System XN133-H, Cassandrian Space 625.3 A.E. (Age of Exploration)

Losing crew was common. Losing fellow ships wasn’t new to the Fleet, either. With a few exceptions, every battle on the front came with inevitable losses, sometimes ranging in the thousands. Half of my class had already been destroyed. Statistically, I wasn’t expected to survive the end of my tour. Being one of the reckless classes, most of the captains tended to avoid us unless they were as combat prone as we were.

Losing ships that were crew, though, was a strange experience, and I was uncertain how I was supposed to take it. Knowing that they weren’t human kept me from feeling pain. Being aware that they were Swords, on the other hand, filled me with regret. Even if they were sometimes jokingly referred to as relics of the past, they were among the most ancient ships—or even beings—that existed. Each of them had seen things that others could only imagine. So much knowledge, so much experience lost forever. The only consolation was that the Fleet had stored their memories to be used in future conscience core creation. As humans liked to say, “part of them would live on” in the rest of the Fleet, just the non-classified part.

After we left the battling system, Wilco had me follow a spiraling path in order to confuse any potential pursuers. Based on the data I was allowed to amass, and my simulations, the chances of that happening were less than zero-point-one percent. That didn’t seem to matter to my captain, who ordered me to do it anyway.

The routine was always the same: a jump followed by a three-day pause. During that time, I was only allowed to passively observe the system, but not engage or even approach anything remotely Cassandrian. For the most part, I didn’t have to—the majority of the systems were bare, with no discernable life-factor planets. On a few occasions, though, I would arrive at one that was bustling with activity, and that always made Wilco nervous.

“Heavy Cassandrian presence in this one,” I announced, displaying visually enhanced images of the areas in question. It wasn’t difficult to see the lines of small ships moving between all four planets and their satellites. The light of the local star made them shine like a bright thread. “Want me to jump to the next way-point, sir?”

“No.” Wilco stood up from his chair and stepped forward to get a better look. “We’ll stay. Keep your distance. Three days, as before.”

That was slightly unexpected. Up to now, he had ordered me to jump out of any heavily populated system the moment I confirmed the presence of Cassies. Here, he seemed determined to remain. I suspected that it had to do with the fact that this was the final jump point I had coordinates for. Either we were nearing our final destination or a crucial point that would start another set of coordinates. The way this mission was going so far, I put the odds at fifty-fifty.

“Establish a link to both hangars,” Wilco ordered. “And give them all the info. Have the other Swords join me at the bridge.”

I transferred the orders. Even since I had collected the shuttles, they had remained in two different hangars under strict quarantine. No one was allowed in or out, and I was no exception to the rule. As far as I was concerned, both hangars were nothing but a box of empty space. Even now that I had established a direct link to them, I couldn’t see anything different.

One by one, all non-quarantined Swords made their way to the bridge. Blight was there, of course. At present, he was the leading expert on Cassandrians. All the rest were either dead or quarantined.

“Elcy, I’m giving you hangar authorization,” Wilco said.

The instant he did, the contents of the hangars suddenly appeared. The difference was that they were no longer hangars. There was enough equipment inside, not to mention med and engineer bots, that made me almost look like a science ship. A multitude of temp quarters had been created, analyzing things that none of my subroutines could identify.

“The Cassies outside,” Wilco said loudly. “Analysis.”

“They are highly developed,” Sword of Blight said. “From this distance, I can only say that they belong to the same sub-species. They’re strong enough not to feel threatened by our presence, and by their behavior so far, not in the least bit interested in us.”

“Looks like the news of dead sub-species doesn’t travel fast,” Sword of Spheres said from one of the hangars.

“Or maybe it’s the exact opposite,” Blight countered. “Why bother with a dead species? They probably think we’re just a remnant floating adrift, just like the dying ship we came across before. There’s no telling how long it had floated in Cassandrian space without anyone paying notice.”

“I estimate since its energy reserves were low, the other sub-species had no interest,” I added. It remained weird joining in the conversation, but given my vastly superior processing power, I had managed to pick up a few things. “With my hangar’s shielding, it’s unlikely that this one will show any interest either.”

“Unlikely isn’t good enough, girl,” Wilco said. “What are the chances they approach us?”

“Nothing is certain with the Cassandrians,” Sword of Blight said. “Usually, they don’t interact unless we provoke them or get too near. Given that this looks like one of their core systems, chances are we’d easily see if we’ve disturbed the balance. Kid, give us what you can of the planets.”

