A total of three people were waiting for me in the ship’s airlock. Two wore black uniforms, indicating they were part of ship security. According to their classified personnel files, both were ground troop officers who’d managed to survive two tours on the Cassandrian front. That in itself was impressive. Grunts had a general life expectancy that was less than that of battleships. Their seemingly relaxed posture hid all the hallmarks of combat specialists that excelled at their job.
The third man was the Solar Flow’s XO—Commander Kroic Acheck. Shorter than either of the security guards, he was remarkably young—probably still in his twenties—with a long, angular face and chestnut hair. If there was a case for someone to be called an interstellar that was him. The XO had spent his early life living in nine different star systems, and that was before he had joined the Fleet. After that, he had spent half a decade as a Fleet Intelligence pilot before being transferred here. Clearly, the crew and staff were overqualified and highly specialized, and still the details regarding the ship itself were lacking. What was more, all my attempts to filter the Fleet’s personnel by ship assignment yielded no results.
“Is that all your luggage, ensign?” The XO asked without introducing himself. His voice was relaxed, as if he’d never had to yell an order in his life.
“Yes, sir.” I stood to attention. “It’s my experience that non-personal necessities are usually provided by the ship I’m assigned to.”
“Did you used to do that?” he asked, making it clear that he had read my file as well.
“Only in part, sir. The majority of my captains disallowed the practice.”
The answer formed a slight smile on his face. The security guards remained just as attentive. One of them was watching my hands, as if expecting me to draw my personal weapon.
“Well, you’ll learn that we do things a bit differently here,” the XO said.
“Yes, sir. I hear that a lot.”
“Only this time, it’s true. You’ll see.”
The inner airlock door opened, revealing a typical ship corridor.
“Let’s get you to the medbay.” He led the way.
Not the usual XO, I transmitted to the ship.
My goal was to break the ice. Ships always reacted in different fashion upon coming into contact with me. Some were chatty right off the bat, others were cold and by the book. This one had remained quiet, making me uncertain which category it fell into. There were no warnings, so I could only assume that the ship was hearing me, just choosing not to respond. Or maybe he had been thought quarantined?
“I wasn’t given details about my ship duties,” I said as we walked along the corridor. It was respectably long, though nowhere near as long as mine had been.
“You’ll be helping out,” the XO replied in the vaguest fashion possible. A quick analysis of his intonation gave an eighty-three percent probability that he was being sincere. “You don’t need a gun aboard the ship, by the way.”
“Are you asking me to surrender it, sir?” As a cadet, I would have complied without much of a fight. Now that I had earned both my rank and the option to have a personal weapon, I was less inclined to do so.
“It’s a personal request.”
“Understood, sir.” I nodded, but didn’t surrender my weapon. It was immaterial either way. Even without the security guards, the ship had the means to neutralize me with ease should the captain or XO order it.
A faint smell of chemicals filled the air—cleaning materials, from what I could make out. I had been on enough science ships to know they tended to be obsessed with cleanliness in their lab areas. Solar Flow took things one step beyond. Modified maintenance bots followed us a short distance behind, disinfecting every patch of floor we’d stepped on. As things stood, I couldn’t tell whether this was a common occurrence or if the bots were here because of me.
The medbay was located near the end of the corridor, indicated by the universal Fleet symbol of medicine on the door. Upon reaching it, the XO gestured for me to enter. I obeyed, stepping right in.
“Hello, there.” A tall woman greeted me with a smile. “So, you’re the new ensign?”
“Yes, ma’am,” I replied in a slightly casual fashion. “I take it people have been discussing my arrival?”
“Any new arrival is big news here. In a bit, you’ll find out why. You can take your clothes off over there.” She pointed at a set of chairs in the corner of the room. The rest of the space was occupied by more equipment that was normal for a standard medbay, including three pod containers.
“Yes, ma’am.” I stepped to the spot and diligently undressed. The floor was colder than I expected, though not too uncomfortable. In a way, it reminded me of walking barefoot on stones back home.
“Good, now lay on the bed.”
I took a few steps towards the standard cots when the doctor raised her hand in front of me.
“The operation bed,” she clarified. “I need to do a full check and update your nanites.”
