In all likelihood, this chapter will not answer any questions you have. It'll just create more.

But this is the beginning of what will be a pretty big part of this story, so I hope you enjoy!

Warning: None.

.: Quondam - Lies :.

You will never be strong enough
You will never be good enough
You were never conceived in love
You will not rise above

-: Lies, Evanescence

FOUR

.: 7 February, 3045 :.

"Is there anything you need."

Incorrect syllable emphasis.

"I am content."

She sighed.

"Is there anything you need…?"

Not quite perfect.

"I am content."

She tapped in another command and sighed once more at the correct pitch and with the correct power.

"Is there anything you need?"

Perfect.

She stood and stretched out her arms and legs to their limits. Saving her work and switching off the lights, she couldn't quite help glancing up at Screen 5. Her eyes glowed faintly purple in the dark as they roved over the design digiprinted there. With a wave of her hand across the tapboard the image flickered away; untraceable by any but her.

She exited the lab and was met by a guard android that she did not recognize. It was obviously a brand new line – not programmed properly to protect her. As it shifted, her eyes and mind followed his movement, painstakingly tracking the motion: but her body could not react in time.

The guard slammed his forearm into her stomach.

"Identification."

The demand had not even been completed before a laser blast screamed down the hall and blew the android's head from its shoulders. Its monotone ended in a metallic whir as the melted chunk of machinery clanged across the hallway and came to a rolling halt against the wall.

A shadow fell over her.

"Are you critically injured?"

Hunched over on the floor, clutching her stomach in her arms, she hissed up at the high-guard through the pain, "I am content."

If the other mechanoid was surprised or taken aback by her unusual choice of words, he either chose not to show it or was incapable of doing so. He gave a curt nod and held out a hand. She felt a twinge of annoyance but surrendered to the need to accept the aid, hoping fervently that he would not remove his arm from her grip after she had regained her footing. He did not disappoint.

It took longer than usual for her to reach her apartment, and once she was inside and had shooed the high-guard back to the Central Hive Chamber, she curled into as tight a ball as she could on the floor and screamed a curse of pain to the ceiling.

As soon as she had ripped enough air back into her lungs she let out another cry – this one of fury and panic.

After a long moment of silence, and summoning back her calm, she rose as gracefully as possible to her feet and stumbled to the bathroom. She emptied what little food there was in her stomach into the basin there and immediately collapsed cross-legged on the cold metal floor, her arms folded over her distended belly.

"Well, at least they're protecting me. Of course, I am not their object. You…" Her fingertips grazed the skin of her abdomen. "You. They need you. And I can't even express how powerful that makes you."

A smile traced across her lips as she pulled the metallic band from her hair; letting the thick blonde locks tumble down to her waist. The faint purple light shining from her eyes reflected eerily off of the surfaces in the bathroom in the dark, and she clambered once again to her feet.

As she sat down before her personal tapboard, she felt an increasingly familiar pounding against the wall of her abdomen, but let it pass without pointless comment and opened the file she had saved earlier. As the time drew ever nearer, it became less and less imperative that she keep her project secret, and she felt the risk of opening the file in her lab was negligible enough for her to be able to gaze at her own child as she worked.

The file she had brought up across the giant screen depicted a tiny person, standing, though theoretically it was physically impossible for such a small child to do so: lacking the necessary muscle and bone development. His arms – for she knew her baby was male – were pulled out to the sides with his palms facing her. Beside this image on the left was the same picture; reversed to show her his back view.

The baby had blond hair, with skin a shade or two lighter than her own. His arms and legs were short and chubby, his stomach and chest rounded. Stubby fingers were curled in to tiny palms, with underdeveloped toes on the ends of miniature baby feet. She smiled, like always, at the sight of his oversized ears, his round cheeks – framing a blank face. She had no desire to taint something so beautiful as the face of her son with cold calculations.

She tapped in a short string of commands: too preoccupied with staring into the void below the child's hairline – so soon to be filled – to interface directly with the computer.

