Attack. Again. Wasps. Again. Even more of them. Again. Questions. Again.

How is it possible?

The scenario is almost the same as last time, too. Almost. Except this time Master Auberon doesn't wait until I start to fade away, he prevents it, acting on the early signs. One small step for mankind, but one giant leap for me. I don't need to struggle to stay in control. My life support does that for me.

The other difference is a painful one. This time, I lose people. Much more than ever before. But it's not only the number of casualties. It's the way they died.

I had to make a choice.

And I made it. Because that's what makes a Seer.

I sacrificed them. Not even to save other people's lives. In exchange for information. At the time, I didn't even know what kind of information, I only knew that it was vital for us.

It wasn't cheap. I gave the lives of two entire squads to get it.

My resources are limited. While I was going deeper and deeper into the memories of a monster, I had to renounce the possibility of saving them. On a rational basis. Regardless of feelings. Without remorse. Just as if they were the way I see them, little dots, placed on a map, not real persons, flesh and bone. Because that's what makes a Seer.

Being immersed in the memories of a Wasp is nothing like being inside the head of a human. It's the scariest place in the world. It's primal. And cruel. And incomprehensible. But I stood my ground. Because that's what makes a Seer. To be stronger mentally than anyone, or, when the situation requires, anything else. I saw what I needed to see.

And now I know. It was worth it.

I made the right decision.

I should still practice the "without remorse" part, though.

When the battle is over, I welcome the darkness. I faint the very moment the last dot disappears from my inner map.

When I come to my senses, I'm in my room.

Master Auberon is sitting on the edge of my bed. With an excruciatingly stiff posture, and with an unreadable expression on his face.

He looks so out of place there. As if he was ordered to do a nurse's job, and he had no way to refuse it, despite feeling uncomfortable about it. Except that there's no one in the whole Gate who could order him to do that. Or, better said, there's no one in the whole world.

When he notices that I opened my eyes, he clears his throat.

"Your state?"

"Horizontal, sir," I croak. "I also have to pee, with your permission, sir."

For a few seconds, he stares at me. Then he jumps to his feet.

"I see you're not in a life-threatening situation anymore. Just keep resting. Report for duty, when ready."

"What's wrong?" I ask him, trying to prop myself up on my elbow.

"Nothing," he says, avoiding my gaze. "I'm needed elsewhere."

I bet he is. But I don't want him to go. I want him to sit back and keep watching over me, as selfish as it sounds. But there's no way I'm going to tell him this. I'm absolutely not willing to ask him to stay. I'm going to ask him something else, which will make him stay.

"Did you see something of what I saw?"

Now that's interesting enough for him to make him turn back from the door.

"What did you see?" he asks, looking at me finally.

"You first," I say, pointing to the edge of my bed. He refuses to sit down. I refuse to accept his attitude. But I don't tell him. He will notice it later, anyway.

"Why do you think I saw something?" he asks.

"Today, you were scared," I inform him. "I saw you on the map. And it must have been something terrible."

"It was something terrible, alright," he says, sounding unusually tense. "But it wasn't something on your map."

"What was it then?"

"It was you!" he bursts out. "It was so much worse than last time! I was afraid that I couldn't help you, and you would remain stuck in your head! You haven't even noticed that I... we... almost have lost you for good!"

I gasp for air. I never could have imagined him being this agitated before. Not even facing imminent death, or something.

"I don't know what it was," he goes on, almost shouting, "but you went too deep, and you were hardly breathing, and you were crying, and... then you fainted! And the medicals weren't able to say anything certain, so I've been sitting here, waiting for you to wake up, and—"

He takes a deep breath. It makes him slow down a bit. But he's still not finished.

"I might have a fucking god complex indeed, like you always tell me. And yes, it drives me mad that I can't do anything. I'm the fucking commander, but I can't command you to stop what you're doing and save yourself. I would share the pain you're in, I'm practiced at it, the fucking gods know how well versed I am at enduring pain, but there's no way to do that. I just have to watch it."

He slumps back to the edge of my bed. The place where he should be, in my humble opinion.

