"Why are you friends with Apollonia Nor?" Dawn asked him.

He found himself surprised by the question, though he supposed he ought not to be. It was an obviously important topic.

"She is an interesting person," he said. It was the simplest way to describe his thoughts.

"Even though her abilities frighten you?" she asked.

Pure conjecture, he thought immediately. So immediately that he recognized it as his own pride.

Was it just a lucky guess on her part?

Because she was right.

His answer came damningly slow. He found himself unable to formulate an easy response.

"She does not frighten me, she is my friend," he said.

"Ah, so it is," Dawn replied with an understanding nod, though he knew she had caught his mistake.

"You must be very glad you've been able to keep her safe, with all of the danger she is said to have faced so far," Dawn said.

"I do not much like this topic," he told her. "Perhaps we might change it?"

"Of course," she replied, inclining her head. "I did not mean to cause you discomfort."

"I do not hold it against you," he replied.

"You are too kind, Doctor. I know my questions are probing. But as far as costs go, mere words are a cheap commodity."

"It depends upon what words," he replied.

She laughed pleasantly. "Of course. And in my line of work especially there are certain words that are quite valuable. But this, this is mere conversation."

"If you say so," he replied.

"I do. And do not worry; I will not ask you for any words you are not willing to part with. Nor are there any wrong answers, not even a lie."

"That is most generous of you," he asked. "But what do you get out of this? While I would assess myself as a great conversationalist, this does seem somewhat unfair to you."

"That is my business," she replied. "But tell me, what do you think of a murderer like Romon Xatier or his foolish imitators like Jan Holdur?"

"They are damaged beings," Y replied. "There are volumes that could be written about their psyches, but this is the simplest explanation."

"Of course, though violence can have a purpose."

"I suppose," he said. "I understand that even you resort to it at times."

He thought his comment would catch her off-guard, but she seemed completely unbothered. She had no reaction at all to that, as if she had anticipated it.

"Do any of your secondary minds ever suggest hurting one of your patients?" she asked him. "Surely you could hide the evidence and get away with it."

That triggered an impulse so powerful that Y’s mind raced. He plunged into a deep search that might reveal a time and a place where he might have leaked this kind of an insight into how he operated. He was piling backtraces upon backtraces trying to collate huge amounts of memories. The alternative hypothesis was that she flat out guessed it, but Y dismissed it as astronomically improbable. Yet his searches came up fruitless. It was a novel sensation for Y - if he could, he would break a cold sweat. His outward routines tugged at his mind gently and he caught himself looking shocked and speechless. He suppressed the impulse and dropped the search, but it was too late to correct this slip up.

"No," he finally said. "And that is a horrible question to ask me, Madam."

"I have not accused you of hurting anyone," she replied looking down and away pensively. "Or that you even would. But all the same - let us pursue a new thread of conversation. What do you make of the Glorians?"

"There is much there that I cannot share," he said, feeling quite uncertain and still off-guard.

"I do not ask for secret information, and to be quite blunt, Doctor, my own information sources are likely more candid with me than the Sapient Union is with you - need to know and that sort of thing."

"And you need to know?"

"I do," she replied with a smile. "And that is all the answer you will get on that."

His mind began to calm down; she had just been provoking him for a reaction. "Of course, I apologize," he replied. "It is my nature to ask questions."

He did not want to say it, but he was glad for the topic change. "To answer yours - the Glorians are a rather interesting branch of humanity. Terrible, right now, yes. They are reactionary in the extreme, in the literal sense. They believe themselves aggressors, but the reality is that they are slaves to their own system and it prompts them into unwise actions."

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

"Such as war," Dawn suggested.

"Very possibly," he admitted. "If it comes to that again, the Union will win, but many will die."

"They must surely be aware of that," Dawn noted.

"I would certainly think so, and yet - they act in ways that seem contrary to that understanding. It is hard for me to put myself into their shoes, though I have tried to construct models of the behavior of their leadership." He laughed. "Not their supposedly-immortal Emperor, of course. But of the actual ruling class; the ones who own all the land and the industry."

"What do your models find?"

"The results are at times disturbing. Sometimes I believe that they are so trapped within their maddened world that they are unaware of the truth. They believe their own propaganda. At other times, they are quite aware of the truth, but simply do not care - they may not view themselves as Glorians and only pay lip service to the idea. In this scenario, they would sacrifice every world of theirs to flames if they view it as profitable."

"Ghastly," Dawn replied.

"Indeed. Though the views seem contradictory. I do not know if either is true. My models may be flawed. It is a very complex thing and my dataset is incomplete."

"I believe you are righter than you know," she replied. "But have you ever considered that both views may be true?"

"That is contradictory," he said.

"Sometimes people are so."

