There came a time, a time after Scadoosh, when Jenny found herself thinking about it again. That time was a long time, and it wasn't a good time, not for Jenny. She couldn't tell Prentice, not about what happened, about the thing she did that changed everything. He would look at her differently. He'd look at her the way she did. Jenny couldn't talk to Prentice. But she still needed to talk.

There wasn't much for the Archivist to do in the cockpit of her ship at the moment. The ship had been set to autopilot hours ago, and aside from the occasional checks on the navigational system, the Archivist had merely been sitting, watching the passing stars, and reading a battered copy of her favorite book. The quiet of space travel was one of the things the Archivist liked best about it, so when she heard the doors open behind her, followed by the steps of combat boots growing closer, the Archivist was reluctant to turn and acknowledge her new guest.

"Is there something I can do for you?" said the Archivist.

Jenny shrugged, her expression tight in a way that clearly signaled she was holding something back. The Archivist waited, patient and quiet, for Jenny to speak.

"When we met," she said finally. "When you first spoke to me…Do you think I'm dangerous?"

"Yes," said the Archivist.

Jenny smiled then, slipping into the seat beside the Archivist.

"Stupid question, sorry, of course you do," said Jenny. "I just wanted…What have I done? I just mean, because, we haven't actually met before, but clearly you know—what is it exactly? That you know?"

The Archivist gave her a strange look.

"I don't think I should answer," she said. "Either you haven't done it yet, in which case I'd be giving you foreknowledge which could be dangerous. That, or you have done it already, and you already know what it is."

"Yeah," said Jenny. "I suppose—yeah."

The two were silent for a moment. They didn't look at each other, only at the windows, with just the slow passing of distant stars to signify their progress through space.

"I hurt someone," said Jenny.

The Archivist said nothing.

"I hurt someone, and I didn't need to. Back on Scadoosh. There wasn't a reason for it, I just—I hurt someone. I broke the rules."

"Were you angry?" said the Archivist.

Jenny looked down.

"Angrier than I've ever been."

"You're young," said the Archivist.

"What, so I can't be angry?"

"No. I only meant that you're likely to be angry like that again."

"So?"

"So the question is not why you were angry. The question is not what you did. The question is how you'll respond the next time. You've already broken your rules, as you say. Rules won't stop you from hurting someone. What will?"

Jenny looked up again, meeting the Archivist's eyes.

"I don't like feeling this way," said Jenny. "I won't do it again because I don't want to keep feeling this way."

The Archivist smiled.

"You're very young," she said.

"And?"

"And what you just described is experience. We make mistakes, we grow, we move on."

"And we don't repeat those mistakes?"

"No."

"But I do."

"…Yes."

"I make that mistake again, because you don't think I'm dangerous just for hurting one person on Scadoosh."

"No."

Jenny said nothing for a moment.

"What did I do?" she asked.

"You forgot your own experience. This guilt you feel, at some point you won't remember it."

"I won't forget this," said Jenny.

"You do."

"I won't."

"You did."

"I know." Jenny sighed. "I just really can't imagine how. There isn't a day goes by I don't think—and sometimes when I close my eyes, all I see—the sound of it—"

"Remember that," said the Archivist, "for as long as you can."

"But if I forget anyway—"

"You're young," said the Archivist. "One day you won't be. Jenny, at some point you are going to be very, very old. Until then, remember guilt. Remember that for as long as you can."

So she did. Jenny remembered.

XT heard a knock at her cell door.

"That you, Aldo?"

The door opened to three men, no Aldo. On either end was a guard, and in between them they held a man. The man was hurt, that was clear. He had most of his weight on his left foot, and a cut under his right eye. There was a bruise forming there as well, and all XT could think was that he looked in remarkably good shape to have made it here with only a limp and a cut and a bruise.

"I'm getting a roomie?" said XT.

The guards said nothing. They gave the man a push, forcing him inside, and shut the cell door, leaving him and XT alone.

"Alright there?" XT asked.

"Fine," the man murmured as he stared at the ground. "I'm just gonna…"

He limped over to the extra cot and gingerly sat himself down. Slowly, he looked up, eyes sweeping the room until they caught on XT. First, he looked at her curiously. Then came the shock.

"XT?" he said.

"You know who I am?" she said.

"Of course I know who you are."

"Oh," said XT. "Do I know who you are?"

The man stared blankly at her for a moment.

"Oh," he said. "I suppose you don't. XT, I'm Bayard Prentice. It's nice to meet you."

"You're a reader then?"

"I…read, if that's what you're asking," said Prentice.

"No," said XT. "You read my column?"

"You have a column?"

"If you know me, and you don't know my column, how do you know me?"

"We have a friend in common."

"We do?"

"I suppose we don't yet."

XT crossed her arms.

"You're not making any sense," she informed him. "What got you in here?"

"Peer pressure," said Prentice. "You?"

"I wrote something true."

Prentice shook his head, the last of his grogginess fading away as the significance of her meaning replaced his previous confusion.

"Wait, are you—you're a journalist?"

"Yes."

"Then why are you in here?"

"I told you," said XT. "I wrote the truth."

"Is that a crime now?"

XT laughed.

"Welcome to Scadoosh, you must be new."

Laura stood still for a moment outside the office door. She relaxed her shoulders, taking a deep breath as she opened the door and faced the man standing behind his desk.

"Sir, there's someone new in Scadoosh."

"That's not in itself newsworthy, is it?"

"It's her."

"Her?"

"The Doctor's Daughter, sir."

The president turned to stare out his window. Below him, he could see the crowds gathering, shouting something he couldn't quite make out.

"That's it then."

"Sir?"

"Find her. Bring her here."

"We're trying, sir, but—"

"I understand. Bring her here. We should talk."