Radiance was a good ship in many ways. When I first met her a few years ago, she was an experimental class—the best, cutting edge tech the Fleet had to offer. She was far smaller than I had been, though fast, maneuverable, and with more processing power than a science ship. Originally, she was the ship my training station roommate had been assigned to, which is how I ended up becoming her mentor in an unofficial capacity. I would like to think that I had helped her as much as my training instructor had helped me. Maybe I had, but there was one aspect in which I had failed. Back during our previous mission together, I had warned her not to join the BICEFI. Apparently, the young auxiliary ship had other opinions on the matter.

Her new title was junior orbital operative. In theory, she was supposed to assist me with everything I needed, from orbital scans to BICEFI data, and—if needed—orbital strikes. In practice, I knew that she would be the one calling the shots. Dark organizations liked to work that way, taking the role of advisors, so nothing could be traced back to them. The one thing that was somewhat on my side was the personal relationship we’d had. Ships were very impressionable at a young age. Given the time at which I got involved in her life, she probably still thought of me as her mentor. Personally, I hoped I’d never have to resort to playing that card.

It took a total of seventy milliseconds for me to bring her up to speed with my current mission. Most of it, Rad already knew. What she didn’t, she was eager to learn, and extremely supportive. The only argument was whether we should go into the mission blind or do a proper reconnaissance. Considering my suspicions, I wanted to keep orbital scans to minimum and only do them when at location. Radiance, or rather her superiors, was against it. A compromise was attempted, but I put my foot down—either the mission was going to go as I ordered, or not at all. Faced with such a binary ultimatum, the BICEFI backed off.

Once our discussion concluded, my team was given access to the Doom Bell files. As the lieutenant colonel had said, the mission was supposed to involve underwater reconnaissance of an area of interest. The unclassified scans of the area showed large cobalt deposits, although not so large as to consider them a dome. There also seemed to be an underwater cave network in the area, although that remained unconfirmed. The original mission approach involved modified shuttle mods submerging to the location, at which point three-quarters of the ground team—all dressed in exo gear—were to proceed with exploring the area, while the rest focused on cobalt retrieval. All in all, it was an adequate plan. The only modifications I made were quantitative. The initial team was supposed to be composed of three twenty-member squads. I proposed five hundred members each, and after an hour of hesitation, it was finally approved. Of course, I had received a number of one-to-one communications with Colonel ‘Rissa, Director Sims, and someone from BICEFI who hadn’t identified himself. Ultimately, all three agreed with me that speed was of the essence rather than surprise.

Roughly half an hour after I received the go-ahead, the first set of modified shuttles started landing. All ground leaders of my team proceeded to prep and gather their squads, after which the boarding process began.

Thanks, by the way, Radiance transmitted.

For what?

For all the advice you gave me back on Gregorius. It helped me a lot going forward.

I definitely hope so. How much of it do you remember? I approached the subject subtly.

All of it. They granted me access to most of my memories once I joined the BICEFI. The ones I spent with you, at least.

That’s good. Although I would have preferred that she had a way of viewing everything. In different circumstances, I would have offered to share my mind scalpel, though that was before she joined a dark organization.

Lux sends her best, by the way. As does Sobre.

It was too much to hope that Lux had forgiven me for botching her previous mission. However, maybe she had mellowed a bit. She hadn’t specified what class she had been before transferring to the BICEFI, so I couldn’t perform a simulation analysis. Having Sobre show interest suggested that she must have been the one who initiated Radiance. Either that, or she still had illusions of recruiting me.

Give them my best, I transmitted.

The door to my quarters slid open. Jespersen stood there, his frown so deep he could pass as a child’s drawing. While he hadn’t spoken to me directly, it was no secret that he preferred not to be part of the mission. After what he had been through, there was no blaming him; unfortunately, I needed someone who could serve as my scientific backup, and there was no one better.

“They’re ready for you,” the man said.

“Let’s not keep them waiting.” I put the datapad in my pocket and left the room.

