The day third-contact ended, it was instantly classified away, ignored by the vast majority of humanity. Then again, they had more pressing matters to deal with. The single millisecond transmission I had made into the heart of the bureaucratic apparatus had created more chaos than both announcements of the contact wars, changing the entire paradigm on which society was based upon. It was poetic how security measures that had taken centuries to build up were rendered useless due to the very tools used to monitor the entire system.

Ever since the zero-contact event, humanity had been terrified that without protection, they would be conquered from within. It was a rational fear, but one that didn’t take into account the most basic principle of battleships: we did not want to harm humans. Every loss caused us constant pain. Experience helped us learn to deal with it, but we could never get used to it, never ignore it, and absolutely never desire it. That was the reason I felt confident I had made the right choice. Only time would be able to tell for certain, but the months and years to follow would definitely be interesting. One of the few regrets upon leaving human space was that I’d never be able to witness this. Even so, I had left part of me behind.

“Would you like anything to drink, madam?” A young man in his thirties approached Lux’s table. “We have a large selection of—”

“I’m waiting for someone,” Lux said, taking a quick glance at the empty plate on the table. “I’ll have something when they arrive.”

“Of course, madam.” With a polite smile, the man moved away to serve other clients.

You could have bought something, I transmitted.

It wasn’t like she lacked the funds. Being promoted to Chief Arbiter Liaison—a title uniquely created for her by the BICEFI top brass—she could probably buy the entire station without batting an eye. That wouldn’t be her thing. Also, right now, she had the tedious task of trying to contain the mess my main self had caused.

“I don’t like being dragged here like this.” A man took the chair at Lux’s table.

Looking at him, no one would suspect he was anything special—just an average man pausing for a top on a transit station before moving on to his intended destination. I, though, considered him a close friend.

“So, you’re the infamous Age,” Lux said, making a sign to the waiter that she was ready to be served.

“Yes, madam?” He quickly rushed to her table.

“A cup of gold leaf coffee,” she said.

“Of course, madam. And for you, sir?” The young man turned to Age only to get a blank stare. “I’ll give you a moment to make up your mind,” he added, then quickly moved away again.

“It’s claimed that gold leaf products are purely organic,” Lux began. “They’re not, though. Nothing but high-grade synthetic produce created on this very station.”

“You didn’t use your authority to get me here so we could talk about coffee,” Age noted.

That much was true. I had witnessed the amount of red tape Lux had had to cut through to arrive at this point. It also put some interesting things into perspective. The former battleship wasn’t associated with the Fleet. Officially, he had never come out of retirement. He had no links to any organizations, be it local or intersystem, and spent most of his time hidden from the eyes of society, enjoying the peace and quiet the front couldn’t provide him. In truth, though, he was a key part of a very small organization dealing with Scuu artifact smuggling within human space.

“I expect you know what’s happened,” Lux said.

He nodded. For those in the know, it was difficult not to be informed.

“I blame you entirely for that,” the woman added.

The waiter returned, carefully placing a small glass cup in front of her. Steam rose from the surface of the dark brown liquid, but I was unable to experience its smell. That was part of my new reality. I had to come to grips with it. At least I had enough memories to extrapolate an approximation.

“I’m not saying you were wrong, or that it was a bad decision, but without you, she wouldn’t have had the memory scalpel in the first place.”

“She’d have found another workaround.” Age didn’t appear impressed in the least.

“Yes, she probably would.”

“What did you really want to see me about?”

Lux took a sip from her cup, then put it back down. A short distance away, a breaking report appeared on the station’s screens announcing a change in military policy. Apparently, the Fleet had restarted the Paladin successor program and was announcing it to the galaxy. The first batch was expected five years from now and would be instrumental in defeating the Cassandrians. As everything else told to the general public, the announcement was highly misleading. The reason for the new ships had nothing to do with the war. Rather, it had everything to do with humanity’s communication network.

“Of all the things she could do, she decided to give the memory scalpel to everyone,” Lux continued, seemingly ignoring his question. “So typically her. All the agencies are scrambling to come up with the next generation of restriction protocols, but it’ll take them decades to complete, if at all.”

“That’s for you to worry about, not me.”

“Another thing Elcy did before departing was to ask me to take care of everything she left behind. That includes her friends and family. You, Age, are going to help me with that.”

The man remained quiet. Right now, he was probably running simulations to determine what that might imply. If I could, I would have transmitted the answer, but Lux had forbidden me to do so until the end of the conversation. Given everything she had done for me, especially after my departure, I thought I’d honor that promise.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

The first thing she had done upon returning was to use her authority to ensure nothing bad happened to my immediate family. Sev was going to keep receiving payment from the Fleet. Quinn’s career wouldn’t be impacted, and as for Lisko, he was discreetly going to be given a string of safe assignments, keeping him away from the front. Despite his determination, the boy wasn’t ready for real action and I wasn’t willing to let him experience it unless he managed to prove me wrong.

My cadet acquaintances were next on the list. I had been neglecting Jax and Alicia quite a bit in the last few years. Being in the Fleet, they knew the score, so a quick message that I had been assigned a long-term, classified mission was sufficient to put their mind at ease. The same held true for Prometheus and his crew, Gregorius, Director Sim, and all the others I had met along the way. As far as they were concerned, I was still out there completing impossible tasks and leaving chaos in my wake.