As soon as she had completed the code input, the images began changing. He began growing before her eyes – losing some of the insulating fat, his limbs lengthening, his body stretching. When the child appeared to be seven years old, the images froze as they were. She quickly scanned the information whirring past her eyes on the screen to either side of the pictures. She knew her calculations were correct, but she felt an uncharacteristic need to check them consistently anyway.

When finished, she nodded to herself and allowed the program to continue its processing of her digiprints. The next changes were more obvious than just the child's steady growth. She watched the Transmogrification alter the texture of his skin, as usual, but smiled faintly with pride when her own adjustments to the procedure became noticeable.

If her child had to be a full-mechanoid, over her rotting corpse would he be turned into a metallic monster like the rest of them on the planet. And it was through this line of thinking that she had developed the new program that combined the best of her own partial-mechanoid body with the highlights of the Transmogrification.

One of a kind.

Though, of course, there was always the possibility of unforeseeable side effects. She did not allow the idea to plague her.

As the sun set, unseen, outside of the Great City Field, her mind and her fingers were working industriously on the greatest project of her life.

"Aren't they beautiful, sweetheart?"

The young boy glanced down at the dismal sight before him – dozens of flowers that may, at one point, have had the potential to blossom into beautiful roses of many different colors, sizes, shapes. But they were brown or yellowed, withered and sunken; bringing to mind the radiation-burned flesh to be seen when there were accidents down in the mine. The soil they staggered from was littered with rocks both grey and gold, clumping in dirty mounds despite the care his mother took to ensure its upkeep.

"Um," He wasn't sure how to formulate his reply – unwilling to outright lie to her. "They're different."

Her smile faltered. "Different?" She followed his lead in staring down at the once-blooms, though his gaze stemmed from shame, awkwardness and an unwillingness to meet her beautiful blue eyes, and hers was out of some sad curiosity.

"Different. Special."

His efforts were futile though, since – just as her gaze had fallen from him – she was no longer listening to her son.

"They're dead."

There was a pause. To anybody walking past, indeed, her statement would carry great truth. But the boy set his jaw and lowered to one knee, reaching out small hands towards the plants before him. Using his thumbnail, he gently scraped the sickly brown outer layer from the stem of the closest rose: almost wincing as it came off like skin peeling from a sunburn.

But beneath the blackened exterior, the stem was a dull green. A smile crawled across his lips, and he turned to look at his mother, still standing behind him with mild shock registering on her features.

"No they aren't."

At the elated smile that spread across her beautiful face, he felt a flying warmth growing in his belly, and that wonderful, rippling delight at the realization that he had made her happy.

He jumped up and threw his arms around the woman's waist, grinning into her stomach as she held him close to her.

"Thank you, Brin."

He closed his eyes, then fluttered them open when he felt something tap onto the glass of his helmet. He looked up to see her laying her head on top of his as best she could, miming a kiss at him. He blushed and pushed away from her.

"Mom…"

"I can't help it," she smiled winningly. "What would I do without you, sweetheart?"

Well, the house would be an awful lot cleaner if I wasn't around, he thought musingly.

They both turned in the direction of said house as the clanging of the front brace door slamming shut echoed through their property and off of the dome's glass walls.

"Daddy's home!" she lilted. "Go say hello!" She accompanied her gentle command with a little push at the small of her son's back.

He stumbled slightly but recovered his footing and took off for the house across the garden at a full run. When he reached the back door he paused and turned to look back at her.

She was sitting on the ground in front of her roses, gazing at them with her fingers hovering just inches from where the stem he had exposed was still practically shining green in the brown of the garden; and what of the city there was to be seen outside their containment dome.

Her chestnut brown hair curled thickly around her shoulders, raggedly long in places and scruffily short in others. Tendrils framed her face and brushed against the corners of her brilliant blue eyes, coiling around her ears and sneaking under the collar of the lavender dress she wore beneath her shining white containment suit. Her skin was angel-pale, her features soft. Her lips were full and gentle, tinged pink to match her cheeks, the lower one jutting out proudly even in repose. The white scar on her jaw was almost unnoticeable at this distance, and the one on her forehead was almost all covered by the wispy ringlets at her hairline.