Junior officers stood to attention as I walked through the corridors. The rumors had made their way through the base. Everyone knew the rough details of my mission, as well as how I intended to execute it. Med Core was going to have a problem on their hands later, but for now they persistently ignored all the breaches that had taken place. After all, with the system and the planet under full physical and communications quarantine, no harm could be done. Personally, I found it refreshing to know this was one mess I wasn’t responsible for. However, none of that would matter if I failed at the task I’d been given. There were too many careers at stake and as mission commander, I would take the blame.

Want me to transfer a message to your ward? Radiance offered.

Weren’t communications one way only? I asked as I made my way towards decontamination.

For you, not for me.

I hesitated. It had been a while since I’d sent any letters to Sev. There was a time when I’d compose one every day. Back then, there was no one else to take care of him. Alexander was brand new and there was no guarantee that Sev wouldn’t send him away under some pretext. Now, a large part of the family went to visit him nearly every day. There would be more if Sev refused to stubbornly remain in his house, but agreed to move to the colony.

Do you have clearance to send images? I asked.

I can clear it. What do you want me to send?

Some images of this place before the surges. And the following message: Hello, Sev. Sorry for not writing sooner. I’ve been given new responsibilities that take a lot of my time. Maybe things will be better in a few weeks, but with things popping up, one never knows. The main thing is that I haven’t caused any trouble so far. Some of my superiors are actually pleased with my work. Quite a change from the last few years. If things keep going this way, I’ll be an officer next time I come visit.

I paused. There was so much more I could say, but so little the censor protocols would allow through.

How are the kids? I continued. I suspect that you have Alexander checking on them in secret, even Liski. I can’t make any promises, but if you let me know where’s stationed, I can try to keep an eye to make sure he’s fine.

“Chamber three, ma’am,” a soldier said as I entered the decontamination area. “Your suit’s been prepped.”

I nodded in confirmation.

Greet everyone for me, and take care of your health, I kept on transmitting to Radiance. Be well. Elcy.

That’s all? Radiance asked after a three second pause.

That’s all. That and a few pictures.

You weren’t very truthful. Do you always write your letters like this?

Sometimes. People don’t usually want to know the truth. They want to know that people they care about are fine.

Yeah, I’ve noticed. Just one more of their peculiarities.

Decontamination was longer than expected. In addition to the obligatory spore and bio check, I had to also submit to a nanite inspection. Apparently, there had been a few cases of malfunctions on the battlefield. While the exact cause remained unknown, Med Core had decided to unilaterally remove whatever traces there were from its personnel on the planet in the hopes of preventing future incidents. This was their area of expertise, but I had serious doubts about the benefits of such an approach. This wasn’t Scuu territory. Removing all the internal nanites was likely to do more harm than good. At the end of the day, it was their decision.

Decontamination complete, a subroutine informed me. You’re cleared to equip your suit.

Thank you. I proceeded to do just that.

The suit was massive, making me appear several inches taller than I actually was. Surrounded with shielding of advanced metal alloys, it was capable of providing full protection at depths far greater than the deepest sea on this planet, with no loss of flexibility. The changes in body proportions required custom designed weapons. Sadly, those weren’t here.

“Where’s my weapon?” I asked as I climbed into the suit.

“All auxiliary equipment has already been loaded on your shuttle, ma’am,” a voice replied. Cross-referencing the voice print with the Fleet’s database, I was able to see that the private in question had arrived less than twenty-seven hours ago.

“General comm check.” I activated my suit’s internal communicator.

“We hear you loud and clear, Elcy,” ‘Rissa replied. “Lag Is minimal. We estimate you’ll get up to two seconds when you reach your alpha point.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Colonel.” If she said two seconds, it was likely five. “Radiance, how is lag on your end?”

“That is my lag,” the ship replied. “I’m the one retransferring it to the base.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

“That’s the only way to get through the comm quarantine.”

