>Alert. Entry to operational theater imminent. Red crew exit stasis.

  >Alert. Entry to operational theater imminent. Red crew rank major or above report to CIC.

  Liu woke up to a blaring Neuronet warning. He instinctively tried to lift himself up, as if out of bed, but found himself tightly strapped down to the stasis pod’s rear pad. Major. That’s right. The last thing he remembered was utter terror and confusion at the promotion.

  >Stasis time? He queried.

  >Proper time basis. delta t = 12.5 years. Mission time delta t = 97.5 years.

  “Shit,” he cursed. Over a decade. Guess they put me in the deep freeze after that incident, he thought amusedly. Usually we'd get a watch assignment every few years to keep fresh.

  >Release restraints, he ordered in his head. The straps loosened, and he was able to slowly pull himself out of the chamber awkwardly, feet first. His head was pounding and his heart ached a bit. Not too bad, he thought. Better than last time.

  The swim to the combat information core was eerie. Unlike when they were leaving the system, there was no one talking in the halls. Officers were standing-lying at the various cubicles scattered around the ship’s citadel, randomly positioned, tac glasses on, staring at a blank wall in front of them. Some were typing on an imaginary keyboard in thin air, others were completely silent and motionless, but he knew that a torrent of data was rushing through their brains.

  Those were his old peers, the captains on board. Each could’ve been a frigate commander or chief engineer back in system defense, but here they were working like privates. He sighed, but this wasn’t the time for sentimentality. Forward.

  The CIC’s armored door slid open as invisible microwave eyes automatically probed his implant for authentication. Inside was a cylindrical array of identical back cushions, each separated by a plastic divider with a small wire jack, interface pad and restraint straps. Above and below each slot were two cushioned ledges: one for your feet, one for your head. In the center was the central 3-D display, a strategic view of the system of operations with coordinates of relevant objects all mapped out for command consensus. Neuronet would handle customization for each role.

  There were just a few slots left unoccupied. Two of the pads had a small orange LED lit up on their divider, indicating their special status. The commander and the auditor’s pads. Everyone else had long been strapped into their pads. He swam over to an empty one. They were all interchangeable anyhow.

  His tac glasses began to slowly come alive with data. Galactic coordinates, stellar coordinates, time, bearing, orientation… it was all coming alive, slowly.

  “Thought you would never wake up, Capt- I mean, Major Liu,” a portly man with a subtle gray beard and short gray hair said with a slight laugh in his voice. “Scared you might miss the show.”

  The bright green light of the central display glinted off his face, showing sweat dripping from his eyebrows. His worn face had the experience of dozens of battles carved into it. Colonel rank pins and a name tag labeled SANCHEZ adorned his uniform.

  “Commander,” Liu replied, nodding his head as he swam into his cushion. “Glad to be here.”

  “All right, everyone’s here,” Commander Sanchez announced. “Let’s rock. Plug in.”

  Liu plugged the wire jack into his Neuronet physical interface. Everyone else did the same.

  >Identity confirmed. Major Liu Yang. Accept Tactical Neuronet?

  >Confirm.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  A familiar, cold unease seeped into his head from what seemed like everywhere. His mind felt like it was being literally opened. He could see so much, feel so much. Voices from the shallow thoughts of the Neuronet floated to the top of his mind like soap bubbles in a warm bath. It was as if the ship and other crew in the CIC had become part of him. They were now the unified combat brain of the DF Peacekeeper.

  Liu’s mind gained access to the main sensors, seeing in the full spectrum from infrared to X-ray to neutron. With a thought, he could disappear the floor below him, giving him a 3-D all aspect view of the battlespace. He was the eyes of the Peacekeeper.

  A pale white sun was approaching, visible on auxiliary displays as a tiny disc. At this distance, the resolution was poor. The target star system’s planets were only faintly seen through their infrared telescopes, resolved as pixelated specks of various colors. A habitable planet’s spectra was detected with a primeval carbon dioxide and methane atmosphere. Liu sensed from the ship’s reported orientation that they had already flipped for the deceleration burn.