Cerulean eyes shone from beneath thick brown eyebrows as the setting sun behind her sent a golden glow spinning through her hair and off of the planes of her face. He smiled at how peaceful she looked and, as young as he was, even he could tell that she did not belong on such a barren planet.

Without further thought on the matter, the boy rushed inside the house, not registering the brace door falling closed and locking automatically behind him, and barreled straight into his father's midriff.

"Hey, Dad," The greeting was muffled in the front of his father's brown shirt.

"Good afternoon, Brin." His father held the child to him for a moment before pulling away and making his way towards the laboratory wing. "Have you had a good day?"

"Um,"

How did he make it sound impressive that he had been cleaning his room, mopping some dirt that he had had nothing to do with off of the kitchen and living room floors, aiding his mom with her impending bake sale, and attending to flowerbed weeds all day?

He grinned sheepishly. "Yes…?"

Although he didn't say anything, Mar Londo raised one graying eyebrow, and that one small move was enough to make his young son blush and look away.

"I see. How is your mother?"

Brin rubbed the back of his neck. "Uh, she's okay. I think she's kinda upset about her roses."

"Mmm," Mar mumbled something unintelligible before the lab doors suddenly closed in his son's face.

The boy stumbled back a few steps in surprise. He hadn't noticed how far they had walked. His face fell when he realized suddenly that that was the extent of the contact he was going to have with his father that day.

Once Dr. Mar Londo was in his lab, there was nothing on this or any planet that could get him out.

Brin sighed and turned to walk back down the long hallway towards the living room. After dumping his containment suit in the pod by the front hall, he swung himself onto the sofa and waved his hand over the power pad. The holoscreen before him flickered on, and he used one swiping finger to move between channels.

Boring sports. Worse sports. Ancient sports. Game show. CG show. Documentary. Another documentary...

He finally settled on the news; where a man in a blue suit that looked as though it had been manufactured by blind Venutians, and a young woman whose hair brought to mind a spaceship carrier crashing in nebulous fog were cataloguing the latest of Towëtron's statements.

"-llowing Eiliani's recent groundbreaking announcement, Towëtron has made public its consideration of following their lead in leaving the United Planets. President Wazzo herself traveled yesterday to the planet to enter talks with Minister Gawa."

The woman continued seamlessly on from her partner. "They are not the first to speak of separation from the longstanding United Planets organization, and it seems they will not be the last. Separatist intentions have been declared by five other key systems, though it remains to be seen what will emerge from these statements."

"R.J. Brande, president of the well-known stellar manufacturing conglomerate Brande Industries, has recently made it known that if the situation demands it he will use his significant influence in the galaxy to try and support the United Planets and prevent its possible downfall. More on this as it develops."

"In other news, the teenage criminal Sarya Finnal from Venegar has escaped incarceration. Science Police are curren–"

He waved the monitor off. It was strange to think that there were systems out there that were not part of the United Planets. For the most part, as far as he was aware, they were the poorer, or more barbaric systems – or the uninhabited ones. He knew, for instance, that his father's base on Raal fell outside the jurisdiction of the UP.

All of a sudden there was an enticing smell wafting in from the kitchen, and as soon as he recognized the scent he was running straight for it.

"They're done!"

"Uh huh," his mother affirmed with a smile; remote-directing the baking tray out onto the counter. "Nothing beats the smell of old fashioned home-baked cookies, huh Brin?"

His mouth was too full of said cookies to answer past a nod.

She rolled her eyes and gingerly pushed five more steaming hot cookies over to her son as he stood on his toes with his arms pushed up onto the counter.

"Six cookies for my six year old."

He gave her a look. "Thass only phibe."

"What was that, cookie-face?"

After swallowing and giggling, he gave her another, more pointed stare. "That's only five."

"Yeah, but you've already scarfed one, you little mongrel." Her face was lit up with a smile as she leaned over the counter and ruffled his short black hair, twisting the natural white streak at his forehead around her finger as she did so.

He felt a surge of affection, and vulnerability stemming from the news clip he had just seen, and he ducked under the floating counter to hug his mother around the waist.

"Mom, why do people want to leave the United Planets?"