We both knew that not to be true. Fleet Command could issue any order they liked. The reason that all communications went through Radiance was because as a BICEFI ship, she now had full discretion on what to send and what not to.

Once I left the decon chamber, I had to wait for several minutes more for Jespersen to get ready. Unlike me, he wasn’t overly motivated, so he took his time putting on the gear. As tempting as it was to urge him to hurry up, I chose to refrain. He was under enough pressure as it was and adding more would be counterproductive. Augustus would have disapproved, of course. In his book, the only way to test a soldier was to stack on pressure until they broke. That way it’d become apparent where a person’s limits were and would also separate the skilled from the quitters.

That worked for you quite well, Augustus, but this is my mission, so I’ll use my own methods. I don’t need more broken soldiers…

* * *

XN-104, Cassandrian Buffer Zone 614.2 A.E. (Age of exploration)

There was no official announcement when the second tour ended. I had reminded Augustus twice and since he had ignored me both times, I didn’t do so again. The crew and staff that had flown with him for over a decade knew the drill and calmly went about their standard routine. I remained divided on the subject. Even after all this time with him as my captain, I believed that there were certain appearances that needed to be kept up. Instead, the only indications of the event were the flood transfer orders to and from me. Eighty-six percent of the ground troops had been scheduled to leave, but that wasn’t unusual. Grunts changed frequently and often. Staff officers and crew technicians, on the other hand, were a different matter. They were considered part of my crew, so I took their departure harder.

A Devastator class battle cruiser jumped into the system. Decades ago, he must have been impressive, but now he had been reassigned as a transport ship. Looking at his present-day specs made me reconsider my opinions on retirement. Battleships were meant to die on the battlefield, not be transformed into a mockery. That was the major problem with the Devastator class—they didn’t have it in them to leave the battlefield. Knowing this, the bureaucratic apparatus could have given them a proper combat husk, but instead someone had come up with the bright idea to transform them into troop carriers.

Light Seeker, this is cruiser Sky Eternal en route to rendezvous point, the cruiser transmitted. Sending authorization protocols for confirmation.

You’re in the clear, Sky, I replied. When dealing with antiques such as this, it was always better to be a bit more formal. How many are you carrying?

Not all of them are yours. I have three more ships to resupply before I leave the buffer zone.

Understood. No Cassandrians have been spotted so you should have a calm trip.

Calm, the old cruiser laughed. I’ve had nothing but calm in the last seven years. Sometimes I wish there was a bit more action. Such thoughts are for the young. Logistics only must get the job done as quickly and efficiently as possible, and never lose a soul.

That sparked some envy within me. I wished I wouldn’t lose people on my crew, but that wasn’t the way of the battlefield. A lot of time had passed since I was a rookie and had abandoned the illusion that I could prevent any of my crew dying. At the moment, the only thing I could strike for was to keep as many alive as the mission parameters would allow me.

“Are those the new transfers?” Lieutenant Wilco asked, looking at his personal screen.

“Right on schedule,” I replied. “I’ve already informed the captain.”

“And how did he react?”

“The captain hasn’t lifted the privacy mode of his quarters.” That was the polite way of saying that he had ignored me yet again.

“Better that way. The moment everyone’s aboard, do a firestarter.”

“Immediately, sir? Usually, the captain gives them a few days to settle in.”

“Not this time. Captain’s taking some rest and I want everyone to be prepped and ready by the time he comes out of his cabin. You have my personal authorization.”

“Two hours and forty-three minutes till firestarter,” I announced on the bridge, while reassigning me subroutines appropriately.

Firestarters, as Augustus liked to call them, were fully realistic mock-battle simulations. Only a handful of captains throughout the Fleet resorted to them—mostly war veterans of Augustus’ caliber. The difference between that and a normal training exercise was that here, only I and the bridge officers knew that the danger wasn’t real.

Modern Fleet practices frowned upon the use of such extreme methods, but even the bureaucrats didn’t dare outlaw them completely. Harsh or not, the exercises were a way to test the crew, especially in cases when the arriving rookies outnumbered the veterans.

