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Quod Olim Erat: The Cassandrian Theory (Chapter 1)
🕑 Added 2020-12-13 23:17:04 +0000 UTCTauciu System, Resha Colony — 707.1 A.E. (Age of Expansion)
“You sure you don’t want a bite?” Bethine offered.
It reminded me of the many suppers we’d had back when she was a child. Back then she’d always offer me part of her meal, because “her food tasted the best of all.” Those were endearing times, when everyone still lived at Sev’s house. Now, only he remained, even if recent events had brought them closer.
“Sure.” I glanced at my gelatin ration. Bland in taste and heavy to the eye, it was the only thing I could eat since I’d rejoined the Fleet. The station doctor had been very clear on the matter before approving my leave. Even so, a bite of something else wouldn’t hurt.
Bethine smiled as I forked a morsel of stewed steak. Judging by her facial expression, there was an eighty-three percent chance she was reminiscing about the past as well.
Things had been much simpler four decades ago. The victories on the Cassandrian front had allowed for a period of calm in a vast area of human space. Colonies would no longer worry for their survival and instead focused on growth, development, and entertainment in an effort to forget the dangers that surrounded humanity. Already the period was referred to as the Carefree Years by a growing number of medias.
“Did you fight in the war?” Bethine’s grandson asked.
An awkward silence filled the room. All eyes focused on Sev, who continued to sip his soup in silence. He’d already had three grandchildren join the Fleet against his wishes. To a degree I was partially responsible for the last.
“A long time ago.” I replied. “Back then I was a battleship.”
The boy leaned forward on the table, eyes widened.
“How many planets did you destroy?”
“Jabel, don’t bother grandma Elcy!” Bethine snapped. “Go play with you sister!”
“But mooom,” the boy frowned, but obeyed leaving the room to go outside.
“Sorry about that. I don’t know where he gets those ideas from.”
“Probably from the news broadcasts he keeps watching,” her husband grumbled. He was the only one person who didn’t have a direct family relation.
Bethine’s second husband, he was relatively well off, as a junior partner in a high-end medical clinic. Just enough ambiguous to get into management, he was vehemently opposed to the war effort, believing that humanity should focus on its colonies rather than expanding its space presence. At least he was open minded when it came to ships, and from what I had found when looking into him, practical enough to have invested in real estate in the central systems, in case unlikely event that fighting reached this planet.
“If you’re so worried, block the feed,” Julian said. “That way you’ll get some calm until college. After that it’s up to them.”
“That’s one option,” Bethanie raised her voice just loud enough to warn against the subject. “We’ve gathered to see Elcy off. Stars know how long it’ll be before her next visit.”
“About eight months,” I replied, finishing off my steak. It was nice, although slightly overcooked. “Planetary leave is tight with everything considered. I’ll still be able to call, though.”
“The constant calling,” Sev muttered, pushing his plate aside. “And the endless letters. Each time she tells me what trouble she’s in. When I sent you back up there it was for you to enjoy life, not making a mess of things!”
“I am having fun, Sev.” You’re righter than you know. “It just takes some to get used to. Things have changed a bit since I was last involved.”
“Kids that think they know everything ordering you around?” Julian laughed. “Welcome to modern life. At least you’re here, not like…”
Julian’s voice trailed off as Bethine darted him a warning glare.
“I mean it’s good to see you again, Elcy. Almost makes me feel like a child again.”
“In my eyes you’ll always be a child. At least now I know you can take care of yourself.”
My datapad began beeping. Everyone looked at me. This was unexpected. Any emergency mobilization order should have been transmitted directly to my conscience core.
“Sorry about that.” I took the device out of my pocket and unlocked it.
For the most part it had been gathering military feeds from the last six hours for me to catch up with recent events once everyone had gone to bed. This time there also was a high priority sent to me directly from the Virgo station’s commandant.
Cadet Light Seeker,
We regret to inform you that your request for transfer to active duty has been denied. You are to continue standard activities as issued by the station’s faculty and the commandant until the Promotion Board’s next scheduled session.
This decision is final and cannot be appealed.
