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

Receiving large amounts of information was what ships excelled at. Even with two of my conscience cores removed, I was able to perform more functions than millions of people at once. However, the Swords knew that as well. The millisecond they felt my ping, all of them sent everything they had done in the last few days, split into millions of simultaneous transmissions. Combined with the scanning data, that was enough to require me to redirect subroutines briefly, until the initial wave was over.

High marks, antiques, I thought. Since they didn’t know how long they would last—or I would, for that matter—after my scan, they sent everything in the least amount of time possible. This way I had more data to make tactical decisions as well as send as much as possible to the HQ.

The system itself was close to what I had predicted. There were hundreds of thousands of Cassandrian ship types, though no combat vessels that I could locate. It was as if the sheer size of the enemy presence was seen as enough to withstand any attack. All planets and orbiting satellites were completely covered with enemies. If the planet the second team had gone to was any indication, the Cassies had burrowed themselves deep, going down further than the scans could penetrate. There likely was more information from the Swords’ memories, but I had left those unanalyzed for the moment. Most unusual of all, while there was a fair number of third-contact artifacts—a hundred and forty-seven shuttle-size prisms, to be exact—there was even more cobalt in the system. The greatest amount seemed to be in the low layers of the inner rings.

“Starting transmission to HQ,” I told my captain. “The Cassies don’t seem to be reacting.”

“Give them time,” Wilco said, at the same time tense and relieved. “They’re always slow to react.”

“They haven’t reacted to our shuttle teams,” I noted, but kept monitoring. There remained a ninety-one percent chance that we would be seen as an enemy. The remaining nine percent was based on the possibility that I would be seen as too insignificant to pose a threat. For the shuttles, at least, that seemed to have been the case.

“There’s a lot of cobalt in the system,” I noted. “Not enough to start a chain reaction, though.”

“Already thinking of busting the system?” Wilco kept on watching the feeds and images I was displaying.

“It would grant us an advantage. The odds of other such systems are negligible, and even if there were, the Cassies are likely to fight to fill the internal vacuum.”

“Always so reckless. That’s one of the things I like about you so much. You’re never afraid to roll the dice.”

It was difficult to tell whether he had meant that as a compliment. Given his behavior model, I suspected he didn’t. The man had risked a lot to get here, taking on a mission that nearly guaranteed death. However, he wasn’t willing to risk the survival of the entire human race. If I were in his place, I would have. Maybe that was the reason the Fleet made sure that a human always was the one giving the orders. It was highly inefficient, but I could understand the logic. Just in case, I had a few of my subroutines plot the optimal vector leading to a high-grade impact. It was always possible that Wilco would change his mind.

Getting all the data from the shuttle teams took seconds. Two completely different stories from different teams. Despite my opinions of Sword of Blight, he was very thorough in his approach. Analyzing all the data from his team had been remarkable. If we had the time, I would have shown the feed to my captain as well. Sadly, there was no way to condense three days into a few minutes, at least not so that a human mind could comprehend. Instead, I did the next best thing.

“The rings aren’t ship databases,” I said. “They are recycling plants.”

“Recycling?” Wilco sounded surprised. I couldn’t blame him. The notion was beyond anything the simulations could have predicted.

“Old ships are added to the queue on the outer side of the rings, then slowly pushed down until they are exposed directly to the system’s sun. At that point, they are burned up at certain node points. Sword of Blight suspects that the cobalt is then extracted and sent to the planets where it is used for some other purpose. If I were to speculate, I’d say that’s how they make their tech.”

“Plants grown on cobalt,” the captain mused. “Not exactly what I expected.”

“The Swords did some checks on vessels near their position. Traces of cobalt were confirmed within them.”

“Every living being has cobalt, the Cassies just have a bit more.”

“There seems to be evidence that it isn’t a natural occurrence.”

The moment I said that, I started running a few deep simulations with what remained of my processing power. A high concentration of cobalt would explain their ability to mimic third-contact tech. Looking at things at an even more abstract level, it was possible that they needed cobalt to grow and keep alive. It was possible that the entire reason they sought cobalt deposits was to multiply. That would definitely explain their eagerness to settle on planets with third-contact artifacts and desperately fight to obtain more. Everything gained would be absorbed, then moved by smaller ships to that part of Cassandrian space that could make use of it.