"Without you, I'd be dead already," I tell him honestly.

"Without you, we'd all be dead already."

It reminds me of those, who are dead already, truly and irrevocably. The pain I feel for a second is almost physical. The faces of the dead soldiers submerge in my mind, one by one. They were people I knew.

They were people I killed.

What an awfully un-seerlike thought, I chastise myself. It's absolutely not worthy of a human computer. Still, I don't want to be left alone with them.

"I'm not feeling well yet," I mumble. "I need someone to stay with me."

It's still not exactly what I wanted to say. I need him to stay with me, precisely. But I still can't bring myself to ask him outright.

"I can send in the leader of the Australian squad," he snorts. "She's a hugging type, and she adores you."

I try not to grimace, but I fail miserably.

"I'm already sitting closer than two steps away," he says, folding his arms on his chest.

"I don't need hugs," I sigh. "I need your light. It's pretty dark in here."

"In your room?"

"In my mind," I answer.

"Are you seeing it now?" he asks warily. "My light?"

"No. But in a way, yes. I'm always seeing it. Or, rather, I can't unsee it. Yes, it's a better way to put it."

He doesn't understand it, of course. And I refuse to add any more details. About the strange, bright dot that seems to be able to give me a sense of safety, unlike anything else.

"So, if you're seeing it... me... anyway, you could..." he says, with his voice trailing off. I know what he wants to say before he opens his mouth again.

"No," I declare.

"Why, what's the difference?" he insists. "It's just a single extra glance. About the accident. Your arm."

"No," I repeat firmly. "That's not how it works. And it's not necessary either."

He tries to protest, but I carry on.

"I'm not allowed to do that," I tell him. "I told you already. I can't pry into your head."

"But—"

"I can't do what you want me to do." I shake my head.

"But—"

"But I can choose to believe you," I finish the sentence.

He breathes out. Then he buries his face in his hands.

"I'm free to do that, right?" I shrug. "So that's what I'm going to do."

I give him enough time to let my words sink in. When it happens, he takes another shaky breath. He must know that I'm serious. He has no way to know, though, that I'm not just willing, I'm also able to do it for him, and his peace of mind. He has no idea how much less I care for the so-called truth than his inability to get over that single moment in time. 

Truth doesn't even exists. If he was a Seer, he'd know that.

Doubt, on the contrary, is real. He must stop doubting his version of truth. A bastion of mankind can't doubt himself.

I touch his hand lightly. He clears his throat. Just a moment later, he's back to his usual composed self again.

"Right," he says. "It's the logical thing to do. We still need to work together. Which leads us to our next question. What did you see during the battle?"

I laugh in his face.

"Tomorrow."

"What?"

"I'll tell you tomorrow. I need time to arrange the information. Now it's in a visual form. My brain needs to put it into words."

"I can decode pictures." He shrugs.

"Pictures right out of the mind of a Wasp?"

He purses his lips together.

"I need it now," he commands. It's not a request anymore. It's the master commander speaking. And I don't appreciate it.

"Well, you can beat it out of me." I shrug. "But you need to hit really hard to outdo what my own brain does to me, every time I'm mapping."

His barely contained anger feels like sitting too close to a fire. I can feel its heat on my skin.

"Or else," I go on, "you can wait until tomorrow. And guard my sleep."

He refuses to look at me. I take a deep breath, and finally, I'm able to squeeze out what I wanted to say from the moment I opened my eyes.

"Will you stay?"

"I will," he says morosely.

"It's the logical thing to do. We still need to work together. And what if your secret weapon turns catatonic during the night?"

He regards me with an indignant gaze. But I'm still not finished.

"Do you plan to sit all night on the edge of my bed, like this?"

"I do."

"It seems so uncomfortable."

"It's not."

"You sit in a position that seems to be incompatible with life."

"Just sleep already," he grunts.

"It's like a bad case of rigor mortis." I yawn. "Is it obligatory for proper saviors of humanity to sit like this?"

He buries his face in his hand again.

I fall asleep with a happy smile.