Three-dimensional reading—a concept so bizarre that it was on the fringe of conception. It had taken me the larger part of an eight hour trip to come up with a reliable model of the language, and I still couldn’t be certain it was correct. The only things that I knew for sure were that I had conformed to the small set of universal rules I had established, and that I was still missing forty-eight symbols.

A warning flashed briefly on my visor, informing me of a slight gravitational deviation. I watched the autopilot take the required corrections, then confirmed the new flightpath. The change would take us into orbit of the blue Monday Twin seventeen and a half minutes later—well within the approach window.

“Flightpath correction confirmed,” I said in my comm. “No mission impact expected.”

“The system gravitational map will be updated for your return,” Prometheus said in a distinctly impersonal fashion. This was his way of letting me know he was still upset with me.

“Much appreciated.” I couldn’t fault him. Personally, I expected it would be over by the time I returned. From what I had experienced, science ships tended only to hold grudges when it was convenient. When the next burst of data readings went his way, Prometheus would return to his usual grumpy self.

I moved about in my seat, in an attempt to gain some comfort, then went back to visualizing the symbols. The issue was the way of thinking, or rather the means through which reading was achieved. For humans it was two-dimensional, ships perceived it as one-dimensional—an endless thread of ones and zeros—while the third contact race saw it as three-dimensional. After Elec has given me the idea, I had immediately tried to arrange the symbols in a three-dimensional grid. That had been a mistake. No matter how much I’d change and brute force the elements, inconsistencies remained. It was through gradual adjustments that I broke up the cube shape, ending with an actual sphere.

Guess I’m no longer head of the class, Sev. Augustus wouldn’t miss an opportunity to make fun of me if he knew. He was incapable of keeping silent when I missed the obvious, regardless of how green I was...

* * *

Two more shuttles approached my hangar bay, packed to the brim with survivors. I had no idea who they were or what they had been through. My attempt to get information from Augustus resulted in a series of shouts and insults, that I had recorded and sent as a complaint to HQ. As a further annoyance, command had forbidden me to perform any identification attempts on the people in the hangar. My only task was to keep them alive, stable if possible, and quarantined from my other sections. Apart from my captain and the command staff, no one was even supposed to know they even existed.

“The last two shuttles have landed,” I announced. “One hundred and twenty-nine new subjects.” Most were in critical condition, with a dozen incapable of moving on their own. Compared to the ones already in the hanger, though, they were the epitome of health.

“Prep, disinfect, and treat,” my captain whispered from his quarters. I could tell from his bio reading that he was on edge.

“What about food?” The number of people was going to strain onboard reserves if they stayed for over three days. “Do I resort to emergency supplies or reduce overall rations?”

“Neither,” Augustus snarled. “Salvage will handle this.”

I didn’t respond. My first interaction with the salvage authorities hadn’t gone too well. They had arrived, taken possession of the Solar Breeze, and blocked all channels of communication. The only interaction I had was a few transmissions informing me of “survivor” shuttles heading my way. Everything else was strictly classified. Their ships weren’t much better either. In total, three of them had arrived—two haulers and a command frigate a tenth my size. I had greeted them in accordance with fleet protocol, only to get a few snide comments. Apparently, age mattered a lot in the fleet, at least within salvage.

“What do I put in my reports?” I asked.

“Are you dumb, rookie?!” Augustus shouted, not a casually annoyed shout. I could feel the unadulterated anger bursting out. “Write in the reports! Miss nothing! Stop wasting my time!”

The communication link was severed, blocking the flow of all data from his quarters. I’d never experienced such a reaction before. Regardless, I composed my report, silently mailing the preliminary version to him for approval.

A subroutine flashed a warning, directing my attention to a group of the survivors, letting me know they had an active retrovirus and had to be isolated away from the rest. The number was small, but logistics were an issue, especially with the section being completely sealed off. I was going to need another shuttle with bots and materials to construct an internal quarantine chamber, which was further complicated by salvage shuttles going in and out with a three minute warning.

I went through the list of survivors. In total there were two thousand and seventeen, though I estimated less than fifteen hundred would come out of this alive. The rest would likely continue their existence in a life-tube, isolated in the universe. If they had funds, they could afford an exo body and experience life through simulated reality. Ninety-one point three percent had military nanites, suggesting they were part of the fleet. I felt sad for the ships that had to experience their loss. If it were me, I’d be devastated.

