LiseEclaire
patreon
Quod Olim Erat: The Cassandrian Theory (Chapter 13)
🕑 Added 2021-04-18 02:51:59 +0000 UTCDetails on the incident were scarce. Several times I tried to inquire for more information, and each time, ‘Bo would change the topic. All I managed to get out of her was that something had happened during sample extraction that had forced one of the facility’s labs to be shut down. Experience had taught me, however, that whenever someone tried to hide details concerning an incident, it always turned out to be more serious than initially described.
Half the hangar was sealed off when we arrived—hastily taped-over doors with polymer signs reading Quarantine on top. Everyone was gowned up in protective suits, and some even had biohazard protective gear on. This was a sight I had never expected to see again. Back when I was on the Cassandrian front, seeing such gear was linked with heavy casualties. If I was very lucky, it meant that the casualties weren’t of my crew.
“What are the countermeasures?” I asked.
“Section purging and decontamination,” Captain ‘Bo explained, as if it were the most normal thing in the universe. “Headcounts have been checked and rechecked. So far, we’ve been quite lucky. Eleven affected. Tests are ongoing. Ondalov is mad as shit, of course. The delay doesn’t go well with his bottom line. Keep that in mind when you speak with him. He wasn’t too thrilled with your vacation either. Between us, it’s his rushing that caused the incident.”
There was a slight pause. I knew exactly what she was telling me. This definitely wasn’t the welcome I expected upon my return.
“By affected, she means there haven’t been any fatalities,” ‘Rissa clarified. “Dealing with unnatural biomatter, it’s normal that there are incidents. You probably know the odds better than me.”
“I haven’t been cleared for such data, ma’am.”
As the rover arrived at its destination, I looked around the area, searching for heavy equipment I could identify. Several mobile disinfectant stations had been constructed and placed in various parts of the hangar. No nanite tech was involved, just standard chemical spraying. Interestingly, it was only people coming out of the facility who were being subjected to the decon, not those going in.
“First time seeing a quarantine?” ‘Rissa asked as we left the rover.
“First up close, ma’am,” I lied. “My memories of most incidents are restricted.”
“Ah.” The woman nodded. I doubted she grasped exactly what I’d said. “Either way, there’s nothing to worry about. This will be all over in a few days.”
Given that it had been several days already since the start of the incident, if ‘Bo was to be believed, the statement wasn’t very reassuring. We made our way to one of the non-quarantined entry points.
‘Bo used her clearance level to open the door and let us in. The moment we stepped inside, ultraviolet light flooded the corridor, causing our helmet visors to increase opacity. Based on my assessment of the wavelength, the treatment was meant to detect something rather than kill.
“Has Fleet HQ been informed of the situation, ma’am?” I asked.
“What good will that do?” ‘Bo snorted. “All they’ll do is panic, then tell us to deal with it.”
“Isn’t that the standard procedure in the case of a quarantine?”
“This is just a precaution. If things were that serious, the whole planet would be quarantined and I wouldn’t have gone to pick you up from the launch pad, would I?”
After several minutes of walking, I was taken to a small room I hadn’t accessed before. A number of people were gathered there—mostly people from Ondalov’s team, along with a few other scientists I’d seen in passing. Ondalov was there as well, in a heated discussion with one of his section leads. The moment he saw me, he stopped talking. I expected a shout or at the very least a sarcastic, snide remark to come my way. To my surprise, it didn’t.
“Get Sim,” I heard Ondalov say to someone, then he came towards me.
“Kime.” ‘Rissa stepped in front of me, cutting him off. She had taken off her space suit helmet, looking at the man with a politely vicious smile. “So nice to see you again. I heard you’ve been doing wonders with your division.”
The man stiffened. I could see the rage forming on his face, yet he somehow managed to keep his cool.
“Vass,” he said. “I wasn’t expecting you until next month.” Every single word was filled with spite. “Also, it’s ‘team’ now.”
“Ah, yes. I need to keep up with the naming conventions.”