She sighed and delved her fingers further into his hair in a show of comfort. "People want to feel safe. And the United Planets aren't doing a good job of making people feel safe right now."

"Why?"

"I don't know, sweetheart. I imagine it's different for everybody. Maybe people don't like how the Science Police work. Maybe they don't like abiding by all the UP laws."

There was a little pause as the boy processed her words. He then pulled back to look at her; cobalt blue eyes shining into her almost identical pair. "What makes you feel safe?"

"Me?" She chuckled and squeezed him against her body. "My little boy. I feel safe with you – and you're always safe with me."

The moment lasted a long while: broken only when the smell of the cookies became too much, and Brin had to break free to grab one of his allotted five and stuff it whole into his mouth.

"Mamma?"

"Not right now, darling. Laiyla, could you…?"

"Of course, Madam President."

There was a little rush of cold air before she felt arms wrap securely around her and lift her into the air. There was that familiar feeling of suspension in the void, and the terror that came with it, before there was a warm, solid surface pressed against her side. Her hand raced around to smack into that surface – above the core of the thing's chest and into the cold metal shoulder.

"Don't want Lala. Want Mommy."

"Your mother is busy now, Miss Tinya," The tinny voice was not soothing. "I will take you: outside. Do you wish to see the, sky, Miss Tinya?"

"No sky. Mommy."

"Your mother is busy now, Miss Tinya. I will take you: elsewhere. Do you wish to see the, gardens, Miss Tinya?"

"No gardens!" Her voice was a squeal, and she could feel warm tears amassing in her eyes. The cold air stung them, and she didn't like it. "Lala I want my Mommy!"

"Your mother is busy now, Miss Tinya."

She could feel frustration building in her stomach. It was not a nice feeling.

"I will take you: wherever you wish to go. Where do you wish to go, Miss Tinya?"

That was it. The coiling feeling in her stomach and the burning feelings in her face and throat merged into one long, loud, rippling scream. At one point she thought she might have been crying the word 'mommy', but really she was unsure what exactly was coming out of her mouth.

All she knew was that she was extremely unhappy and that nobody was listening to her. She had to make them listen.

Only a few moments passed before she saw the white cloaked figure of her mother approaching through blurry eyes. She screamed louder – in case she had not yet noticed her.

"Tinya!"

The voice was sharp, and more unpleasant a sound than even Laiyla's hollow monotone.

"Tinya, will you be quiet?! I have extremely important business to attend to, and you are being distracting, annoying, and downright bratty. Laiyla," The woman's attention shifted from her to the metallic woman whose arms she was in. "Take my daughter out to the gardens, and stay there until it is time for dinner."

"Yes, Madam President."

A few moments passed in a horrified blur before there was the sound of slamming doors – and her mother was gone.

What was 'business'? Her little mind whirred with the connections. Was it… somebody else? Somebody she loved more than Tinya? The child felt her eyes well up again, but her mother's stinging words seared through her mind and she choked back that expression of her sadness. Crying was not allowed. Mommy was always mad when she cried. She hiccuped on her residual tears, and tried to ignore the stinging in her throat.

Maybe you're not supposed to cry when you're upset.

"L-Lala?"

"Yes, Miss Tinya?"

"What you do when you sad?"

There was a pause. "I am not capable of feeling: sadness, Miss Tinya."

"Oh." Tinya twiddled her tiny, pale fingers as the android carried her through a long, essentially bare hallway. "Why?"

"Such an emotion would decrease my functional ability."

"Wh-what?"

"Sadness would interfere with my taking care of you."

"Sadness… is bad?"

"Yes."

She considered this for a few minutes. It did make sense – Mommy was angry when she was sad, she never felt good when she was sad: and Mommy was never sad.

"Lala, how do you not be sad?"

"I do not know, Miss Tinya."

"Can you guess, pwease?"

"Redirect thought patterns."

She felt a sudden flare of anger, and huffed impatiently. "Lala, I don't unstand."

"Think about something other than that which is saddening you."

Tinya silenced herself. She was silent when Laiyla exited through the door, silent throughout the long, long walk to the Gardens of Towëtron, and silent for many long moments as Laiyla walked her around, pointing out all the flowers and wildlife to be seen amongst the billowing vegetation. She was silent until her thoughts came to a sudden close.