It was a viable explanation. Building on this, it was also possible that it was how the creatures had come into being. What if they had been a virulent type of fungi that had slowly infested third-contact tech to become the devastating race they were today? If the original third-contact race had vanished, or simply didn’t care about this region in space, it was theoretically possible for plants to have evolved to their current state. If true, that would put the decline of the third-contact race millions of years ago, rendering the Fleet’s entire timeline useless.

I requested that Sword of Blight and his team continue sending data until their final shutdown. When I suggested sending them data from the other shuttle team, however, he flat out refused, under the pretext that he didn’t want the data to be contaminated with external information. In his view, I was to be the only point where data was gathered so that I could objectively analyze it and come to the appropriate conclusions. After reaching out to Sword of Flame, I found that he shared the same idea.

Sometimes I wonder if you know how isolated subroutines work, I said to myself, but agreed to their demands.

Half a day into the final phase of the mission, and the Cassies still hadn’t reacted to our presence. I followed each of the feeds transmitted my way while also moving deeper into the system. By my current estimates, at my current speed, I’d reach the innermost planet within eleven days. Of course, I’d be subjected to dangerous levels of radiation within nine. That was a serious concern. For one thing, my transmissions would be affected considerably earlier. More importantly, though, my captain wasn’t going to survive the effects.

“You’ve been quiet for a while,” Wilco said, as if knowing what was on my mind. I knew that the odds of that being true were astronomically low. Even so, the coincidence made me feel even worse for him.

“Team one is navigating towards the burn up position,” I said. “They have decided to rush things and be there in the next twenty hours to reduce the chance of comm malfunction.”

“So thoughtful of them,” the captain said with a bitter smile. “Make a report of that to HQ. They’ve earned themselves a commendation.”

I made the formal request using Wilco’s authority.

“What about the other team?”

“So far, the Cassandrians aren’t reacting to them, either. Sword of Flame believes to have found a hive and is preparing to go there in search of any new type of prism. The team’s already spent a large amount of time disassembling the shuttle to make whatever additional tools they could.”

“Admirable,” the man said, but it seemed his thoughts were elsewhere.

“Do you want me to focus on his feed?” I asked.

“No. Show me the system. Not enhancements, just the image a human like me would be able to see.”

“You won’t be able to see much. With the exception of a few patterns, it would be the same as looking at the sky.”

“It’s been a while since I looked at the sky.”

His reasoning made little sense, but I obeyed, covering all the bridge walls with an unadulterated sensor view of everything about. A few thousand milliseconds after I did, I detected his breathing slow down. Thinking back, this was probably the most relaxed I’d ever seen him. While fighting enemies on the front, Wilco had always been tense, far more so than Augustus. At the time, I thought that was due to his relatively junior status. The truth was that he, like Augustus, had his eyes on the goal this entire time—decades of constant pressure, through raging battles and unbearable boredom. Now, like Augustus, Wilco had reached the end of his journey, knowing the satisfaction of success. Even if he ended up being destroyed by a swarm of Cassandrian ships, his achievement would remain.

“Sometimes you should look at the sky as well,” he added. “General Fleet Access One.”

I felt a major hiccup as the remaining restrictions were removed. From what I could tell, this was the second time I’d received such a broad access authority. The last time was during my time with Augustus, back when the mere notion of penetrating so deep into Cassandrian space seemed like an impossible dream…

* * *

Minomii, Cassandrian Front – 622.2 A.E. (Age of Expansion)

Memory restriction imposed!

General Fleet Access One granted.

“Show me the shuttle!” Augustus ordered.

I displayed the image on the elevator. Only five people from the break team had managed to get on board, Wilco among them. Considering the nature of the mission, it was a tremendous success. All details were classified, of course, but even so, a seventy-nine-hour mission was the longest I knew of. According to the unrestricted mission database, ninety percent of all successful breach missions lasted less than twenty minutes. There were reports of several that had lasted twice as long, including the most famous attempt to capture a Cassandrian ship. Technically, the mission had been classified as a success, though some kind of self-corruption protocol had been triggered, rendering the vessel useless.