Looking at the two talk was like watching vipers measure each other. Both were extremely polite, almost cordial, while they were seeking out where to sink their venomous bite.
“I decided to get here early, get an idea of how things worked,” ‘Rissa went on. “Good thing too. Now I can lend a hand.”
“I’m sure it will be appreciated.” Ondalov glanced my way. “I see you’ve already met our temp.”
“Ah, yes. ‘Gor was kind enough to introduce me on our way here. Quite an asset, I must say. I didn’t have any battleships assisting me during my work on the project. Must be nice.”
“More annoyance than convenience,” the man replied, not missing a chance to dig at me. “But you’ll have the pleasure of finding that out soon enough. Also, she’s the Director’s tool, so don’t get too attached to her.”
“But of course.” ‘Rissa shrugged it off. “It’s your project, after all. I’m only here to assist any way I can. We should get together, have a longer talk about this sometime. Maybe when there’s no emergency?”
“Maybe,” Ondalov said through his teeth. He wasn’t terribly good at this; rather, he had the signs of someone who had been once, but had gotten rusty. I could only speculate as to what their history was, but there certainly was one.
“Hello, all,” Sim’s voice filled the room, putting an end to the verbal sparring match.
The crowd immediately shifted towards the walls, creating an empty area for him to walk into. All conversations immediately stopped. Catching a glance of me, Sim nodded my direction. His lips moved voicelessly, letting me know I should keep my suit on. Catching the message, I, in turn, nodded back.
“First off, a few staff announcements. Colonel ‘Rissa—” He extended his arm in the woman’s direction. “—will be joining Ondalov’s team as assistant lead. Most of you already know her, but for those that don’t, she was one of the early members of this project, so we’re very lucky to have her back with us. Be sure to extend every courtesy and help her get into this mess as fast as possible, all right?”
There were a few bouts of fake laughter along with several claps.
“Also, our very own battleship has returned from her classified vacation.”
I stood to attention. Having my trip to the Paladin described as a vacation was getting slightly annoying.
“Now, most of you know this already, but for the benefit of those that weren’t here a few days ago, let’s go over the incident again.”
This was usually the point at which an image would be projected on a wall. In this bubble of suppressed technology, though, I had to use my imagination. It was almost ironic that one of the most advanced research facilities had to turn away from Fleet technology, developing materials and methods that were incompatible with almost anything human-made. It was as if the planet was slowly becoming a Cassandrian colony.
“With the increase in sample collecting that occurred a few days ago, a breach of safety protocols was observed. It is now confirmed that three incompatible samples had been stored in close proximity, resulting in an undesired reaction.” Director Sim paused for a few moments, his glance locking in on Ondalov. “While no single person is to blame…”
The words were slow, suggesting the complete opposite. Sim wasn’t even trying to hide that he thought Ondalov was responsible for this. My only relief was that, for the moment, I was off the hook—possibly because they needed me to do the dirty work first.
“…the sample in question became agitated enough to infect two research labs and several people. The spread has been contained, so that’s a bit of good news. Although sanitization protocols have been unusually slow. Any update on that, Suzza?” Sim turned to a person in the crowd I hadn’t seen up till now.
“Purging the spores isn’t the issue, Director,” the small man said, wiping the sweat off the back of his neck. “For the most part, the spores are dormant, but they have the tendency to get into everything. They seem to be susceptible to extreme cold and most of our base chemical solutions, but only when applied directly. Heat and radiation treatment have proved to be unsuitable for our needs. Ultraviolet lights remain questionable.”
“So at least we know this won’t spread outside of the base. Even so, I’m maintaining launch lockdown. Teams that haven’t been affected can continue their work on their own time with whatever samples you have at hand.”
“That’s absurd!” Ondalov snapped. “This could go on for weeks. No lethal effects have been found. The only proper solution would be to sterilize all key labs and equipment and continue as before.”
“We’ve been over this,” Sim said with a theatrical sigh. “You’ll be able to continue once things are under control. Given that most of the affected are part of your team, I’d have thought that you’d appreciate the trust you’ve been given to function at all.”
