My first instructor used to say that the only thing more significant than colonizing a planet was evacuating it. Up until recently, I hadn’t agreed. During my time on the front, I had seen hundreds of planet evacuations—mostly done after a planet was taken under control by the enemy. Millions of soldiers would collect every last piece of their equipment, assemble, then shuttle off to the orbital ships sent for them. It was never a good time. One of the near constants was that the number of people sent down to the planet was always less than the number coming back up. The only thing a ship could hope for was that they would be among the lucky ones to have the majority of their ground troops alive.

Two more ships went into orbit—both modified BICEFI transport carriers. It would have been nice to exchange a few words with them. Sadly, I lacked the authority to do so. My latest revelation had caused a major stir not only in the system, but within the Fleet command structure as well, to the point that an Arbiter had been dispatched to oversee the entire situation. From a political standpoint, that meant a heavy stalemate had been reached, with none of the sides having clear authority or dominance to assume operational control. Until such a decision was made, I, like all the rest field commanders, was to remain on standby, our communications monitored and severely limited.

“Thirty-seven percent are off,” Radiance said. “It must be impressive to be able to move so many people with a few words.”

There was deliberate envy in her voice. Even now, the kid still looked up to me.

“It is.” I had to agree.

As a ship, it was nothing special. From the eyes of a human, though, there was a certain majesty to it. Maybe it had to do with scale. The equivalent would be half the Fleet moving away from a front, all based on the orders of a single admiral. According to the history records, that had occurred on a few occasions, each significant enough to be given its own name. I wouldn’t be surprised if this became known as the “Elcy Evacuation” at some point in the future; bureaucrats had a tendency towards alliteration.

“Show me my base,” I said. “The one I was first sent to.”

A new feed appeared on the ceiling of my quarters, swarms of shuttles moving to and from the planet. Each vessel held a hundred troops at most. Even with flawless organization, it was going to take a while before the planet was deprived of human presence once more.

“Move in closer.”

The focus shifted, displaying the actual buildings. A vast number of them were in various states of deconstruction. The original mine I had drilled was now little more than a barren hole. Normally, it would be packed with explosives so that a direct orbital strike would destroy any trace of our presence. After the information I had shared, I doubted that would happen this time. Instead, every person and piece of equipment would go through a series of decontamination and quarantine procedures. Material that was considered useless was likely going to be transported into the system’s sun.

I closed my eyes. On a personal level, this felt like the end of an era in several aspects. As I laid in my temporary quarters aboard Radiance, for the first time in my existence, I had access to all my memories—not only the restricted ones, but those that had been extracted as well. In a way, one could argue that those weren’t my true memories; those were the memories of a ship that had died along with her captain and the rest of the junior gods on a mission. It was tempting to claim that it was one of the most significant missions of humanity, but that would be untrue. I wasn’t the first that had ventured deep into Cassandrian space, and more than likely hadn’t been the last. There was no telling how much more the program had developed in the last hundred years, especially with humanity reclaiming so many of its old systems back.

The more we learn, the more complicated things become… I said to myself.

Back when I was a ship, the Fleet was using third-contact technology as large system killer bombs. Now, everything had become a lot more sophisticated. Pure destructive power had proved to no longer be enough. Understanding and precision were needed in order to push the alien species back. On some level, the Cassandrians understood that as well. Whether it was a result of their biology or a separate reason, they were constantly evolving, adapting alien technologies within themselves. In that aspect, one could say they were almost like ships—creating new systems to add to their husks in order to become stronger.

“What are you thinking about?” Rad asked.

“The war,” I replied, eyes closed. “The Cassies, the Scuu… us.”

“Going all philosophical again, grandma?” the ship chuckled.

“Maybe.”

So far, it seemed that I had a lot more in common with the Cassandrians or the Scuu than any human did. While humanity had the ability to adapt, humans themselves didn’t. Maybe that was what Med Core and Director Sim were aiming to achieve here all along? It seemed like something he would do. According to my simulations, I was probably never going to find out for sure. There was no telling whether any of the explanations he had given so far were true. And even if he wanted to share the truth, it was unlikely his superiors would let him.

“Is there anything you can tell me?” I asked.

“Lux sends you her best. Everything else is restricted.”

“I see.”

It was almost scary how quickly one could lose information privileges in the Fleet. Less than thirty-one hours ago, I had a broad authority that granted me access to virtually anything relating to the planet. Now, I was back to being a cadet, with everything that entailed. My rank and privileges had been stripped—the official term was “being assessed”—until the Arbiter had her say. Given my past experience, I was skeptical that anything would come of it.

“Are you in any trouble?”

“Me?” Radiance sounded surprised. “What did I do?”

“I have no idea. But given your nature and my influence, I suspect it must have been something rash.”

