As Danielle Sho stepped out into the Greenhouse, it took a bit for her eyes to start adjusting. No lights were on to dispel the gloom of the subpolar night, making her hairs stand on end. These days, fear of the dark was more than just dread of the unknown; it was a reflex born out of the very real possibility that you might miss the movement of a writhing black shape in the corner of your eye.

The IT specialist and archivist was aware of the pistol at her hip, though she did not truly fear that one of the pair of buckets she passed by would be a mimic. It was still safe here… for now.

With a pang of amusement, Danielle noted that the Greenhouse truly was green now ― lit by the dim glow of the sky. Looking upward, she took a moment to observe the slow undulations of aurora borealis, the polar lights. She still found them breathtaking.

After a minute of wonder, she began to seek out a familiar shape among the plantlife. She knew it wouldn't take her long; this place was no Talos Arboretum, even though it was on Earth and therefore had not been built under the spatial and structural limitations which come with creating a habitable station in space.

Danielle found her reclined in a corner bench, next to a white plastic table, now tinted an emerald green.

A light clang could be heard as a couple of full cans were deposited on the tabletop. With a pop, Danielle opened one. "Duck Beer?" she offered.

Morgan Yu made a face.

"Hey, it's what we've got," Danielle shrugged.

With a sigh, Morgan popped open the other one.

"So, what's up?" Danielle began, taking a seat. "Need that fixed?" she pointed at the thumb drive Morgan had been fiddling with. She wondered whether that had something to do with why Morgan had asked her if she had a moment and called her all the way up here.

But the former TranStar director of research shook her head. "No, it works just fine," she mused, turning it over in her hand while considering it with a frown. "Danielle...," Morgan took a breath, "try to imagine the worst mistake you've ever made."

Several moments later, a serious Danielle spoke, "Alright."

Morgan continued, "If you could erase it… forget it ever happened… would you?"

The archivist blinked. "I… don't think so. No," she responded quietly. "I'd want to remember. Because I'd want to learn from it and do better next time… and because it's my responsibility to carry all my fuck-ups with me. Forgetting them would feel like a… cop-out."

Morgan considered her with a strange look for a minute. Then, "And if you knew you had forgotten, but could remember… would you want to?"

Squinting, mouth slightly agape, Danielle replied, "Morgan… what are you asking me, really?

The former TranStar executive opened her mouth, then wordlessly closed it.

Moments later, she settled on a question. "Any guesses what this is?" Morgan tapped the thumb drive.

Danielle raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips. "Fab plan for an experimental Typhon-modded murder-operator?" she tried.

"Nuh-uh," Morgan hummed.

"Treasure map leading to a set of awesome chips for your favorite people?" Danielle suggested.

Morgan smiled, but shook her head.

Danielle got a sly look. "Alex's porn stash?

"Bwuh?!" Morgan's eyes widened.

The archivist grinned. "Well, you just know he has one."

Her companion's glare burned into her like a Q-beam. "Ugh. Thanks for that amazing image," Morgan deadpanned.

"Oh, I'm sure he has many amazing images," Danielle quipped.

"Yeah, and if I saw them, I'm positive that I'd gladly remove a neuromod just to wipe them from my mind," Morgan said as she pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Ditto," Danielle chuckled.

A minute of companionable silence descended as they looked out to the magnificent beryl stripes across the sky. Then, Morgan quietly stated, "It's me."

"Huh? What?" Danielle was befuddled.

"This," Morgan said, indicating the thumb drive, "is me."

It took the archivist a couple of blinks until she caught on. Her mouth open, she hushed almost reverently, "That's your… connectome?"

Morgan nodded. "M. Yu, October 15th, 2034," she quoted. "It's the last connectome of my brain made before I entered the sim and the experiments started."

"And the last clear image of it before your memory started going haywire," Danielle inferred.

"Yep. Alex had kept it with him."

"Figures," Danielle noted with an undertone of disdain. "I take it he never told you?"

"Actually, he did. He handed it to me."

"Huh."

It still gave Danielle goosebumps, how the world had come to a place where you could encode a person's very being, their consciousness and memories, into a finger-sized data drive.

Morgan raised a hand, holding the small storage device in front of herself as she considered it. "You know why we can't just input this into ourselves?"

"The basics," Danielle replied, taking in a breath. "It's too much information. It would drive you insane or give you a stroke, not to mention that you'd basically be removing and reinstalling your whole brain. Instant barbecue," she noted. "Hell, we have to be careful even with neuromods, and they're just a fraction of a connectome. That's why we divide the big ones; for instance, it's why the standard hacking one is divided into four parts. If you took them all at once, it would turn you into a vegetable."

"That's the gist of it," Morgan confirmed. "It can't be done, unless…" she trailed off.

"Hmm?"

"Unless you're not quite human," Morgan held Danielle's gaze intently.

