#There is no need to insist otherwise. I am fully aware of my own shortcomings.

[xx-hail2theking-xx]

I know that myself, I've been unwilling to fully admit that someone I counted as a friend, was someone I was finding myself... uncertain of.

...While it's possible Michael is deliberately manipulating her, I definitely don't discount it, something else that was said seems possible as well. Not that she's a 'bad influence,' exactly, but- Also, exactly yes.

There is a great deal in both of their pasts that was never fully addressed. Things they convinced themselves of, when their wounds were new, an absolutism, a black and white view of everyone and everything, that Phenex at least partially hid.

But it remained a wound not addressed. And this honestly, reminds me of what I've seen in certain specific mortal circumstances. Addicts, drawn back into addiction, by returning to the same company they once had. Former criminals,doing the same.

Something that could be caught.

Something that could be, at the very least, contained.

-Duke Valefar.

[sarissophori]

The Records Of Aidon, Chapter 9

       IX—

         The day after my meeting with Anhíl, I was notified that he had gone missing. The magistrate didn’t seem overly concerned by this and carried on with his usual business, almost avoiding every opportunity to discuss it with me. I went to his aides with the same questions, and they wanted less to do with me. I even asked the humans in the colony if they were aware of anything, but they said they knew nothing –they did say, however, that I was starting to make the magistrate uncomfortable; his aides were coming to them and giving orders not to talk to me.

       I felt some of Anhíl’s mistrust begin to inhabit me. I looked up the remaining members of my team still in the colony and called them to a meeting in the science chamber of Explorer Six, just to be sure. If the magistrate was getting suspicious enough to monitor my movements and words, I wanted to be in a place I was sure he couldn’t see or hear me.

       Only Sato, Tíun and Zalín came. Disappointment in numbers aside, I wasted no time telling them about my conversation with Anhíl and what he said, even showing them the data he gave me before his disappearance. Their reactions were what I expected: initial skepticism and disbelief, supported by questions I couldn’t answer without risking speculation.

       “This doesn’t make sense” Zalín said. “Postponing, even reversing human gene studies is hardly a crime. Why hide it?”

       “Because we’ve spent the last ten generations trying to refine them” Tíun said. “Half the colonies on Aidon are invested in this in some form. Maybe the magistrate was afraid we wouldn’t willingly help him if he was open with his intentions.”

       “I wouldn’t” I said. “And neither would Anhíl.”

       “Maybe there are other consequences tied to this we haven’t found out yet” Sato said. “Consequences worth keeping in the dark.”

       “Are you listening to yourselves?” Zalín asked. “We have no definitive proof of a conspiracy, and what we do have is barely dire intent, more like a drastic policy change.”

       “That somehow exempts the Atlanteans?” I asked. “Who are the only humans being armed and trained with our technology? No, there is more to this, and whatever it is, Anhíl was close to figuring it out.”

       In the end, I never fully convinced Zalín. Sato and Tíun were silent for a while, possibly debating this cognitively between themselves, until Sato spoke.

       “Most of this information was selected from larger sources, and since we can’t read it in full context, my brother and I don’t fully trust it. What is clear, though, is that we are arming once primitive peoples with our weaponry, and that alone is disconcerting.”

       Tíun nodded in agreement. “It demonstrates an abysmal lack of foresight, which may be a forewarning of other shortcomings from the magistrate. If we go forward with this, we may discover what really happened to our Overseer.”

         We looked through the files of the colony’s main data channel –quietly, secretly, always careful to hide our tracks, never making too many forays into the system. We found nothing incriminating, but nothing to suggest that Anhíl was being searched for, or that he was mistakenly relocated without an official report (if my species is capable of such an err).

       The longer we did this, the more it ate at me. Paranoia is a terrible thing; I saw eyes watching me that weren’t really there, or vanished when I felt them and turned around. I wondered if the next corner I came to would reveal someone waiting for me because they somehow knew what I was doing. I used to love walking the indoor promenade, but it was now too exposed, too open. In my mind, the magistrate was always right behind me; if not physically, then with his chosen method of surveillance. Oh, I knew I was being watched at that point. It wasn’t until later that my fears would be confirmed.

       Several months into my private investigations, I was called to meet with the magistrate in the colony’s security chamber. They said it had to do with my Overseer. I didn’t doubt that, though I did doubt its implied sincerity. They finally caught on to what I and the others were doing, though they acted otherwise. It was a poor attempt to feign obliviousness on their part.

