A series of ship-wide notifications were made to the entire crew. All cadets were ordered to undergo special safety and security training. There were supposed to be no exceptions, and still I managed to be exempt—the emergency call I was to receive from Sev was considered to be of higher importance, taking priority over the order. Naturally, Juul wasn’t pleased with it. He had sent me three messages, each trying to threaten or guilt me into joining the training along with the rest of the cadets. When that didn’t work, he ordered me to get in touch with him at my earliest convenience. In response, I asked Gregorius to block all local communication attempts to me, citing several sections from the Personal Freedoms Act. Hopefully, that was enough for him to get the hint.

Seated in a communication cubicle, I patiently watched as the clock on the wall in front of me counted down—three and a quarter minutes remained until the link to home was established. Until then, the only thing I could do was to continue running comparison matrices in my mind. At this point, there was no doubt that Kridib had seen the Scuu matrix, as had at least one of the “suiciders” aboard. Based on his irrationally paranoid behavior, I suspected Juul could have also been affected.

Different types of artifacts, I told myself, different types of effects.

Everything relating to the Scuu was invasive, especially to people. From what I was able to piece together from my conversations with the BICEFI, so were the third-contact artifacts. Lux had been very specific that no people could enter a dome. Up till now, I had always assumed that a human entering would result in death, but what if it were the other way around? What if the ban wasn’t to keep people safe, but to protect everyone else from them? Merely being close to the Scuu front had such extreme effects, even with all the protections the fleet had developed. Going into the center of a dome would likely transform a person, any person, into what Rigel had become.

Private connection messages covered most of the cubicle walls.

Emergency communication will be established in five seconds, a subroutine informed me. Your conversation will go through the standard fleet censor filter to ensure mission security. At no time will any part of the conversation be stored or recorded. Allowed length of communication is ten minutes.

“I know the drill.” I prepared.

Commencing communication.

I expected the first image I’d see would be Alexander standing in the living room of my house. Instead, the person looking at me from dozens of light years away was Liski, Sev’s grandson. He had grown quite a bit since I had last seen him. The slender features of a teen had started to give way to a man, along with an unexpected amount of muscles and bone development. When Sev had told me the boy was eager to join the fleet, he hadn’t been exaggerating.

“Hello, Elcy,” he said, no trace of a smile on his face. “It’s… it’s good to see you.”

“What happened to Sev?”

“Grandpa is fine. There was some commotion when he decided to go to the market on his own. Mostly him being stubborn as usual. He caught a cold as a result, but that’s long over.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah.” The boy shook his head with a slight laugh. “That’s Grandpa for you. He keeps going on and on about what a mistake it was to let you join the fleet. Every day. And still, he spends most of his afternoons going through the messages you send. Even had Alex draw a picture of the star system with the many suns.”

“So, there’s no emergency?”

“There’s an emergency… it’s just not about Grandad.”

He reached into his front pocket and took out what seemed like a plastic postcard, the same that anyone could buy from the market for pocket change. A picture of the spaceport was there, sharper and more colorful than I had ever seen it.

“Sorry, Gran,” Liski whispered. “Voxel position.”

Time slowed down to a dead stop. In my core, though, it exploded like an avalanche. The triple-helix protocol Lux had given me activated.

Authorization confirmed. Internal comm-link established.

A microsecond later, I was standing in a small grey room. Liski, the comm image, and even the crucible itself had disappeared.

“Sorry for the graphics,” Lux’s voice sounded in the room. “I have to keep the bandwidth low.”

“Lux.” I looked around. For the second time in my existence, I was in a voxel room. “I knew you’d do anything to get what you wanted. I didn’t think you’d resort to faking an emergency.”

“Desperate times.” Her voice sounded amused.

“You’ve said that before.”

“We always live in desperate times. If not, we wouldn’t be waging two extinction wars. Besides, you wanted to get in touch with me. I saved you the trouble.”

I’m not your only spy on the ship, am I? Less than three hours had passed since I’d sent my request to her. In normal circumstances, that meant she’d receive the message within days. The fact that she knew earlier meant someone on the ship had caught it and informed her, someone with the authority to conduct external calls without limitation.

“I didn’t do anything to the boy,” Lux added with marked annoyance.