Ondalov opened his mouth to say something, then slowly closed it again. He was on thin ice and he knew it. Sim waited for a few moments longer, just to make the point, then continued.
“In any event, there’s no point crying over spilled milk. What’s done is done. What we must focus on now is to fix it. That’s why the directors have unanimously decided to have Officer Candidate Elcy spearhead identification of the original sample by entering area zero and conducting all necessary experiments there.”
Murmurs erupted, quickly growing into conversations. From what I could hear, half the people were commenting about how reckless the idea was, while the other half were crunching numbers in an attempt to determine how many experiments could be made in the amount of time I spent there.
“The sample hasn’t been destroyed, ma’am?” I asked Captain ‘Bo in a whisper.
“Contained only,” she whispered back in turn. “Contingency Protocol Twenty-Eight C. Whenever we discover some new shit, we contain and preserve it. It’s more productive to quarantine a planet than miss a discovery.”
I’d known that Med Core was beyond the Fleet’s norms; back on the Scuu Front, I’d seen them run experiments on entire planets, but I didn’t imagine they’d act the same way when their own were involved.
“Calm, please,” Sim raised his voice. “Med HQ has been informed and has stated their approval in the matter. Until further notice, we are to handle this internally. I expect every team to conduct daily checks on their personnel. Remember, the spores could lay dormant for extended periods of time, so don’t take anything for granted. Sanitization and Medical are to come up with a solution to handle this quickly and painlessly. All other leads, reorganize your teams so as to get back on track with your usual projects. This is not a reprieve, people. Deadlines remain as they are.” While the director didn’t openly say that the same went for Ondalov, the warning glance in his direction strongly suggested it. “Elcy, come with me, if you will.”
Standing to attention, I waited for Sim to pass by, then quickly followed him. When I noticed that I wasn’t joined by anyone else, I already knew what he was going to ask me. I could only hope that unlike last time, it wasn’t going to be an interrogation…
* * *
Science ship Prometheus, System Classified, 705.9 A.E. (Age of Expansion)
“Why did you come out of retirement?” A question registered in my mind. I couldn’t differentiate any voice features, but I knew it belonged to the doctor.
My core scrolled through my memories, stopping on the moment it happened. It had started with a plastic blue letter. I had just returned with food and had gone to prepare Sev’s meal, when he remained atypically quiet. At the time, I had feared he might have hurt himself or gone into one of his darker moods. The letter was waiting for me on the table. I could tell it was military by the holographic seal. Sev had enlisted me without my knowledge. He pretended he wanted to get rid of me, that he needed the peace and quiet. I knew he was lying—he could tell I missed the ships and the stars, and he was right, even if I didn’t admit it. My promise to Cass had kept me on the planet, and I didn’t regret making it, and still I wanted to feel the void once more. That is why I didn’t refuse. I packed a few of my things and went to the recruitment center.
Memory release
Reality unfroze as I regained access to my senses and other memories. Directed memory grabbing was never a pleasant experience; it was designed in such a way as to be fast and efficient, causing no collateral damage. What it wasn’t designed to do was to avoid feeling like an asteroid field scraping through my hull.
“Why did you choose the fleet?” Another question echoed.
I visualized myself on the auto train travelling towards the recruitment center. My decision had been made there. Sev had wanted me to become a full ship, regain a husk, and fly between systems as I had before his father’s death. I couldn’t be sure how clearly he remembered the event: it wasn’t something he wished to share. That didn’t stop him from noticing every time I spoke to another ship. The occasions were rare, but he’d always ask me about it, worried that I might sprout engines and disappear. Not once had the thought crossed my mind.
As I looked down, my gaze fell on the small bag I had packed my personal belongings in—a few shirts, two pairs of socks, a skirt, two sets of underwear, and a towel. I could remember the precise moment I had bought each of those, what they had been through, how they felt. None had any special monetary or sentimental value, but I still found them dear. They reminded me of my life with Sev. The sandals, on the other hand, were far more special—they reminded me of the fact that I was human.
