"This is your failure, Brooks! I tasked you with keeping Denso alive, and you could not even do that!" Director Freeman all-but screamed.

Brooks said nothing, watching the man with a strange calmness.

At first, when he had arrived, Brooks had felt some measure of guilt. He had been given orders, and though the orders were wrong, he had failed to carry them out. It wasn't that he was a slave to anyone above him who gave a command, but he had, for all of his career, prided himself on being a good officer.

But that feeling had evaporated as Director Freeman went on his warpath.

Since his arrival and learning of Michal Denso's death, the man had harangued everyone he'd encountered, from the ensign who had brought him to Brooks's office, to the doctors of MS-29, to Brooks himself.

"I am unable to prevent death, Director," Brooks said calmly. "Denso's condition is one we do not understand."

"Spare me your excuses," Freeman sneered. "I should never have entrusted you with this, Brooks. You're as unstable and inconsistent as the day you were first given a command. I knew then-"

Brooks felt a heat of anger rise through him. His own career had been a difficult one, and Freeman had been as clear then as he was being now about his view of placing command into Brooks's hands. But it still angered him.

Still, he thought, he was glad to take the heat in place of Verena. After all she had been through, today and in the past, it was all he could do to spare her this.

Perhaps it wouldn't have bothered her, he thought, entirely tuning out Freeman's rant. But it was his penance for failing to protect her when she had been under his command in the past. A bill he'd never been able to pay. This wasn't much, but it was something.

Freeman was still talking to him, and Brooks occasionally nodded. While he rarely did anyone the disservice of tuning them out, he'd learned early that he was very good at making people think he was listening to them.

"I think, Director, you had unrealistic expectations," Brooks said. "From what I have been told, Michal Denso could not be euthanized by normal means. How, then, were we to know by what means he could be kept alive if his condition worsened?"

The man scowled, his lips pulling back from his teeth as he prepared another tirade.

His behaviour was uncouth, to say the least. Shocking in most systems of the Sapient Union, to show this much anger. But Freeman had always been an odd case, standing out from the others in government. He was from a colony where emotional outbursts were viewed as much more normal, but even in that light he took it to an extreme.

An alert beeped.

Brooks cleared his throat. "Ambassador Kell is at the door, Director, requesting to come in."

"The Ambassador?" Freeman repeated. His previous words died on his lips without a second thought. "Oh, very well . . . let him in."

He knew that Freeman had a fascination with Shoggoths, though apparently there had been . . . incidents between him and them before that left the man with a dislike of them. But he often seemed to find an excuse to interact with them anyway, in his interests of advancing his understanding of zerospace.

The door opened and Kell came in.

Something about him seemed diminished, Brooks thought immediately. Like a man who had been starved and had just started to move about again. His strength not yet fully recovered.

But Freeman did not seem to have noticed.

"Ah, Ambassador. To what do we owe the-"

"I understand you are upset over Michal Denso's death," Kell interrupted.

Freeman said nothing for a moment, mulling the words over. "You might say that," he finally answered.

"Evidently you wished to . . . study him," Kell continued.

"This is not your concern, Ambassador. But yes, the man was a potential source of great knowledge-"

"That was foolish," Kell said. "You dabble like a child in something you can barely understand."

"We understand more than you think, Ambassador," Freeman hissed back.

"No," Kell corrected. "You are capable of only barely understanding it, in the theoretical. Currently, you know nothing about it. You are a fool, staggering in the dark, and you keep insist on yelling." Kell shook his head in the most blatant expression of disgust Brooks had seen him make. "You make yourselves prey through your actions. And you wonder why events like Terris happen?"

The last part shocked Brooks as much as Freeman.

"How dare you, Ambassador-"

"I am not finished," Kell said, his voice booming. "You have come onto this ship and are blaming Captain Brooks for the death of Denso? That is absurd. Brooks could no more have caused the death of the thing you refer to as Michal Denso than he could return to the Earth by walking."

"Ambassador, this conversation is finished!" Freeman said.

"I killed Michal Denso," Kell said, meeting Freeman's eyes with an unblinking stare. "You may ask Dr. Urle when she awakens. Or Apollonia Nor. They will tell you - though I was not present physically, I was there. And I alone deserve the . . . supposed burden of guilt of saving you from your own stupidity."

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Freeman's jaw dropped.

"You . . . you what?"

"I killed the thing that had taken over Michal Denso's body. It was not that human; he was barely a shadow of his former self. What you wished to study, and I believe you knew this - was an infant Great One."

A deathly silence filled the air between the three. Freeman stared at Kell, only blinking occasionally. Kell stared back, his eyes never blinking.

"So," Freeman finally said, his voice a hoarse whisper. "He was an embrion."

