Ten minutes after the arbiter meeting was over, I was back on a courier ship, flying out of the system. This time it was a real ship, not a Paladin-controlled husk. That in itself suggested that my request had been approved, and now the bureaucratic pieces were being shuffled around to make it work. Somewhere, admirals, captains, and division heads were receiving new orders that didn’t seem to make any sense. Looking at them in isolation, there could be no other possibility. Their only goal was to get me, my team, and all required equipment in one place and set it up for the mission. Until then no one, not even me, would be told any details. Anyone trying to find out would run into a dozen roadblocks as they tried to navigate through the millions of layers of bureaucracy, each protecting their information out of habit and pettiness. It was outright impressive how someone had transformed the principle of bureaucracy into an information distributing system with the best firewall in existence.

The ship took me to a military space station in proximity to the buffer zone. From there, I was transferred to a high-priority vessel taking officers to human space.

Being the sole ensign among a crew of colonels and commanders raised some eyebrows, but they knew better than to ask questions. Those with some sense considered me part of Fleet Intelligence, or even more notorious organizations. Those with better sense tried to view my personnel file. As part of an arbiter’s team, I was informed of all such attempts and, in turn, provided the files of everyone who’d looked into it.

Did you go through the same, Augustus? I wondered. It would explain why you’d keep your quarters off-limits to me. Or did you just want to take a break from it all?

Both my first and second captains had been tightly involved with dark organizations; the third had desperately wanted to join one. How would they react if they learned that I was now part of the organization that deterred the course of all others? Most likely, they’d either have sympathy or envy.

“Returning from the front?” A middle-aged commander approached, taking the seat next to me. He was one of the people who had shown interest towards me. According to his file, he had served three tours and was on the way to retirement. Considering the number of times he’d nearly died, that was probably a blessing.

“Yes, sir.” I nodded.

“Not your first time, I take it?”

“No, sir. And likely won’t be the last,” I lied.

“That’s what everyone says until retirement.” His lips stretched into a sad smile. “I guess even that didn’t stop you.”

“No, sir, it didn’t.”

“I’ve heard of cases like you. I even got to see one briefly. Always on missions that are way beyond my clearance. First time I heard of anyone returning to the Fleet as an officer, though.”

“That’s correct, sir. I am the only one. At least as far as I know.”

He laughed, then took a sip of his drink. The smell was strong, way stronger than regulations would allow. If I had to venture a guess, he had smuggled a flask of organic alcohol aboard. Regulations were vague on the matter, but in no event would anyone punish a retiree coming home from the front.

“So, are we winning?” he asked in a semi-whisper.

“For the moment, the outlook is good, sir.”

“Oh? I thought you’d tell me that you’re not allowed to discuss such matters.”

“You knew that before asking, commander. All I could do was provide a bit more pleasant conversation. After all, I’m also human now.”

“I doubt many in the Fleet would accept that.”

“You seem to have.”

“An old man doesn’t count. I’m a week away from becoming a civilian, and by then, I really won’t count.” He took another sip. “I could go into politics, of course. Join the pro-war or anti-war side, but we both know that it wouldn’t make a difference. The Fleet takes care of its own, and humanity can’t survive without the Fleet. Even the bureaucrats know that.”

“Those are the options we are given. Keep quiet or try to make a change. Personally, I’d suggest you enjoy life, friends, and family. It’s a lot less stressful.”

* * *

Location Classified, Narcis Shipyard Cluster, 609.7 A.E. (Age of Expansion)

Memory restriction imposed!

Memory restriction removed.

A subroutine informed me that my onboard sensors had registered movement. Most likely, some of the techs were back to do another test. After all this time, they’d still been playing around with my systems. I’d have hoped that I would be fit for combat, but there always seemed to be something else to check.

If this was the efficiency of the standard Fleet technician, there was a lot to be desired. If the process was automated, the entire refitting would be done in three weeks and eleven hours, and that included replacing my entire hull plating.

“Forgot anything?” I asked throughout all my halls.

With the information from my internal sensors being blocked on its way to my core, I only knew that someone was there, not where.

“I demand to be told how much time remains till the end of my refit. Regulations clearly state that I must be informed of the refitting schedule and especially my launch date.”

“Yapping even here, rookie?” a male voice asked. Voice analysis confirmed that it was Augustus.

I had already been informed that he’d take me on for a second tour. Despite minor annoyances due to his attitude, I had welcomed the news. After five years, I was more or less used to his method of operation, and unlike some captains I’d witnessed, he knew what he was doing out there.

“Practicing for your return, sir,” I replied.

The man grunted.

“Don’t be smart. If I had the time to train another rookie, I’d be already out there. Make me a route to the bridge.”