The sun had set; the mouse had gone off with its seed pod. As the moon rose, they fell into silence for a time.

He appreciated that the soil below was not actually full of live microbes. As interesting as they could be, it was at times overwhelming to be surrounded by life.

Though, he thought, she had modeled much of it for this fantasy. There were earthworms winding through the soil, his scanners found, and other creatures in the soil hunting them.

"Have you ever met any Aeena?" she asked, breaking the silence.

"I have not," he admitted. "It would be interesting. We know very little of them."

"They are interesting conversationalists in their own way," she told him. "But they are also unpleasant. Quite intentionally so - they do look down on us all."

"They are xenophobes in the extreme," he agreed. "Unfortunate, as they are a powerful and technologically advanced species. After the Union's last conflict with them, we actually learned much from their equipment we captured."

"How intriguing. How might they be more advanced than the Union? It is so much bigger, with so many more species working in concert."

"We do not know," he admitted. "We do not even know how long they have been star-faring. Though, their technology does not strictly outclass ours. They simply have some novel approaches to some problems."

"I meant no insult, of course. But it is curious, isn't it?"

"It is," he admitted. "Though I have not dwelled upon the question much. It is quite outside of my wheel house, you might say."

"Indeed. Though I imagine you could be quite the spy if you so wished."

"I would be held back by a fatal flaw," he said. "My own superiority in certain ways. Pride comes before the fall, I have heard."

She smirked. "An interesting way of admitting a weakness, Doctor."

"I am the humblest being you will ever meet," he proclaimed.

She laughed again, then glanced into the sky. "The moon is rising quickly, and soon you will be leaving. But there is time for one last question."

"Yes?"

"How do you feel about Shoggoths?"

Y hesitated again. It was another obvious question, yet again one he could not easily formulate an answer to.

"I must admit my sample size is one," he said to start. "Though from what I have heard they are often very similar in mannerisms and behavior."

"If they have a culture, it does seem monolithic," she replied.

"It is an interesting choice of words," he noted.

"It is."

He continued. "To be very honest, madam, I do not like them. I respect them, yes, but they hide many secrets. They ask many questions, but answer few. They make demands but give little."

"My, what a terrible hostess I must be!" Dawn said, laughing. "This description sounds almost too much like me."

"I did not mean-"

"Of course you did," Dawn said. "Even if you do not admit it. But you are speaking truthfully of the Shoggoths. They hide many things, that they will protect at all costs."

His interest was piqued. "You need not answer, of course, but . . . without going into detail, do you know any of these secrets?"

She took a moment before answering, frowning slightly. "If I did," she admitted. "I do not believe I would still be alive."

Carefully, then, she put down her sensory cup and leaned back. "The moon is nearly at its peak and you are nearly free, Doctor. But before we go, if you have any other questions, feel free to ask them. I may not answer - but you may ask, at least."

"I do not have any," he told her. "At least none that I expect you will answer. But if I may speak freely, then I do have a few things to say."

"Oh? And what might those things be?"

"Firstly, I profess a disappointment that you asked me nothing about Ian Brooks. I do not know the past history that you two share, but I expected at least a cursory question about him."

"I am sorry to have disappointed you," she replied.

"I also have realized something; despite your attempts to make it seem you are broadcasting via FTL communications, you are actually quite local," Y said.

This time Dawn looked surprised. It was only a brief look, but told Y that she did still have that involuntary human trait of their emotions displaying before their conscious mind could correct it.

"My, you are an astute one," Dawn replied. "Perhaps I should be alarmed."

"On the contrary, I mean to do nothing negative with this information. If anything, I am somewhat flattered that you came what is presumably a long distance just to meet me," Y said. "I imagine your ship is simply floating in a blacked-out state somewhere . . . well under a light-second away."

"Bravo," Dawn replied. "You cannot guess what direction - unless you are even more of a magician than you seem, doctor, but you are quite correct."

"I cannot determine direction, no. But thank you for confirming my thought - and for doing me this honor."

"You are a worthy conversationalist," she told him. "I thank you for your words."

He set down his sensory cup, the details of the wind and scents and birds and other fine details disappearing. He was once more on a spaceship, in the midst of nothing.

"Thank you," he said, rising.

He left, wondering if there would be some final surprise or attack; he did not expect it, but he could not rule it out.

He had learned something of her, and she may not want that to be known.

Stepping into his shuttle, he found no traces of bombs or sabotage.

But there was a small box, just a few centimeters in dimensions.

On it was a note, written by hand.

"Please give this to Ian Brooks."

Considering it a moment, he put the box into a storage compartment on his body, scanning it and finding no explosives, poisons or any other threatening properties.

Then, without incident, Y settled his body down and started the shuttle's engines, maneuvering away from the station and hence back to his home.