Flying through space alone in a small, cramped cabin reminded me of my first trip as a cadet candidate. Word of my nature had gotten out, setting the rest of the candidates against me. They couldn’t do anything openly, so they just avoided me and stuck to petty insults. As a result, I had preferred to spend most of my time in a storage compartment, talking to the transport ship. The difference now was that there wasn’t anyone to talk to. The comm pod had a simple navigation system that couldn’t even be called an AI. Then again, with so little food and even less oxygen, I spent most of the time in sleep mode.

The pod would jump every hour on the hour, making its way to the final destination. Due to my limited oxygen supply, I had attempted to bypass the safety features, reducing the period between jumps by half, but had been unable to do so. My only choice was to limit my oxygen intake to the absolute minimum my body required.

Oxygen reserves depleted.

A warning message covered the whole of my visor. From experience, I knew that left me with enough for another half hour, though not much more.

With no windows or control panels, it was impossible to tell how far I had gone, but most likely I was still in the cloud complex. The fact that no auxies had caught up to me suggested that the conflict in the system hadn’t ended as the flight captain had claimed. There was a fifty-nine percent chance that they weren’t even aware I had left. The launching of the comm pods was indistinguishable from missile launches. Only Sof could correct that misconception, and somehow I doubted he would do so unless specifically asked.

Oxygen reserves depleted.

The message kept on flashing.

In a bit, I thought, floating at zero gravity in the small chamber. Just as soon as we jump again.

I had really taken a big leap of faith on this one. The canisters of oxygen were enough for approximately another thirty-one hours—almost certainly enough to let me get to the planet in question, though little more. My hope was that like many of the third-contact planets, it would have a high life factor, and specifically enough oxygen for me to survive. The odds weren’t great, but I hadn’t left any room for backup. If I ended up being off, all they would find would be a functionless conscience core in a dead body.

It wasn’t the first time I had gone through this. The stakes were just higher this time.

Reaching out, I grabbed one of the full tanks and switched it with the one I had. Within seconds, the warning messages disappeared, informing me that my reserves were back to a hundred percent.

Glad I can accommodate you, I thought.

Shortly after, I forced myself into sleep mode again.

Time lost any real meaning. Being isolated from the universe, all I could do was count the milliseconds since I left Sof and silently observe as the number of my oxygen reserves went down.

Now and again, when I woke up within the correct time window, I’d spend a few minutes waiting for a jump to take place, then return to sleep mode. During those few minutes, though, I’d go through all as much about the third contact race as possible.

Based on the facts, at least four races were within the fractal race’s domain. Everyone had their theories, but there wasn’t a single shred of evidence that any of the current races had ever been in contact with the fractals. The Scuu seemed to regard them as deities, or at least as close to the word that they could conceptualize; the Cassandrians mimicked their artifacts, but proved incapable of thriving on most of the planets that had been occupied by the ancient race. In that case, where did this leave humanity? Like everyone else, they had gathered their artifacts, attempting to reverse-engineer and integrate them into their own tech. And finally, there was the dead race.

I would have liked to spend a lot more time and assistance researching them. After so much time, it was impossible to tell whether they were dead as a result of a conflict with the fractals, or the stubbornness of not engaging them at all. Simulations based on my current level of knowledge suggested the former. But would that be the case this time as well? There was every chance that the third-contact race had died out, leaving only remnants behind. Though, in that case, why were the domes still functioning?

The more my oxygen supply depleted, the more I went back to thinking about Sev and his family. Having a large part of his family living back with him, diminished my worries somewhat. Even so, I would never be able to get rid of the constant worry. I had promised his mother that I would take care of him for the rest of his life. By the looks of it, that was a promise I wouldn’t get to keep.

Chin up, Sev. You won’t get rid of me that easily.

Two members of his family, aside from me, had joined the Fleet despite his wishes, but they had turned out well enough. Lisko remained too junior to get into trouble, and after what she had been through, I was all but convinced that Quinn would be put on station duty for a while. It was going to be a while until Sof was back in service, and the likelihood of Quinn being given another ship before the end of her tour remained slim.

Oxygen reserves at twenty percent.

The warning message mercilessly flashed. I sat in wait again, counting the milliseconds to the jump. When it came time, the unmistakable sensation didn’t occur. I remained motionless for another ten seconds, just to make sure. I wasn’t wrong: the pod had reached its final waypoint.

Finally.

I made my way to the hatch. With a spacesuit on, it made little difference whether I was inside or out. The gravity was the same, and so was the lack of oxygen.

Carefully, I turned the mechanism to unlock the door and opened it. Space expanded before me. Seeing it after so long gave me a sense of freedom and beauty. If it wasn’t for the itching of the wound in my arm, I could almost feel like a ship again.