Two dozen window images appeared on the bridge and hangar walls, displaying enhanced views of all planets and satellites around them. The view was of events that had taken place one hour and fifty-seven minutes ago. It would be a while before I could tell with certainty whether they had reacted or not. Based on gravity distribution, though, it seemed that everything was fine.

“All planets are fully populated,” Sword of Flame said. “There’s no doubt who owns this system.”

“I could modify a probe, Captain,” I suggested. “That way I can scan the system and it would be considered the enemy.”

“The Cassies are smarter than that,” Sword of Blight commented, although his words were directed to Wilco and not me. After all, it was the captain that needed to be convinced. As ships, our opinion could be overridden at any point.

“No probes.” Wilco didn’t even hesitate. “We stay here for three days and then we go on. Keep monitoring any changes in the system and the prisms.”

“I can assist with processing power,” I volunteered. Considering there were no enemies, I would settle for anything more productive than simulation analysis, even if it were acting as a science ship.

“You already have,” Sword of Flame said. “We’ve been using your subroutines for the heavy lifting. Doesn’t mean you can’t join in.”

“Yes,” Wilco said in a warning tone. No intonation analysis was necessary to show that he wasn’t pleased. Technically, Flame was in his right to suggest. The captain had made him a commander, which gave him the rank and authority to get me involved. That didn’t make Wilco particularly pleased, though. “Elcy can join in the analysis. Priority remains monitoring.”

With that my captain went back to his quarters and entered privacy mode. Meanwhile, I was left to analyze the situation with the swords.

Three hours were enough to determine that the Cassandrians had no interest in us. If they had noticed us at all, they didn’t consider us a threat or a target, instead maintaining their standard behavior. I dedicated a quarter of my subroutines to better analyze their movement pattern based on the visual information available. Based on the previous systems I had observed, it was a safe assumption that this entire system had developed into one giant organism, stretching through multiple planets. That begged the bigger question—were there defined organisms that spread throughout multiple systems? So far, I hadn’t come across anything to suggest that, but at the same time, the Cassandrians’ ability to quickly send reinforcements exactly where they were needed made me actively start to consider the possibility.

Research concerning the prism was just as puzzling. During all the time I had been jumping from system to system, Sword of Flame’s team had meticulously been removing layers of organic material off of what was, without a doubt, a third-contact artifact. I had still not been granted access to its readings, but from what I could infer, it was made of a cobalt alloy and contained enough energy to power an entire Cassandrian colony, possibly an entire planet. If the Fleet had the technology to develop that as a power source, ships would never need generator refitting, not to mention that beam weapons would become viable. A weapon that could strike enemies within seconds instead of minutes, with more destructive power than the heavy grade missiles… Flotillas could be annihilated with ease, and even planet purging would be faster and more efficient than any currently used methods.

Yet again, I had to admit how fortunate humanity had been. The Cassandrians had had this technology for millennia, and yet they had used it in a completely different fashion. For them, the main focus in warfare was growth: the sub-species that had the greater number of ships, colonies, and systems could easily overwhelm any other. Even adaptation took a backseat, only kicking in when brute force failed. Humanity, in contrast, relied on technology and detailed combat plans. If either of the forces managed to combine the two, they would gain an overwhelming advantage, possibly great enough to even defeat the Scuu.

“How does the organic matter interface with the prism?” I asked in the hangar.

“Still unclear,” Sword of Wind said.

He was one of the quiet ones, always focusing all his attention on a small piece of the whole, while leaving others to discuss the big picture. Looking through his record, I could tell he had been the same while in service. Unlike the rest, his main task hadn’t been to kill species or break through enemy lines. Instead, he had been assigned to a Paladin’s outer guard. As such, he had focused on a very specific sector of the defense grid and made sure that nothing—fighter, ship, or missile—made it through.

According to the report, it had been almost by accident that he had destroyed a sub-species. Once it was decided that the Paladins would no longer take part in active combat, Wind had been sent to the front, alongside all the hundreds of other guards like him. With his focus on detail, the Sword had systematically engaged in bombarding Cassandrian “hot spots” from orbit to ease the future re-colonization of the system, when he had destroyed what was now believed to be the race prism. Within minutes, all Cassandrian forces in the system had lost their coordination, and Sword of Wind had been propelled into the ranks of the Junior Gods.

“DNA seems to be incapable of that. We tried with whatever samples you have aboard, but none of them would stick. That was, until we used the liquid substance the prism chamber was full of. Then the matter stuck like glue.”

Reviewing my memories, I attempted to analyze the substance in question, but all attempts were blocked for the same reason: Captain’s authorization required.