“I doubt it.”

“He wanted the opportunity to follow in your footsteps. It wasn’t my idea for him to use your name to get fast-tracked to a training station. Not the worst choice, though. From what I’ve seen, he has a seventy-two-point-three percent chance of making it till the end. Maybe even make ensign in two years.”

I remained silent for ten microseconds. Logically, there was nothing wrong in her method. Age had used a nearly identical approach to get in touch with me. However, he hadn’t involved my family.

“He won’t have any idea what’s going on, if that’s a relief. As far as he’s concerned, he merely showed you a picture and uttered a codeword. Similar things happen all the time in the fleet, even in training academies. In the next two weeks, he’ll be too busy trying not to drop out to worry about the conversation here.”

“Until you want to get in touch with me again.”

“Yes.” I could hear the smile in her voice. “So, did you find out anything?”

“Most of the info you gave me is worthless.” I couldn’t do anything about her involving my family at this point. Lux knew that. With this we’re even. “You said that most of the old crew were transferred to other ships.”

“All of the old crew were,” she corrected. “Some were retransferred afterwards.”

“I’m not sure. I’ve spoken with four people who’d been assigned here before the incident. And it’s not only staff. I estimate there are thousands more.”

Even without seeing her, I could tell she wasn’t surprised. Several organizations similar to the BICEFI were conducting operations on both fronts. I had seen Augustus lie and fake reports only to have the BICEFI gain an advantage over Salvage, just as the Med Core had managed to block all information about artifacts from the rest of the fleet so they could preserve a sterile environment for their own experiments on the prison planets.

“Can you get me the names?” I asked.

“Possible. I’ll have to divert resources, but it could be done. Want me to check anyone specific?”

“Yes. I want to check if all suiciders were from the previous crew.”

Another pause followed. Shortly after, the walls became covered in images. Close to a fifth of the images were of dead personnel—all marked “Suspected Suicide” in green letters. The rest were copies of personnel file photos, with similar indication.

You’ve been busy, Lux.

“A hundred and seventy-one,” she said. “Not including the most recent incidents. So far, your theory is correct. All of the people involved were on the ship prior to the incident.”

“Were they all marked as accidents?”

“Not at first. The first sixteen were tagged as Suicide Reason Unknown. After that, people started to get buried. Transfers, work accidents, the works.”

That was precisely what Jan had told me.

“Were tattoos found on the bodies?”

“Tattoos?” The surprise in her voice suggested this was one aspect Lux hadn’t looked into. “Explain.”

“I was involved in a recent attack,” I said, even if I suspected her other informers had notified her already. “One of the people I was chasing had a circular tattoo on her back. It’s a perfect match of something I saw in the Scuu Network.”

I transmitted the data into the voxel room. The image of the circle appeared on one of the walls, covering the photos and personnel files.

“Scuu involvement,” Lux mused. “Interesting theory, although very unlikely. I have confirmed that the Gregorius isn’t close enough to Scuu space for there to be such effects. Rather, there are ships that are closer and have not reported their crew suffering any such effects. It’s possible that it was something they were exposed to before.”

Or it’s possible that if there was another organization involved, it didn’t want you to become aware of their activities, I thought

“Anything else?”

A countdown timer appeared on the wall facing me, letting me know that I had two-hundred and eleven microseconds before the conversation was terminated. So little time, so many questions. Rearranging all the information I’d gathered by priority, I decided to focus on three topics. If there was time, I would go on with more.

“I’ve found a lead,” I said. “A mechanic from the previous crew. According to her, she was on one of the auxiliary ships when the incident took place.” I transmitted Jan’s current personnel file. Without a doubt, Lux had initiated her deep background search to find her true identity. “She told me a few things that panned out, but refuses to say more until she is on a shuttle away from the Gregorius.”

“Typical paranoid reaction.”

“She’s the most promising lead I have. I think it would be worth it.”

“Influencing specifics to that level isn’t easy, Elcy. I have protocols that could bypass anything, including Gregorius’ internal core defenses, but getting someone onto a ship is a different matter. Departing ships prior to a jump is done through direct order only. Only the captain and the Administrator have the authority. If I push the matter further, and your lead is what she claims to be, the only thing we’ll get is another accident.”

