People like to say they wanted to go out in a blaze of glory. In truth, even the few that really meant it couldn’t. That was a privilege reserved for ships.

I had seen millions of ships burst in flames, some flashing so bright that they blotted out the stars from my sensors. In one instance, I had seen an entire planet explode in a star system, destroying thousands and crippling even more. It was me who had triggered that event, and it was starting to look like I might do the same here once more.

“Weapon check,” I said loudly.

A series of mechanical clicks echoed around me as forty high-trained soldiers checked and loaded their heavy assault rifles. They weren’t as good as some of the troopers I’d carried in my day, but the best that I had at my disposal. Hopefully, they would prove to be enough.

According to my simulations, they were a bit too numerous to provide optimal combat capability. I had requested that the squad be limited to twenty people, but the Colonel was adamant. I was to proceed with forty and that was it. No doubt someone higher in the hierarchy had given the order. I could only hope that it was based on information I wasn’t privy to rather than on a whim.

“Systems check,” I said again once all firearms became held up, nuzzle to the ceiling. “Verbal confirmation.”

The plan was supposed to be simple—go to the specified location, killing anything in our path, and retrieve the Cassandrian prism. If possible, I was to take the item intact, or destroy it if I had no alternative. However, as everyone who faced Cassandrians knew, there was no such thing as a simple plan.

“Check,” several people from my squad said.

“Check,” more joined in in waves until everyone was all set.

I would have preferred if the suits were modified, but sadly that wasn’t an option. Both the colonel and external orders were very explicit—we were to keep tech to a minimum. I was the only person that was allowed to carry anything more sophisticated than a portable scanner, and all I was granted was a hand laser drill and prototype wall cutting equipment.

“Listen up,” I said. It was time to repeat the mission objectives.

Back when I was a ship, I found the constant briefings wasteful. It was only after being a human for a while, when I discovered the real purpose, there were so many of them: people like to be reassured and there was nothing more reassuring than telling someone that a mission was possible. The mind would take over, giving them something to hope for.

“It’s the same as the sweeps. We follow the plotted path, find the target, and get back here. Chances are the Cassies are low on reinforcements or we’d be dead by now.”

There was no point getting into details—the conclusions I’d reached were based on classified info, and chances were they weren’t going to understand it, anyway.

“We split in two teams and keep it tight. One group in front, the second protecting the rear. I’ll be with the first group. We’ll be a hundred meters apart in case there’s an ambush on the way. If anything happens, Sergeant ??? takes over.”

Several people looked at each other. Even with high opacity, I could tell by their overall body movements.

“We reach the target, snatch it, and return here. With luck, the drilling team would have finally reached us by then. They say they are less than an hour away.”

Annoyed sighs of disbelief and mockery filled the comm channel. After so many deadlines, no one really believed anything the rescue team said. According to them, they should have reached us days ago.

“I know, I know,” I tried to mimic the attitude of several hundred veterans I had observed in the past. “We all have thoughts on the matter, but as long as we retrieve the object, we’ll have something they want, that will give them an incentive to get it done this time. Questions?”

There were none. Everyone was clear on what they had to do. All that mattered now was the execution.

“Let’s move.” I rushed down the corridor. The rest of my team followed.

“Almost inspiring,” Colonel ‘Rissa said on a restricted channel. “You might be officer material, after all.”

“Thank you, ma’am.” I had heard that said before too many times. “Any work from the research base?”

“It’s still restricted.”

“Which means there’s no telling what Ondalov has done.”

“One thing at a time, Elcy. Let’s get out of here first, then we’ll deal with whatever mess follows.”

“Aye, ma’am.”

We kept dashing along the corridor for about twelve hundred meters. The entire area was full of our makeshift sensors, giving us an early warning should be come upon hostiles. The fact that there were none worried me slightly. Based on my simulations, the most likely explanation was that the Cassandrians were really low on fighters, keeping what little they had in vicinity to the prism.

“Halt,” I said in comm. “Second squad, keep position for one minute. First squad, keep your eyes peeled. Dark area starts in two hundred and seventeen meters. After that, anything is possible.”

“Roger,” the sergeant said through comm. Several more people acknowledge my order.

Soon enough, I reached the end of the explored section. From here on, we were entering the unknown. No personnel had ventured further even before the Cassandrian attacks. There were no bunkers, no lights, only a series of theoretical maps composed when the section of the planet was scanned. Provided that the Cassies hadn’t changed the layout—which still remained highly uncertain—we were to continue just over two kilometers straight forward, then drill a hole in the floor and drop down three hundred twenty-nine meters in what was supposed to be an empty shaft. The last few times I’d done something similar, things had always gone badly.

Third time’s the charm, I told myself.

“Lieutenant, you’re leaving the monitored area,” someone from base camp informed me. “Please keep us appraised of the situation.”