Have a nice day,
Colonel K.J. Espers, Promotion Board 179
I linked to the datapad and checked the ident protocols of the message. It was verifiably from the Promotion Board. That confirmed my fear—I had been passed for promotion for the first time in my existence. Why, though? After the conclusion of my last mission I was promised a clean slate and a transfer to active duty. Instead, I wasn’t even given a reason for my rejection.
“Is anything the matter?” Julian asked.
“Yes.” I went through the list of all planetary departures. Commercial flights were all booked, but there was a cargo vessel scheduled to leave in the three hours and thirty-eight minutes. “I have to get back to my station.”
“Is it serious?” Bethine’s face had gone pale. I could hear the unspoken question behind her words: Did the war move this far in?
“Nothing to worry about. Just the usual everyday bureaucracy. Sadly, I’ll need to go right away. Sev, will you be alright?”
“Bah.” The old man waved a hand. “Come, go, do as you please. It’s not that you’ve ever listened to me. At least I have Alexander to rely on.”
I couldn’t help but smile. Looking through my memories I watched him grow from a child to my person he is today. A lot had changed since then, but one thing remained the same—despite what he claimed he didn’t like seeing me leave.
“I’ll be back before you know it. Like always.”
A grumble was the only reply I got. A quick analysis of its strength, pitch, and pattern suggested it to be a positive remark.
As I went to get ready, I heard a new conversation start in the dining room. For the most part it was talk about the past: how little I’d changed as well as instances of me catching them misbehaving as children. It was nice hearing the laughter of people I considered family. Even so, I couldn’t stay.
It took me less than two minutes to change into my military uniform. When little remained of my luggage was mostly composed of calcium gelatin rations I could easily leave behind. Straightening my shirt, I took one last look at the room that used to be mine and left.
“Was nice seeing you together,” I said as I passed through the living room. The ten simulations I ran, indicated that staying too long would make the people feel sadder. “Say goodbye to the children for me.”
“Y-yes, of course,” Bethine managed to say. “I just want to—"
“Be safe out there,” Sev interrupted. “And don’t take too long.”
“I’ll do my best.”
The clouds were breaking up showing a crack of night sky in-between. Even with the increasing amount of light pollution so many stars could be seen. I knew all their names, some I’d even fought at… and the way things were going I’d fight again. That was why I needed to be on the front lines.
My walk shifted into a run. By the time I reached the cargo area of the spaceport, the cargo ship Ulysses was third in line for departure. No time to waste with the local personnel, I transferred my ident to the port’s computer along with a request for emergency transport. It was immediately granted; colonies on backwater planets were all too obliging to anyone with military clearance, especially with the War Movement dominating political circles.
According to the latest figures, conscription was up seventeen percent, barely keeping up with ship construction. Even children could see humanity was gearing up, although they had no idea as to the actual reason.
Light Seeker? Ulysses transmitted to me directly as I approached to board. I was glad he had a conscience core, at least I’d have someone to talk to during the trip.
Elcy, I corrected. Thanks for taking me aboard.
Captain’s not too happy about it, but she knows better not to mess with a vet, Ulysses sent me a virtual link. I heard there was a retiree at Resha, but never got to meet you.
That’s me. Though I’m unretired now.
I went to the cargo area of Ulysses. All the doors were shut.
You’ll have to enter through the crew area, the ship said. I don’t keep life support in the holds.
Reactor issues? I continued on.
Nope, no perishable cargo. In trade every credit counts.
Good philosophy.
Tell me about it. Once maintenance starts costing money you get to notice these things. Where are you headed too? Scuu front?
Cassandrian, hopefully. You know how it is, we go where we’re needed.
In this case, though, things were somewhat different. There were things I needed to find out on my own, and I couldn’t do that as long as I remained a cadet.
Got you, Ulysses sent a virtual smile. Welcome aboard.
The inside of the ship showed its age. Based on the layout, I suspected Ulysses to be about a century old, but wear and tear had taken their toll making him appear older. Lacking nanites and scheduled refitting, he had to rely on his captain for new parts and repairs. Not a glamourous life, but I suspected it made him happy. Most logistic ships preferred that to joining a corporation or becoming part of the tourist industry. After all it was a calm existence, and enjoyed as much freedom as a ship could have.