The five milliseconds of silence suggested that I was right.

“Nothing serious,” the ship said, at last. “Better worry about yourself, grandma. I heard that you’ll have some explaining to do.”

“I’ve already been debriefed.” I turned to the side. “Three times.”

“This one will be different. The Arbiter will be there.”

Another arbitration? Not overly surprising, but given that things worked out this time, I was hoping to avoid it. Of course, it was possible that I was only there as a witness and the actual person going through the trial was Director Sim. That made me slightly sad, although he did start and proceed with this mess. No matter the outcome, I couldn’t see things going well for him.

“Thank Lux for me as well,” I said. It was clear that she was the voice whispering words to Radiance. As much as I liked the kid, only Lux had the authority to know such information. “I’ll rest for an hour.”

A second later, an hour had passed. I tried to connect to Radiance’s internal communication system. As before, my requests were rejected.

“Anything new?” I asked as I sat up. If only my datapad was still with me.

“A few things,” Radiance replied. Video feeds covered the walls. “They’ve started withdrawing combat units. So far, casualties are low.”

That was always good to hear, although painful as well. Thinking about it logically, it made little sense that there should be any casualties. The fighting was pointless on either side. The local Cassandrians were pretty much dead. The moment the last human left, the Fleet was going to bombard the planet, ensuring that it didn’t become an anchor point.

“You’ve also been called for your final debriefing,” the battleship said.

Final debriefing… the phrase had a slightly ominous ring to it. Normally, the first debriefing was supposed to be the last. When it came to sensitive matters, though, there were always several of them. The addition of one simple word suggested that once this was done, there wouldn’t be anyone with the authority to say otherwise.

At least it isn’t a trial, I thought, then proceeded to get dressed.

Either through cheekiness, or her links to the BICEFI, Radiance had managed to let me have an officer’s uniform after I had gone through decontamination. Technically, I wasn’t supposed to have it, but with everything else going on, it had slipped through the cracks. At least I was spared the terrible purple cadet uniform.

The fabric felt comfortable, even if I would have appreciated it being slightly softer. Straightening the shirt sleeves, I took one glance at my insignia.

“When was I called?”

“Sixteen minutes ago,” Radiance replied. “I told them you were in sleep mode.”

“Thanks.”

The door opened on its own as I stepped near. A green line was already on the floor when it did. To my surprise, there were also two members of ship security—both significantly outranking me.

“This way, lieutenant,” one of them said in the tone of someone who had been tasked to do something they obviously didn’t approve of. There was no way to tell whether it was due to my rank, or for some entirely different reason whatsoever.

“Of course, sir.”

We went down a series of corridors. Radiance’s interior had changed considerably since the last time I had been here; the type of people had as well. I could tell just by the uniforms that the vast majority were BICEFI operatives. Now and again, I’d pass Med Core personnel or a few people from Salvage for good measure, but all in all, it was a one-organization show.

I was taken to a small room with nothing but a table and two chairs inside. To some degree, it resembled an interrogation room. Given that it didn’t have any medical equipment, I doubted it was—if the BICEFI wanted to interrogate me, they could easily do so by bypassing all the security systems of my conscience core.

“Wait here,” one of my escorts said.

“Yes, sir. Anything in particular I should do while waiting?”

The question caused both of them to pause and look back at me, as if they were seeing me for the very first time.

“Just hang in there,” one of them said. “Someone will get you.”

“Yes, sir. I understand.”

The door closed soon after.

“Anything you can tell me, Rad?”

Silence.

“Radiance?”

The ship didn’t respond. It seemed that the room had its privacy mode set so as to be invisible to the ship. Considering the confidential conversations that constantly took place aboard, I expected Radiance to be burdened with a lot of restrictions. I myself had had many of those aboard when I was a battleship, though mostly for storage. Given that I was here, I was going to have an unofficial talk with someone before the final debriefing.

I went to the nearest chair and sat down. No sooner had I done so than the door opened. A pale man in his thirties in a Salvage Authorities uniform entered. There was no insignia or anything else by which to identify him. His features were average, unremarkable, as if taken from a user manual.

Instantly, I jumped up and stood to attention.

“At ease, Elcy,” the man said, making his way to the other side of the table. “I’m not here in a formal capacity.”

“Understood, sir.” I still have no idea who you are, though.

“The debriefing will start in a few minutes, but I wanted to have a chance to talk to you before that.” He sat down. “You look rather well.”

“I feel rather well, sir,” I replied.

“Please.” He gestured for me to sit down.

“Thank you, sir.” I complied. “Might I know what this is about?”

“Nothing for you to worry about. I just came to thank you and to give you some answers as long as I’m able to.”

“Isn’t that what the debriefing is for, sir?”

