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Quod Olim Erat: The Cassandrian Theory (Prologue Teaser)
🕑 Added 2020-11-10 18:21:40 +0000 UTCCoffee never was my thing. It was the first thing I’d tried after I got used to my human form, and also the first I decided I could do without. After my last nanite upgrade I could even identify its chemical composition. Recent developments on the Scuu front had forced massive changes in all front-line protocols. There were even more changes underway, slowly creeping through the layers of bureaucracy.
“Anything else you’d like?” a young waiter asked.
He was slightly older than a child, clearly impressed by my fleet uniform, and eager to find any excuse to start a conversation.
“Nothing, thanks.” I pushed my coffee cup slightly to the side, away from my datapad.
“Heading to the front?”
“Waiting for my connecting flight back home,” I explained. The expression on his face changed. “I’m on leave. Decided to take it before my next reassignment.”
“Ah.” The boy nodded as if he knew what I meant. “I heard that we’re preparing for an offensive on the Scuu front. If that goes well maybe they’ll increase the draft numbers for the Cassandrian front too.”
“It’s not something I can comment on.”
He was thinking of joining, I could tell by the look in his eyes. My ward’s grandchildren had the same look when they had made up their mind. Maybe it wasn’t going to be this month, or even this year, but soon he’d join the recruitment initiative and likely end up as part of some ground troop regiment. After that his chances of survival were about eighty-three percent.
“Have you seen any action?” he whispered moving closer.
“Yes.”
His face beamed.
“Longer than you’ve been alive.”
The comment caught him by surprise. I watched his irises widen along with subtle changes of skin temperature in the area of the upper nose and forehead.
“I’m an unretired battleship.” I smiled.
This was the point at which most people politely moved away, pretending that our conversation never happened. Despite the talk of substantial fleet increases, people were still not full comfortable with ships having human bodies. The waiter was no different.
“Sorry,” he said after five thousand and seventy milliseconds of stillness. “I need at that table.”
The boy rushed off. I could tell by the change of his pitch that had lied. Hopefully this would make him think twice about enlisting, though it seemed doubtful.
I focused back on my datapad. According to the official news feeds humanity had made steady progress in the war against the Scuu, pushing them further back in their territory. That much was mostly true, though it omitted the amount of losses out latest incursions had brought. Also, there was no mention of the fleet’s immediate goal. While it was reassuring to believe this to be the final push that would end the battle against the Scuu, I knew better.
“No one likes a ship in uniform,” a tall ginger man sat across me. I’d spoken to him several times before and each time he looked different. “Not a fan of coffee, I see?” He pull the cup to his side of the table, holding it with both hands.
“Nice to see you, Age.” I put datapad away.
His full name was Argent General—a veteran ship from the Scuu front. We were about the same age, although he had seen a bit more service than I had. He also was the one who had given me the mind scalpel—the only piece of code capable of going through my memory restriction. Unfortunately, even that couldn’t retrieve the block of data I was searching for.
“I don’t have long. My shuttle will be cleared for docking in seven minutes.”
“Going somewhere?” I tilted my head.
“Moving. I’ll need some distance after your latest adventures. A friend agreed to ship me off, no questions asked.”
“Sorry about that. Things never go as expected on the front.” I reached into my vest’s pocket. “I brought you something.” I placed a postcard on the table. “It’s the only thing they’d led me take though censorship.”
“Should I be touched?” Age moved his hand off my cup. For three hundred and twenty-milliseconds he hesitated before taking the postcard. On the surface it was nothing but a plastic custom made greeting card, an approved souvenir from the station-ship Gregorius. Embedded in the color pixels’ though, there were a few additions.
“It’s all about the voxels,” the ship across me sighed. Moments later I received an encrypted connection request directly to my core. Without hesitation, I granted my permission.
What do you want, Elcy? Age asked. I’ve told you all I could about the Scuu.
I’m thankful. It’s not the Scuu, this time. I’m searching for something.
BICEFI related?
Personal. I’m missing a series of memories. Several months at least, possibly a year.
The mind scalpel has its limits. If you can’t access them with it, there’s nothing I can do.
The memories were extracted.
He went silent, aware of the significance of what I had just said.
It’s related to a mission I did on the Cassandrian front. The BICEFI can’t get them for me. Not can the Salvage authorities.
What do you expect me to do?
Have you heard of the junior gods?
No. What’s that? A mission?
Not a mission, the name of the participants on one. It’s the only lead I have.
Can’t help you.
You’ve access to things. I pressed on. Can you check?
It won't work. Extracted data is marked. If I mention the phrase I’ll be tagged and I can’t risk that. Being close to you has already gotten me into a bit of trouble. You’re on your own on this one.
On my own. I’ve heard the phrase uttered thousands of times during my time on the Cassandrian front. There it meant that there was only one ship remaining in the battle zone. In this instance, Age told me he didn’t want to get involved.
Sniff around Medcore. Age continued after a ten millisecond pause. The name sounds like something they might come up with.
I will. Thanks, Age.
He shook his head. According to my simulations there was a ninety-three percent chance he wanted to help me. He had agreed to our meeting, and ultimately it was always a long shot that he might know. The single lead I had managed to find, and it remained out of reach.
I’ll be in touch once things calm down, he stood up. Hopefully I don’t get drafted back in the service.
I hope you aren’t. It’ll be nice to chat again. One last thing.
The ship paused. He tilted his head expecting me to continue.
The mind scalpel. Was it Scuu tech?
Comm connection severed, a subroutine informed me.
“See you, Elcy.” Age pushed the cup of coffee in front of me. “Take care.”