“I’ll be sure to let you know when we fall into a trap,” I replied. “Assume that no news is good news.”

“That’s… Yes, ma’am. I’ll keep it in mind.”

The colonel was probably going to shout at me for my attitude. After all, I wasn’t a cadet anymore. Taking my sidearm, I continued forward. Light slowly decreased as I walked on until it was nearly gone. From here I could only rely on scan layout. In turn, my squad could only rely on me.

“I’ll go ahead,” I said. “Keep ten steps behind me at all times unless I say otherwise. Turning on track lights.“ I flipped the switch. Faint lights on my gear were supposed to light up, letting my team to see me. It was very crude and low tech, but the best Med Core could come up, given the circumstances. “Do you see me?”

“Yes, ma’am,” several people from my squad replied, reluctance ringing in their voice. I could only hope that things would get better further in.

For the most part, the readings I was given proved to be accurate. The tunnels were where they had been, their condition was roughly the same, although on a few occasions I came across obstacles that weren’t supposed to be present. Whether that was due to scanning errors, or the Cassies had made changes recently remained unclear. Each time I stopped and used a finger light to examine the obstacle, and each time it turned to be rocks and millennia old chitin.

After finishing, I raised my hand and waved, giving the agreed all clear sign to my squad, then moved on. After a while, I reached the first scheduled drop spot. It was time to get creative.

“Squad lead two, status report,” I said through comm.

“No surprises, ma’am,” the sergeant reported. “All smooth so far.”

“Base point, anything on your end?”

“Observed locations are clear, ma’am. No activity observed.”

So far, so good. I took a beacon marker from my belt and placed it on the ground.

“Squad one, you have the location. I’ll check ahead. Squad two, be on guard. We’re at the first choke point, so if something happens it’ll be now.”

A wave of confirmation responses flooded the comm. I waited for a few moments for it to clear, then moved forward.

According to the scan data, the tunnel continued for another two hundred meters, after which it split up in multiple branches. This was the furthest I could safely go. Anything beyond would be meaningless.

All this tech and you still didn’t give me a sensor, I thought. This was why I disliked bureaucracies so much. They focused heavily on things they considered important, while completely ignoring all details. Using explosive was strictly out of the question, as tempting as it was to have a few mines to scatter about, with potential artifacts about there was no telling what the strength of the yield would end up being.

“Base point, I’m at the intersection past the entry point,” I said in comm. “No movement so far.”

“Roger that, ma’am. You are clear to proceed with—"

“Elcy,” ‘Rissa cut in. “You’re taking too long. Orders are to not deviate from the main objective.”

“This is the main objective, ma’am.” I replied. “Going down an unsecured drop shaft isn’t sound tactical advice.”

“You know what I mean. Secure the spot, drop down and get on with it. The sooner you find the target, the sooner we can get out of this.”

That was an interesting choice of words. Did that mean that the rescue team had paused until I reached the prism? It did sound something a bureaucratic organization would do.

“Understood, ma’am. Heading to spot now.” I closed the comm link.

My team was waiting for me when I got there. They were fidgety, almost eager to get this thing over with, regardless of the consequences. That wasn’t a good sign, but something I could use, as Gibraltar liked to say. If there was one thing he exceled in, it was using people’s emotional state to further his goals. On the front, that was often seen as an advantage.

“Two three-man teams spread out,” I said as I prepped my drilling gear. “I want you to guard both parts of the tunnel, front and back, fifty meters out. If anything approaches, shoot on sight. Nothing is supposed to be here. Sergeant, pick the teams.”

As the man did as asked, I doublechecked my exact position with the layout I was given, then turned on my finger lights and started drilling.

When Sev was a child, he found that game quite fun. His children did as well. Living on a rural backwater planet, people found simple activates just as fun as the virtual media. That started to change as the city grew larger, but it never went away. I remembered the excitement on my ward’s face as he drilled holes along a pattern on a thin plank of wood until a shape emerged. In theory, Sev was supposed to file the edges off, then paint it, but that was something that I ended up doing more often than not. Thankfully, here I only had to drill four openings. The rest I was going to cut out.

With the first hole I drilled, I made sure to check the thickness of the layer. According to my data, it was supposed to be half a meter. In reality, it turned out a quarter more. Once done, I pushed a grappling rod—tied to a reinforced steel cable—then pushed it down. The moment I heard a click I stopped.

“Hold this,” I said to the nearest person.

That done, I moved on to the nest hole.

“Ma’am,” the sergeant asked in a private comm. “Won’t it be easier if we did this simultaneously?”

“Bureaucracies don’t work that way,” I gave a laconic response.

Once all four holes were done with cables attached, I moved onto the next part.

“This might get a bit a bit loud,” I warned.