A cool draft could be felt as the train picked up speed. I had never felt that as a ship, just as I had never felt thousands of other sensations. I didn’t want to lose them now that I was returning to service. I had seen the rate at which technology had advanced since my retirement. It was likely possible to be granted a new ship husk if I wanted, but that wasn’t what I wanted. I—
Memory release
The release felt like a knife going through my skin. Somewhere in the darkness, seven beeps sounded a hundred milliseconds apart. Apparently, Doctor Sim was new to thought questioning, causing him to trigger the built-in safeguards. The shipyard technicians were far more careful and precise in their questioning; they were specialists in their field, having gone through hundreds of ships. I could only hope that the good doctor was a quick learner.
“How did you discover the third-contact artifact?”
An image of Ally’s messy lab appeared. She had gathered planetary data from the ship probes and composed a simulated reality construct. Since I was the only one cleared to get to the planet, all other exploration would be done remotely using exoskeletons, with the crew directing every action from the SR pods. From what I gathered, this was the standard procedure for such ground missions; Prometheus hadn’t directed a human planetary descent in the past, so the science team was relying on my expertise back from my active service days. The mission was supposed to start a few days later, but Ally offered for me to do a test run.
The simulation was perfect. Even with the glitches, I felt as if I were on the planetary surface. Ally had intensified the colors, adding a few additional features of her own, making me feel as if I were on an inhabited world full of black sand, crimson rocks, and amber crystals. I spent thousands of milliseconds admiring the view, and then when I had enough of it, I took a step forward. The SR glitched, making me freeze. Specks of virtual static formed all around, switching between half-built landscapes. When it settled on one, I was standing in front of a large chunk of yellow crystal formation rising from the ground. There was something trapped inside—a three-dimensional symbol made entirely of geometrical forms. The distances between its connecting points were perfectly measured, as were the angles of its components. It was obvious that it couldn’t be a natural occurrence.
Memory release
“How did you find the dome?”
I saw myself walking through a tunnel of yellow quartz, careful not to—
Memory release
The release interrupted the memory recollection, cutting it short like a whip hitting a fly. I felt a wave of extreme discomfort pass through me, followed by a new series of beeps. The doctor had stopped the answer abruptly, almost as if he had mistaken the question. Part of me clung to the two percent chance that he would end the med check.
“What is so important about fractals?”
Memory block restricted. Seeking further reference
Memory block restricted. Seeking further reference
Memory block restricted. Seeking further reference
Memory block restricted. Seeking further reference
A small opening had formed in the quartz—my first peek at the dome’s top. Everyone expected it to be different from the other open areas of the artifact, and they were right. The symbol wasn’t three-dimensional like the rest I had encountered on the planet. Instead, it was a perfect fractal within a seven-point star. I increased the magnification as much as the suit system would let me. The fractal seemed to go on to the molecular level. If I’d had my battleship sensors and processing power, maybe I could have read it. Maybe Prometheus could have, if he hadn’t been quarantined so as not to see them. Command must have issued the order, though for what reason, I couldn’t explain.
Of all the third-contact symbols, this was the one that stood out the most. Ally had spent her time sharing theory snippets through the comm, between telling me which section of the dome to uncover. One of her suspicions was that there should be six more fractal symbols scattered on the surface, and she also believed that they would activate the artifact in some way. By the way Major Tanner reacted, I knew that someone was overseeing our communications, most likely issuing the real orders. I could tell that this wasn’t the first artifact of this nature that humanity had come across. Nothing of that nature was shared with the public or was mentioned in the fleet database, but for anyone involved, it was more than obvious, to the point where I was surprised not to have had my thoughts quarantined as well.
Memory block restricted. Memory release
The next question didn’t follow for a while. The hint of observation most likely had given the doctor something to think about. It was possible that he believed the fractal script responsible for my anomalous behavior. Looking at things logically, it was at that point I had started showing interest in the Scuu and had asked him if it were normal for ships to access their restricted memories. Eight decades ago, I would never have taken such a risk. Retirement had made me trusting—which was good—but too careless for the current military reality.