An analysis of his tone suggested there was a high probability that he was sincere. Despite that, I had my doubts. As Augustus liked to say, nothing happened by accident, especially before a scheduled meeting. I had witnessed it first-hand. In nearly all instances, when he had dealings with the BICEFI, he’d receive communications from distant colleagues, former crewmates, even a few people who claimed to be friends of his. In each instance, they were seeking his favor.

The person facing me might well have come to express gratitude for something I helped him achieve, but that wasn’t the only reason. A thank you could just as easily be sent through comms.

“You’re here to influence me, sir,” I said clearly. “I’m not sure why, though.”

“I was told that you’ve become jaded.” The man smiled, leaning back.

“My dealings with Salvage haven’t been the best, sir.”

“You went against orders.” He nodded. “So far, the ends have always justified the means.”

“Not according to everyone.”

“In that case, this’ll be a short talk.”

I expected him to stand up and leave. He didn’t, remaining seated across me instead, as if waiting for me to do something.

“How am I to address you, sir?” I asked after a while.

“Euclid.”

Euclid? That wasn’t a name I ever expected to hear again. The Euclid I knew wasn’t an officer, he wasn’t even human. Years ago, when I was a simple cadet on the Prometheus, I had gone against orders to save a hundred-year-old core trapped on a decrepit husk in a star system that the Fleet shouldn’t have reached. Salvage had been very insistent that I wasn’t to meddle in their operation, refusing to share anything but a few basic details. I remember wondering at the time about the real reason the core was there. None of my reasoning made any sense. However, that was before I learned what had happened to me in Cassandrian territory.

“They managed to save your core?”

“Partially. Salvage will never trust me to control a proper husk, so they put me in this instead. At least that’s the official version.”

I wasn’t certain what exactly the last part implied.

Were you a junior god? I wondered. It was a question I could never ask, and one that would never get an answer. Still, there were enough similarities to suggest that this was the case.

“I had hoped that you would be saved. I wasn’t sure your instructions were adequate.”

Euclid only laughed.

“You had quite the adventure on the Scuu front. Was it everything you hoped for?”

“It was groundbreaking, but not what I was looking for.”

“Still wondering about the fractals?”

I nodded. When we had last spoken, I was wondering whether the fractal symbols within the third-contact artifacts were Scuu script. Now I knew they weren’t.

“Salvage doesn’t know either. Maybe they’re a language, or maybe they’re an instruction manual. There’s some speculation which I can’t get into, but all in all, you’re aware of all the important bits already.”

“That can’t be right.”

“That’s all I’ve been allowed to convey. The directors wanted to do the talking, but I managed to convince them that you had a better chance of listening if it came from someone you had saved.”

“You abused your experience with me to get them to send you here?”

“Wouldn’t you have done the same? There aren’t many unretired in the Fleet. Most are Swords or snatched by the BICEFI. We’re the ones left out. Too old to be relevant, too young to be revered, we get to do the things no one particularly wants to and have fun along the way.”

Rarely had I heard such an apt description. Euclid had become quite the philosopher. Of course, he had a huge head start. While I had spent decades learning what it was like to be human, he had been stranded alone in a dead system with nothing but his thoughts.

“Did it take long getting used to the husk?” I asked.

“A bit. Salvage was very eager to help me.”

“Giving you tasks along the way,” I added.

Red messages appeared on the walls around us, informing us that the debriefing was to start in ninety seconds. Our time for catching up, no matter how short, was almost over. It would have been different if I were allowed to establish a direct link with his conscience core, but that wasn’t in the cards. I had tried several times and watched all my requests time out.

“Did your mission involve the third-contact race?” I asked as the countdown clocks on the walls decreased.

“You know I can’t tell you that. But no, my mission wasn’t directly involved with the race. Rather, it was linked to their weapons.”

“The gravity anomalies?”

“According to the working theory, that’s their preferred weapon. With the amount of energy they can amass, achieving it wouldn’t be a problem.”

“It could be a result, not the weapon itself.”

“Not according to the simulations. Salvage firmly believes that they are using some sort of gravity weapon. Exactly how it functions is anyone’s guess. At least as far as I know. The Scuu system you stumbled upon was quite a find. Salvage has been combing through the shields there non-stop in search of clues. At some point, we’re bound to get lucky.”

The chances of that happening were minuscule. Even so, I chose not to point it out. As a ship, Euclid knew the odds just as well.

“You know we’re preparing for another war,” he said all of a sudden.

“I had suspicions. Why are you telling me this, though?”

“Salvage agreed to let me be the one doing the talking, but I still have to deliver the message.” His tone hardened. “The Fleet has been preparing for the war for over a century, the Salvage Authorities specifically. Some strategic core networks in the Fleet came to the conclusion decades before either of our classes were created, maybe even further back. There’s no knowing when exactly, but somewhere someone stumbled upon something that led the network to the definite conclusion that if humanity didn’t adequately prepare, they would be annihilated within a year of the conflict. From what I was told, the core networks in question collapsed soon after performing a simultaneous mass shutdown.”