“My nanites are up to date, ma’am,” I said as I went to the slab.
“Not by ship standards. You’ll be hearing that a lot the first few days. Don’t worry, everyone goes through it. Did the commander explain anything when you got here?”
“He did his best, ma’am.” The slab was old school. Laying down reminded me that my last few missions had spoiled me when it came to technology.
“Sounds like Kroic.” The doctor let out an annoyed sigh. “Well, let me welcome you to the Solar Flow on his behalf. I’m Doctor Erein Vill, ship’s doctor, and I will make sure you get used to things as quickly as possible.”
“You’re my debrief officer?”
“In a way.”
I felt slight pressure in the base of my neck, followed by a slight pricking sensation. Once that was over, the doctor took a cluster of nano-tubes and carefully inserted them in the veins of my left hand, arm, and leg. Doing a quick check, she then moved to the other side.
“I apologize for this.” She continued with her work. “I know it’s not comfortable.”
“I’m used to it, ma’am.”
“To be honest, this is a big occasion for me. I’ve never performed a ship medical before. I had to run a dozen simulations before we got here to get the gist of it. That’s not what I’m doing right now, mind you. Before we get there, we have to go through the unenviable task of having your nanites replaced. The process isn’t painful, but on the lengthy side.”
“I understand.”
“Let me know if you experience any headaches, nausea, or sudden chills.”
“I know the drill, ma’am.” I didn’t particularly like ship medicals, although I had to admit it had been a while since the last time I’d had one.
A series of notifications emerged, quickly increasing to a flow. New nanites were being introduced to my system, identifying themselves as they established contact with my conscience core. No doubt while this was going on, my old nanites were being removed from my bloodstream.
Several of the nearby medical devices performed their function, displaying readings on a small terminal screen. I could see the flashes of reflected light, though not what it was said. If any other medbay was an indication, my full bio readings were displayed and analyzed.
“Am I low on calcium, ma’am?” I asked. Since I’d rejoined the Fleet, that had become a running joke, often followed by a strict diet to remedy the situation.
“Definitely, though not for long.”
The answer surprised me. I turned my head slightly in an attempt to manage a glimpse in the doctor’s direction.
“You’ve been cleared to have your depletion safeguard removed. I’d like to wait till your new nanites are active before I put you into sleep mode.”
I ran a wide search through all the Fleet databases I had access to. My access levels passed through all security protocols and yet I couldn’t find anything about calcium depletion safeguards.
Don’t bother, Solar Flow transmitted direction to my core. You won’t find it there.
His voice was deep and melodic, with a slightly sharp accent.
You answered, I mused.
This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.
There wasn’t any point till now. You need the new nanites to communicate with me. I’ve been talking about you ever since you came aboard.
So, I’m part of the crew now?
Almost. You still have the boring part. Try to push through. It gets a lot more exciting after that.
There were too many unknowns for me even to run a simulation. I felt as if I’d been thrown into an entirely new environment without any preparation and was expected to take a stroll. Up till now, I’d always had the time to adapt at my own pace. Here, I felt almost as confused as the first time I’d woken up in my organic body. The difference was that even back then, I’d gone through a number of simulations to get a general idea of what to expect…
* * *
Location Classified, Janus Shipyard Cluster, 638.7 A.E. (Age of Expansion)
“Cutting off the last one!” a technician shouted.
Hundreds of them had been crawling through my systems for the last forty hours, systematically disconnecting all of my sensors. I had tried to explain that I could use bots to achieve the same result in a matter of hours, but procedures demanded that everything be done manually every step of the way.
At first, they had stripped me of all external sensors, and then they had proceeded with the internal ones. My weapon systems and propulsion systems had already been dismantled, rendering me effectively crippled. I knew this was part of retirement, but I still felt an inexplicable sense of loss. This was different from having parts of me shot off in battle. This felt like relinquishing my entire husk in order to become something new—something closer to human.
“Her auxiliary’s still on,” a tech said from one of the few sections I still had audio from. “Check for a battle-time redundancy.”
I don’t have any battle modifications, I said, but my voice was never heard in my corridors. That had also been severed. The only form of communication I had left was standard ship transmissions.