I was just about to inform my captain that I didn’t have full access to my internal sensors, and a few other things, when suddenly all my systems linked to my conscience cores. It almost felt like the first time I’d woken up in my husk.

“At once, sir.” I opened all the corridor doors leading to the nearest elevator.

As he made his way to me, I ran some basic diagnostics on my newly accessible systems. Everything was identical to the previous tech checks. With Augustus being averse to yearly upgrades and modifications, there was a lot to get used to. The weapon and defense systems were considerably improved, allowing me to fire seventy percent more missiles than in the past, though at the expense of some maneuverability. Current military doctrine claimed that when fighting slow numerous enemies, firepower was of vital importance. Running a series of simulations, I couldn’t disagree, although I missed my old maneuverability. Now I would have to pay far greater attention to debris than in the past. Good thing that my processing capabilities had also received a boost.

“Your final check is in six hours,” Augustus said, still in the elevator. “You’ll be certified fit for duty, then moved to a boarding station.”

“About time, sir. How much of the crew will come along?”

“Wilco and most of the officers. Half of maintenance, give or take, and a lot of new grunts.”

An echo of pain went through my conscience core as he said that. It was a sad part of life that as many grunts had died as they did. That was another mystery I didn’t agree with. No matter how I looked at things, there was no need for people to be sent off to the front, let alone on ground missions. Artificial entities would have done a far better job, and yet there was this insistence that humans be tasked with the most hazardous tasks. An even greater mystery was that they volunteered for it. Even the rookies that wet their pants on their first mission had joined the Fleet on their own, even if they were barely fit for it.

“There’s something else.” Augustus’ tone softened.

“You’ve been selected for a special mission, sir?”

“Rookie, all my missions are special!” the man barked at me.

It took him four minutes and twelve seconds to reach the bridge. All the time, he didn’t say a single word. Once there, he made his way to the captain’s chair and sat down. Out of habit, I covered the bridge walls with images displaying the status of my current parameters. I couldn’t display the star system we were in or its exact location—that information remained highly restricted.

“Do you want me to restrict the bridge?” I asked.

“Why?” he leaned back, feeling the back of his seat.

“I estimate that the information you are about to tell me is highly classified.”

“Rookie, if someone can spy on a shipyard, we have bigger problems than what I’m about to tell you.”

There was some logic in his statement, although I still preferred to follow protocol. Doing so behind his back wasn’t a good idea. More often than not, the captain managed to find out.

“You’ve probably noticed that we’ve done a few odd missions last tour,” he began. “Well, this year, we’ll be doing more of that.”

Reviewing my memories, there was no evidence that the missions I’d taken part in were anything but standard. However, I was no longer naïve enough to believe that was the case. There were a number of instances in which my memories were clearly restricted. It was speculated among ships that the number of restricted memories was above five percent.

“The BICEFI, sir?”

“Mostly. A few others occasionally, but that’s not the point. Things will be a lot tougher, your life expectancy will be lower, and you’ll get no credit for it.” He grunted with a smile. “Or as we say, just another day in the Fleet.”

If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.

“Why are you telling me this, captain? There’s a ninety-seven percent chance that this conversation will be restricted the moment it’s over, making the whole thing pointless.”

“Still reading up on regulation updates, rookie? Well, you’re right and wrong. The conversation will be restricted, but you won’t forget it.”

“That’s not how restriction works, sir.”

“Ever wondered why the Fleet restricts things instead of extracting them?”

I knew the answer. Experience was too important to be wasted, so my subroutines still made use of all the experience in my restricted memories as data. I just wasn’t allowed to rationalize and analyze it directly.

“That doesn’t work for conversations.”

“It works on attitude. If there’s a chance you’ll second-guess me less in the next five years, I’ll take it.”

A novel approach. No doubt some tech had told him a thing or two, most of which he misremembered. For his brilliant tactical and strategic mind, conscience core technology wasn’t one of Augustus’ strong suits.

“I’ll try to keep it in mind, sir.”

“Very funny.” The man took a cigar out of his pocket. Even after a total refit, he couldn’t curb the habit. “Our focus will be Cassandrian artifacts.” He lit up his cigar. “Which means a lot of ground missions, a lot of direct confrontations, more boarding attempts…”

“More losses,” I finished.

“Yes, a lot more losses.” He took a puff. “And greater turnover. Things aren’t going well on the Front. The Scuu and the Cassies have us boxed in, always pushing towards the center of human space. Things are so bad that some people are considering freeing up a corridor through human space so the two races could meet up and potentially enter a conflict of their own.”

The idea was laughably stupid. Creating this “corridor” would vastly increase the size of the fronts and require far more ships than we had at present. The only instance in which it could work was if humanity abandoned seventy percent of its current space, leaving it to the enemies.