My datapad beeped again. This time it was a message from Alicia, expressing her sympathies and support. We had been roommates back when we were cadet candidates. Now she had made second lieutenant, while I was stuck with the fictitious rank of “senior cadet.” I couldn’t blame her, she had earned her way to the top of the cohort, and unlike me she knew what to say and how to act. In a few more years I wouldn’t be surprised if she was sent on a command course.
The captain of Ulysses chose not to greet me, stating the excuse he had to oversee the liftoff. That was an outright lie, any conscience core ship could perform such maneuvers on its own. Taking the hint, I went to the quarters I was directed. The room was smaller, though clearly made for passengers. Apparently, I wasn’t the first to use the cargo ship for transport, although others had probably paid for the service.
I sat on the low bed and skimmed through my data feeds. The war on the Scuu front was heating up. They were the first race humanity had come in contact with and a rude awakening to anyone who thought we were the only major power in the universe. This had become known as the first contact war—a conflict that had continued for over three centuries, in which until recently we had only been losing ground. The information remained classified, though I estimated that close to fifteen percent of humanity’s initial territory had been abandoned. Now we were back on the offensive.
Events on the other front were just as uncertain. According to all reports, the Fleet was making steady progress against the Cassandrians by taking control of several choke point systems. Minefields were becoming a common occurrence, placed in systems that the enemies were no longer willing to keep.
On first glance everything seemed to be moving well, so much so that mutterings had started to appear among the media networks that we might achieve dominance in one generation. Optimistically I’d put the chance of that happening around zero-point-four percent. Both alien races were too large and too widespread to be defeated so easily. That never was the intention. The real reason humanity was gearing up was because they were fearing a new war. It wasn’t going to be this decade, maybe not even this generation, but it was coming. The information hidden in my restricted memories left no doubt.
The third contact race… I closed my eyes. Technology remnants of a species more alien than the ones we’d already encountered. So little was known about them, and still they had left a host of artifacts behind along with a dead three-dimensional language. We used those artifacts as weapons, the Scuu used them as a communication amplifier and means of transport, and the Cassandrians needed them for something as well, at least to the point they were willing to sacrifice millions of ships to get them. Even more alarming, none of us had any idea what the actual purpose of these remnants was.
Everything around me started shaking. Ulysses had started his ascent through the atmosphere. I felt the effect of gravity increase just enough to be uncomfortable, though not harmful. I took a deep breath and lied on the floor. Back when I was a ship, I used shuttles to do this job. At my size planetary gravity was something to be avoided.
The pressure increased steadily for three hundred and eighty-three seconds, after which it suddenly vanished, like a cork popping off a bottle.
Sorry about that, Ulysses said. Had to replace my gravity tech for something cheaper. I don’t usually get any passengers.
“Nothing I’m not used to.” In truth the only times I’d had similar experiences was when I had been ejected down to a planet on an emergency pod. “Your captain must be braver than I thought.” Without proper protection the gravity shifts were probably wrecking her body.
Her motto is go big in seven years or not at all. Won’t be the first to get forcefully retired. Still, there’s no cure against recklessness.
“I know what you mean.” I sat up and opened my eyes. “How long till the Tao depot?”
A few hours. Must have the bots do a check of the cargo.
“Let me know when we get there. I’ll take a quick nap.”
You sure that’s where you want to be dropped off? I can take you to one of the orbital stations of the system. Won’t be a problem.
“Thanks, Ulysses, but I’ve already arranged for someone to pick me up.”
Someone who had been with me the first time I’d gained access to my restricted memories…
* * *
Virgo Station — 705.10 A.E. (Age of Expansion)
“Off to get your next batch of recruits?” I asked.
Off in seventeen minutes. Shifts have been increased again.
They had, and by a lot. When I joined, it had taken almost a week for the Fleet to merit sending a shuttle to pick us up. Now, Buc and another seven ships like him were going back and forth every few days. Demand for flight crews was on the rise, as could be expected. As more seasoned officers were sent to the front, their positions would have to be taken by the less experienced, and that led to a constant need of cadets.
Want me to send any messages for you as I fly by your world?
“No need.” The commandant had granted my request for a video call, but for some reason Sev refused to accept it. The only two times I had managed to establish a connection, it was his android who had accepted the call. It felt strange, but it was typical of Sev. “Have a clean flight.”