  >Project keyboard, keyboard input, Neuronet receive only, Liu commanded. The interface keyboard appeared in front of him. He didn’t want to risk thinking any wrong thoughts during combat, after all.

  It wasn’t his first time in the Tactical Neuronet. It was always a bit of an unnerving experience. But this time, there was something different.

  He felt an oppressive presence, a deep forbidding pressure that pressed on his very soul. Liu scanned around the room, looking for the source of this Neuronet presence. His eyes stopped opposite the commander’s perch on where the second in command would usually be. The person occupying it was not Grayson but a young woman with a cool, neutral expression on her face. Liu’s gaze nervously scanned around for Grayson before finding him at an unmarked perch. Instead of confidence or anger, he was instead standing in the restraints with a resentful expression on his face. His eyes were locked forward in space, undoubtedly visualizing the stream of command data passing through his brain.

  Liu immediately knew the presence must have been the person known as the auditor. Once he looked at her, the pressure emanating from his Neuronet became almost overwhelming, forcing him to look away immediately. He had never felt such a powerful Neuronet presence before. He didn’t even know it was possible.

  There were rumors of people with the Savant mutation, a fiendishly complex polygenic trait that defied full characterization, but made those who bore it masters of mental compartmentalization and seamless mastery over the Neuronet. Liu never thought much of it or understood what that meant. Now he knew.

  The auditor was a new presence on the ship. She must have been in stasis for the departure burn, Liu thought. Despite having a petite frame, she stood at her perch with an intense air of authority. Her spectral pale face was framed by dark, short hair and small bangs, with the back secured in a tight bun.

  As Liu looked at her, he instinctually felt a sense of dread. She wasn’t wearing the typical dull gray-green tactical uniform of the Interstellar Fleet, but the obsidian black uniform of the Ministry of Internal Affairs. No name badge, no rank badge, just a small insignia pin of the Directorate flag. She glanced at him with a dismissive look, then stared forward into space again.

  There was some pre-mission trash talking in the CIC from everyone except Liu Yang and the auditor. It was as if no one else knew what an Internal Affairs officer on board meant, not even the commander.

  Wonder how this little girl pushed out kids, Liu thought, letting his mind wander a bit.

  >I didn’t. Military rules don’t apply to Internal Affairs.

  A woman’s voice gently pierced through the Neuronet’s privacy protocols into the core of his consciousness. It was a creeping sensation, like someone violating your brain with a virtual wire slithering into your head.

  Holy shit, he thought. Usually Neuronet has an absolute firewall on personal thoughts. This was the first time Liu had seen - no, felt, a mind that could burn through the Neuronet firewall.

  >Don’t worry. Your mind will be your little secret again once you disconnect, the auditor’s cool voice said, with a hint of amusement and disdain mixed in.

  He stared back at her, not knowing whether to reply. There was no need to reply. She would know his reply. She would know the reply to her reply. Liu shuddered. Her eyes were almost alive with the torrent of data undoubtedly rushing through her head, including data from his own thoughts.

  The commander had a small smirk on his face as his gaze washed over the auditor’s fragile frame. He quickly transitioned to looking at the strategic projection, completely ignoring the silent, apathetic woman. The tactical Neuronet was a roiling mix of messages, data and thoughts, bubbling just underneath a firewall that Liu now knew to be porous.

  Everyone else seemed completely unfazed by what had just transpired, with light hearted verbal chatter and a few nodding to each other silently, exchanging private messages over Neuronet. Either they were all masters of mental discipline, or, more likely, Liu was the only one being neurally audited.

  Liu was utterly alone in the crowded CIC. He looked down at his feet. Below him were more crew, stretching all the way down to another locked access door. There was no reaction at all. Nobody else knew.