Returning to the planet felt familiarly different. The descent, the pod, the surrounding equipment—mostly automated devices, power cores, and oxygen tanks—were nearly identical, upgraded with a few backup features. My spacesuit, though, was brand new, laced with a mesh of nano-carbon tubes and strong enough to withstand a shrapnel blast from a proximity grenade. As my first captain liked to say: in the likely event of an explosion, the suit had every chance of remaining intact. I, on the other hand, would likely suffer severe internal damage, possibly cracking a bone or two.

How long will the mission be? I asked Prometheus.

No answer. The science ship hadn’t spoken to me in private ever since my medical test. At first I thought he was just being his usual snobbish self; when mission instructions had started flashing on the walls of the quarantine chamber, however, I knew there was more to it.

“What’s the mission length?” I asked loudly.

“Until your work is done,” came the curt reply, confirming my suspicions. Prometheus either refused to talk with me for some reason or had been ordered not to.

“Any chance I’ll get some rest down there?” I pressed on. Fifteen seconds of waiting later, I decided to let it go.

Leaning against a crate marked Vacuumed Containment Units, I opened the mission briefing notes on my visor display. A detailed map of the site appeared. Marked in orange were the areas I’d have to chip away, wrapped around a grey representation of the dome. In the upper corner of the display, written in bold red letters, stood a warning message: In case of communication breakdown, hit the cobalt surface with measured force and wait until communication is restored. It was almost as if I was staring at a note scribbled down by Sev, leaving me instructions how to fix the power unit back home.

According to the mission notes, the dome was a perfect hemisphere with a radius of approximately one hundred and two point four eight meters. The number seemed unusually specific, so I ran it through a conversion filter to find the prime measure unit. Coincidence or not, the length of the artifact I had extracted fit precisely four hundred and five times in the dome’s radius. After a quick double check, I added a note of my own describing the discovery, then turned off the display.

You’re really stupid, Shiala. I shook my head. I hardly knew the cadet, but I felt he was given so much, only to throw it all away. Being part of a third contact discovery crew, as a cadet no less, was beyond all odds. And that was just the start. Serving on an exploration science ship was an opportunity few had, one that would probably never come around again. The arrogance of youth was a force to be reckoned with. I had seen it so many times before: thousands discharged or demoted for nothing but their own caprice; the polar opposite of what I’d experienced at the academy.

The notion made me think of Alicia and the other recruits of my old group. They had all struggled to be placed on a ship, and half of them had failed. Shiala must have gone through his own trials to get here, and still that hadn’t stopped him from picking the worst option. You were right, Sev. Life is confusing ninety-five percent of the time.

“Elcy!” Ally shouted, flooding my helmet with the sound of enthusiasm. “We’ve charted it all up for you. All you need to do is clean up and record the symbols. Oh, and try to catch them as they appear. There’s a theory that the order might be important as well.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Clearly, she wasn’t shy to demand the impossible. I brought up the dome schematics once more. “Where would you like me to start, ma’am?”

“We’ve marked thirty-eight breach spots,” Major Tanner joined in. “You’re going to clean the area around them in chronological number. No deviations! Am I clear?”

“Perfectly, Major.” I zoomed in on the dome. “There are no markers on the mission map. Do I need an update?”

“You’ll see when you get there,” the man grumbled. “Just follow the instructions this time.”

“Roger, Major.” I closed my eyes. Everything will be by the book.

The descent continued as I went through command’s legal framework regarding ship and cadet discharge. The two sections were pretty much on opposite sides of the spectrum, putting me in the worst possible situation. As a cadet, I had a vast amount of legal protections, but little rights; as a ship, I had functional autonomy, but few protections. During the court martial, an arbitrator would likely be called to determine which was valid. Last time that happened, things hadn’t gone my way.

Going through the maze of legal files and rulings, I came across a reference of something: Retired Ship Legal Errata. Accessing the file was impossible due to external communication restriction, but the summary suggested it contained a corpus of legal precedents linked to other retirees such as myself. I made a note to review it at first availability. Back when I was active, I never considered existence after retirement: no one I knew did. Based on statistics, seventeen-point-two percent of all ships survived to their third captain rotation. Of those, only one-point-three in a thousand managed to reach retirement. At the time I was just starting out, ships also had the legal right to request forced shutdown instead of retirement. The Sentient Advocate Movement had brought an end to the practice with the introduction of the Fleet Heritage Act. From then on, ships were treated as their own entities with all the rights and obligations that came with it. From what I knew, most led a calm and solitary existence, isolating themselves from the universe. If it hadn’t been for Sev, the same would have happened to me.

Prepare for landing! A warning message covered my visor. Immediately, I jumped up and strapped myself to the corresponding spot on the wall. Twenty-three seconds later, the pod bumped to a halt.

