There's no place like home

[Jazzi]

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Thallia lets out a long, drawn out sigh and closes her eyes as the steady beat of Finding Atlantis begins playing in her helmet's integrated sound system. Another classic from Newport Radio. With a gentle push, she feels her body drift from the hull of the Aletheia. Brought to a stop from the tender tug of her tether to the vessel, her sigh is laced with melacholic bliss as she feels her world shrink to the confines her weightless mortal form.

A turn of her head to the right, eyelids unfurling to allow the bright blue hues of the Crow Nebula to shine through. The green and blue stars of Sigma-13 standing vigil over the Station , illuminating the work of dozens of repair teams and construction crews. To her right, further down the Aletheia's starboard side, Darren and Lydia continued the work of installing Energy Field Emitters in the space between the layered hull panels. Difficult, skilled work but the pair displayed a proficiency that she admired. Her job? To follow them up and weld the outer panels back to their frames. Her lips curl at their corners, a soft smile growing on her lips. They had chosen to stay where the others had parted ways. Echoes of the same betrayal she had felt then rippled through her now, but with a deep breath she acknowledges the ripple of anger and casts it aside. Hindsight is twenty twenty, as the saying goes. She had pushed them away. Kept them all at arms length. It had felt rational at the time. Sensible, even. Prudent. You blind fool.

Curling a hand around her tether and tugging hard, Thallia reels herself back in towards the Aletheia. The sensation of sudden movement helped to smother that gnawing guilty feeling growing within. Fear. Fear of loss. Fear of failure. Fear of the unknown. Ever since that fateful flight nearly a decade ago, where harvester near assimilated human, fear festered fiercely at every turn. She's been privy to some truly awe inspiring secrets. She's seen threats in every one og them. Has she really been trying to save people, or has she been on the run? The people she's hurt... The damage she's done...she cant take it anymore. This needs to stop. Let go.

Coming to rest against the metal shell of the Aletheia, she takes out her welding torch and sets to fusing metal to metal. Her headphones fill with the sounds of Beneath a Birchen Moon as the image of a red-robed man sat upside down comes to mind. A hierophant reversed.

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