He had gotten onto the base with not much difficulty, and his request for transport to the Georgia system to rendezvous with the Ratched was approved and assigned in only a few moments. Confirming his itinerary with the pilot was equally brief. He was glad for the lack of scrutiny; it was to be expected, given his claims and their verification, but he preferred his anonymity. As such, he found the provided spartan cot more than welcome.

Now he had a few days to review his source material. The recording had been in his possession a number of months, more of a curiosity than anything else. A souvenir from his last mission, that had helped him come to terms with all that had happened. Snapshots of a life he might have lived, mistakes he might have made from the eyes of the man who had experienced them.

He wondered now if he had ever really believed in anything. He felt as though he had, and then had felt the loss of that belief. What he did, he told himself, he did for all humankind. Had it ever been more than indoctrination? He was sure it had been, but his actions and the orders he had followed spoke differently.

Since then he had learned morality knew no side but mercy, which had its own brutality. He studied how the man had infiltrated the ranks of military service, the careful balancing act he had maintained between the Alliance and his rebellious browncoat wearing contacts. Had seen the man set up by his own superiors with an impossible operation, supposedly meant to end a war before it began, but really intended to pour fuel on the fire.

The I.A.V. Alexander had burned, because the members of Parliament were desperate enough to hide the deaths of thirty million people with four thousand. He remembered his own time aboard a cruiser, and how that had turned out, and considered the package he had obtained. Perhaps the third time.

So he sat in the darkness of his quarters, surrounded itself by the black of space, and turned on the light.

- - - - -

From the very first, she knew Sim