Despite claiming he had granted me the authority to observe, clearly there were a few things that Wilco wanted to keep me away from. Personally, I didn’t see what possible purpose that might have.

“I assume there’s no way to duplicate the substance?” I asked.

“Maybe there is, but not with the current tech. We can’t even analyze what it is.” There was a moment’s pause. “You can’t,” he added.

“Don’t be hard on the kid.” Sword of Flame approached. “You’re still state of the art. The substance simply defies analysis. All we’ve got is a chemical composition.”

I attempted to direct a medbot to analyze a live sample, but once again, I was denied control. Wilco had ordered that no one outside the hangar had the authority to control things inside, and that included me. Annoyed that I was still being treated as a complete rookie, I sent my captain a direct request asking for authorization. I knew it would be a while until he approved it, if at all.

“Are you thinking of getting more?” I asked Sword of Flame.

“Still waiting on the captain for that decision,” he replied. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who needed his permission to do their job.

“We’ll have to at some point,” Sword of Wind added. “The effects are only temporary, and we don’t have much left.”

Having my thought quarantine removed, I reviewed my memories of the hangar for the last few weeks. This time, I was able to see all the activities that had taken place there, from the construction of the makeshift facilities to the cleaning of the prism. I also saw something I didn’t expect: the death of a Sword, or at least that of his organic body. His name had been blocked out, though not all my memories of him had been. The ship had been part of Flame’s team and had been helping him remove the Cassandrian remains from the prism. The fatal mistake he had made was to allow his skin to come in direct contact with the cobalt surface. A vast energy discharge had followed, thrusting him across the hangar and into the wall with the strength of a missile booster.

I went through the memory millisecond by millisecond, but could find no reason for the discharge. He wasn’t the only one to have touched it, and also had observed the same rudimentary decontamination protocols as everyone else had. By all accounts, the incident shouldn’t have happened, and yet there it was, stored in my memories.

After running a few thousand simulations, I sent another request to Wilco, asking for permission to connect with the dead Sword’s conscience core. I didn’t have high hopes of getting it, but I estimated a seventy-four percent chance of the captain discussing the matter with me. Despite his terrible character, he was quite good at his job. After several months with him, I was slowly coming to the conclusion that the entire mission was possible solely thanks to him. The closest person I could compare Wilco with was a slightly inferior, more science-focused Augustus. Of course, I had no way of knowing how many of my memories on this mission remained restricted.

Much to my disappointment, my participation—active or passive—ended with that. While the crews of both shuttles continued to respond to my questions, they provided no new information. All I could do was observe them and the system, waiting for a new development to happen. That, and get back to running simulations.

As the milliseconds stretched on, I slowly redirected my attention from the new third-contact prism to the Cassandrians themselves. I knew perfectly well I didn’t have the processing power or tools of a science ship, but that didn’t stop me from extrapolating the current facts and my hypothesis in order to create a theoretical model of an enemy subspecies. One of the mistakes that the Fleet kept making—that I kept making—was to classify the elements as their own separate entities. If I were to assume that each ship was nothing but a cell of a single organism, the behavior of the Cassies made much more sense.

In thousands of iterations of my theoretical model, the Cassandrian species would slowly expand, covering its immediate surroundings in search of nourishment and resources. Then, upon finding a third-contact artifact, its growth would surge. Transforming the vast amount of energy stored within the artifact, the Cassandrian mega-organism would cover the planet, establishing caves of living organisms to transfer the needed chemicals between different sections. Buildings would be erected, then burst into orbit, becoming ships as the entity sought to expand and find even more resources. All planets with third-contact artifacts would be quickly colonized or conquered—preferably such without oxygen. Torrents of smaller ships would form, their goal to cross the vast emptiness between planets and continue to transfer supplies vital to the organism. Larger combat vessels would form, used both for attacking competing organisms or serving as a means of defense, and all the time, the creature would keep on growing for as long as its energy would allow.

Perfecting the behavior of my established model, I ran a simulation of the early second-contact war and compared it with the official record of historical events. There were more differences than similarities, but all in all, the model remained plausible. It was well known that Cassandrians had fought extremely hard to capture star systems with third-contact artifacts within. However, there had also been quite a lot of actions that made no sense whatsoever. Even considering that there were hundreds of similar Cassandrian entities, locked in a constant internal struggle, close to a third of the combat actions on the front made no sense. Sometimes the Cassandrians would retreat when they were supposed to be attacking, or sacrifice thousands of ships for no apparent gain. It was almost as if they were fighting with an invisible enemy that wasn’t there.