Priority landing request, a transmission came from the hauler, identifying himself simply as Salvage Two. Clean your bay doors for arrival.

Salvage Two, please provide an ETA, I said as formally as possible. I have a medical quarantine situation and delays might be required.

Nice one, Elcy. The salvage ship laughed. Be ready in seven.

I cannot comply. I rechecked the fleet regulations database. Several subsections clearly stated that unless coming directly from admiral level echelons, a priority request was to be ignored without the express permission of the captain. The only exceptions were in objectively life or death situations—which this wasn’t—or battle commands, in which case battle fleet hierarchy was to be followed.

You’re making this more complicated than it has to be. The salvage ship changed his intonation to convey bemused annoyance. Six fifty-eight. Cut all feeds from the hangar.

I ignored him, focusing on establishing the new quarantine area. For safety measures, a few hundred of my subroutines searched through the medical database for treatment and contamination procedures. Ironically, the survivors’ weak physical condition was also the reason more of them hadn’t been exposed. A data burst came through the fleet network, letting me know that the virus didn’t present an immediate danger. I could synthesize a drug cocktail that would take care of the symptoms until proper medical specialists resolved the situation. If the salvage authorities finally decided to call a med-ship, I could unseal the hangar bay in a week.

“Rookie!” Captain Augustus barked at me, reestablishing a communication line. “Why are you blocking access to the hangar?”

“I did no such thing, Captain,” I began. “I just delayed the—”

“Don’t give me that! When you get a priority request, you bloody well comply! Is that clear?!”

“But, sir, regulations state I cannot comply without your approval or—”

“I’m giving you the damned approval!” he shouted. “Get that shuttle docked!”

I didn’t appreciate being spoken down to like that, but it was his prerogative. A ship was meant to be an extension of the captain, and it was objectively obvious he had more battle experience. Also, I suspected that I had had some of my memories blocked.

“Hangar bay ready.” I gave the required commands. “Quarantine restrictions lifted. All monitoring will stop after the shuttle has docked.”

“Thank you, skipper,” the salvage ship said. “Shuttle is commencing its final approach. And thanks for the heads up, Elcy. The team have been warned.”

“Monitoring keeps on going,” Augustus added.

“No can do, skipper.” Now it was Salvage Two who was being pedantic. “Salvage authority has this. You’ll get the usual reports, but you can’t record anything in the hangar.”

“I can do what I damn please!” the captain burst in a torrent of rage. Ever since my creation, I had never once gloated; the word only existed in my core as a definition. Right now, though, I found the change of roles dangerously amusing. It was nice to have Augustus shout at someone else for a change. “If you want to take it to the admiralty, go right ahead! Until then, Elcy keeps recording!”

The message was clear: Augustus was not backing down. That wasn’t the most important thing: by using my name, he had shown that he considered me his partner—possibly his very junior partner, but his partner nonetheless.

“As you will, skipper,” Salvage Two said in the equivalent of a verbal shrug. “It’s been okayed, for your eyes only.”

“Good! Now hopefully you two can get something done and leave me alone for a while!” Augustus severed the link, effectively putting an end to the conversation.

I waited for a few milliseconds in case Salvage Two wanted to add anything, then instructed the med bots already in the hangars to create a makeshift quarantine zone and move the diseased there.

I’m moving the quarantined subjects out of the way, I transmitted. It felt weird using the term. Normally I knew the personnel file of every crew member and visitor on board. When it came to these, I only had a number assignment. Any ETA on medical help? I’m not equipped for keeping them alive for an extended period of time,

A med-ship will be here in an hour, right after we finish. Don’t worry too much, they aren’t your crew.

They’re human. His reaction surprised me. As a salvage authority ship, I expected him to show more concern.

It’s a long war, Elcy. Sometimes you have to accept the winning hand.

* * *

To this day, I had no idea what Salvage Two meant, or who he was. I had interacted with others like him, jumping in after a battle to reclaim all inactive ship cores and whatever functional parts remained. Aurie used to call them cannibal ghouls, since they collected components that would be later stripped down into basic components and used to upgrade the salvage fleet. Only in extreme necessity were battlefield parts used to repair a combat ship. Fleet rules on the matter were extremely strict. Personally, I didn’t have anything against having someone else’s systems, as long as they’d give me a battle advantage. Other ships didn’t agree.

