Journal 4: 14 Network, 643

14th Network, 643

Today Dythea said she loved me. Or us, I suppose, Rile and myself. I do not know what to make of it.

I thought I was past all of this, but I suppose I really never could be, and certainly not so quick. But talk of love, of what that word entails, it still feels like a betrayal of Midyim. It feels too soon to move on to that degree, to be willing to proclaim such ardent affection for a woman I have known only a couple of weeks. I like her, certainly. I feel a strong affection for her, I care for her, of course, for if I did not I would not be carrying on such. But to speak of love ... it is a lot to say. I do not know that we are there. I know so little of her, in truth, and she of me.

But I may also be falling into the trap I sprung with Persephone. I did not love her, not so soon, but perhaps only because I refused said that I might. If I had said something ... well, no good will come of keeping this all to myself, I know that much by now. When we are less busy, I think perhaps we should speak of it. All three of us, to determine where we are.

And we are busy, all of a sudden. It has been revealed that vacation was not as free as advertised, that our patron has a task for us. The extraction of a bank of synthetic intelligences, from the station above. The Frost campus proper. A staggering prospect, and one that I not sure how to begin to effect.

I have begun to make inquiries. For the first time since I left the embrace of my star, I have reached into the Hells, and cold epidemen. Bizarre of countenance, and horrifying if I'm being honest, but the exchange went much as I might have expected. Demons do seem to be demons, as people are people. A preliminary negotiation only, for the issue of payment and the specific task is yet beyond my devising, though I have thoughts on both matters. There's too much mystery here, in our task, and in our goal, and in our employer.

H. A curious monicker, and clearly fearful in our conversation of revealing his true identity. There is something going on there, he must fear we would recognize, or else one name would be as good as any. It is something to ponder. He is clearly a synth, from manner and motive, and we do not know very many of them. And yet, he is a strange one, of curious habits and presentation.

This is not our first interaction, of course. Or perhaps, I should say our first transaction. I recall the message we received when the courier arrived at Anath, the redirection of Parker's inquest. This 'H' has had an interest in us for some time. Since well before we arrived at Anath, for the timing to make any sense. Which means that if we discount the potential of discontinuity by way of Zurvan's meddling, we must have caught his eye before Anath. Sycia, then, or the Conflux.

Hm. A synth, going by the monogram of 'H', who would have cause to notice us before we even met the raiders, and whose name we might recognize. I can think of only two candidates, and of them, I doubt very much that Horizon has hired us to burgle a research facility. Something to think about, perhaps. Something to ask Persephone about, when she is back.

I do hope their visit to the All helps Bej and Persephone to find the balance they have lost. They have been running a bit amok, and I fear they are overdoing themselves. I hope that when they return, they are more grounded, more certain in themselves. Less desperate for connection, and more for communion. I would not have thought that the Persephone I knew would carry on as they have, and if she is lost to the thrill of sensation, perhaps a bit of quietude would do them both some good.

This is a strange place, with strange people, and strange agendas. I do not pretend to know what is normal here, or what trespasses I may be making. I do not pretend that those in power would approve of our mission. But if 'H' speaks anything close to truth, then our mission is of paramount importance. I cannot tolerate this torture and slavery of synthetic life, and I would hope that none of my fellows could either. If I must go this alone, I will, but I do not think that I will need to. I think, I hope, that we are all convinced of the necessity of this cause, regardless of any specific doubt.

Tomorrow, an infiltration. A planting of a totem. A consultation with a cosmic terror. And perhaps, even, an answer or two. I need to focus on the work. If I allow my disquiet to linger, it will consume me. I do the task that is in front of me, day by day.

And if I have indeed found love, I will think on that in days to come.