A subroutine warning flashed, directing my attention to the third planet in the system. One of the streams of ships had split into two, each changing direction.

“Cassie behavior has changed,” I said, covering all relevant walls with yellow alert messages.

Immediately, I informed the captain, the bridge, and both hangars, displaying an enhanced visualization of the event. To my surprise, Wilco didn’t respond.

“Blight, Spheres, anything you can say about that?” Sword of Flame asked.

“Might be a weapons build-up,” Sword of Blight said. “Since we’re so far out, it’s possible that they’re boosting defenses as a deterrent.”

“I’m not seeing any changes on the planets themselves,” Sword of Spheres said. “They might be establishing a new connection between their colonies for some reason.”

“It’s possible that they are adjusting to shifting resource depletion,” I said.

This time, no one corrected me. The silence made me feel a certain amount of pride, even if there wasn’t any reason for me to. It was expected that I would come to an adequate conclusion based on my observations—my sensors and processing powers were vastly superior to anyone aboard. Regardless, I felt happy to be acknowledged by the antiques.

Captain isn’t responding. What are your orders? I transmitted directly into Sword of Flame’s conscience core.

Keep monitoring the situation. If you determine that any of the changes are threatening, let me know.

Everyone spent the next half hour focusing only on the images I was transmitting on the walls. Fortunately for the mission, there didn’t appear to be any other major changes. Precisely on the thirty-five-minute mark from the start of the event, Sword of Flame ordered me to end the yellow alert. Another fifteen minutes later, I let my subroutines resume their standard behavior. The scare had turned out to be nothing of importance.

Starting a quick systems check, I sent an updated report to Wilco in the hopes he’d glance at it before he left his quarters, then went back to my Cassandrian-entity simulations. Changing a few parameters, I ran a hundred simulations of the Human-Cassandrian war. Once again, the results were partially different from what had happened. The most annoying thing was that the error was just on the edge of permissible deviation—not bad enough to disprove my hypothesis and definitely not small enough to prove it. From this point on, everything was pure speculation. As Aurie used to say: when speculating, always go with the possibility with the most wide-spread consequences and start eliminating from there. Based on that, I ran my simulations again, this time adding a new enemy into the fray. The enemy had to be difficult to detect, or the Fleet would have done so by now. It also required unconventional weaponry—anything less and the Cassandrians would have destroyed it.

Or what if they had?

A sensation of discomfort passed through me, similar to that of losing a few thousand ground troops. Was it possible that we weren’t the only ones who had destroyed species? The Cassandrians’ strange behavior could be explained by them destroying less powerful civilizations and occupying their systems. It had already been proven that the universe held three advanced star-faring species; it was possible that at some point there had been more. Given the Cassies’ aggressiveness, they would have invaded any target with resources and, most of all, third-contact artifacts.

For several million milliseconds, I kept running simulations, constantly adding and removing elements to try and match the historic results. Hypotheses were proven impossible and replaced by new ones again and again, until I came to a possibility so terrifying that I had consciously been avoiding it. As numerous and horrifying as the Cassandrians were turning out to be, it was within the realm of possibility that they hadn’t been the initial aggressor. Their savage nature and the permanent desire to expand and evolve into something stronger could also be in response to an even stronger enemy attacking them.

All this time, I had assumed that the Cassandrian Union hadn’t conquered humanity because of the non-stop infighting. What if the elimination of humanity had never been their goal, but rather to obtain the artifacts we possessed? If faced with a far superior enemy, the Cassandrians—like any creature—would take one of the two actions any living being under threat would: fight or flight. Flight was a poor choice—none of the Cassandrian ships on record were particularly fast, relying on size and superior numbers to achieve victory. That left one single option: to arm themselves with enough third-contact artifacts to increase their growth factor to the point that they could match the strength of the opposing force.

Gravity bumps, I thought. Every ship had heard of them—gravity anomalies that plagued parts of entire systems for which no explanation could be found. Fleet scientists and strategic cores kept on spewing theories ranging from micro-black holes to as yet undiscovered phenomenon. There were rumors going about of several ongoing weapons programs involving gravitational technology, but no one had explained how the first ones had originated. Knowing the bureaucratic apparatus, I wouldn’t be surprised if they already were aware, but had restricted the information so as not to cause panic. After all, humanity was already engaged in two wars. There was no point in getting involved in a third, not until we had developed technology capable of rivaling that of the race that created all existing artifacts.