"Lala, I was thinking about flowers."

"Flowers, Miss Tinya? Why?"

"I like flowers."

"Which flowers do you like, Miss Tinya?"

She pursed her lips, and looked down to the border just beside Laiyla's feet. "I like roses, bestest."

"Why, Miss Tinya?"

"They pretty. Give me a flower, Lala."

Laiyla bent down and severed one of the blue roses there from its stem. She quickly razed the thorns blunt, stripped away the deep green leaves from its surface, and inserted it into her young charge's black hair, just above her ear.

"Beautiful, Miss Tinya."

"I am?" The child beamed.

"Beautiful, Miss Tinya."

Tinya smiled happily. "You right, Lala. I'm not sad nenymore."

"That is good, Miss Tinya."

"Story, Lala. Sit."

Laiyla looked quickly around before making her way over to a white stone bench a few paces away. She settled herself in its center, rearranging the little girl on her lap.

"Which story do you wish to hear, Miss Tinya?"

"The gweat hero story."

"Very well, Miss Tinya. Once upon a time, the world of Earth was a dark and frightened place. The people were becoming overwhelmed by problems they had created themselves years ago: destroying their planet – and themselves – piece by poisoned piece."

Tinya felt a little smile grow on her face. Though she didn't understand every word, her young imagination could place meaning on every clause, weaving for her the well memorized events that Laiyla spoke of.

"The people with power were the people with enough influence to get and stay there. These were the people of the underworld; the people with pasts buried so deep in their records that nobody could retrace their crimes."

The familiar chill raced down her spine, accompanied by the pleasant shiver in her stomach as she recognized what came next.

"And then one day someone appeared and changed all that. The crime that had enveloped the planet was stopped in its tracks. The evil people at the heads of the countries and the businesses were exposed and torn down. The world became a brighter place.

"The person who saved them all was Earth's greatest hero, and he called himself 'Superman'. After a lifetime of saving the world, Superman disappeared into history – because a hero never dies, Miss Tinya. A hero lives forever because what they did can not be taken back. Because what they did affects everyone. Superman ushered in a new age of peace, and that age lasts still."

Tinya squirmed excitedly in Laiyla's lap. As much as she loved the intro, this was her favorite part.

"Tell me bout the baddies!"

"Well, first, and longest, there was Lex Luthor – the man at the head of LuthorCorp, in charge of…

"But Superman raced in just in time and, using his freezing breath, he…

"…crying out for help, Superman flew faster than a Kanovenesian rocket blast and caught her just before…

"…help to the Justice League, writing about their exploits. But she was kidnapped by an evil…

"…mission: to digitize the Earth after claiming all its knowledge. Brainiac was one of Superman's greatest foes, and came very close to killing…"

Tinya had fallen into a lilting almost-sleep by this point in the orange glow of the dwindling daylight, just barely registering the names of Superman's various evil foes in the back of her mind, with unique little shivers in her chest for each.

"Happy birthday, dear."

"Thank you Mrs. Nalaina."

She accepted the kiss on her forehead.

"Happy birthday! Have you got any presents yet?"

She returned the exuberant handshake and smiled up at the graying man before her. "Thank you, Mr. Nalaina. And yes – Mummy and Daddy got me this necklace."

She felt his gaze fall to her neck, where a large pink gem cut into a perfectly smooth sphere lay in the curve of her throat; the black onyx ring wrapped diagonally around it warm against her skin though it had been shockingly cold when first put on.

"My, that is a beautiful little bauble. I imagine that cost a pretty penny!"

"Come along, Huton," There was suddenly a flustered Mrs. Nalaina in her vision, hustling her husband away. "Let's go get some refreshments and let the poor dear greet the rest of her guests."

As the pair walked away the young girl stared after them in gentle amusement and curiosity.

For stars's sake, does the man have a tactical bone in his body!?

She had to restrain a giggle at the fussy woman's errant thought, and was able to shake the hand of the next person in line with a dazzlingly beautiful genuine smile on her face.