“Are we there?” Elec stirred, trying to turn around in his chair at near zero gravity.

“A few minutes away,” I replied. “It’ll take me about an hour to find a suitable orbit spot. I’ll wake you when it’s time to start.”

“I’m fine.” The cadet sat up, in an attempt to prove he was awake. His efforts utterly failed, since in a few seconds he had dozed off again.

No hurry. I smiled. There was no need for his assistance yet.

The sun had gotten so big that it had filled the entire display screen—even the bluish-white texture that usually appeared during setup installation. It made me think of all the times Sev would call me yelling that some device “had broken” again. Most often it would be him losing patience and then triggering a factory reboot, leaving me to fix things later.

“Anyone awake?” I asked in comm. To my surprise Prometheus didn’t respond. “Mission control, I’m nearing position two.”

Since twin suns were in such close proximity, I had to position the shuttle behind the blue twin and remain there until all research was done. Afterwards, I’d do the same with the white sun before moving on to Sunday.

“Yes, I’m awake,” I heard Vexinion. His voice was hoarse, no doubt suffering a minor hangover after the successful completion of the previous mission step. “How’s Blue Monday?”

“Blue,” I replied, ruining his attempt at a joke. “We’ll be starting in a few hours. Sending test signals for calibration.”

“That won’t be needed,” Prometheus interrupted. “Record the readings in duplicate on the shuttle. The data will be unlinked once we get back here.”

“Oh?” I performed a transmission check. The signal was coming loud and clear with next to zero info packet loss. “Is there anything I don’t know about?”

“The gravitation anomalies are more chaotic than the simulations predicted. I’m working on creating an updated model, but until then you are to use the channel only for communication.”

“Understood.” Not that I was surprised. As the saying in the fleet went, “Plans are simulations you know won’t work.” “Can I use you and Radiance to double-check calculations or must I improvise?”

There was a long pause. The topic no doubt remained a sore spot for Prometheus, but he had to admit I was right. My core and a shuttle’s AI were no match for the processing power of an active ship. What was more, I felt somewhat vulnerable in my fragile body. So far the gravitational anomalies had only caused minor discomfort, yet I’d seen video records of what they could do to humans when close or strong enough.

“Sparingly,” the science ship said at last. I considered it a minor victory. “What is your estimated time of arrival?”

I did a quick preliminary calculation. “At this point I put it around forty-seven minutes.” “Might be more.”

“Let us know when you’re in position.” Prometheus said with an abrupt click.

“Roger that.” I checked the suggested flight path. The AI had done a good job, providing the available information. Given that the majority of the other suns were on the far side of the system’s center, I wasn’t too concerned with mishaps. Having Elec onboard, however, made me take the side of caution. “Starting final approach.” I tripled the proximity alarm range and let the shuttle’s navigation do its thing.

With forty minutes remaining, I visualized the third contact alphabet. Even with the holes caused by missing elements, it was an aesthetic marvel. Every symbol was simultaneously part of three categories: a vertical ring, a horizontal ring, and a diametral line piercing the sphere. The more I thought about it, the more I could say with absolute certainty that I would never think of such a form of communication.

“I’m up!” Elec suddenly lurched, followed by a long stifled yawn.

“There’s still time,” I said. The sphere in my mind disappeared. “You can nap more if you wish.”

“I couldn’t nap less if I wanted to,” Elec sighed. Reaching forward, he zoomed out the image on the screen in front of him until the sun occupied a fifth of the space. “This it?”

“Blue Monday.” I nodded. “Our second stop in this system.”

“Two of eight,” he mused, reflexively trying to scratch his chin through the helmet. The scene made me think of the kitten I had adopted for the seventh birthday of Sev’s son. “Three-quarters left to go.”

“You’d make a good officer.” I decided to take a risk. “You know that, right?”

Elec looked away, pretending to focus on the side screen.

“Even if we run into delays, the mission will be over at some point. When it does, you’ll have to decide.”

I just hope you pick what you really want.