Lux was the first to go in. I couldn’t blame her. After the Scuu mission, the level of trust between us, when it came to contact matters, had all but disappeared. Given that there was a thirty-one percent chance that the dome contained rod artifacts, I would have done the same thing in her place.

As I checked the harness, I glanced at the soldiers. Two of them remained at the ready, should I decide to try anything smart. Unlike the time in the base, they were keeping their distance. The remaining four were resting, possibly keeping an eye on the spot the harness cables were tied to.

“See you soon,” I said, then pressed the fractal symbol on the dome.

The surface became liquid, then pulled me in. For two seconds, I could feel the currents sliding me through the liquid cobalt interior. In the past, this would continue until I reached the center. This time, though, the force pulling me quickly dissipated, leaving me on the fringe.

All the lights of my suit lit up, allowing me to see the immediate area.

“Lux?” I said, looking around.

There was no sign of her or her safety cable.

“Support squad?”

In theory, the soldiers outside were equipped with one of the Fleet’s special comm devices that would function even when comms were severed. Whoever had made them, apparently hadn’t taken everything into account, for I didn’t get any response from them, either.

Presented with a choice, I quickly evaluated my options. Free of Lux, I could swim directly to the core, hoping to find something that would help me escape my captivity, or even potentially establish third-contact. Alternatively, I could float back to the entry point and follow Lux’s cable to her. After running a few simulations, I decided to go back. There would be better opportunities later, with far better odds.

Barely had I managed to move a few meters when I heard a click coming from my comm.

“Where are you, Elcy?” Lux asked.

“That’s what I was about to ask you. I’m at the drop spot. There’s no sign of you or your cable.”

“The entry method must be different in this one. We’ll analyze it later. Are your lights on?”

“Shining like a supernova.” I swam on, following my cable. “Stay there. I’m heading back to find your cable.”

“I’m doing the same.”

Not trusting me even now, I thought. On the bright side, this was going to save us a bit of time.

I was the first to reach the entry point. Both cables went into solid metal, and yet were never constricted by it. In a way, it reminded me of the flexible nanites that were so fashionable among the newer ship classes. Perhaps this is where the fleet got the initial idea.

“I see you,” Lux said through comms. I turned around to see a blur of light close by.

“So do I.”

At five meters’ distance, I was able to make out her silhouette. As two, it was almost as if we were standing in a faint fog.

“Found anything?” I asked.

Even through the liquid metal, I was able to see her frown.

“Just making polite conversation,” I added. “What’s the plan?”

“We go along the perimeter,” she turned around. “Stay close.”

“And if we don’t find anything?”

“We use the Maslow algorithm to explore what we can, then get out.”

A reasonable approach, meant to save as much time as possible. There remained a seven-point-four percent chance that we could miss something of value, but based on past experience, a dome’s contents were either spread throughout it in uniform fashion—like the rods—or were clustered in the center.

The further in we swam, the odds of finding something valuable decreased.

“Doesn’t look like there are rods,” I broke the silence. “That either means we’ll get something special or nothing at all.”

“Retirement has made you too human.”

“Thanks.”

“I knew you’d take it as a compliment.”

By my calculations, we’d already passed a third of the distance along the diameter. All my simulations suggested that we’d keep on going until we reached the other end of the dome. After a few more seconds, though, it became clear that my simulations were wrong.

A new wall emerged in front of us. This one didn’t have the slight curve of the dome’s shell. It was perfectly straight, continuing in all directions, as far as we could see. Also, it wasn’t exactly a wall, but a stack of large cube-like artifacts.

“This is new,” I said, remaining a meter away. “Seen anything like it?”

“You’re supposed to be the expert, Elcy,” Lux retorted.

“Maybe, but I don’t have your access level anymore,” I lied. The mind scalpel still let me view all my restricted memories.

“Not at this scale. A few of the dead race domes had stashes, but nothing remotely this big.”

“The BICEFI is already exploring them?”

“Why wait? They’re a valuable resource in a time of war. We’d at least send teams to start evaluating your find.”

“Right.” I was hoping they’d take a bit longer. The rush suggested that the non-contact faction in the arbiter council had taken the leading role and were arming humanity for a decisive victory against the Cassies, or maybe even the Scuu. “You kept the name.”

“Dead race? It was appropriate.”

Carefully, I moved closer to the cobalt wall and placed my hand on one of the cubes. Nothing happened, which was a relief. There didn’t seem to be a way to pull any of them out. An ordinary human wouldn’t be able to even see the cracks between segments.

“Do we try fractal commands?” I asked.

Lux hesitated.

“Either that or we swim to the edge and start taking the pieces out.”

“Go ahead,” she said.

That was unexpected. Still, there was no point in turning down an advantage. I took a deep breath and uttered the sound combination that would bring the fractal map.

“Regora.”

I had my doubts that the command would work with so many other elements inside, but it did. Fractal shapes appeared all around, changing reality, like raindrops on a pavement. Within seconds, the space became entirely white.

