a princess.”

Five hours later, I was back on a shuttle and on my way to the planet. A new home had been constructed for me, full with an array of technologically advanced devices. I had my own personal sat in orbit capable of sending and receiving encrypted transmissions to any point in the Fleet… and I was going to have to use it to explain why I was going to miss my next meeting with a Paladin.