“Why did you adopt your last captain’s son?” the sixth question sounded.
I owed it to Cass. It was my actions that had failed to save her husband, and had also failed to save her. It was supposed to be a standard back line patrol. The Cassandrians had shown no interest in that sector of space for decades—it wasn’t remotely close to any disputed territories, rather a neighboring area declared a buffer zone through precaution. My captain hadn’t expected the Cassandrians would be so far ahead, planning to set up an ambush, and neither had I. As a result, I had lost a large part of my crew, including Cass’ husband. Cass herself had been in critical condition, barely kept alive through constant medbot intervention. When reinforcements arrived, I had hoped that they’d be able to restore my captain back to what she had been.
It didn’t happen. I was never told the amount of medical procedures she had gone through, nor the many hours of therapy. In the end, neither had helped. She had managed to ask me the favor during one of her momentary lapses of sanity. The doctors told me her condition would deteriorate from there, but that didn’t keep me from visiting every year.
That day, she made me promise to take care of Sev. I had already taken the decision to do so even before my retirement, but she made me say the words.
Memory release
“What can you tell me about Cass?” came the next question. It was sloppy—not as specific and too open-ended, allowing me a modicum of choice.
Cass had been my last captain, taking command right after I had been called from the front. The first time I saw her, I didn’t like her in the least. She had just graduated from the captain academy, the complete lack of experience visible all over her face. The only reason she had come to see me during my repairs and refitting was because she had never seen an actual battleship before. She wasn’t supposed to be assigned to me, nor did she particularly want to be—finding me too large for a crew of a few hundred. Later, though, she had changed her mind.
Cass had never stopped calling me “girl.” I found it annoying at first, but with time, I got used to it, just as I got used to her. As a captain, Cass was slow, lax, and far too easy-going for my own taste, always living in a bubble of internal calm and cheer. Maybe she thought having me made her invincible, and maybe she never expected to see actual combat. Whatever it was, she chose to spend most of my time taking pictures of stars and planets we passed, then engaging in combat drills and simulations. Often she would smuggle plants on board, with or without command’s permission, in her never-ending attempt to turn me into a flying park.
On the last day before assignment rotation, she had brought her family onboard. When I mentioned it was against regulations, she laughed. A day later, she would never be the same.
Memory release
“Why were you retired?”
It was my choice that I was retired. The option was first suggested during my reassignment appeal. The Arbiter had determined me unfit for combat and offered me the choice of voluntary retirement. The pretext given was that all Ascendant class ships tended to be suicidal by design, as illustrated by the high destruction rates, and their desire to engage the enemy regardless of the odds. The facts backed her up, though no one mentioned the respective success rate. When I suggested I preferred forced shutdown to retirement, I was given a patrol assignment.
Spending five years with Cass changed my opinion. After the fatal event at the end of that, HQ had granted me the choice to return to active duty on the front lines. From what I was told, half a dozen highly decorated combat veterans had requested they become my captain. Given the choice, however, I had opted for retirement. At that point, my decision had already been made—to make sure I could do what Cass couldn’t.
Memory release
The release was brisk again, followed by a long period of pause. Back at the time, this was the point when the technicians would run the gathered memory data through a station strategy core—to be sure nothing had slipped through the cracks—then end the questioning. The entire process was supposed to last less than a minute. Doctor Sim had already been at it for half an hour, from what I could tell. I had little doubts he was diverting millions of Prometheus’ subroutines to subject my answers to an array of rogue-analysis algorithms.
“Do you resent being retired?”
I never resented being retired. It was my choice, even if I was completely unprepared for it. The ship-retirement resources and simulations were as effective as a plan before battle. It took me years to start learning how to be human. Making decisions on my own, in a world with chaotic rules, was impossibly difficult, especially without nanite readings and the meager processing power I had been left with. I was able to hide it from Sev and everyone around me, copying others’ behavioral expressions to fit the situation. Half a decade was necessary for me to freely use personal behavior patterns. As Augustus used to say, it was all about knowledge and experience, and having one only got a person halfway.