“Thanks for the landing, guys,” I said as the craft’s system performed the final safety check. “Much smoother this time.”

“Just get on with the mission, Elcy,” the major sighed. For a moment, it almost felt as if he were standing right behind me. Taking my cue, I unstrapped, grabbed a spare oxygen container, and left the pod.

A platform of carbon alloy plating carpeted the ground, extending twenty meters in every direction. Eight hours ago, there had been nothing but sand and crystals; now, the entire area had been transformed into a docking site. Four communication arrays rose like pillars, dispersing cables to exos, construction drones, and survey robots as they proceeded to identify and unload the cargo I arrived with. From what I could tell, the most complicated device had the functional intelligence of a semi-autonomous service bot, constantly monitored by Prometheus. For all intents and purposes, I was the most intelligent thing down here, and the only one with a mind of my own.

“Are there any safety procedures I should know about?” I made my way towards the end of the platform, where a set of tracks began, leading to the chamber shaft.

“Nothing for you to worry about,” Major Tanner was quick to reply. “Every precaution has been taken.”

The red flag shone as brightly as a laser beam in a surprise attack. I recognized the phrase; I had used it many times before, always in instances that involved significant danger. Scary how when I was the one saying it, I never gave it much thought.

“Much obliged, sir.” I smiled while replying in order to get the reassuring intonation that made people feel better. Even if everyone else held a higher rank than me, they remained kids—Prometheus included—and kids needed assurances. “Heading to shaft now.”

The trip down was also far more comfortable than before: no dangling on cables or makeshift harness; instead, I took a freight elevator that lowered me underground in sixteen seconds. The underground chamber had been completely hollowed out and transformed into a makeshift exo bay. Rows of power generators and exo docking stations stood along the walls, along with several cable redistribution clusters. From what I could see, there were at least four dozen exos and hundreds of bots moving about. Every last quartz cluster was removed with laser sharp precision and replaced with light cones every ten meters. At the far end, a semi-constructed structure was visible, surrounded by a steel scaffolding.

“Is that where I’ll be staying off duty?” I asked focusing on the building.

“Sleep and food only!” the major said sharply.

“At my age, I doubt I’ll be jumping on my bed, sir.” I couldn’t resist the remark. If I wasn’t in so much trouble already, my response would have been way more risqué. A stuffed chuckle told me that at least Ally caught the joke. “Waiting for my work schedule.”

“No schedule.”

That was surprising.

“You’ll allocate your own time,” Major Tanner added. “I assume you’re experienced enough to manage?”

“Roger that, sir.” At least they were giving me enough freedom to scuttle myself. “Commencing immediately.”

The way down the second shaft was far different than the first. Before I could even proceed, I had to plug a communications cable into my helmet again and get into a proper harness. From there, it was a quick slide to the place I was going to work for the next five days. I thought that the mission map had prepared me for what to expect. I was wrong. Comparing a three-dimensional representation to the reality in front of me was like comparing grapes to watermelons. The space surrounding the dome wasn’t merely cleared, it was as if someone had dropped an iron ball in a bucket of wax and watched it melt a bubble of air around it. Twenty meters separated the dome from the rest of the walls, all perfectly lit up just like the chamber above. This wasn’t the first time I had witnessed ground troop efficiency in action. In the past, however, I’d be watching every part of the process live and left unaware of the actual achievement. Now, for the first time, I saw what it must have felt like for humans: the contrast between states was so large it almost seemed unnatural.

Here goes one for the file. I memorized a picture of the site, placing it in separate memory location. The chances of me sharing or even seeing it were minimal at best, but I felt it was worth the attempt. Looking down, I could see the initial connection point to the dome, seemingly little more than a small patch of bare surface. Large red light-poles covered the quartz crust like needles on a pin cushion, each displaying a number on its top.

“Major, I’ve located the marker,” I said, sliding down towards the one on the very top of the dome. “Any additional instructions?”

“Try not to damage the artifact,” a female voice said. It didn’t sound like anyone I knew. “And be always cautious. There’s no telling what’s underneath.”

“Roger, ma’am.” I took out the specially constructed hammer from the side of my leg. “Starting live feed.”

Chipping through the final centimeters of crust was more difficult than I imagined. In general, the quartz on the planet was fragile, as I’d experienced a few days ago. However, the effects of the top layers being melted had solidified its structure to the point that I needed to land on the dome in order to hit with enough strength. Seven hits were required for me to make the first crack—just left of the marker pole. Twelve more and I managed to loosen up a piece.

“Symbols appear to already be underneath,” I said, focusing on the spot. “It appears to be one of the existing ones, marked as—” I quickly skimmed through the classification in the mission database. “—F eleven.”

“Are you sure?” Ally asked, her voice full of disappointment. “Maybe you weren’t fast enough?”