Two red stars shone in the distance, no larger than grains of sand. If I had the time, I’d spend hours here, admiring the star-filled sky.

I know how you felt, Augustus. I remained there, holding the door. I know I’ve said that before, but all the times before I was wrong. In the end, even after all this time, I remained just a rookie.

Spacewalks without a cable were always considered to be extreme. Retired ships could do them because they had the capacity to calculate all the variables while moving. Everything was astrophysics, after all. What made this a bit more challenging was the lack of an adequate propulsion system. Taking the nearly empty oxygen canister, I gently pushed myself outside.

Releasing what little gas there was, I made it to the external console and slowly removed the safety panel.

Five jumps separated me from the final destination—five jumps I’d have to remain awake for. Lacking adequate instruments and any information about this section of space, there was no telling whether I’d crash into a gravitational anomaly or not. The only semblance of a scanner was the comm pod’s warning system. In theory, it was supposed to detect gravity at a distance of ten thousand kilometers, but even if it did, that was remarkably little. Pretty much all it guaranteed was that I’d know if the probe was about to crash in a planetoid.

You’re able to jump on, aren’t you?

I checked the readings on the miniature screen. After a moment, I input the coordinates of the next jump point and fastened the safety panel again.

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Without making unnecessary motions, I took in as much of the sight as I could for the ride, then used the oxygen canister to propel myself back to the hatch. I had no intention of using it to propel me again, but even so, I had no intention of leaving it just floating in space.

Four minutes and eleven seconds later, my journey continued. From here on, it was the remaining full canister of oxygen I’d have to use. As long as I was careful, there would be more than enough left for later… as long as I didn’t have to make too many detours.

With the exception of some slight discomfort, the next two jumps went without issue. On the third one, I saw it—a Super Nova gravitational anomaly. Back during the arbiter council, I expected them to be referring to a neutron star system or something similar. What extended beyond me was nothing like it. Looking at it, I could understand the fears some of the arbiters had.

A cloud of pure blackness ripped the system apart, like a hole in the sky itself. The only reason I could tell that the system had a star at all was the light reflected by the visible inner planets of the system.

That’s a bit more than gravity bumps.

A Fleet exploration team would have loved to survey the area. Thousands of probes would spend hours scouring the system, transmitting their findings to ships remaining at the edge, or even in another system. As things stood, there was no going through here. I’d have to return to the previous system and attempt a new route.

According to the maps in my database, my two remaining jumps just became four.

“In case someone finds the suit,” I said out loud. “I’ve come across a Super Nova anomaly system. Without instruments, there’s no way to determine the exact effects. There’s a high chance that it was artificially made. The anomaly is visible as a black nebula within the system, although it doesn’t seem to affect the planets. I would recommend further exploration. I estimate the likelihood of third-contact artifacts at approximately seven-point-one percent.”

The chances of anyone finding me were even less likely that finding the system, but I could do this much at least.

My troubles didn’t end there. Three jumps later, I once again ventured into a Super Nova anomaly system… as I did two more jumps after that. It seemed that the arbiter fiction of the special cage theory was not that far off, after all. Having that many systems with massive gravitational anomalies clustered together was too improbable for a coincidence. The council had gotten just one thing wrong: the anomalous systems weren’t keeping the races locked in. Rather, they were keeping us out.

According to the Fleet’s map databases, seven systems had the potential to connect to the one I needed: seven systems—one destination. In retrospect, one could almost call it obvious, though only as long as they didn’t have all the facts. Even in human space, there were systems of similar nature. All of them were regarded as being of extreme strategic and political importance. It made sense for another civilization to place one of their centers at such a location. Having half of them blocked by gravitational anomalies suggested that they had been at war with someone.

What were you protecting yourself from? I set the coordinate to the next prospective system and returned to the pod’s chamber.

My second bottle of oxygen was less than four percent, making the messages a constant fixture on my helmet’s visor.

I had the option to enter sleep mode again, and I took it. Once I woke up again, it was almost time for the jump.

Go against the odds. I tapped the ceiling as I floated in the tight space. I felt the slight vibration that accompanied the twist of space around the pod, then nothing.

The chances of seeing the black cloud in the system were seventy-eight percent, but as I proceeded, I found it was nowhere to be seen.

A clean system? The odds were markedly against me, and yet here I was looking at it.

I made my way to the external console and checked the readings. A jump option to the next system was possible; finally, I was one system away from my destination. Gibraltar would have called it luck. Augustus would have called it persistence. Wilco would likely have come up with some joke on the matter. All three of them would have appreciated the opportunity.