It was a long time before she had worked through the entire company of people there to wish her birthday wishes. The evening passed in a blur of rich gowns swirling to stuffy music, mundane conversation and tact that she could not allow to fall.

It was a blessing to retire out to her private bedroom balcony and stare at the stars. Behind her burned the five old-fashioned candles salvaged from her giant cake, casting a golden glow about the room. Her pale blonde hair had been half left loose to hang down to the small of her back, half piled up into an intricate bun held in place with heavily jeweled clasps. Her dress was pink – naturally – with white detailing around the wide sweetheart neckline, and a white satin sash around her waist. The extra fabric from the large bow tied at her hip was long and almost touched the floor, where the heavy pink fabric pooled around her feet. She wore lace gloves that almost reached her elbows, but pulled them from her skin as quickly as possible: though they did not itch, and the night was by no means a warm one.

She could see Saturn burning a deep orange in space above her; could just make out the ring of ice and debris and space stations surrounding it and spanning almost to them here on Titan. It was completely quiet, as her heavy faux-wood door was blocking out any sound from downstairs rippling through the house, and her tower was too far above the ground for her to be able to hear the sounds of the party raging without her down there and out in the gardens.

She closed her eyes and sifted through all the minds she could hear. None of the other telepaths there were bothering to block her expert intrusion – even if they had known about it she had the feeling they would not have stood a chance against her.

She remembered their one-time trip to Earth when she had been younger, and how her telepathy had been so weak that she could only barely pick up conscious thoughts of the people milling around her, with no access whatsoever to the unconscious mind. The lack of ability had frightened her, even as a toddler in her mother's arms, and once home on Titan she had dived into her training and into her studies in an effort to make sure that never happened again. Although she had since been informed that her telepathy would always be far stronger on Titan than anywhere else in the galaxy, never again was she going to feel that resounding uselessness: she was determined.

Soon the sickeningly pallid, sycophantic thoughts of her parents' company became too much for the young girl, and she expanded her range beyond her towering home, out to the city. A great proportion of them were asleep – since it was extremely early in the morning by now – and their slumbering minds very nearly sent her into unconsciousness also.

In a bid of panic to overcome the sensation, she forced her mind further outwards in a frightened burst of power.

Suddenly in her head there were so many clamoring voices that even her powerful mind couldn't identify them all. She cried out in pain as what must have been billions of thoughts from hundreds of planets screamed through her head, blurring her vision and her thoughts. They were shutting down her motor function and she collapsed to her knees – shutting down her mental function and her mind began to go blank with the pressure. She couldn't concentrate on anything, any one thought, voice, mind; nevermind attempt to stop the inflow.

She screamed in agony as the thoughts continued to build. Her body crumpled on the floor and her hands wrapped around her head, fingers tearing into her hair as expensive hairpins went clattering and flying across the room.

And all of a sudden through the fuzzing blackness and feverish uproar there came a mind that was stronger than the rest. It was almost like a white light, a shining beacon in the chaos of her head, so, so powerful and bright, and she reached desperately out to it with what was left of her consciousness.

Once she made firm contact with that one mind the others all shut out. She gasped and heaved air into her lungs; her head still stinging and fuzzing from the agonizing contact of before.

The mind she was linked with felt gentle and pure, soft and warm. She mentally relaxed into the contact, wishing more than anything for this presence, this person, what or whoever it was, to enfold her in their glow and hold her close and comfortingly. It felt like a light, more so than before, shining on her face and warming her whole body.

Soon she became aware of a calm curiosity emanating from the mind. After a moment's deliberation, she decided to fully open the connection between them. The respone was immediate.

"Who are you?"

"My name is Imra Ardeen. You saved me; thank you."

There was a short silence from the other being as it contemplated her words. "Imra Ardeen. Where are you?"

"I am on Titan." Normally she would be kicking herself for so easily revealing something like that to someone she could not visually or mentally identify. But there was something about this one... it was as though there was nothing surrounding this mind; no past, no memories, no unconscious thoughts – it was all that existed of the person. "Are you a phantom?"

"A phantom?"

