She lost consciousness only beats after the door closed, and awoke afraid, then reassured to find herself still alone. Dorian told her the blackout had only lasted a four.

“It’s been six days,” she fretted. “Six! Not including however long it took them to bring me here. And I’m still having these attacks. It should be over. My NANs should not be doing this to me!”

You’ve told me the episodes have been decreasing in frequency. That must mean that you are nearly healed, Dorian reasoned.

“I’m not used to this,” she complained.

You are not without help.

She lifted his case from beneath the blankets, caressed it, smiled.

“No,” she agreed. “I have you, and a pair of decanted Consortians. What more could I ask for.”

The thought of anything here replacing the loss of control over her internal systems colored her tone with sarcasm.

The younger seemed to doubt you.

“Can you blame him? He saw his world destroyed,” she offered unhappily. “After what happened, I doubt I’m in an inspiring state. They had to rescue me, Dorian! I’m surprised they’re listening at all.”

You will continue to withhold the truth from them.

She almost laughed at the absurdity of doing otherwise.

“Oh, do you think they want to hear the truth of what’s out there, of what’s left of the Consortia?!”

Oneness, why am I snapping at him?

“Dorian, I’m sorry. This…” She began, but couldn’t continue. She should be patient, thankful.

“It’s merciful to not tell them, isn’t it?” she asked. “I can’t tell them what they have been waiting for, what they’ve been dreaming of, is… Not here, not this time. They need hope. If I can recover – quickly – maybe I’ll actually be able to credibly offer it to them.”

Of course. She felt a major worry slip away. I trust you to do the best thing.

Althea caressed the surface of his case – imagining he could feel the gentle, loving touch.

They are different from the others we have met. She couldn’t suppress a wistful smile. They lived in the Consortia, they remember.

Traejan must have been only a child when the end came. Kyso… the vast majority of his life would have been before this. He may have even been a galactic traveler. She had only met a few of them in her life. They were different.

“I agree, but…” she trailed off. On Hadhalho, on Ten by Four and Okala, she had seen the depths that humanity had been forced down to. The people on those worlds had regressed, lost whatever civilization they’d had had been little help to her. This pair, maybe…

She wondered what Traejan and Kyso were saying about her; maybe picking apart the lies, the flaws in her statements. Kyso presented a wholly accepting face, but many people could mask their intentions. She could. She did.

“Do you truly think they should trust me?” Seddo, Danna – the rest of their people had. “They trusted me on Hadhalho.”

Destroying the Macro on that world had been her last, and most pyrrhic of victories.

This is not Hadhalho, Dorian reminded her. You will earn their trust.

“Sure,” she reflected a little of his optimism, tinged with self-doubt, “I’ll make them trust me. I’m good at that, aren’t I? And if I am lucky, I won’t get stabbed through the back with a steel pole. Again.”

She reached down to the spot near her right hip where the pole had broken through. There was no scar – her NANs had erased it, all the evidence of it, as they’d done many times before.

We now know what to look for, he told her, ignoring her bitterness. You will not be at risk like you were there. With what we have learned you can offer them hope.

No, she wouldn’t be at risk anymore from those implanted by a Macro, she expected that now. On Hadhalho, it had been the whole population. One revelation among many she dare not reveal to the Makani men, what she had to hide from them: the knowledge that there was no Legion Consortia Galacium to go back to – that there was no rescue coming, ever – just one small Century that did its best to hide from the galaxy, from the Macros, and made what she was doing the highest of crimes.

She settled back in the bed, stared up at the ceiling.

“Offer hope,” false hope that the Consortia was still out there, true hope that their Macro could be destroyed – that they could take back their own world. “That there’s a light at the end of their dark tunnel.”

Then leave them behind to find it themselves.

What else could she do?

Althea curled up in the bed, pulling the warm covers over her, lamented, “Sometimes I do wish it wasn’t just you and me…”

Althea, Dorian told her. Your path need not be a solitary one.

“Please…” she chided, held his case closer to her. “You know what happens.”

She closed her eyes.

“What always happens.”