“If this thing with our missions works, we’ll be able to push the Cassies back enough for us to take a breath.”

“Not a full victory, then?”

“A reprieve for humanity to get its ass in gear and figure out what to do. Think of it this way. If we mess up, humanity will get a few more chances. If we succeed, though…” Augustus half smiled. “If we succeed, we might get to kick the Cassies back to where they came from.”

* * *

My memories of the conversation had been restricted, just as I knew they would. I had only found out about it recently thanks to my arbiter level access. Even so, I was grateful that Augustus had let me know. Being part of the BICEFI, he probably knew a lot more than he had said. If he were alive now, there would be so much I could learn. Unfortunately, he was only human. I had already scoured all restricted databases in search of his personnel file. A large part had been removed, but I knew without a shred of doubt that the man was human. He had died in due course, well after my arbitration, as a civilian at a small rural colony. The file I had access to didn’t mention anything about family, but knowing him, he probably had none. He was married to his work and even if he had any progeny, they had little to do with him.

“A lot less stressful,” the commander let out a quiet laugh. “I’ll have to remember that one.”

“Do you have a family, sir?”

“In a way. None of them approved my joining the Fleet. It’ll be a challenge getting to know them again.”

“At least you have something to look forward to.”

“And you?” he said out of habit. “Oh, right. That came out—”

“I do,” I replied, making his eyes widen. “It will be nice spending some time with them before my next mission.”

The conversation slowly came to its end, moving to random topics. We had a few words about the front, about life in general. Then the man gave a friendly nod and returned to his seat. Having a conversation with a battleship that could pass for his daughter had probably been disturbing. I would have enjoyed the conversation, though.

The ship took us to a military-civilian hub well within human space. The station was massive, serving as a transfer point. Half of it was reserved for military personnel passing though. The rest was packed with civilians coming to greet them or send them off.

“Good day, ma’am,” a station sergeant approached me after I was done with decontamination. She was slightly older than one of the cadets I’d taught, yet still rose a full head above me. “This way, if you please.”

“Anything wrong, sergeant?” I had been following my orders, as well as general events, and there was nothing indicating a change of plans. Then again, there always was a fourteen percent chance that another arbiter meeting had taken place and come to a substantially different conclusion than the one I had been part of.

“No, ma’am!” the girl stood to attention. “I’m to escort you to your temporary quarters, ma’am.”

Temporary quarters? That was unusual, though not extraordinary. Based on the efficiency of things so far, I had assumed I’d be on a direct trip home. Apparently not.

“At ease, sergeant. Carry on.”

“Thank you, ma’am. Might I carry your luggage…?” She glanced down, no doubt expecting to see a backpack or suitcase.

“I travel light.” I spared her the confusion. “Nothing but a datapad and a pair of sandals.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She gave me a weird look. “This way, please.” She turned around and led on.

Going through packed corridors was a persistent part of serving the Fleet. Back when I was a battleship, the only times I’d grumble about it were when I had to dock at a station. Now, crowds had become part of my life. The sergeant did her best to create a bit of space, making me feel like a pebble in her slipstream.

“Were you given any other specific orders regarding me?” I asked. The noise of the corridor proved too much for her to react. “Sergeant!” I said louder, causing several people nearby to look in my direction. “Were there any additional orders?”

“Nothing that I was told, ma’am,” she replied over her shoulder. “You’ll have to ask the station administrator.”

The administrator? That was quite the escalation. Administrators didn’t deal with mundane matters such as this… at least, not unless they had been ordered to. It seemed like the bureaucratic apparatus had interpreted the general order in quite the peculiar way, making me an effective V.I.P.

My suspicions were confirmed after we passed through a door with an “Authorization Required” message on it.

“Your quarters are next to the quarantine area,” the girl explained. “Nothing to worry about, ma’am. The sections are separate, but considering your circumstances, it was decided that would be the most convenient solution.”

“Nice to know. What circumstances?”

The question almost made her miss a step.

“That you be allowed access to your captain, ma’am,” she said, doing her best not to look at me. “She’s not scheduled to arrive for another few days, but having you get accustomed to the space and the procedures was believed to be of benefit.”

Do I have you to thank, Otton? I sent a direct transmission to the station’s AI.

In a manner of speaking, the Paladin replied, as I knew he would. I merely shared an opinion with your arbiter. Given the time required to prepare your mission and the mutual desire for success, spending some time with family could only be seen as an additional motivator.

I’m surprised he believed you.

He couldn’t afford to risk not to.

No, I don’t think he could. Thanks, Otton. I appreciate the gesture.

“Quite right, Sergeant.” I turned to the girl. “Is there a ship medic on duty? I’d like to have my medical.”

“I-I’ll check at once, ma’am.” She stiffened.

“Thank you.”