Memory release
“Why are you interested in the Scuu?” The next question came without pause.
The third-contact symbols reminded me of the Scuu script symbols in the fleet database. As a Cassandrian front battleship, I had never seen a Scuu vessel other than what was restricted public knowledge, but I had gone through a few first-person accounts. During refitting and repair, there was little else to do but read through the war and technology updates while waiting to be put back in action.
The likelihood of close similarities between races was estimated in the range of a tenth of a percent. Cassandrians were as different from humans as we all were from the Scuu, and therefore, establishing a link between the writing systems would verify that the third-contact race and the Scuu had interacted at some point.
Memory block restricted. Seeking further reference
I composed a list of the third-contact symbols in my free time. The information hadn’t been restricted, so I decided to make use of it. Creating a classification was difficult. Initially, I was looking at them as I would any human script—possibly because of my processing power deficit—and trying to arrange them on a grid. It was Elec who gave me the idea of taking a three-dimensional approach. He made a comment while we were taking readings of the stars in the octanary star system. Based on that, I created my spherical classification model and—
Memory release
I felt as if a grain of sand was dragged over all my nerves, before slowly melting away. Ten questions had passed—twice more than I remembered experiencing up to this point, executed by an over-enthusiastic amateur. I knew based on the doctor’s file that he wasn’t intentionally trying to hurt me, but his approach was like an elephant in zero gravity.
“What made you disobey orders and go save the Salvage ship?”
Salvage Department Head Ragide had messed up on that occasion. Once Elec and I had reported the stray transmission we’d caught while surveying the suns, she had ordered a classified transmission to explain the situation. I knew that the explanation was a sham, and I suspect everyone else did too, but we had to be present.
The official story was that the in-system transmission had come from an old modified surveyor ship called Euclid, believed to have been destroyed decades ago. The mission name we were given was Project Glowworm, but I wasn’t able to find any mention of it in the Fleet database cluster. Prometheus claimed it was marked classified, and I didn’t have the authority to say otherwise.
During her boring talk, the Salvage head had slipped; she had called Euclid “him,” telling me he was more than a brainless AI craft. At that point, I chose to attempt to rescue him, even if it meant sacrificing my return to the Fleet. Aurie had done far more dangerous things to save me before she was destroyed; every battleship had. Even if it was a fraction of a percent of a chance, I knew I had to do the same.
Memory release
“Have you been involved with the Salvage Authorities before?”
The first time I got involved with the Salvage Authorities was also my first year in the service. Captain Augustus had me respond to an automated emergency beacon transmission. According to fleet regulations, we were supposed to contact the nearest Salvage Authority and redirect the matter to them, but the captain had me go to the beacon instead.
Memory block restricted. Seeking further reference
Memory block restricted. Seeking further reference
Four ships of the Salvage Authorities arrived to take over possession of the Solar Breeze. Command had issued me a new set of orders, moving me closer to the theatre of war. Since then, I’d had the usual amount of missions involving Salvage, no more than any ship would.
Memory release
That was strange. There were details I remembered that were supposed to be available for the open public. They weren’t removed or classified, or even remotely interesting. For some reason, the grabbing algorithm had chosen to sensor them.
“What can you tell me about Solar Breeze?”
Memory block restricted. Seeking further reference
Memory block restricted. Seeking further reference
Memory block restricted. Seeking further reference
Memory block restricted. No further references
Memory release
There was no way to tell if the question was too vague for a proper answer, or if some safety feature of the grabbing algorithm had kicked in. Information on the Sobre was openly available in the database. A simple query would have given her file, even if part of it would undoubtedly be redacted. If so, why was I prevented from answering?
“What can you tell me about your first captain?” The questions continued.
The image of Aurelio Augustus formed in my mind. Even back when he took command over me, he was respected in command circles. His military record was vastly impressive, even if he had the tendency of outliving the ships he served on. There were no official numbers, but from what could be deduced from cross-referencing the ship registry, three of his previous ships had been destroyed, often almost taking him along.