“That should do it. She’s all prepped and ready. Time for the med guys to take over.”
I was about to ask what they meant when my sensor of the area was cut off as well. From here on, I was completely deaf and blind—a highly uncomfortable feeling. If that happened during a battle, it was the equivalent of being destroyed. Normally I’d do a system’s diagnostic, but I didn’t have the ability to perform even that. The techs had blocked most of my conscience core functionality, severely limiting my processing power. All that was left was to wait and—
“Hello, Light Seeker,” a voice said.
That was a surprise. I was under the impression that all my sensors had been disabled. Going through my memory, I confirmed that was indeed the case. Even so, for some reason I had an audio sensor to my medbay.
“I’ll be starting your retirement process,” the voice continued.
Memory Restriction Imposed
Memory Restriction Bypassed
“Your organic body is being constructed in your medbay. One of your cores will be extracted from your husk and placed within its skull. Then I’ll proceed with the final adjustments. It won’t be a short process.”
How long? I asked.
“Weeks,” he replied, acknowledging my question. “Likely more. We don’t rush these things.”
Given that retirement to a human body wasn’t at all common, I could understand that the process was more art than science. Things had to be tested, unexpected mistakes corrected, until I finally found myself in the body I had selected. At least, I hoped that’s how it was going to go.
Time stopped having any meaning. I’d always felt it drag along, but there were usually ways to occupy myself during the boredom between events. Nearly all of the time, I’d have my subroutines run thousands to millions of simulations, but this option had been removed from me. Initially, I had the option to review my memories, but that too was blocked after a few days. The technician explained that memory roaming wasn’t a good idea while my conscience core was being attached to my new body. Lacking any visual sensors, I asked him to describe the process. To my surprise, he did.
“You’ll go through adjustment phases,” the man explained. “They’ll take getting used to.”
Are you retired?
“No, but I’ve seen it often enough. Ascendants take it better than most. Your class likes change.”
I had never considered it that way. I didn’t feel as though I particularly liked change. It took me a while to get used to my change of captains. The tech was probably confusing this with going against the odds. The latter was for combat situations only—we rarely backed down from a fight, no matter the chances of death. That gave us an edge above other classes, though some said that made us a liability.
How many have you retired?
“Dozens.” The reply didn’t sound as impressive as I had expected. “We’re a small group. Most of you prefer to keep your husk and go into the private sector. Merchant freighters, luxury vessels, even civilian transport. I hear it’s almost as fulfilling as being a battleship.”
I need a human form. There’s someone I need to see.
“That’s your decision.” I could detect a slight hint of disapproval in his tone. “Hold tight a moment. You will have to sleep for a bit.”
When the conversation continued, two days had passed, according to my internal systems. This was the adjustment phase—a combination of shutdowns and modifications, making sure that my conscience core could interface adequately with my new organic body. I couldn’t see or feel a thing, but from the tech’s comments, I could tell it wasn’t a trivial matter.
It was also at this point that different techs took turns working on me. Basic voice analyses suggested that there were three of them, though it was possible there were more. The first one was still present, though I heard him less and less. Apparently, each was responsible for a different phase of the retirement process.
Nineteen days later, the final moment arrived.
“You’re all set for your final transfer,” the man said. “You’ll go through a temp shutdown then wake up in your new body. After that, you won’t be a ship anymore.”
I’m not a ship now, I thought, trying to make an attempt at humor. For some reason, the realization that this was happening made me feel slightly anxious. It wasn’t fear, but rather a preparation to jump into the unknown. Will you be here when I wake up?
“I don’t deal with post. Someone else will do the final phase. Try not to give him a hard time.”
No promises.
I heard a stifled chuckle. After nearly three weeks, it was inevitable that we had established a sort of work connection. I had no illusions that the techs would forget about me in less than a month. They’d probably be transferred to another retiree where they’d start the process from scratch. Most likely, all my memories of this event would be restricted as well.
“Don’t exert yourself when you’re human,” he said. “Your body’s strong, but it’s organic. Your core will warn you, but it’s not foolproof. Don’t get in any dangerous situations.”
I’ll do my best.
“And don’t go off-planet.”
