“You just had to make a scene.” The short skinny man growled as he wiped the sweat off his forehead. In some database, he probably had a name, possibly a life’s history enumerating all his successes and failures for the military-bureaucratic machine. I only knew him as Spencer. “You couldn’t just accept your demotion and go along with it?”

“I didn’t deserve the demotion, sir.” A thousand of my subroutines continued going through my arbitration files, providing data as I ran simulation variants of possible outcomes. The least favorable possibility was being reassigned to cargo transport duties.

“We’ve been through this before!” Spencer snapped. “You said you can handle it!”

I had no memory of that assurance on my part, but I knew it was true. Spencer’s fleet credentials gave him rather vast authority, not to mention that he was a BICEFI assistant director. The fact that he had chosen to come on board in person, after my arbitration farce, meant he was serious and very pissed off.

“I don’t suppose you could influence the arbitration committee, sir?” I suggested.

“I said I don’t like jokes,” he barked. I didn’t remember that either. “All you had to do was remain quiet. You’d have quietly been reassigned to some bullshit post, then quietly disappeared. Everything had been arranged. Now…” he raised his hands in the air. “Too many organizations are keeping an eye on you. Interfering in the decision in any way will bring too much attention. It’s not something I’m willing to risk, even for an asset like you.”

“I understand, sir.”

This sounded familiar. I could recall memory fragments of our conversations: seventy-three separate instances in which he had persisted recruiting me to join the BICEFI. I had no memory of the mission that had prompted this, but it was clear I was seen as bringing an advantage to the organization. Most probably it had been my last mission, in which I had witnessed an alien artifact destroy thousands of Fleet and Cassandrian ships alike. The event continued to repulse me. It was said that numbers don’t lie, but even so, I felt much better having my memories of the incident restricted. Upon joining the BICEFI I wouldn’t be allowed that privilege. There was a reason that the phrase “blood numbers” had come into being. The only ones who knew what it meant wished they didn’t and still accepted the burden.

“So, what happens now?” I asked.

“Nothing.” Spencer kept on pacing in the bridge. It was ironic that the person who wasn’t supposed to exist had chosen that place for our conversation. Then again, with me being temporarily decommissioned pending further orders, it didn’t matter. “Your next assignment will be bad.”

There was no way it could be otherwise. A ship that dared appeal was unlikely to get anything less. The fleet was bound to punish me out of reflex, if nothing else.

“They’ll pair you with some incompetent captain or a rookie,” the man went on. “Then they’ll make sure you’re as far from the action as possible. For the next five years, your behavior will be monitored by the arbitration committee. While they have their eyes on you, there’s nothing I can do.”

The implication was clear. For the next five years, I’d have no contact or memory of the BICEFI. As far as the fleet and I were concerned, I was being demoted due to recklessness that caused significant loss of crew, combined with the innate “core defect” associated with the Ascendant battleship class. Five years of future bitterness and resentment for something that never happened.

“Will it help the war effort?” I asked.

“No.” The frown on Spencer’s face relaxed a bit. “The next five years will be a waste. I’m not sure you’ll be allowed to keep your weapon systems. An utter waste.”

One thing about him: he never minced words. If I had known of our previous conversations prior to my reassignment, I would hardly have made a scene. The appeal would had never been and instead of having an unpleasant conversation with Spencer, I’d most likely be back on the front with a new designation. Sadly, things were what they were.

“Thank you for your effort, sir. My apologies for failing the mission.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Spencer waved his hand. “These next five years, I’ll be keeping an eye on you like everyone else. Serve your time, complete your assignment, then when it’s time for the next rotation we’ll talk again.”

“I can make no promises, sir.” I had probably said the same thing the last time as well.

“I know.” He made his way to the bridge corridor. “One can only hope.”