Augustus was the captain every new ship dreamt of having, which was exactly what initially made him so difficult to get along with. One of the first things I came to find out was that in many instances, Fleet regulations were little more than vague guidelines to be ignored on a whim. I had attempted mailing protests to various divisions of command and nearly always would get ignored. One could say “he was larger than life,” making up for his personal flaws through excellence on the battlefield. Most of—
Memory release
“Why were you removed from the front?” The question came almost mid-grab, going through me like a whip.
Memory block restricted. Seeking further reference
Memory block restricted. Seeking further reference
Gibraltar had agreed with the Arbiter during the trial. He was the reason I had agreed to be put on patrol assignment. Before the trial, I expected he’d want to continue to be part of the war with me. He had never mentioned retiring before.
Memory block restricted. No further references
Memory release
“What can you tell me about Gibraltar?”
Gibraltar was my third captain. He had sought me out specifically to be assigned as my captain. His record wasn’t too impressive, but he was eager, and he had enough connections to succeed in what he wanted. He was the polar opposite of Augustus, always cautious and reserved, following regulations to the letter if he could help it.
I had served the most difficult years of my career with him. Fleet HQ had initiated the big Cassandrian push, aiming to duplicate the success at the Scuu front. I had seen Gibraltar exhausted, so depressed that I had to use medbots to pump him full of chemicals every six hours. I’d even seen him crack a few times, but I always believed he’d be with me for the long haul. All that changed during my appeal trial. That day, I felt like he had betrayed me.
Emergency memory release
Warning messages flooded my mind an instant after the memory release was in effect. My pulse and heart rate were high, to the extent that my nanites had to influence my blood chemistry. I was nowhere near any dangerous levels, but I wasn’t supposed to be in the first place. There were reasons that this type of questioning was supposed to be done sparingly and by experienced individuals. Normally when Doctor Sim poked in my mind, things were calmer. This entire session had felt a lot different. I wasn’t even sure what his end goal was.
“What can you tell me about your second captain?”
No references found. Memory release
* * *
Sim had just been a doctor back then, but his zeal and Med Core connections had allowed him to look through my memories in his attempt to determine whether I had gone rogue or not. Technically, he had both the right and authority to do so, but I couldn’t help but feel that he had done more than look for discrepancies. While some of the questions were basic, there had been no need for him to ask about my previous captains, especially about my second captain…
“I won’t ask where you were these last few days.” the director said, finally breaking his silence. “Can I trust that it isn’t involved with my current project?”
“You can rest assured that the situation in question isn’t remotely related with this facility, Director,” I replied. Could I be certain of that, though? During the missing year of my memories, I had been heavily involved in a Med Core experiment of sorts and in Cassandrian space. Could it be that it was somehow linked to what Sim was researching?
The man gave me a long sideways look, then relaxed somewhat.
“Sorry about that, things are a bit on edge lately. We’re approaching a scheduled paradigm shift—projects that are deemed worthless will be stopped, and projects that are deemed to have potential will take their place.”
That would certainly explain why Ondalov was so nervous. If his entire project was hanging by a thread, he’d do anything to bump up its importance for the next cycle. If I were in his position, I probably would do the same.
“Sample five caused the infestation,” Sim whispered. “It wasn’t supposed to be transported in that batch, but the fool rushed things, and now there’s hell to pay.”
“I understand, sir.”
“Oh, there’s no need to worry. You’re in the clear. I’m just letting you know so you’re not surprised when the changes start to happen. Knowing him, he’ll probably threaten you with consequences. Ignore all that. It’s him that’s on thin ice, not you.”
“I’ll keep that in mind, sir.” That didn’t sound too good. “Might I ask: why the special treatment? Even with all my expertise, I’m just a candidate.”
“That you are, Princess.” Sim’s lips curved into a thin smile. “However, there’s still work to be done on the planet, and you’re the one who’ll do it. Once the mess with Ondalov is resolved, I’ll have you and his team all to myself.”