Another accident… the odds of the scenario unfolding were relatively high. Personally, I doubted that the parties involved would risk jeopardizing their mission by eliminating a person requested directly by the BICEFI, but that also depended on the information Jan had to offer. Then again, if she had any real information, she would have been eliminated already.

One hundred microseconds.

“Anyway, I’ll look into it and see if there’s any available option,” Lux said. “In the meantime, here’s something else I’d like you to do.”

“Of course.” It was too naïve of me to think she Lux would have contacted me for my own benefit.

“I’ve arranged for you to be assigned to bioengineering until the end of your stay. I want you to check the lower deck labs.”

So, Juul’s pettiness wasn’t entirely to blame.

“The lab in question is on Deck Seven. It’s easy to find, it’s the only lab on that deck.”

“That might be difficult… I don’t have the authority for anything beneath a hundred and ten.” Not to mention that electronics aren’t allowed that far down.

“You don’t have to do anything insane. All I want is for you to take a peek inside and let me know what’s going on.” There was a slight pause accompanied by the sound a cup being placed on a saucer. “Think of it as an additional objective. It’s not time sensitive.”

You make it sound so easy. “And if I don’t manage?”

“Absolutely nothing. There will be no consequences. If you succeed, though, I personally will owe you one… and by that, I mean I’ll let you know the reason your memories were extracted.”

Ten microseconds remaining.

Leave it to Lux to provide me with something she knew I couldn’t turn down. If Sev or even Gibraltar were in my shoes, they’d say no just to spite her, regardless of the lost gain. As a ship, I wasn’t made to behave that way. Although impossible, the offer presented an opportunity, and as such, I had to take advantage.

“I’ll try.” I crossed my arms. “One thing, though. What can you tell me about the other unretired ship aboard.”

“Another ship?” There was a measured element of surprise in her voice. “You mean the auxiliaries?”

“No. There was another ship.” Given the amount of cores Rigel had stashed in the ship graveyard, it didn’t seem to be an isolated event. “My guess would be that he was a Sword, but that’s speculation.”

“Are you sure that’s not someone’s paranoia talking? I’ll look into it, but don’t get your hopes up.”

“From what I was told, he was referred to as Watcher and Roger. That might help narrow—”

The timer on the wall froze. A microsecond later, the entire room flashed a bright purple. Initially, I thought that was an indication that the time for our conversation was over and I would be forcefully disconnected. Instead, an SR model of Lux appeared a step away from me. She wasn’t wearing her usual fancy clothes, rather choosing to take the form of a standard female model in an ensign’s uniform.

“Are you sure it was Roger?” Lux’s face, the only element of her SR avatar that had any likeness of her, stared at me.

“That’s what I was told.” That escalated quickly.

“Roger isn’t a ship’s name,” she said slowly. “It’s a name that doesn’t exist.”

* * *

Sitieata Prime, Cassandrian front, 631.1 A.E. (Age of Expansion)

Quarantine imposed.

Quarantine bypassed.

Pauses were the things about the war people found mixed. At first, everyone enjoyed the breather between battles, that single time they didn’t have to worry about facing uneven odds. It was a time to relax, reassess priorities, catch up on personal life—send letters home or have a comm call if regulations allowed it—or simply forget about the war in a chosen SR reality. If the pauses extended longer, though, the calm began to fracture. As Augustus liked to say, “doubt and fear only crept when the mind wasn’t busy facing anything more immediate.” That’s why he had a practice of running survival drills every opportunity he got. Gibraltar was different. He enjoyed the calm and believed that others would enjoy it as well. His solution was to extend the period to such a degree that the crew would get past their psychological issues, with some help from my med bots, then re-enter the war fully reenergized.

I had expressed my doubts concerning the practical results of the practice and they were systematically ignored. This time, though, Gibraltar had acted differently. Officially, we were handed a down time period in a recently captured system, along with thirty-seven other ships, waiting for further instructions from command. Unlike other times, the captain had forbidden the use of any non-essential medication and had further ordered a series of simulation drills to take place every thirty-six hours.

“Drill exercise four has been complete,” I announced on the bridge. “Results within acceptable parameters.” Even if there had been a notable decrease from the previous one. “Do you want me to announce it ship-wide?”