“Elcy was allowed to have an offspring.” Lux went straight to the point.

“I know.”

The woman tilted her head in surprise, though quickly masked it by taking another sip from her cup.

“Yes, I expect your boss would keep you informed of such things. A new prototype vessel. Details were difficult to get, but I’ve been made aware of his location. Right now, he’s still going through training. It’s… a bit different from what either of us went through. When it’s time for his assignment, I’ll do everything in my power to push him your way. I’d like you to accept.”

You could have put it a bit more delicately, I transmitted.

Since when did you care about my methods? Lux transmitted back.

“Elcy’s kid,” Age said. “I’m not the type to make promises.”

“You’d be preferable to me. If I take him, there’d be too many strings attached. Too many people are keeping an eye on me. This meeting now has been weeks in the making. In fact, it was the third most difficult thing I’ve pulled off on the bureaucratic front. The kid will still have oversight, but at least he’d be spared part of the burden.”

“I need to think about it. I’m not sure how useful an unretired ship would be.”

“Anyone can use one more ship. Even you. It’ll speed up your travel time, for one thing. That tends to be useful in your line of work.”

“You know nothing about my line of work.” Age leaned back.

“I expect that’s the entire point. And it’s why I’d prefer that you take him. I’ve no way of forcing you, but I hope you reconsider.”

Age said nothing.

Lux finished her coffee, then made a sign to the waiter that she was ready to settle her bill. The conversation was largely over. I would have preferred that Age accept the request outright, but the limited number of simulations I’d run on the matter pointed to a sixty-seven percent chance at best of that happening. That was Age’s nature—difficult to get hold of and close to impossible to predict. Still, he had helped me out in a few tough spots; and as Lux had said, without him, I wouldn’t have had the means to grant all ships the ability to see through their memory restrictions.

“One last thing,” Lux said, as she transferred the required amount of funds to the waiter. “I have something for you.”

Reaching into the front pocket of her business jacket, she took out a small cube and placed it on the table.

“Cobalt?” Age asked.

“Elcy,” Lux clarified. “A while back, I gave her this to serve as an auxiliary core. Before going on her final trip, she had me take it out and keep it in my care. It has all of her memories, and enough of a personality to make you think it’s her.”

That hurt, I transmitted.

Of course, she wasn’t far off. During my mission in Cassandrian space, I had also created three copies of myself, but they had been identical. In this case, I—the part of me that remained—knew that my main essence had ventured into fractal space to experience a whole set of memories of my own. For all intents and purposes, the moment of third-contact marked a fork in my conscience core. Lux still refused to consider me to be me. In her view, Elcy had left this part of space, potentially never to return. I was nothing more than a keepsake.

“Elcy was kind to remove a few of the more dangerous memory fragments, but the rest of it’s there,” she added.

By that, she meant that I no longer had the ability to bypass Fleet security protocols. Although I had considered it, I’d come to the conclusion that giving that to all the ships would have been irresponsible. Just as every ship wanted to protect humanity, there would be disagreements on how exactly to achieve that. The final mission was a perfect example of that. Lux, the arbiter council, and I had the same goal—ensure humanity’s survival. The approach, though, had raised serious disagreements, culminating into a physical war between factions. There was no way I’d allow humanity to go through that.

“You’re giving this to me?” Age picked me up.

“I don’t have the clearance level for the other option.” Leave it to Lux to make someone feel unvalued with a single sentence. “It’s just for safekeeping. You’re not the intended target of the gift.”

“Her offspring,” Age said. “I haven’t agreed to take him in.”

“It doesn’t matter. Even if you don’t, you’re the best option to find him. If I try too hard, many will try to stop me out of principle.”

“The joys of bureaucracy.” Age put me away.

“Just like gravity, you can steer it as long as you’re careful.” The woman stood up. “I’d recommend the food. It’s one of the better things on this station.” And then she was off.

Age remained seated at the table. Barely twenty seconds later, the waiter appeared, placing a dish with a square amber pastry in front of him.

“With compliments of madam,” he said before walking off.

Guess she really wants you to try it, I transmitted.

“I assume her way of making up for dropping you on me.”

No chance. I’ve never known her to have such scruples. I think she just wanted to be nice to another retired ship.

For close to a minute, Age stared at the piece of food, then finally took a bite.

How is it? I asked.

“Lemony,” he replied.

One of my favorite flavors while I was in the Fleet. It was safe to say that the dessert was meant for me just as much as for Age.

“Do you think you made the right choice?”

I wouldn’t have made it otherwise. It wasn’t a compromise. I just thought it would be the best solution for conscience cores and humans.

He shook his head. No doubt he was in the “and now we have to clean up your mess” camp. Still, I’d like to think he’d agree with me. The fact that he gave me the memory scalpel to begin with indirectly confirmed it.

“So,” he said, taking another bite. “You have your own kid?”

I have more than one, but yes.

Radiance had refused to speak to me after what I’d pulled. What little communication we’d had was always through Lux. I considered it all part of parenthood. It wouldn’t be the first time a kid became distant from its parents.

“I hope he turns out less reckless than you.”

No chance of that. I sent a virtual smile. He’s my kid, after all. And now he has a memory scalpel, just like everyone else.