Using my authority, I requested a layout of the station. The AI obediently complied, providing a detailed plan of all areas, even those deemed restricted. The space I was given seemed small and comfortable. Just a corridor away from the quarantined area and the section’s dining area. Over a dozen medic officers were placed not too far away, all of them listed as active.

The poor kid was hastily typing requests on her datapad, all for information I already had. Having worked at a training station, I knew how packed her schedule probably was. Still, she seemed to be taking it well. According to her personnel file, she had been at the job for three years after she didn’t make the cut for a Fleet cadet. That had been quite the blessing for her, since her reaction to nanites had been quite extreme. Had she made it to a ship, she’d have to be monitored every day and even then, no one would risk promoting her to an important position.

“I have scheduled for you to see a medic in seventeen minutes, ma’am. Doctor Sharex. He’s a veteran and quite skilled at his job.”

And also a member of Med Core, I thought. His access level didn’t let him know about my mission or recent change of employment, but he’d probably know enough about my past history.

I nodded.

We kept on walking for slightly longer until we reached the temporary lodgings. Most of them were empty. The only other occupants were people from Fleet Intelligence and a group of medical officers passing through the station.

“Here we are, ma’am.” The sergeant stopped in front of a door that displayed my name and rank. “If there is anything else, please let me know and I’ll do my best to assist.”

“No need. I can take care of myself. You’ve been helpful, though.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

She saluted and quickly rushed off, probably feeling uncomfortable dealing with someone like me. In her place I’d think the same thing—an ensign receiving the V.I.P. treatment screamed dark organizations.

The door opened as I approached, granting me access to a rather cozy room. Almost as large as a captain’s quarters, it had the amenities of a civilian tourist room. Deciding to take full advantage of what was offered, I got undressed and took a long shower. It had been a while since I’d felt the pleasure of high-pressured water. Quite an improvement from the decontamination chamber.

When is Quinn scheduled to arrive? I asked.

She’s en route. You were just a lot faster. I estimate she’ll be there in twenty-three hours. Do you want her to be there sooner?

No, a day is fine.

After the shower, I dried off, then got dressed with the station-provided clothes and went for my med check.

There was a slight hesitation about how I should approach the matter, but as I found, the medics liked to keep their doors open—at least while there was no work to be done.

“You must be Elcy.” The doctor waved to me the instant I came into view. “Come in, come in. I’ve everything set up just for you.”

He had the appearance and demeanor of a pleasant old man with a fondness for sugar. Cleanly shaved, bald, and pleasantly plump, he looked more like a virtual construct than a real person.

“Hello, sir.” I offered a smile. “I’m glad you could fit me in your schedule.”

“Oh, nonsense. It’s my pleasure.” The door closed behind me the moment I entered. “I’m sure no one has told you this, but it’s quite the honor having a battleship grace me with her presence.”

“The pleasure is entirely mine. I’ve always found Med Core operatives to be highly skilled at what they do.”

The smile on his face remained. I couldn’t tell if he was keeping up an act or generally with a sunny disposition.

“Your file doesn’t do you justice. Please.” He gestured towards a free chair. “I take it you’re not here for a standard check-up?”

“Actually, that’s exactly what I’m here for.” I took my seat. “I cannot discuss my mission, but I’m here by choice. I just want to be sure that everything organic is in order.”

“That’s a new one. Any reason why it shouldn’t be?”

“No.”

He waited for a few moments. I added nothing.

“Well, in that case, let’s get started.”

The equipment was a bit older than what I had become accustomed to, but the tests were no different. I went through a few scans and had several clusters of nano-tubes inserted in my neck, not to mention a full nanite analysis.

With the exception of the nanites, everything else seemed within parameters. What was more, the doctor was even surprised at my high calcium readings, even making a joke about it.

We exchanged a few more words, but when it became clear that neither of us was willing to give any details on their respective mission, it was obvious that it was time for me to go. With my only “task” on the station over, I had nothing but time on my hands.

There were many things I could do while waiting, so I decided to do them all.

Using part of my subroutines, I composed a letter to Sev while also reviewing and analyzing all information I had regarding third-contact artifacts, as well as running a few combat simulations. The last was only partially useful. There was no telling how third-contact ships would fight. The only potential clue I had to go by was the instances of gravitational anomalies.

If battleships and people were supposed to improve with time, then I was definitely in a slump. In eighty-three percent of the simulations, I ended up either destroyed or had a vital system crippled to the point where I might as well have been. Without a doubt, fleeing was the best approach, but even then, choosing an escape vector was more difficult than one might think.

Things had become so jarring that when the station’s AI informed me of Quinn’s arrival, I seized the opportunity to stop all processes taking place in my conscience core and go meet her. With everything happening, both of us could use the distraction.