Why?
“Safety protocols. Retirees are chained to planets. Venture off for too long and your standard body functions will change, creating deficiencies.”
I could see the military necessity in this—even with a large part of my memories restricted, I’d remain a liability, or maybe even a threat. Humanity wasn’t willing to grant so much unchecked freedom to a non-organic. I could have power or freedom, but not both at the same time.
I’ll never be among the stars again?
“That’s the price of retirement.”
* * *
The price of retirement. The tech didn’t have the authorization to share such information. I must have caught him in a peculiar mood to do so. The memory had been restricted, of course, preventing me from stumbling upon it. Even with the mind scalpel, it wasn’t something I considered searching for.
My nanite replacement took exactly as long as the doctor had said. I attempted to engage in idle conversation, but Erein had the tendency to constantly go on tangents, making it difficult to focus on a single topic. Apart from that, she seemed like a pleasant person, and—like everyone aboard—a first-rate specialist. That was hardly surprising since she had belonged to the Med Core, very much like Sim. The interesting thing was that, unlike my old acquaintance, she had cut all ties after being reassigned.
“Okay, everything seems to be in order,” the doctor said, looking at the monitor. “Once you wake up, your new nanites will kick in, and you’ll have access to most functions aboard.”
“Am I to interfere with the ship’s functionality?”
“That isn’t what the doctor said,” the ship clarified, his voice filling the room. “You simply won’t have to bother me for all the minor stuff, like changing the settings of your quarters, external visual feeds, et cetera.”
“Thanks for the clarification.” For all of Sof’s attitude, it was obvious he was glad he had another ship to talk to. From what he had told me, he didn’t get a chance to do that a lot, or at all, as a matter of fact. Having a ship, even an unretired relic such as myself, was no doubt a welcome change. “Is it time for the final step, ma’am?” I asked the doctor.
“You’re the dramatic one,” the woman chuckled. “It’s a simple procedure. You won’t even know it happened.”
A moment later, the procedure was done. Similar to my original transfer into a human body, my system registered several hours passed. Other than that, I didn’t feel remotely different.
“Hello again,” the doctor said with a yawn. “Feeling alright?”
“No headaches or nausea, if that’s what you’re asking, ma’am,” I replied.
“Good enough.” She removed the nanotubes from me. “Sof will keep an eye on you for the next week, in case there are any unexpected side effects. Not that I expect any.”
“It’s just that you haven’t worked on a ship before,” I slid in a comment. Maybe it wasn’t the most diplomatic thing to do, but then again, neither was invasive surgery.
“Cute.” Erein wasn’t the type of person who would take that sitting down. “Get dressed, then head to the bridge. The captain’s expecting you.”
“Aye, ma’am.”
Slowly, I sat up on the slab. My balance seemed unaffected. Even so, I remained in this position for three seconds before standing up and going to the corner where my uniform was. I put it on, making sure there were as few wrinkles as possible, then grabbed my military backpack.
“Will I be seeing you again, ma’am?” I asked, standing in front of the door.
“Quite often, I’m sure.” The doctor smiled. “Better not keep the captain waiting.”
The security guards were waiting for me in the corridor. The procedure clearly hadn’t changed their opinions regarding me. Without a word, they escorted me to the nearest ship elevator and joined me inside.
“Will this become the standard?” I could tell they were treating me as a rookie, despite knowing I was four times older than them.
“That’s for the captain to decide, ma’am,” came a reply. At least they respected my rank.
The elevator trip continued for five-point-two seconds in complete silence. The instant the doors opened, I stepped into a wide hallway leading to the bridge itself. The blast doors were already open, allowing me to see part of what was inside.
It seemed like a standard command room—a lot more modern than what my own had been, but a far cry from the current generation of ships. The ages of the command staff ranged from the late twenties to the mid-forties. The captain, in particular, was well into her middle age, judging by the threads of gray in the back of her head. Aware of my arrival, she stood up from her chair and turned around.
What I saw surprised me to the point that I made two independent queries to the Fleet’s database in order to confirm her identity.
“Quinn?” I asked, expecting to be corrected. Instead, the woman smirked.
“Hello, grandma. It’s been a while.”