"You don't mean…" the archivist's dark eyes widened.

Morgan nodded. "They put 27 years into me, all at once. Nearly a whole connectome, with a life's worth of memories. And here I am," she splayed her hands.

Danielle frowned slightly. "So, you're… what? Thinking of getting back your lost memories? The three years you're missing?"

"Yeah. If putting in 27 years could be done without a hitch, another three would be no problem at all."

"Morgan…" Danielle did not seem to know what to say to that, worry written on her face.

The other woman had a far-away look. "Do you know what it's like, to wake up and be told that everything you know, all the memories you have… aren't really yours? That the most impactful event of your life was a… simulation? That underneath it all, you're an alien? A… project?" Morgan squinted.

Danielle sighed. "I… can't really imagine."

"They gave me my sense of self… but only the part they chose. The other part, they cut out. I'm Morgan, but only to a certain point. And I wasn't even supposed to be that; they hadn't been trying to recreate me. They just wanted… a Typhon who understands. What it means to be human. But it worked a little too well."

Acutely aware of her own indirect role in all of that, Danielle covered her discomfort and lack of anything helpful to say by taking a long swig of beer.

Morgan continued, "And now I'm that. I'm some measure of Morgan. And Typhon. I'm both of them, and neither of them anymore. I'm a hybrid, and I'm what was formed by the Talos outbreak simulation. Truth be told, I don't even know what I am," she finished anxiously.

"Maybe you're just… you," Danielle suggested, shrugging.

"And what would that be?" Morgan chuckled ruefully. "'Me' was a carefully managed construct. They kept discarding specimens until they came up with me. I'm a phantom, made from the corpse of some unfortunate whom I don't even know who they were, and even so… Morgan is all I have. It's… who I am, because without it… I have nothing," she finished despondently.

"Give it time," Danielle's visage was soft, as was her tone. "You're free to make yourself into whatever you want, now. You don't have to be the same as the old Morgan. Besides…" she drew in closer, with a sly grin, "Morgan was kind of a bitch." She winked.

The current Morgan sighed. "I know, and that's the problem," she mused. "I… want to know more. To be myself, fully. To remember everything. I mean, think about it: Three years of Talos. Of knowing everyone there. Of… Mikhaila, everything we did and went through. There's a part of me that really wants that back."

"But?"

"But… it would also mean remembering everything that I did. The experiments, the Volunteers… killing Mikhaila's dad. Pushing her away. And god knows what else," Morgan noted.

"That's one fucked-up dilemma," Danielle stated sheepishly, lacing her fingers in front of her chin as she leaned against the backrest.

"Oh yes," Morgan concurred. "Especially when you consider what you said earlier, about having a duty to remember the bad things you've done."

"Yeah, but…" the archivist exclaimed. "You already know all of that. Maybe you don't exactly remember… but you know what it was. What you did."

"But still…," Morgan began. "If I do this, I might remember a lot of the neuroscience, the Typhon research ― all the things that I had learned in those three years. It could help us survive. Also…" she hesitated, "I would fully be me. Be Morgan. No gaps, other than the period during the experiments."

"Is that something that you'd want, though? You once told me that you'd never want to be that person again," Danielle pointed out.

Morgan took in a deep breath before she responded. "I… don't know anymore. Besides… I wouldn't lose any of my current memories; I'd just gain some old ones."

"But wouldn't that still… change you in a way? Make you more like your old self?"

"Maybe," Morgan seemed frustrated. "I suppose I'd become someone new, again. Add yet another 'me' into the salad."

"And what about Mika?" Danielle inquired. "You do know how she'd feel about having her dad's murderer back, right?"

Morgan closed her eyes. "I do," she confirmed, voice strained. "That's… the worst part. Not only would I lose her again, I'd… I just can't bring myself to do that to her. And yet… a part of me feels that I should. That the only way you can truly be sorry and responsible in a meaningful way is to remember."

Running a hand through her own jet-black hair, Danielle sighed. "I don't know what to tell you. It's not my decision to make. But… look, Morgan, I like you just the way you are, hell, a lot better than I liked you before the outbreak on Talos," she said earnestly. "I just hope you'll think long and hard before you do anything drastic, okay?" she emphasized the request by splaying out her hands.

Morgan nodded. "That's what I've been doing," she whispered as she kept turning the thumb drive in between her fingers, her eyes boring into it as if willing it to give away its secrets or tell her what to do.

"And… talk to Mika," Danielle said pointedly.

"I will. As much as I dread it." Morgan's face pinched as she took a sip from her can.

Danielle exhaled slowly, tapping her fingers on the tabletop, not knowing what more to say or how to make things better. Powering through with rage and determination was her forte; not… this.

Instead, they had the quiet night, and the dancing northern lights, and Duck Beer.

It would have to do, for now.