       If there seems to be an air of defiance in that last statement, then it comes with hindsight. I was alarmed to see a colony security team outside my room, my instinct foreboding me that they knew, and that I may yet discover the truth of Anhíl’s disappearance, at the cost of my own. I felt pure dread for the first time in my life, hating and marveling its ability to disarm one in moments like this, when clear thinking was most needed. I agreed to come with them, in my own vain attempt to feign unawareness.

       The headquarters for the security detachment was in the colony’s north wing, by the shipping port where Explorer Six was docked. It had a center gathering space where all the levels and corridors of that section intersected into a large circular chamber, with a dome for illumination. It was currently dimmed, making the upper tiers cast dark shadows on the floor –a tactic designed to intimidate. It worked, I am ashamed to say.

       The magistrate was there, as were teams of humans in armor standing in line behind him. Sato and Tíun were brought in from different corridors under guard, but not Zalín. I took note of that, as did they.

       “I am glad you and the twins could join me on such short notice, Kalína vu’Ondorum” the magistrate said. “There is a matter I want to discuss with you.”

       “Where is Zalín?” I asked, trying to sound resistive. It didn’t work. Even I could hear the fear in my voice.

       “Ah, so you do acknowledge her involvement in this” he said. “Good, I’m not keen on drawing out this little game for long. I want answers, and I want them now.”

       “Where is Zalín?” I repeated. Sato and Tíun moved closer to me in support.

       “With your Overseer” he said. “I will ask the questions from here on, lady of Ondorum. You and your fellow conspirators will answer them to my satisfaction.”

       “We won’t give any answers through interrogation” I said.

       “This is no interrogation” he said. “That will come after, if you refuse to cooperate. Take my word on that.”

       The humans grinned, apparently liking the idea. There was a coldness in their eyes.

       “These humans are Atlantean, aren’t they?”

       The magistrate waved a hand, and one of the guards shot me; a mild phaser bolt hit me in the stomach, and I doubled over in pain. Tíun knelt to pick me up, but the whine of charging weaponry stooped him. Sato glared at them, forced to suffer the indignity of having security rifles trained on his brother. I whispered to Tíun that I was fine, and not to worry.

       “You always inquired too much” the magistrate said. “Their origin is no concern of yours.”

       “If what I’ve suspected is true” I said, standing up on shaking knees. “Then, as chief researcher of human studies, it does.”

       “Did Anhíl vu’Nothras contact anyone else besides you who were formerly in his team? Anyone outside the colony?”

       “I don’t know” I said.

      The magistrate walked up to me. “The data-streams duplicated from my personal files were purged from his core memories when I found him out. I suspect he transferred a copy to someone for safekeeping in case of his capture. Where are they, Kalína?”

       “I don’t know” I lied.

       “You do” he said. “They’re locked away in your neural repository, aren’t they? If you will not tell me, I won’t hesitate to use a more violent method to provoke you.”

       “Then use it.”

       The magistrate stared into my eyes for a while, gaging my seriousness. He sighed.

       “If you insist, lady of Ondorum.”

       He signaled for the Atlanteans to take me away. One of them grabbed my shoulder—

       Tíun knocked him back, forcing him to the floor. Another charged his phaser to its highest output and fired. Sato jumped in front of him and took the shot. In an instant, his lower right arm was burned away.

       It happened so fast. Everything degenerated so quickly.

       Sato fought them off, unaffected by his missing limb. Tíun managed to disarm one, and fired back. The magistrate ducked and slipped out of the way, as did I.

       “Run, Kalína!” Sato said. “We’ll hold them here, go!”

       I gave it no thought. I obeyed and ran for the corridor, from the sound of energy bolts singing metal and the smell of hot ozone.

       With racing heart and fogging mind, I ran.

       I never found out what became of them. A part of me regrets not staying with them, and fighting to the bitter end. That might have been preferable, but that may also be the eons of loneliness talking. I try not to think of it as an act of cowardice, especially since I was following the last command of a friend dying for my protection…yet as the ages have lengthened, I find this to be my predominant interpretation.

       I must ask, dear discoverer, which is braver: to die in sudden violence, never knowing the end of the story, or to live past it and slowly whither, outlasting any desire to care for an end and enduring the pain of it?

Error: [REGRET/SORROW: So much I wish didn’t happen…so much…]

Anomaly registered. Anomaly corrected.

I feel my core memories [BREAKING] d-down. No, not yet…I must continue. I will.