“There’s only one way to find out, ma’am.” I chipped off another piece. This time it only took me one strike. “Permission to remove the marker?”

“Go ahead,” the major said. It was obvious he was looking forward to this as well.

Planting both feet on the dome, I grabbed hold of the pole with my left hand and pulled. Vibrations ran along my hand, along with the sound of crushed glass. Several moments later, the pole broke off, together with the patch of quartz under it. The inertia pulled me back. My body’s mass found itself to fight the strength exerted, throwing me off.

“Elcy!” several voices shouted through the comm as I swung on the support cables. The pole dropped from my hand as I gripped to find further stability.

“I’m fine,” I quickly said, breaking the chorus of yells. “It’s all fine.” The sound of clanking echoed below. “No damage to dome sustained.” I looked around. “I can confirm there’s a symbol on the very top. It’s not in my catalogue. I’m moving closer to investigate.”

“I really hope you do the rest of your job better,” Major Tanner hissed with a mixture of anger and relief.

“First hit doesn’t count, sir.” I used some ship humor. The major would hardly catch it, but I hoped Prometheus would. “Shall I proceed?”

“Try not to break anything else.”

“No guarantees, sir.” I allowed myself a smile. It was almost as if I was back on the front again.

A small hole had formed on the top of the dome. Slightly larger than my hand, it revealed the shiny cobalt surface, with a single star-like shape on top. Zooming in, I took several pictures, then compared it with all the rest of the symbols in my memory. The characteristics were so different it could be argued I was looking at a completely new set.

“Ally, Major, are you seeing this?” I asked, cautiously striking the edge of the quartz with my hammer. A sliver broke off. “The symbol is unique and vastly different in structure. I suspect it might be a key-point or orientation marker.”

“Unbelievable,” Ally whispered. “This is the first closed symbol. Try pressing it.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea, ma’am?” I looked at it. The best way to describe it was a roaring triangle that formed the start of a very angular circular saw. Zooming on the edges, I saw new details appear.

Fractals, I thought, and increased the magnification. With each iteration, the design changed slightly. The precision rivaled the architecture of my core, which guaranteed that they were as technologically advanced.

“Elcy!” A short yell echoed in my helmet. The major didn’t sound pleased. “Press the symbol!”

“Sir, analyses of the pattern suggests that—” I began, when suddenly my visor’s zoom reverted to normal.

“Your task is not analysis! Just clean up the thing and do as you’re told. Is that understood?” the Major barked.

“Perfectly, sir.” I pressed the symbol. Seconds passed. “Nothing seems to have happened, sir.” I tried my best to tone down my sarcasm. “Would you like me to press it harder?”

“No one likes a smartass, Elcy.” The tone remained grumpy, but less harsh than a moment ago. “Continue with the cleanup.”

“Aye, sir.” Chipping quartz it is, then. “Maybe Prometheus can perform better analyses? He has a few additional cores he could use.”

“Maybe. Continue recording what you’re doing and be ready for us to jump in.”

“Understood.” I raised my hammer and struck at the edge of the hole.

The work continued with the boring efficiency expected of me. With every strike, I’d uncover a few millimeters more of the cobalt, slowly making my way to the light-pole marked number two. Every few minutes, Ally would make me pause and focus on a symbol I’d uncovered before going silent again. If there was any better indication that my conversations were being monitored, I couldn’t think of one. Normally, that would be Prometheus’ job, but the way everyone reacted, I suspected that the BICEFI shared more than a passing interest in our progress.

Three hours after the unfortunate incident of the light-pole, I had uncovered approximately five-point-six square meters of cobalt. Of the symbols that had become visible, seven were new, with the remaining being duplicates. As far as I could tell, none of them had any fractal properties, which made the star-symbol all that more unusual. Given a chance, I was going to do another zoom of it, though that would have to wait. People were too tense on board, and when people were tense, mistakes were made.

Prometheus, I said, as I kept on working. If you’re not allowed to talk to me, just say it so I can focus on other things.

Silence.

Look, I just want to know one thing. Tell me that and I’ll leave you alone. At least until I got back aboard. Is Scuu activity suspected?

Where did that come from? The response was spontaneous. We’re nowhere near the Scuu.

If I had an answer to that, I wouldn’t have asked. When they didn’t know what was going on, science ships could be really annoying. I wasn’t on the Scuu front, and right now I don’t have the access to receive info bursts from command. Can you compare the symbols to any Scuu scripts you have? There’s something about the fractal nature of these that makes me think the dome might not be a structure.

No.

Just like that? I increased the strength of my blow, breaking off a larger chunk of crystal. I didn’t think you’d miss an opportunity to prove how inferior battleships are.

I can’t see the symbols! A note of anger crept in among the sea of annoyance. I've been given an active memory block. Until the mission is over the symbols don’t exist for me!