To my surprise, it wasn’t. If nothing else, Med Core’s prototype tech was considerably better than anything the rest of the Fleet had. Only the Salvage Authorities could potentially come close. The cutting tool slices through the floor like jelly. As each segment was cut out, two of my squad pulled it out to the side. When I was done, there was a perfect two-meter hole extending down into the darkness. Now the tricky part began.

“Attach the cables,” I ordered.

Two cable winches were quickly drilled on opposite sides of the hole.

“I’ll be going first,” I said as I put on my harness. “Once I give the all clear, three groups of three join. The rest stay here and protect the entrance.”

“Will three groups be enough, ma’am?” someone asked.

“Those are our best odds,” I lied. That was the second-best option according to my simulations, but after my experience facing the Scuu, I tended to avoid the optimal outcome unless I had no other choice. “Report every five minutes. Keep in touch with the sentry groups every minute.”

“Corporal Listra is in charge. Sergeant, you’re with me.”

I took hold of my sniper rifle. Using it in a drop shaft was out of the question, but I still had to make sure it remained in one piece. The practice was discouraged for normal soldiers, but I was anything but normal.

“Going down.”

Weightlessness followed. The sensation was very welcome, reminding me of my time I moved through space, nothing but darkness around me. And just as in space, the thing I was worried the about most were mine traps. We had already fallen victim to that danger once, and I wanted to make sure we didn’t again.

Every thousand milliseconds I sent a ping transmission through the comm. The transmission was immediately blocked by Fleet security protocols, but at least it told me that the connection was still active. After a minute and seventeen seconds, the floor was finally in sight.

Just like in a mine, I thought.

“I’ve reached waypoint two,” I said the instant my feet touched the ground. Flinger lights still on, I did a three-sixty rotation, checking out my surroundings. The new tunnel I was matched with the layout. Just to be sure, I looked through the sights of my rifle, pointing forward. “No hostiles present,” I said. “Sergeant, go.”

Putting the rifle back on my back, I took hold of the second cord end. Moments later, I felt the vibrations. The sergeant was a lot more cautions than me, taking twice as long to reach the bottom. It wasn’t his fault, he was only human, but in this case, I would have appreciated if he could have gone faster.

“All good?” I asked.

“Haven’t done this since the academy, ma’am,” he replied with a shiver in his voice.

“Good thing there’s adrenalin for that.” I detached the end of my cable. “First pair, go.”

It approximately ten minutes for the entire group to gather. Getting back up was going to be a lot longer. In thirty percent of my simulations, I was the only one who made it out to the upper tunnels. The fact that no one attacked so far was encouraging—at least I could hope that the enemy’s last stand was going to be at the prism itself.

“Two groups stay here,” I said. “The rest, with me.”

“You’re spreading yourself too thin,” the colonel said through comm. “The artifact is your main priority! Gather your entire squad and head to the final location.”

Sadly, I wasn’t surprised. The goal was the artifact all along. All of our lives were expendable. Whoever was overseeing this didn’t see any point in us guarding our escape route because we weren’t meant to escape. Of course, every bureaucracy had its own weaknesses.

“Unable to comply, ma’am.” I gestured to my group to get going. “Charging in will reduce the chance of us acquiring the prism intact. The tunnels aren’t wide enough to provide an advantage to a large group. Following hit and grab tactics, there will be someone to transfer the device to the next group and then to you.” I paused two seconds for effect. “You can run some battle simulations to confirm.”

There was no response. After another few seconds ‘Rissa closed the connection.

“You really pissed them off, ma’am,” the sergeant said. “I don’t think they’ll like that once this is over.”

“I’m used to it by now. Besides, there’s nothing they can do about it.”

“I hear you, ma’am.” He laughed. “Do you think their simulations will match with yours?”

“Probably.”

As regrettable as it was, I doubted that anyone cared enough. Battle simulations were a magnificent tool, vital for many victories, and at the same time they were severely underused. For some reason, people still doubted them when it came to small groups. With the processing power of the strategy core-clusters and the Fleet’s disposal, it was more than possible to increase trooper survival rates by a third at least, and yet they were rarely used. The official explanation was that strategy clusters were only needed for complex calculations, so everything else was left to local ship cores. The problem with that was that ground troops were specifically considered not part of a ship’s crew so they didn’t impact our decision-making process. As one of the old veterans of my first crew used to say “somewhere along the line, a few bureaucratic wires got crossed.”

Quietly, I led my group forward until we reached the final section of our trip—the maze tunnels area. Under normal circumstances, it was going to take us hours to follow tunnels through this section until we reached the target chamber. However, with a bit of wall cutting, we had the option of creating a few shortcuts.