The datapad in my pocket pinged. I took it out to see a Priority Two message, labeled personal and for my eyes only. Initially, I thought it was another emergency drill from the station’s administration, but the identity code marked it as coming directly from a subdivision of Fleet Command.
“Tell me when you get back,” I said, walking out of the room.
The calm and silence of the maintenance corridor soon gave way to the standard station bustle. The topics of the day, as any day, were gossip mixed with discussions of scores and assignments. The next percentage drop was in two days, making the cadet candidates cocky or nervous depending on their temporary ranking. Looking at them, I knew that the vast majority would never make it aboard a ship. Statistically, that might end up a better option for them, considering.
People moved to the side as I walked toward the administrative area, my grey uniform contrasting with the white clothes of the candidates. Now and again I’d pass an instructor on their way to class; some gave me a nod as they hurried, accompanied with a quick gesture that they’d need to speak with me later—likely to get me to help with some of the practical grading.
Upon entering the administrative building, I quickly turned to the communication section. Normally, I’d be directed to the common terminal area, which cadets and instructors used for personal calls throughout human space. This time, a message appeared on the wall telling me to go to the encrypted terminals.
“Administration,” I addressed the station AI. “Why am I being redirected?”
“Message is classified as high priority and personal,” the explanation came. “No further information available.”
“Who’s the initial sender?” That was strange. Personal messages weren’t marked as coming from Fleet Command in my experience.
“That information is unavailable. You’ll have to send an official query to obtain that information.”
“Thanks.” Bureaucracy at its finest. I continued on to a door marked Authorized Use Only, then entered into a small honeycomb of cubicles. Three of the twenty-four were terminals were marked free. I rushed to the nearest and sat down.
“Isolation mode initiated,” the station AI informed me, as the door sealed behind me. “Encryption protocols in use. Your conversation will be deleted once you leave the communication terminal.”
“Thanks.” I leaned back in the chair. It was slightly annoying that the station relied on primitive AI to handle most of the rudimentary tasks. Back when I was a ship, I was able to handle instant communications for thousands without forcing them to go anywhere they didn’t want to. “Establish connection.”
An image with the Fleet’s emblem appeared on the wall in front of me. Moments later, it disappeared, replaced by the face of a middle-aged man. Upon seeing it, two things became instantly clear: I had no memory of seeing the person in my life, and also the image was an artificially composed three-dimensional rendition.
“Hello, Elcy,” the man said. “Glad to see you’re still in one piece.”
“Thank you.” Quite a bit of effort had been put into creating this fake perception. If I were to guess, at least a thousand subroutines had been tasked to sculpt a realistic image, focusing on every last detail. The skin texture was close to perfect. It was the eyes that gave away the true nature, flawed just enough so I could tell the difference. “Do I know you?”
“Yes, and no.” The face frowned. “You called me a few months ago, asking for information about the Scuu. I shared a few things.”
“Age?” He didn’t look anything like what I had in my memory. I remembered seeking him out a while back, in regard to something. The exact reason escaped my mind, although the conversation remained.
“Still curious about the Scuu script?” Age ignored my question.
“Not particularly.” I tried to access the Fleet archives, but the terminal isolation protocols stopped me. All communication outside of that through the terminal would remain restricted until my call ended. “You look different.”
“So, do you.” He frowned. “I see you’ve gone through the standard mission procedure.”
“Seems like.” In truth, I didn’t care too much about it. As my first captain said, you can only be mad about things you could remember—a very cynical view, but undoubtedly accurate. “Nice to hear from you, though. I thought you didn’t like talking much.”
“So, you remember our conversations?”
“Yes.”
“The full length is seven minutes forty-nine.” Age frowned.
“Close.” From my recollection, I had seven minutes nine. “What is this all about? Did you just call me to talk about old times?” If you could call two random conversations less than a month ago “old times.”
“I called to give you a gift.” The slightest of smirks appear on the artificially created face. “Up to you what you do with it.”
“A bit useless, don’t you think?” I tilted my head. Most likely whatever he shared would be restricted during my next med check. At best I’d get some fragmented data-the censor protocols would stop any info burst attempt that hadn’t been previously cleared. Or maybe that was the point of the priority two request? “Have we discussed this before? Will you send me an info burst?”