"I hear there are worlds of phantoms, and a zone of phantoms, and that when people die, they turn into phantoms and roam the galaxies looking for eternal peace…"

"I am not a phantom."

"Oh." She felt strangely crushed. "What are you then?"

The light paused again, thinking about their answer. "I am a person. Are you not a person, Imra Ardeen?"

"Yes, I am. I am a girl. Today is my fifth birthday."

"Oh, I think I see. You have been alive for five years?"

"Yes. How… how long have you been al-around?"

There was a longer silence, and she could feel her light trying to find the answer to her question, but the conclusion she felt was the one it voiced.

"I am unsure. I have been conscious for fifty-four days."

Conscious? "Do you have amnesia?"

"Amnesia?"

"Did you lose your memory?"

"Possibly."

She was confused – and intrigued. Who exactly was she talking to that they had no past, and no deeper level of thought than the one on which they conversed? "Where are you?"

"Uncertain. I am alone, and all I can see is red."

"Can you hear anything?"

"Sometimes I hear talking. But not like this. Not like you're talking to me."

"This is telepathy. Very few people communicate like this."

"Are you using this 'telepathy' or am I?"

"I am, though your mind is linked to mine so we can have a two-way conversation."

"Two-way..."

There was a long silence from the other end of her mental bond. She missed the feeling of the mind of her Light against hers, and realized that she had subconsciously delved deep, deep into the other person's consciousness – but even so she could not find anything there.

The person must have amnesia. There was absolutely no other explanation.

"Are you safe? Have you been captured by someone?"

"I do not know. I feel safe."

"Can I help you?"

"No. You found me – can I help you?"

"No. But I would like it if you would stay with me, and talk to me. I feel…"

"Lonely?" the voice supplied.

"Yes, lonely. But I feel… connected to you."

"You are connected to me. You said so yourself."

She laughed, and the emotion obviously registered in her mind and was transferred to the unknown person.

"You are laughing? Why?"

She swallowed the laughter. How could she explain that the reason she was laughing was the wonderfully naïve way that this gentle mind was speaking and reacting to her?

Something suddenly slotted into place in her mind.

"Are you a child?"

"Child?"

"I have never read the mind of a child like this before. Is that why I can't see your past? But… you sound so grown up. Is it even possible for–"

The mind interrupted her musing. "Child?"

"Um, a small person? A young person, youth; baby?"

"'Baby'. I know that word. I hear it often."

Her mind went completely blank.

No, not possible.

It was not possible for the person she was speaking to to be a baby. No baby could speak like they were speaking. No baby whose mind she had ever encountered had been so... coherent. And how could a baby's mind be so strong anyway? Almost as strong as her own, though in a detectably different way.

But… they had said that they had been conscious for fifty-four days. How long was that? She did the calculation quickly in her head.

That was just under seven standard weeks.

She leapt to her feet and raced from her bedroom.

"Imra Ardeen?"

To the library on the next floor down. She soared through the shelves, finally stopping in front of one she had never touched before.

"Imra Ardeen?!"

She found the old-fashioned paper book she knew was there, pulling it down from its perch and settling the dusty tome on her lap as she sat cross-legged on the floor.

The voice in her head was growing faint and panicked. "Imra Ardeen!"

She flicked through the thick book: thankful for its presence saving her from having to sneak past all the guests downstairs to reach the computer terminal. She flipped through the book, through the various stages of pregnancy, until she reached page 168.

'Week 6 – Brain develops.'

She was communicating with a thirteen week old baby? In… in its mother's womb still?

"Imra Ardeen!" The baby had passed panic now and sounded as though it was close to tears.

The young girl felt a swell of pity and another emotion in her chest that she could not identify.

"I am here, little baby."

Relief washed through their connection, and she was almost driven to tears herself by the force of it.

"Imra Ardeen, where did you go?"

"I had to find something out, little one. And you may just call me Imra."

"Please don't leave me again, Imra."

There was a faint lacing of desperation in that plea, so tentative and heartbreaking that she found herself making a promise that she knew she had no right to make or to keep. That shining presence, still glowing wondrously white in her head was calling to her more strongly than anything she had ever felt before.

"I will always be with you, my little Light."