"You should hope that you never find another," Kell told him. "Because next time, I may not be there to prevent you from destroying yourself. Or I may not care to."

Freeman turned, slowly, back to Brooks. "Captain. Give my regards to Dr. Urle."

Brooks arched an eyebrow. "You're not staying, Director?"

"I must return to Sol," he said, his voice distracted. "Once my people have finished packing up Denso's corpse."

"If Michal Denso has family," Brooks said. "His body should be returned to them."

Freeman did not spare a glance or reply, as he swept from the room.

Kell did not turn to watch him, only watching Brooks.

When the man was gone, Brooks returned his look.

"Is that true, Ambassador? You killed Michal Denso?"

Kell turned slowly, moving towards the door. "Your friend is very loud, Captain. I should hope he learns to lower his voice."

"Is he shouting into the dark often, then?" Brooks asked.

Kell stopped, his back to him, and shuddered. "There is a stink upon him. He believes he merely inquires, but he is disturbing things that your kind should never disturb. It will have consequences. I do not know the timescale, but it will be."

Brooks steepled his fingers. "I still regret the last time I shouted into the dark," he said.

"That is because," Kell replied, as the door opened and he stepped out. "You are a wise man, Captain."

*******

"Verena, thank god you're okay . . ." Zach said.

His eyes were visible today, and his eyebrows angled inwards in a way that she recognized as being very strong concern.

She wasn't sure why he was concerned now, though. It was over, and she had a clean bill of health.

"My condition was never serious, it was only a precaution," she told him.

"I had no idea what was going on," Zach said. "They tell me that you went into a room filled with krahteons and . . . something. They won't say what, but then you were unconscious and put in the ICU."

"It was nothing. Apollonia's presence evidently creates an area of safety. Though I do not know how."

Zach said nothing for a time, and she was content to let the silence linger. She was still feeling weak, truth be told, but it was fading and she was going to be discharged in a few hours.

"When you're up to it, I think we need to talk about the kids," Zach said, breaking the peace.

Ah, she saw now . . . this was still weighing heavily on his mind.

And now that he had brought it up, she knew it was important.

For years, as much as she tried, she had wanted to feel that spark, the love for her children that every mother was supposed to have.

It wasn't that she didn't love them. She simply felt nothing.

But she knew she was supposed to. She could recall memories of looking at them, that at those times emotions had been so strong in her that she had barely been able to take it.

She looked again, now, hoping for that little spark she had felt earlier of humor.

And she realized she was hoping.

"Verena?" Zach asked, seeing a change come over her face.

It was gone already. The feeling left as quickly as it had come. It hadn't been love, it hadn't been frustration. Just a slight, vague sense of hope.

It was . . . something.

"We can talk about it now," she said to him.

"I . . . I don't think we can move onto the station as you wanted," Zach said. "I'm sorry, but-"

"It's all right," she said, putting a hand up to his face. His mouth was covered by a triangular plate, and she brushed her fingertips over it.

She hadn't wanted to hear his reasons. Even though she knew they'd be correct.

"It isn't a good idea," she admitted. "For many reasons. For their happiness, for your career, for . . . for my patients," she said. It was unusually difficult to speak, and she was not sure why. Was this a spark of emotion? On some level?

She didn't know. She wasn't sure she'd even recognize them when they came. If they kept coming.

"Perhaps one day, it will be different," she continued softly.

"There may still be options to help you," Zach said. "I know you've had surgeries and treatments, but artificial emotion chips are becoming better and better-"

"Shh," she said softly. "There is . . . a chance they might work, Zach. But I doubt it . . . and . . . something I've realized is that . . ."

She looked up and met Zach's eyes. There were tears in them.

"I've realized that my condition allows me to do this job," she said. "A job that no one else can handle. Exactly what has broken me as a person allows me to thrive here, and help many, many people."

She pulled her hand away from his face, looking to her own. "And as much as I could walk away, how much I might want to, if I felt . . . I'd still remember all that I've seen. And I do not know if I could live with the pain."

Zach said nothing. The tears welling in his eyes had broken free, coursing down his face.

Again a silence fell, and Zach wept, shaking for her and himself and their daughters.

Verena did not like it. But she did not look away, and she knew that he might be somewhat comforted if she put her hand on his.

And after a time, it seemed to have helped, she thought.

"I . . . I should go," he said, after some time.

She could tell from his face and eyes that he was still overwhelmed. But he would make it through, she knew. He was strong enough.

"Goodbye, Zachariah," she said to him.

"Goodbye, Verena."

Zach rose and left the room, glancing back at her once, with an expression she could not decipher.

Then he was gone.

It was for the best.