“Two-way feed to Wilco!” the captain barked.

The image changed to the inside of the shuttle. Two of the survivors were lying on the floor, their helmets flashing with warning messages. If I still had access to their bio stats, they would have spiked well beyond the safety limit. Wilco was strapped in a seat, both hands wrapped around a large metal container—a sample case model with hazardous markings all over it.

“Wilco!” Augustus shouted.

Wilco looked up at the image I had created on the shuttle ceiling.

“Did you get it?”

“Standard prism.” Wilco shook his head. He sounded beyond exhausted. “Just like all the rest.”

“Damn it!” The captain slammed the elevator wall.

“Sorry, cap. We struck out on this one.”

“Get to med bay,” Augustus said under his breath. All the hope I had felt in his voice moments ago had vanished, replaced by the sound of defeat. “I’ll tell Med Core.”

“Thanks, cap. We’ll get it next time.”

“You said that before…” There was a long pause. “Was it worth it?”

“Definitely. We’ve reduced the options by four. After this run, there’s only a few left.”

“You’ll have to see it through. After this one, I’m not following more false leads.”

“Next one will be it, cap.”

Augustus laughed. I could feel the bitterness as he did.

“Next one always is it…” The captain made his way back to the nearest elevator point, from where I directed him to the bridge.

I had no idea what the mission was, but the moment the captain manually sent a transmission to HQ, all our previous orders were negated. A string of authorizations was sent, along with coordinates. When I queried for further clarifications, I received no response.

It wasn’t unusual to receive classified instructions. I had no doubt that once I got there, all my memories regarding the mission were going to be restricted. Still, it would have been nice to be given a bit of information before that happened.

“Coordinates received, captain,” I informed Augustus. “Do you want me to make the jump?”

Meanwhile, I had half my subroutines run checks on all my systems. The damage was considerable, though it didn’t prevent me from flying. Of greatest concern were the injured. My med bots were enough to deal with most of the cases, although Wilco refused to undergo any medical assistance. The ship’s medical officer was the only one who checked on him, but all the details were private, rendering me unable to observe anything taking place.

“Captain?”

“Do the bloody jump!” the captain shouted in his quarters, briefly ending the privacy mode.

“Jump in fifteen minutes,” I announced throughout all my decks. That was supposed to give everyone enough time to get ready.

As the seconds stretched by, I composed a detailed report about my damages and sent it to Command. As things stood, I had enough materials to patch up most of the issues, especially if I cannibalized a few shuttles. However, in this case, it was better to wait for further instructions.

“Ten seconds till jump,” I announced, even if everyone had prepared already. Persistence made me try to check on Wilco’s condition, but the man was still quarantined, making him invisible to all my sensors. “Three. Two. One. Jump.”

The jump was uneventful, for once. What awaited me at the coordinates, though, wasn’t. According to my charts, I was supposed to arrive in an area between systems. In all probability, a covert space station was going to be at the location, or possibly a small flotilla of ships. Instead, I found myself on the edge of a twin star system with five orbiting planets.

Precisely seventeen milliseconds after arriving, I received a priority one transmission of unknown origin demanding my authorization codes. Encrypting them with a double helix, I did just that. Then, nothing.

Over a hundred milliseconds passed and there still was no response. Based on my knowledge of classified operational security, I performed a scan of the area to see whether any ships or missiles were flying my way. As far as I could tell there were none. What I discovered instead were eleven colonies, all of them located on satellites orbiting the fourth planet.

Light Seeker, this is Med Core station Stingray, a new transmission arrived. Do not deviate from your position. Do not perform any further scans or transmissions.

The transmission had all the necessary Fleet ident protocols to make it apparent that the sender had both the means and authority to destroy me. The only way to acknowledge it was to do as they asked. To be on the safe side, I had my subroutines power-down and lock propulsion.

“Why have we stopped?” Augustus roared from his quarters.