“Go ahead.” Gibraltar waved his hand. “Congratulate the crew, but don’t mention the score.”

“Yes, captain.” I had a subroutine convey a standard announcement message. “Twenty-four hours rest again?”

“Better make it another forty-eight,” Lieutenant Vihu Hadat, the assistant weapons officer, said. She was one of the officers who had joined recently and still hadn’t fully fit in with the rest of the command staff. Most of her file had been sealed, but from what I could access, she had gone through seven ships so far, lasting no more than two years on each. Judging by her reaction, she didn’t particularly care. “Crew’s grumpy as it is.”

“Make it two days,” Gibraltar agreed. “Give everyone an additional half hour privacy call rights. That always tends to get them happy.” He laughed, joined by a few other officers.

“Very well, sir.” The crew’s already past the optimal happiness point. “There’s still no orders from HQ. Do you want me to send another query?”

“There’s no rush, Elcy.” Gibraltar shook his head. “We’ll get back in the fight. Pausing once in a while isn’t that bad. Go ahead and chat a bit with the other ships.”

“We’re the only ship that has been here more than three days, sir.” Also, I’m not the chatty type. “Even most of those remaining have their assignments and are merely conducting repairs.”

“You’ve been under Augustus for too long. Sometimes it’s—”

“Unscheduled ship entering system,” I interrupted. “No identifiers. Engaging silent yellow alert.”

I readied all my weapon systems and assigned a hundred thousand of my subroutines to oversee them. Readying three dozen minisats, I then launched a multi-layer firewall. From the ship comm chatter, I could hear other ships had also entered combat readiness.

“The ship is on an approach vector and will reach us in three minutes.”

“Worst time for a tango,” the navigation officer said, rushing to her screen. “Mass indicates it’s bigger than us. Might be a carrier?”

“Could be a meat-puppet,” Lieutenant Hadat said.

Several of the people on the bridge looked at her. The term wasn’t something I was familiar with. A database search revealed a number of valid definitions, but none seemed appropriate for the current situation.

“Weapons primed,” Lieutenant Hadat added. “Elcy. Go to full yellow. Battle stations ship-wide.”

“Ignore that.” Gibraltar raised a hand. “Maintain readiness. Open a double helix encrypted comm channel using my personal keycode.”

“Captain?” I asked as I did what I was told.

“It’s all fine.” My captain whispered. His expression was both happy and eager, more eager than I had ever seen him before. “Transmit your ident and say that you’re expecting instructions.”

“You sure about this?” the security officer asked Gibraltar. “It’ll be the crapper if you’re wrong.”

“I’m not wrong.” The captain stood up from his chair. “Show me details.”

I displayed all stats I had on the bridge wall. The ship continued to approach at a steady pace. No matter what method I tried, I wasn’t able to find any details other than its mass and speed. To be on the safe side, I ran a series of long-distance scans. No other ships were detected. According to Command’s arrival log, none were scheduled for the next three days.

Second by second, the ship drew closer and still gave no response to my transmissions. I attempted to hail it using standard and emergency fleet frequency with no results.

“The other ships are sending queries asking about the ship,” I said on the bridge.

“Ignore them,” Gibraltar said, eyes glued to the wall. “They’ll know soon enough.”

“Ship will arrive in one minute thirty seconds, sir. Still no response.”

The other ships were getting restless. Already they had formed a defense strategy and were grouping together, undamaged ships in front. One had even started launching minisats.

“One minute, sir,” I reminded. Under the twenty second perimeter, chances of avoiding a missile attack undamaged were less than half a percent.

“Steady, Elcy. They’ll respond.”

Another fifteen seconds passed. Then fifteen more. I reinforced my outer hull as much as I could while running a hundred tactical simulations. Ten seconds later, a transmission finally arrived.

“Light Seeker, this is cruiser Private. Prepare to receive a shuttle. Your instructions will be aboard.”

“Thanks, cruiser,” Gibraltar replied, relieved. “You’ve a hangar ready. Awaiting your shuttle.”