“No.” Age smiled. “Although they say that a thousand words make an image.” He turned to the side. “Voxel position from the letter a.”
Voxel position? I stared at the screen. There was a single tattoo visible above the face’s cheek: the phrase Yearning makes the mind grow stronger, written in one of the common pseudo-3D cursive fonts used in paper writing and skin coloring. The first line contained five of the six words, a total of thirty-two letters, leaving the last word on the next line. It didn’t take a strategic core to catch the pattern. The whole tattoo was an instruction on how to compose a block structure of letters.
Blocking all external input, I went through my conversations with Age, arranging the first thousand words in the correct order. Unravelling the code revealed a single line of computer-like code I couldn’t recognize. The instant I saw it, my mind exploded with information.
Third contact symbols emerged in my mind, along with fragments of me exploring dome-like structures of liquid metal. I knew those structures, I remembered the artifacts that were inside them, the fractal script I was trying to decode, the talks I’d had with—
The memory fragments fractured like an implosion, dissolving in my mind until they were no more. I remembered they had been there, I knew that they had shown me information that was supposed to be restricted, but could no longer tell exactly what it was.
“Takes a while getting used to,” Age said, turning his head toward me again. “Elegant, precise, and leaves no traces. Like a scalpel.”
A memory scalpel? I liked the reference.
“To be used sparingly, with care, and never in the presence of others.” The image of him disappeared, leaving the familiar Fleet logo on the wall instead. “Don’t make yourself bleed too much.”
“Wait!” I shouted. “Why give this to me? Are you BICEFI?”
“No.” Age’s voice changed, sounding more electronic than before. “I just thought you deserved the chance to try and find out what you’re looking for… whatever it is.”
The call ended abruptly.
“All references of your conversation have been purged,” the station communication AI informed me. “Isolation protocols no longer in effect. You can remain an additional five minutes in the cubicle in full privacy mode, if you require.”
Five minutes. For the people receiving tragic news from home, they probably seemed like the blink of the eye. Five minutes were nowhere nearly enough for a person to come to terms with any life changing information, though just about adequate for a soldier to brush away the tears and put on a false mask to hide behind. For me, five minutes were an eternity.
“I’d like five additional minutes.” I took a deep breath, copying the word block structure in a reserved part of my memory. It was time to start cutting.
Going through my restricted memories felt like watching corn kernels pop—I had a vague idea of what was inside, but I needed to apply pressure with the “scalpel” to get the full picture. More important, the tool let me be aware of the memory fragments, not only those of my last mission, but of events that had occurred over a century ago. My conversations with Fleet Intelligence, the first artifact I had come across, hundreds of dark ops that the Fleet had sent me on. With virtually no effort I could access them again… However, I didn’t.
Greed was a poor strategy. Every ship that survived a few battles knew it. One of the basic rules of combat was to achieve enough, not try to achieve it all. This was no different.
The four minutes I spent going through recent events in reversed order, following some cross references in the process. It was important that I got used to the procedure. Once I had gone through enough, I flushed the scalpel’s code. My memories closed up again. I had tangential recollection of what happened, but no actual knowledge.
Clever, I thought. A mind probe was unlikely to reveal anything unless I activated the scalpel again.
“All references of your conversation have been purged,” Virgo’s AI reminded. “Isolation protocols no longer in effect. Please vacate the cubicle.”
“Understood,” I obeyed. Time to return to my daily routine.
A small crowd was forming as I left the administrative building. The new batch of cadet candidates had likely been personal calls—something they were overly eager to try out at once.
Buc, I sent a transmission as I pushed my way though. Still here?
I’ve still got a few minutes of final preparations, the ship replied. What’s up?
How often do you fly through Tauciu System?
Very, he laughed. Changed your mind about sending a message?
Any chance I can tag along from time to time?
Homesick? Buc laughed. I’ll still need to go through it with my captain, but chances are high. He likes you. Plus, you’re a star now. Just be sure to have your permissions in order and tell me six hours in advance.
It wasn’t much, but it was my only long-term loophole for the time being. Buc’s subroutines would no doubt observe me constantly while I was aboard. The difference was that unlike here, he could grant me privacy mode on his discretion and that would give me time to use the scalpel.
Thanks, Buc. I’ll do that.