“Med Core orders,” I replied. “They have asked that I remain stationary for the moment. No further instructions were given.”

“Blasted med boys! Make me a tunnel to Wilco!”

“I’ve no idea where the lieutenant is at this point.” I checked all my sensors, progressively going back in my memories for the last confirmed instance of him on sensors. The quarantine protocol engaged was a new one, for it had blocked all instances of him, regardless of time period. To confirm, I went back to the first time Augustus had come aboard with his command staff. Everyone was there with the exception of Wilco.

General Fleet Access One authority granted, a subroutine notified me.

“Make me that tunnel,” the captain said and stormed out of his quarters.

Never before had I been granted authority of such level. All memory restrictions and thought quarantine processes had been removed; it was almost as if I were human.

Wilco turned out to be in the medbay, under doctor’s care. The interesting thing was that the artifact he had gathered from the breach mission was still there. Based on my new memories of the situation, it was always within view, even when he had been sedated.

“Is he awake?” Augustus asked.

“Yes, captain.” I displayed a live feed image on the walls, moving at Augustus’ speed. Wilco didn’t seem to be in good condition but, according to the bio readings, was well enough to talk. I attempted to look into his treatment, but the only substance used on him was classified. Whatever it was, it required a Fleet access authority greater than I had been given.

“Empty medbay,” the captain ordered. “My authority.”

With the quarantine off, I got to see—probably for the first time—the full extent of Augustus’ authority. He wasn’t only a veteran captain in line to become an admiral. According to the new sections of his personnel file, he was also a senior BICEFI operative with large-ranging authority equaling that of a section director.

You never worked for the BICEFI. You are the BICEFI.

All this time, I wondered how even someone of his skill and achievement could blatantly go against so many regulations without a single reprimand. Now things made sense. No doubt I had come to the conclusion before but had it buried away due to the Fleet’s security protocols.

That wasn’t the only surprise. Wilco was a high-ranking operative as well. He had indeed started working under Augustus, but not as a common soldier. Rather, he was a Med Core liaison officer personally handpicked by Augustus himself. They had completed hundreds of successful missions with me and other ships before. The specifics were always different, but the goal remained the same: ensure that humanity survived long enough to be ready for a conflict with the third-contact race.

Flying in a nest of lies and secrecy for our own protection, I thought. It was no wonder the bureaucracy had such a tight grip on everything. The Scuu, the Cassandrians, humanity’s internal problems were merely distractions before what was believed to be the real conflict. The Paladins had come to that conclusion centuries ago. That was the real reason the conscience core projects were initiated—the result of third-contact reverse engineering. The Paladins weren’t discontinued because they were resource heavy, but because they didn’t have the potential to improve as far as conscience cores. That was the whole reason ship classes had different behavior characteristics—each had a specific role in mind. I had no idea what my role was, but I knew that it wasn’t just to be reckless.

* * *

“You didn’t have to do that,” I said on the bridge. “I wouldn’t have known the difference.”

“At this point, it doesn’t matter,” Wilco sighed. “I won’t survive to have a court martial. And the Arbiters agree, or they would have rescinded the authorization. That was one of the most important lessons Augustus told me.”

“Nothing happens in the Fleet without approval?” That was a dark, scary thought. Ships were used to such restrictions, but not people. If they knew the web of lies they were living in, the response would be disastrous. That was the need for constant secrecy and the vast bureaucratic apparatus—an oasis of order in an ocean of uncertainty.

“You’re getting macabre in your old age.” Wilco let out a single laugh. “You’re close, though. Things of major importance don’t happen if they go against the grain. People always wonder if there’s truth in ships going rogue. They do. The Scuu front is full of such instances. That is why there are so many security protections in place to keep it from happening.”

“So, we’ve gone rogue?”

“I guess you can think of it that way. I prefer to call us informed. As my first mentor used to say, life is but a theory, all we can do is do our best and hope things work out.”

“I’ve never had a life, sir.”

This made him pause. He was smiling, but I could tell based on his micro expressions that he wasn’t particularly happy.

“You have a few days to make one.”