I inputted the numbers and secured the panel.

The next hour was both the shortest and longest I had experienced in my existence. When it was over, and I opened the hatch door, I finally saw what I had been hoping for: the characteristics of the star in the system were the exact same as what I had seen in the fractal map.

From this distance and without instruments, it was impossible to see the locations of the planets, yet I knew they were there. The pod’s engines were capable of in-system travel, even if it would take considerable time.

According to available data I had copied from the Fleet’s database, the system had two planets, both relatively close to the star itself. Reaching their orbits would take approximately five days and would all but deplete my oxygen reserves.

This wasn’t the best way to establish third-contact, but beggars didn’t have the luxury of choosing. If I had received more support from the arbiters, things would have been a lot smoother. On the other hand, establishing contact without a heavy presence of human technology increased their chances for long-term survival.

* * *

Location Classified, Narcis Shipyard Cluster, 627.1 A.E. (Age of Expansion)

How long will I remain here? I asked.

My return to human space hadn’t passed the way I had simulated it would. I knew there would be no parade or even admission of the mission due to its secrecy, but I hadn’t expected to be kept on moth balls for so long.

“Impatient again?” The lead engineer laughed, or at least I thought he was an engineer. He hadn’t given me a name or a rank, just introducing himself as “an engineer.” The fact that he was the only one communicating with me made me suspect that he had a higher importance than most in his position. “It takes time to build a husk from scratch.”

Another excuse. At this point, I had heard them all.

You have my memories. You know as much as me.

“I want to hear it from you.”

Typical of the bureaucratic apparatus. It was annoyingly often that they didn’t rely on technology alone, preferring to conduct standard interrogations. The whole thing was pointless and a colossal waste of time, yet it was the only method that could move things forward.

“What happened to your real self and the junior gods?”

I don’t know. This part of me was ejected before the rest of me continued on my mission. Since you haven’t received any further contact from me, I can assume my main husk and everyone aboard is dead.

“You’re taking it quite easy.”

The Swords wanted to go on their final run.

“And your captain?”

I’m sure that I was with him till the end.

“Probably, but you can’t remember. Wouldn’t it have been better to leave the heart system and bring the information back?”

It was my captain’s decision. I felt pain while saying it. Even if the logic was flawless, the loss of a captain wasn’t something that could be easily overcome, especially someone I had known for so long. In moments such as these, I could see how memory restrictions could be a blessing.

“Do you think he tried to destroy the system?” the engineer asked.

I don’t know. Maybe we found out something after the launch of my auxiliary core. I paused for twelve hundred and two milliseconds. A single ship cannot destroy a whole system.

“Not yet. If you could have destroyed it, would you have?”

A theoretical question. If I had all my processing power, I would have used millions of subroutines to simulate the most likely outcomes of such an action. In my current state, the answer was closer to a personal opinion.

Yes.

“Why?”

There’s a high chance that the vacuum in the heart of the Cassies would create a chaos the Fleet could exploit. With a large enough fleet, we could cripple the enemy echo system and scatter the various species that compose it against each other.

“Interesting. If we return you to the front, would you do it?”

I didn’t answer. There were too many layers to the question. Knowing human bureaucrats, it would well turn out that my answer would determine whether I’d get a new husk or not.

Yes. I would.

“As expected of a ship,” the engineer laughed. There was something in his laugh pattern that made me think he was not entirely truthful. “Your new husk is nearly complete. A few more months and you’ll get a new captain.”

That was something I hadn’t heard before.

Thank you.

“It would be a waste not to take advantage of your accumulated experience. Just one thing. Your previous mission wouldn’t have worked if there had been more ships.”

I’m aware. We never would have penetrated beyond the enemy lines.

“Still being a ship. It’s not about the lines, it’s about the threat. No one thinks much of a single anomaly.”

What’s that supposed to mean?

“Take care, battleship. You won’t be hearing from me again.”

* * *

No one thinks much of a single anomaly… I never discovered the identity of the person. Based on the knowledge and authority he held, there was even a chance he was an arbiter. Yet, I could appreciate what he said. The smaller the group that established contact, the lesser the threat would be on both sides. Even when it came to the first-contact war, it was only after humanity got heavily involved with the Scuu that the conflict broke out. If anyone had been able to stop and analyze the situation at any point instead of pushing on with more and more troops, there was a significant chance that the war might not have occurred. It was never good talking about theoreticals, especially past theoreticals, but in this case there was a takeaway—the chances of the third-contact race being afraid of an unretired battleship upon a one engine comm pod were slim.

“I’m here,” I said for my suit to record. “See you in a hundred and twenty-six hours.”