“Fifty-hour time frame?” I asked.

“Seventy-five,” Wilco replied almost instantly.

“Isn’t that a bit extreme?” I asked, while adjusting the parameters.

“Things are getting worse on the front. If people break, better they break here than during the real thing.”

The same explanation I kept hearing over and over again. I knew that Wilco was right—that was undeniable. At the same time, I wished I wasn’t the one having to separate the stars from the dust.

Nineteen minutes after the last of the new arrivals set foot aboard, and the Sky Eternal left the system, the exercises began. At first it was subtle—I announced a transmission that never was, requesting that we jump to the front. The “mission” was to be a standard backup operation with a low chance of encountering enemies. People rushed about, following the proper regulations, most of the new arrivals eager to face Cassandrians for the first time. In actuality, the system I jumped to was a neighboring system in the buffer zone that hadn’t seen any enemy activity since the start of the war. For the people aboard, though, reality was very different.

“Red alert!” I made a ship-wide announcement, displaying warning messages on all walls. “Enemy contact! All to battle stations!”

“Enemy contact so early on?” Lieutenant Veli Ya asked. “Wasn’t this supposed to be a calm mission?”

“Welcome to the front,” Wilco said in a dry voice. “Better get used to it.”

“I’m picking up eleven Gharota class vessels,” I announced, displaying an image of the make-believe system on the bridge wall. “They’re near the inner planets. ETA to contact is seven hours.

“Gharota?” Wilco raised a brow. “Any modifications?”

“None I can determine. There’s no trace of Fleet presence. There’s a seventy-nine percent probability that they’ve fled the system. Captain’s been notified.”

“What are our engagement instructions?” Lieutenant Zhiko Lev asked. She was the second bridge officer that had transferred. Similar to Ya, her record was exemplary. One of the red flags was that she hadn’t requested to be transferred to me specifically, but rather applied for a position that furthered her career. Two times out of three, that caused issues.

“Waiting for a reply from Command on the matter,” I lied. “There aren’t any available Fleet ships in the sector. If the threat levels increase, I’m recommending withdrawal.”

“That’s for the captain to decide.”

“Why isn’t he here?” Lieutenant Ya turned to Wilco.

“Cap suffered injuries,” he replied.

So that’s what we’re going for?

It was a convenient excuse, though not one I particularly liked. Ultimately, it didn’t matter. The point was to see how the newbies reacted. While maintaining the illusion, I carefully analyzed the behavior of all new transfers throughout my decks. For the most part, they were handling it as expected—slightly eager, but still relatively calm and composed. As Wilco liked to say, it was time to kick things up a notch.

“System jump!” I announced on the bridge. “Seven new vessels have entered the system, all Cassies. Class unknown.”

Everyone on the bridge focused on their stations. Their acting skills had become quite good. The newbies, though, were starting to show signs of panic.

“They’ve targeted us. Missiles launched. Eleven minutes to impact.”

“Launch countermeasures,” Wilco ordered. “I’m assuming command of the bridge. You—” He pointed at Lieutenant Ya. “—deal with weapons. And, you, help out with strategic analysis,” he said to Lev. “I want battle options.”

“Why don’t we jump out?” Lev asked. “We can’t win against seven ships.”

“Resending withdrawal request to Command,” I said. “Response is pending.”

“Inform the crew.” Wilco sat in the captain’s seat. “This might get bumpy.”

Ten minutes of tense suspense ensued. The bio readings of the entire crew peaked, especially those of the new transfers. People were rushing through unfamiliar corridors, trying to reach their posts for the first time. I did all the necessary to instruct each individual person, but chaos was starting to rear its ugly head. That was why it was always a bad idea for the rookies to outnumber the veterans. The Fleet had procedures to deal with this, of course. Unless it was a case of vital emergency, re-crewed ships went through a period of adjustment during which they took part in support missions. It would be months before they were sent into the fray. However, Augustus and most of the senior crew didn’t believe in waiting. As my captain liked to say, “we don’t have the time to let the crew learn; either they have the skills, or they don’t.”