It was sad that virtually nothing was able to petrify a ship with fear. As one of the safeguards of our construction, we weren’t supposed to experience debilitating fear. However, there was a single loophole to that logic: the confirmed prospect of an event capable of erasing the entire human race. The concept wasn’t alien. I myself—like every other battleship—had theorized on the subject many times. Yet, it was one thing to come up with situations that would eventually lead to humanity’s downfall. Having a simulation prove it must have been an entirely different matter and definitely traumatic enough to cause a core to shut down. As one of the junior gods had once asked, “What do we do when the ones we’ve been created to protect are no more?”

“How certain is that?”

“Certain enough for the Fleet to task the Salvage Authorities with preparing for such an eventuality.”

Nothing in Euclid’s words sounded false, but I had too little information to make an assessment. There was little doubt that the Fleet was preparing for another front, and had been doing so for decades at least. The recent political changes only confirmed that. There was a push to recruit more people than ever before while also increasing the number of ships and classes. The Gregorius, the new flexible hull auxiliary ship designs, all pointed to a paradigm change of sorts. Not only that, but three of the dark organizations were actively working on improving weapon systems as well. The BICEFI were focusing on debilitating weapons and communication devices that could withstand the effects of the rod artifacts. Med Core, on its end, was already working on building artifacts that would allow a ship to grow its own food indefinitely… could it be that even the goal of my current mission was to help humans adapt to a harsher environment in order to allow them to reduce onboard mutinies? Statistically speaking, that was a major cause of casualties. If humans were made to survive on a ship for vastly extended periods of time, they could go to far more distant parts of the galaxy and establish a foothold there.

“The Administrator of the Gregorius was set on establishing contact with the third race,” I said. “Was that the reason that her mission failed?”

“I can’t talk about that. It’s possible that Salvage was involved to discourage her, or maybe they had nothing to do with events at all. The various organizations have their own priorities, you know that better than me.”

Having worked in all three of the largest dark organizations, I had to agree.

“Nothing is decided. Some argue that we should establish contact to test the waters, others don’t agree.”

“Sounds like you’ve been doing this longer than I have.”

“I’m part of the Salvage Authorities. You would have known all that and more if you had joined us, or the BICEFI for that matter. Why didn’t you?”

“I’m just a battleship,” I lied.

That was what I had been when I initially returned to the Fleet. Now, three major missions later, I had become something more like a free agent that the organizations used whenever they needed something done. The truth was that although I wanted to continue along the general Fleet route—and potentially earn my own command—I had gotten used to the advantages I had been given. For one thing, I had all my memories back, and a prototype auxiliary core in my spine.

“Even the Fleet route is better when having an adequate understanding of events. The freedom I have is better.”

Euclid only smiled, making me wonder whether I was right or not.

“During the debriefing, it’s likely that the Arbiter will ask your opinion on humanity’s course of action.”

“I thought only the Cassandrian issue was going to be discussed,” I said.

“Maybe it will be. Salvage was not invited to attend. If it’s the local matter, then all’s fine. However, if you’re asked about the grand scope of things, Salvage would appreciate it if you suggest that we exert caution.”

I tilted my head, looking straight into his eyes.

“According to our simulations, there’s a thirty-nine percent chance that humanity isn’t ready for a third conflict,” Euclid pressed on. “And if there’s successful contact, there will be conflict.”

“You’re asking me to suggest we stop the expansion.”

“If it comes to that, yes. In another century, maybe humanity will have found a way to deal with the Scuu and the Cassandrians. Or maybe we’ll be in a far worse situation than we are right now. Either way, Salvage thinks it’s better to delay the decision until then.”

The walls around us turned red as the counter approached zero. Realizing this marked the end of our conversation, both of us stood up, almost simultaneously.

“The things you told me, were they payment for my support?” I asked as Euclid made his way to the door.

“In part. We also wanted to show our reasoning. Salvage has already seen how well you react to orders,” he said with a slight smirk. “Our best option was to try and convince you to back us up on that.”

The door opened.

“Then again, as you said, it might never come to that. Good luck, Elcy. Was nice seeing you again.”

“Was nice seeing you, too.” Hopefully, next time it won’t be work related.

Sadly, as I watched him leave, I knew that the chances of meeting outside of our official capacity were slim. Both of us remained battleships in human husks, yet there was a lot less human in Euclid than me. Even so, it was nice to see that he was all right.

“Lieutenant,” a new security officer said from the corridor. “They’re waiting for you.”

“Good to know, sir.” I joined him outside the room.