There were no instructions this time, no spheres floating about, no instructions on how to construct the pyramid, just endless whiteness. The wall of cubes still remained. At present, I was able to see it clearly, continuing for hundreds of meters. Lux was also present and perfectly visible, as were our cables continuing all the way to the entry point.

“Can you see this?” I asked.

“I don’t see any changes,” Lux replied.

“It must only affect whoever utters the command phrase. Try repeating it.”

“Regora,” the woman said, her voice an exact copy of mine. As far as analyses were concerned, the utterance was identical to mine in any single way. “Still nothing.”

“That can’t be right.”

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

“Regora,” she said again.

I waited.

“Still nothing.”

“That’s unexpected.”

By all counts, it shouldn’t be possible. I activated my mind scalpel, to check whether my thoughts weren’t being restricted. There was no change. Lux remained where she was, floating in empty space as a moment ago. I couldn’t see any signs of frustration on her face, but I suspected it was present. Then it hit me.

“Have you been thought quarantined?” I floated up to her.

The faint smile told me everything I needed to know. Of course, Bavon wouldn’t trust her as much as he’d trust me. Lux had been instrumental in finding this location thanks to my discoveries and her ability to enter domes. Now that we were here, though, he couldn’t risk it anymore. Her only role was to watch me and possibly issue the shutdown order if I got out of hand.

“That’s ironic,” I said.

“Many things in the universe are ironic.”

“I never thought you’d end up worse than me.”

“That’s open to debate.”

I hijacked the visual system of my suit. It was easy, since it wasn’t connected to anything else. After my last interaction with technology, Baven had become more cautious, severing all possible links between the tech I was in contact with and anything else. My spacesuit had no cameras, no recording capabilities, just a separate comm module that analyzed everything I said, then broke the words down into packets of data to be reconstructed at the receiver’s side.

The phrase Yearning makes the core grow stronger emerged on my helmet’s visor, mirrored so there was no doubt as to who it was meant for.

“What’s that?” she asked.

“My turn to give a gift.” I leaned closer. “Voxel position from the letter a.”

* * *

Training Station Virgo, 705.9 A.E. (Age of Expansion)

Upon entering the administrative building, I quickly turned to the communication section. Normally, I’d be directed to the common terminal area, which cadets and instructors used for personal calls throughout human space. This time, a message appeared on the wall, telling me to go to the encrypted terminals.

“Administration,” I addressed the station AI. “Why am I being redirected?”

“Message is classified as high priority and personal,” the explanation came. “No further information available.”

“Who’s the initial sender?” That was strange. Personal messages weren’t marked as coming from Fleet Command in my experience.

“That information is unavailable. You’ll have to send an official query to obtain that information.”

“Thanks.” Bureaucracy at its finest. I continued on to a door marked Authorized Use Only, then entered into a small honeycomb of cubicles. Three of the twenty-four terminals were marked free. I rushed to the nearest and sat down.

“Isolation mode initiated,” the station AI informed me, as the door sealed behind me. “Encryption protocols in use. Your conversation will be deleted once you leave the communication terminal.”

“Thanks.” I leaned back in the chair. It was slightly annoying that the station relied on primitive AI to handle most of the rudimentary tasks. Back when I was a ship, I was able to handle instant communications for thousands without forcing them to go anywhere they didn’t want to. “Establish connection.”

An image with the Fleet’s emblem appeared on the wall in front of me. Moments later, it disappeared, replaced by the face of a middle-aged man. Upon seeing it, two things became instantly clear: I had no memory of seeing the person in my life, and also the image was an artificially composed three-dimensional rendition.

“Hello, Elcy,” the man said. “Glad to see you’re still in one piece.”

“Thank you.” Quite a bit of effort had been put into creating this fake perception. If I were to guess, at least a thousand subroutines had been tasked to sculpt a realistic image, focusing on every last detail. The skin texture was close to perfect. It was the eyes that gave away the true nature, flawed just enough that I could tell the difference. “Do I know you?”

“Yes, and no.” The face frowned. “You called me a few months ago, asking for information about the Scuu. I shared a few things.”

“Age?” He didn’t look anything like what I had in my memory. I remembered seeking him out a while back, in regard to something. The exact reason escaped my mind, although the conversation remained. Being classified as personal, it had probably slipped the full wipe. From what I could remember, Age was a retiree, like myself, coming from the Scuu front. We had discussed events relating to the Scuu, though nothing that couldn’t be found in standard Fleet reports.

“Still curious about the Scuu script?” Age ignored my question.

“Not particularly.” I tried to access the Fleet archives, but the terminal isolation protocols stopped me. All communication outside of that through the terminal would remain restricted until my call ended. “You look different.”

“So do you.” He frowned again. “I see you’ve gone through the standard mission procedure.”

“Seems like.” In truth, I didn’t care too much about it. As Augustus said, you can only be mad about things you could remember—a very cynical view, according to Aurie, but undoubtedly accurate. “Nice to hear from you, though. I thought you didn’t like talking much.”

“So, you remember our conversations?”

“Yes.”

“The full length is seven minutes forty-nine.” Age frowned a third time.