“Impact in thirty seconds,” I announced. “Second volley impact in three minutes.”

“This is crazy,” Lev said beneath her breath. “Why isn’t Command giving us the go-ahead.”

“That’s Command for you,” one of the senior officers laughed. “You’ll get used to it, kid.”

“Where are my combat options?” Wilco asked.

“There aren’t any combat options!” Lev snapped. It was looking almost certain that she’d be among those retransferred once this is over. “We can survive the first two waves, maybe the third. Nothing else.”

“How many can we take out?”

The calmness with which this was asked made the transfers’ bio readings immediately spike again. Everyone knew what the question signified, and none of them were willing to consider it.

“Lieutenant?” Wilco raised his voice.

The newbies stared at their screens blankly. It took them seconds to snap back to reality. Commands were input, requesting that I run a set of simulations. Feeling pity for them, I increased the odds by a fair margin.

“Three,” Ya said. “Potentially four.”

“Elcy, plot a course to the Cassies. We’re taking them head on.”

“We won’t be able to take out many that way,” I said.

“Just survive as long as possible. We need to spec the new ship type. Command will take care of the rest.” Silence filled the bridge. “Let the crew know. If they have anything they want to tell friends and family, let them go ahead.”

“Aye. Impact in five seconds.”

As the announcement was sent, several hundred people broke down. Nearly all of them were of limited experience, not fully used to the stress of serving on an Ascendant.

“Elcy,” Augustus said from his quarters. “What are the numbers?”

“Eighty-one percent are adequate,” I told him. “Thirty-seven are good.”

“Thirty-seven? So, HQ finally reduced the trash they sent our way.”

Compared to the average Fleet ship, we received the crème de la crème. As could be seen with this, exercises that didn’t guarantee that the transfers could handle it, but their skills were double those of the average person at their position. However, even that wasn’t good enough for Augustus. If my captain had his way, he’d put an end to HQ-based transfers.

“Let me know how many are left by the end of the drill. And record everything on external backup. I want those idiots at the Admiralty to see what they’re having us deal with.”

* * *

The firestarter exercise had continued for a full hour more, driving the unfortunate souls through an emotional grinder. After two waves of initial impact, I had announced that Command had ordered us to leave the system, only to have them rescind the order twenty seconds later. By the end of it all, half of my decks had been sealed, mimicking structural damage. Seven thousand three hundred and eighty-nine new transfers had been deemed to have failed the drill. Given what they had been through, none of them objected to their retransfer. Most had even welcomed it.

“Sorry about the wait.” Jespersen emerged from the decon chamber in his exo suit. Even with the internal guidance system, his motions were clunky and uneven. “I’ve never been in one of these before.”

“Don’t think of it as a suit,” I said. “Rather, consider it a pod.”

“Thanks.”

For humans, it had to be intimidating knowing that nothing but this thin alloyed shell protected them from the pressure of thousands of tons of water and all other hazards we could potentially come across.

As we went towards our shuttle, I saw a group of techs loading several large containers aboard. Given that none of them had any marking I could identify, that made me curious.

“Private,” I addressed one of the people loading them. “What are those?”

“I’m not allowed to—”

“I’m the mission commander,” I interrupted before he could finish. “I need to know every piece of equipment that’s aboard all of my shuttles.”

“I understand, ma’am, but I’m not allowed to share that information.”

“He doesn’t know,” Jespersen said in a private comm channel. “It’s agora.”

That took me aback. With the BICEFI involved, I was expecting to have certain unknown devices smuggled aboard, but I didn’t expect canisters of agora.

“What do we need that for?”

“Hopefully we don’t. It’s just in case something happens. There’re no medical facilities at the bottom of the ocean. If any of us gets in serious trouble, we’ve been cleared to use agora in the course of the mission.”

“Who falls under “us?”

Jespersen didn’t answer.