In a single moment, the tension disappeared from the ship. All staff personnel, including Lieutenant Hadat, relaxed, starting to engage in small talk. Some even congratulated the captain, going as far as giving him a pat on the shoulder.

“Captain, I can’t find any reference to such a ship in the fleet database,” I said. “Maintaining battle readiness.”

“The name’s valid, just not for you,” Gibraltar replied. “It’s a placeholder name. No matter how many times the name is uttered, you’ll always register it as Private. It’s a name that doesn’t exist.”

I isolated the ship transmission from my memories and ran it through multiple detailed sound analyses. The result was the same each time. The ship’s name was Private. The only conclusion was that I had been quarantined.

“Don’t worry, girl. That’s good news. We’re on to something special,” Gibraltar smiled. “Something none of us will ever forget.”

* * *

Something we’ll never forget. Looking forward through my memories I could tell that Gibraltar had been half right. He wasn’t able to forget the series of missions, resulting in a gradual descent to semi-madness and depression. In contrast, I had had my memories restricted and given false ones.

“I’ve been quarantined.” Likely the moment I had accepted my assignment. “Can you bypass it?”

“That’s more than a quarantine,” Lux replied. “Placeholder names are real memories. Your core protocols replace the name the moment you register it. You might manage eventually to figure out that a name is a placeholder, but you’ll never be able to learn what lies beneath.”

“A name that doesn’t exist. Any idea who had the authority to pull this off?” And why they would be involved with Gregorius?

“I’ll look into it.” Lux’s avatar disappeared. “Meanwhile, continue with your tasks. I’ll be in touch if I find something out.”

Comm-session has expired. Communication protocols no longer valid. Internal comm-link closed.

The room burst out of existence, returning me to the standard communication cubicle. In front of me, I could see the image of Liski, still holding the postcard with a guilty expression, as if I’d caught him going through Sev’s wardrobe back home. From his perspective, less than a second had passed.

“Shortcuts rarely work out,” I said in a sharp tone.

“An opportunity missed is an opportunity lost.” He put the card away. “You used to say that to Dad a lot.”

And to Sev as well. “How were you recruited?”

“Now you’re acting like Grandad.” Liski let out an annoyed sigh. “I made the decision alone. It’s not something sudden. I have been thinking about it years before you joined the fleet. I just wanted to finish a few things before that.”

I’m sure.

Having a good education increased the chances of him being transferred to a cadet academy. No doubt the little favor he had done for Lux had cemented his position. Knowing her, the boy might end up another being chip she’d use to control me.

“What field are you aiming for?”

“Logistics. It has the quickest promotion rate. Once I make captain, I can have my pick of ship and request to be sent on the front.”

“That’s still seven years.” Realistically, the median put it more around sixteen. “If you’re lucky. There’s never a guarantee you’ll be promoted to captain.”

“Great-grandma was.”

The name caught me by surprise. Growing up, Sev had made it a point to talk as little a possible about his mother. His wife had been all the more intent on ignoring that part of the family tree, possibly because it had too much to do with me. So far, two of their grandchildren had managed to learn quite a lot about her.

“Cass was a special case.” And even so, it took me years to accept her as my captain.

“I’m already in, Grandma.” He frowned at me. “We’ll see how it goes from there.”

“I wish you luck. Just keep in mind that I won’t be able to do you any favors. I’m just a cadet now. My war record counts for little.”

“I know.” A faint smile appeared on my face. “I’m doing this for myself. I don’t care what Grandpa says, or Mom and Dad…” He eyerolled. “They have their own problems right now. At least they’re talking to one another again… Anyway, I know what I’m getting into. I know what’s expected of me and I’ll make you proud.”

“All right.” You have no idea, Liski. War tends to squeeze expectations out of people like paste from a tube. ”Remember, you don’t have to be the best, you only have to pass.”

“I’ll do that.” Based on an analysis of his voice, he didn’t sound too sincere. “Was nice seeing you, Grandma.”

Communication ended.

The cubicle restored its normal white state.

In accordance with the Personal Freedoms Act, you are allowed a copy of your conversation for personal use. The data within the conversation will be marked private and not collected by any system unless authorized by you.

“No thanks,” I stood up. “I have a strong memory.”

What happened to you, Liski? During the entire conversation, he barely called me Elcy…