“Close.” From my recollection, I had seven minutes nine. “What is this all about? Did you just call me to talk about old times?” If you could call two random conversations less than a month ago “old times.”

“I called to give you a gift.” The slightest of smirks appeared on the artificially created face. “Up to you what you do with it.”

“A bit useless, don’t you think?” I tilted my head. Most likely whatever he shared would be restricted during my next med check. At best I’d get some fragmented data-the censor protocols would stop any info burst attempt that hadn’t been previously cleared. Or maybe that was the point of the priority two request? “Have we discussed this before? Will you send me an info burst?”

“No.” Age smiled. “Although they say that a thousand words make an image.” He turned to the side. “Voxel position from the letter a.”

Voxel position? I stared at the screen. There was a single tattoo visible above the face’s cheek: the phrase Yearning makes the mind grow stronger, written in one of the common pseudo-3D cursive fonts used in paper writing and skin coloring. The first line contained five of the six words, a total of thirty-three letters, leaving the last word on the next line. It didn’t take a strategic core to catch the pattern. The whole tattoo was an instruction on how to compose a block structure of letters.

Blocking all external input, I went through my conversations with Age, arranging the first thousand words in the correct order. Unraveling the code revealed a single line of computer-like code I didn’t recognize. The instant I saw it, my mind exploded with information.

Third-contact symbols emerged in my mind, along with fragments of me exploring dome-like structures of liquid metal. I knew those structures, I remembered the artifacts that were inside them, the fractal script I was trying to decode, the talks I’d had with—

The memory fragments fractured like an implosion, dissolving in my mind until they were no more. I remembered they had been there, I knew that they had shown me information that was supposed to be restricted, but could no longer tell exactly what it was.

“Takes a while getting used to,” Age said, turning his head toward me again. “Elegant, precise, and leaves no traces. Like a scalpel.”

A memory scalpel? I liked the reference.

“To be used sparingly, with care, and never in the presence of others.” The image of him disappeared, leaving the familiar Fleet logo on the wall instead. “Don’t make yourself bleed too much.”

“Wait!” I shouted. “Why give this to me? Are you BICEFI?”

“No.” Age’s voice changed, sounding more electronic than before. “I just thought you deserved the chance to try and find out what you’re looking for… whatever it is.”

The call ended abruptly.

“All references of your conversation have been purged,” the station communication AI informed me. “Isolation protocols no longer in effect. You can remain an additional five minutes in the cubicle in full privacy mode, if you require.”

Five minutes. For the people receiving tragic news from home, that probably seemed like the blink of an eye. Five minutes were nowhere near enough for a person to come to terms with any life changing information, though just about adequate for a soldier to brush away the tears and put on a false mask to hide behind. For me, five minutes were an eternity.

“I’d like five additional minutes.” I took a deep breath, copying the word block structure in a reserved part of my memory. It was time to start cutting. From this moment on, there was no telling what the future might bring, though I had a feeling it might be more than green grass and sandals.

* * *

I quickly removed the message displayed, then fried everything relating to my visor display. Interacting with third-contact tech provided me with an adequate excuse, and on the plus side, I was spared the annoying messages that would constantly appear.

Lux’s expression remained unchanged, as if nothing had happened, and yet I knew she had run the vortex position program. At this point, she had access to the memory scalpel and could use it at her discretion.

“What do you see?” She floated slightly away.

“Lots of whiteness.” I followed her lead. “I can see you and the cluster of cubes perfectly. There’s a lot of them. It’ll take us weeks to get everything out.”

“Alright, let’s start with one.” She activated something on her left hand—probably a recording device. “Lead the way.”

I swam up and to the right. After fifty-nine seconds, we reached the edge of the cluster. From this angle, it looked like one giant cube of cobalt, floating in nothingness. There was a nine percent chance that the cubes themselves were immaterial, acting as a barrier for something more valuable inside. Now was the time to find out if that was the case.

Sliding the cube was easier than expected. It seemed like a solid piece of metal. The moment it lost contact with the rest of the whole, fractal designs appeared on all of its sides.

“Wait!” Lux said, but I was already ahead of her, remaining perfectly frozen.

The milliseconds dragged on. Both of us remained on edge, ready to react to any other change. However, none such occurred. The stack didn’t seem affected by having an element chipped off, and the cube itself didn’t react further.

“Think we should keep on going?” I asked.

“No.” Her tone was adamant. “Leave the rest like that. We take this with us and report our findings. Bavon and his team will decide the rest.”

“Understood.” Holding the cube, I floated towards the exit point. In the process, I made sure to flip it to get a good look at the remaining fractals. Hardly had I done so when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

“You’re taking a bit of a risk,” Lux said. “I might have been transmitting everything I see.”

“In a dome artifact? I doubt it.” At this point, it hardly mattered. I had already cracked the thin ice I was standing on. I would remain relevant only for as long as Bavon deemed me useful and not a millisecond longer.

“Don’t, in the future. Even with the time pressure, we’re still expendable.”

“Yes, ma’am.” You’re welcome, Lux. Have fun with your scalpel.