By the light of the buswax and flame, the tip of the quill lances the first stroke with one that bisects and trails into a curl with three dots over it…Thane…The writing continues. The tip glides smoothly over the shienne skin of parchment, its curls held flat by a gold palm on its surface, and two clips made of stone, fashioned to a spring…I hate that I must beg you, Thane

The author stops to dip the quill into more ink before he resumes.

He rolls up the end opposite its curling direction of grain, flattens and folds it into quarters then seals the edge of it in resin from the fat of di'lean. He rises and pulls his hood over his crests, hides the two letters he has written inside his clothes and turns for the door to the outside.

He climbs into the waiting ship and avoids the feelers of the rachni that mans it.

The ship moves effortlessly through space, its controls easy with the help of the rachnid behind his seat to help guide it. Casnar wipes his eyes—fatigue and tears in both of these.

His hand grasps for the letters in the pocket cell in his coat to make sure they are waiting.

The ship makes its way to Kahje, away from Rakhana.

Suet, you will remember me, Casnar Soterios, as that lummox who mishandled you in front of Braith Shepard, a former patient of yours…I need help but your therapy is not what I want…You, Braith, and I share a mutual friend if only perhaps an acquaintance to you, but to Braith…to myself, perhaps others…He is more important than you will understand from just reading my letter alone…

The ship passes through Council space—into the orbital of hanar and drell co-managed Kahjic territory.

The dankness of the holosphere nauseates him with memories of his dead sister and working for the Compact, while she lived on Kahje with Thane Krios and her son, Kolyat…

He seeks the nearest delivery station. "It needs to be sent to Lothairaxl," Casnar tells the drell at the delivery desk—and hands him the pocket cell that contains both letters.

"There a name on this?"

"Yes, the cellophane has it on the cover," and Casnar sees the pocket cell be carried to a bin, dropped inside, and the bin lifted by a worker to bring out for shipment.

A ship departs within the hour to make its route.

On Lothairaxl, Port Mother accepts the delivery and allocates the cargo to its physical distributors.

A courier takes a box full of mail and packages into the city from Port Bay, and arrives at Suet's offices…Suet opens the letter in the pocket cell with his name on it. His fingers are careful with the delicate edges of shienne filaments.

Suet…I do not trust you…to not read the contents of the second letter…Do as you will, but please route it…to Thane Krios…

Suet finishes his read of the letter, looks carefully at the seal on the second one. "Take this back with you," he hands the letter to the courier, "…and have it sent onwards to that name…I have added the details to the pocket cell."

"Bill the account we have on file?"

"Yes, and make it a Priority Class." The young courier drops the pocket cell—with its single letter now, into a metallic canister at his side.

He departs Suet's offices and returns to the delivery firm. The metallic canister is sorted through, and the pocket cell added to a crate—to be stored on a vessel outbound from Port Bay.

Once through Alliance space, the delivery vessel reaches Earth, and passes its cargo onto the conveyors of the Terran distributors. An agent for inbound-mail-dispersal scans the pocket cell and passes it into a bag, that a pilot adds to a pallet…The pallet loads onto an airship bound for New Africaas.

A levitating wagon takes the pocket cell from its containment, handled by a droid, and is hovered-out by a long train of other like-wagons into the Saharana Desert.

A community of tents picket in the collapse of dunes, with a few lone figures who stand outside their sandy shelters as the wagon separates from the main train—and coasts through the haven of recluses.

Loose white pants ripple in the wind as Thane Krios walks bare-chested to the droid that leans from the wagon with a dried-out pocket cell in an artificial hand…He goes back to his tent as the droid and wagon coast off with no more deliveries to be made—and so seeks to rejoin its train.

Thane sits on his rug and starts to unravel the cellophane from the yellowed parchment inside its wrinkles.

He looks at the unbroken seal of resin that keeps the letter promising its contents have not been sought by anyone besides himself yet…

The resin is brown and the seal a Rakhïk icon for the Terje Tierrea, combined with Sousan—a square with an eel-like creature under five dots over its skull. He has studied Rakhïk script and glyphics, and now reads the excellent artistry that is the message upon the parchment's skin. His black lenses reflect the subtle flourishes and elegant—albeit hastily written—characters, ligatured by impatient strokes to connect these into words:

Bad state of affairs, here on Rakhana, Thane…Kolyat assassinated, but lived…Braith in Rakka…Kasumi…missing again…Konis Traus…Al'Kin…

Thane's eyes move swifter over the written lines.

…half-brother missing…The secret is my burden alone now…without the tools to help everyone…Come to Rakhana…Beg for your help…Braith is using her powers…have not seen her…four years…