The process was simple: I would drill a few holes as before, put a few grappling rods inside, then cut out an opening, while the rest of the squad stood ready protecting my back. Once done, we’d pull the blocking chunk and move onward. This was the most critical part of the mission. There were too many tunnels and openings to be guarded, so we had to keep close and hope that we didn’t trigger a Cassandrian booby trap of sorts. After the fifth opening, I decided to let my team take a break. There was no point in exhausting them for the final charge. The colonel and the people above her, no doubt would have found the risk unacceptable, so I didn’t inform them. Based on decades of observation and data gathering, I had estimated that there was a sixty-three percent they wouldn’t risk creating further stress by getting involved at such a late point. The comm silence showed that I was correct.

“What do you think we’ll find there, ma’am?” my sergeant asked.

“If we’re lucky, what we came for,” I replied. “If we’re not, a little more. Worried?”

“It’s been too quiet so far,” the man voiced what the rest of my squad was thinking. While I agreed that the odds were against it, I didn’t share the superstitious believes people held. They tended to believe in the notion of cosmic averages, thus the easier something was, the greater the chance—they thought—of something terrible happening later on to compensate. As a battleship, I knew that there was no such relation.

“If it will make you feel better, if there’s any trouble it’ll be beyond this wall.” I tapped on it with my hand.

The sergeant and several others budged, startled by my action.

“That doesn’t make me feel better, ma’am,” the man grumbled.

“All squads, anything on your end?” I asked in general comm.

“Waypoint one, all clear.”

“Sentinel one, no hostiles.”

“Sentinel two, all clear.”

“Clear on waypoint two.”

“Combat readiness. We’ll be doing the final breach.” I stood up. It was time to do what had come for.

I didn’t drill any holes in this wall. Calmly, I sliced the opening with all three members of my squad holding their rifles at the ready. This time, I held the cutter at a reverse angle, making it easier for the slab to be pushed in. Once done, I took a step back and kicked the wall.

The piece of rock fell forward into the chamber with a slam. As it did, I grabbed my sidearm and rushed inside. Using my finger lights, I scanned the chamber, aiming at all the key enemy locations according to my simulations. To my slight surprise, there was no one there.

There really is such a thing as luck, I thought. According to all my simulations, there was less than a twelve percent chance that we wouldn’t encounter any enemies on our way to the prism, yet here we were.

“Stay outside,” I said to the group with me. The troopers instantly moved to a defensive position, weapons aimed in all directions, fanning out from the chamber opening. “Base point, I’ve reached the target.” I moved quickly to the spot that the prism was supposed to be. “No hostiles. I see a large chunk of what appears to be coral. If the scans are correct, the prism is supposed to be inside. I can cut off from the base, but it’s too large to carry. What are your orders?”

This definitely wasn’t in the data I was given. Either the newly emerged Cassandrians had covered the artifact with a protective coating or—more likely—the data I was given had been modified to hide that fact from me.

“Cut out the prism,” the order came, though it wasn’t Colonel ‘Rissa speaking. “Do not damage it.”

“That’ll take a while.” I ran a few hundred simulations. It didn’t help that the prism was large enough on its own. With the access stone, it was going to take at least one other person to assist, potentially two. “I estimate seven minutes.”

“Retrieve the prism. Those are your orders.”

“Looks like you don’t have much of a choice, ma’am,” the sergeant said.

“No, looks like, I don’t.” Holstering my weapon, I got to it.

In theory, if I managed to remove the prism fast enough, the entire nest would be drained of energy, ensuring that no Cassandrian reinforcements arrived. However, that also meant that the ones that were already active would be forced to react, and from what we had seen, there were Cassies in the hive.

“All squads, prepare for incoming.” I took out the cutting equipment and started shaving off parts of the rock. “Lights on, shoot the moment you feel anything’s off.”

“Do you think we’re in for a surge, ma’am?” the corporal from waypoint one asked.

“I don’t want to find out.”

Augustus used to say that rushing was an act of desperation. However, he also said that delaying was the tactic of failure. He always was a controversial and complicated captain. In my current predicament, I preferred to be desperate.

A large slab of the rock slid off. There was nothing indicating whether the prism was in the remaining section. Just to be sure, I paused for a moment and used my hand scanner to check. No cobalt deposits were present. Either the prism was a copy or there wasn’t one to begin with. The best I could hope for was for the data to be correct and there really was one, or this would have been most dangerous goose chase I’d been on since returning to the Fleet.

Without hesitation, I moved to another side. This side took a little longer, as if there was a harder substance. That concerned me slightly, so I curved the cutter, removing only a segment of rock instead of the whole side. Looking closely at the cut, there didn’t see anything out of the ordinary. If the prism was here, I hadn’t damaged it.

“Everything alright, ma’am?” the sergeant asked.

“Yes,” I replied and went back to slicing off the slide. “False alarm. I should have this out in—"

“Mission team, you have hostiles!” the communications officer from Base point said. “I repeat, you have hostiles. We caught three groups on sensors. There may be more.”

Not good, I thought. This was precisely what I was concerned about.