POV: CirrusV
Location: Upper Drift Sector, perimeter walkway
Time: Cycle Day 14.08
Tags: post-reunion unease, memory drift, security query, Rhomb’s silence, Concord protocol
The station air changed just past the safe zone.
Colder. More mineral.
CirrusV let the door seal behind him and didn’t ask permission.
Upper Drift Sector was quiet at this cycle-hour—just a few mech carts gliding toward recharge docks, their blue beacon-lights blinking like low orbitals.
No welcome tone. No mesh sync.
He was outside his assigned field radius.
The Tattoo stayed quiet, but the silence around it was sharper now.
He walked the long perimeter arc, past a row of low-hung conduits and scaffoldled memory panels waiting for replacement.
Caleront shimmered on the far side of the station glass—folded into three moons of light, one of which shouldn’t have been visible yet.
He kept walking.
Rhomb’s unit was nested near the end of the arc—a rectangular capsule with no ornamentation, no door sigils, no heat signature visible from the outer mesh.
CirrusV keyed the pad once.
No response.
Then again.
A long pause.
The door cracked open with a reluctant hiss.
Rhomb stood backlit in the threshold, loose shirt, bare feet. His eyes adjusted faster than CirrusV expected.
Or maybe they never needed to.
“Did I wake you?”
“No.”
CirrusV stepped inside. The room was dark. Unoffended by presence.
“I need to ask you something.”
Rhomb didn’t sit. Didn’t motion. Just waited.
CirrusV paused near the work table, where two data spools glowed idle under a bio-shield.
“Back on the Drift—Cycle 5708. You pulled partial logs for me after the Seg fault.”
Rhomb nodded once. “Partial, yes. Scrubbed.”
“Did you ever back-filter my channel input during that cycle?”
A longer pause.
“Why?”
CirrusV didn’t answer. Not directly.
“There’s a segment missing from my recall file. I saw a reflection of it—literally—and it included something I never said. Except… it was my voice.”
Rhomb moved to the shelf. Retrieved a sealed flask, poured into two matte cups. Passed one across the void.
CirrusV held it but didn’t drink.
“Could it be Concord protocol?” he asked.
“Memory shaping? Re-entry conditioning? Something layered over?”
“Not without flag. And not to someone of your classification.”
“But it could be done?”
Rhomb’s eyes didn’t blink. “Anything can be done.”
Then softer: “But I wouldn’t do it.”
CirrusV didn’t nod. Not yet.
He watched a small thread of steam rise from the cup.
Something about it reminded him of the kettle orb. The shardnuts.
The window in Leloma’s quarters.
The way she hadn’t turned.
“You think she’s watching me?”
Rhomb didn’t answer.
Didn’t flinch either.
After a moment, he said:
“If someone was watching, they’d be smart enough not to leave visible tracks.”
Another pause.
CirrusV looked down at his hands. Both still. Both his.
“Then maybe I’m the one leaving them.”
He stood. Set the cup down untouched.
“I’ll see you next cycle.”
He didn’t wait for permission to leave.
Rhomb didn’t offer it.
Outside, the air felt colder.
But not because anything had changed.
Just… as if nothing held.