Revelation

Ripe kalakiota fruit splits at a touch, oozing juices.

In his hands I am ripe.

Overheating

I've finally learnt Thermodynamics.

It just seemed like the sort of thing more-active combat pilots did, not me, and there was always something else to train. But I've been hearing them talk, and thinking that even for me it could have uses.

And then I forgot it, just when it could have saved a ship.

I've barely used that ship in, what, a year? It was the first battleship I fitted all on my own. The fit, now that I look at it, makes me realise that my skills and knowledge have changed rather a lot since then. It's not nearly as tough as my usual ship.

I've looked at other ships I fitted then. I need to review them all. I have ships it'd be dangerous to fly and embarrassing to lose.

This weekend we said our goodbyes to Debes. Gottii and Elsebeth spoke well. I rue that I didn't join more of his fleets. I always thought there'd be time.

We are not immortal. We just have ways to dodge some of our deaths.

Through it all -- the reason I'm not dwelling on the losses -- has been another kind of heat.

I'm very much alive.

Dawn

Put aside the deaths, for a time.

Together, we will watch the dawn.

Labyrinths

Too much Jonny: I seem not to speak of him at all, yet to write of little else.

Ulf has no middle ground: no moderately grumpy. Nothing more than a slight set to the lips as many things happen, and then *bam* he's coldly angry, acting without regard for reason or proportion. There are things he's learning now that make him angry like that. I think I've talked him into giving the people involved a chance to explain. I was holding off researching the Orca blueprint until he resolved that, and now Revor has put it on.

I need to talk to Misan about LM 2.0. She has dreams for it, I think. I just had... annoyance, I guess. I made it, pointedly, a place for all people, then stopped using it once I realised quite what that meant. A learning. It still has potential, but would need love and attention.

And I've been walking corridors in company, talking clans and truths and illusions. Enjoying that; surprisingly so. Being reminded of something I said once, about fierce joy.

The erendati stir in me again. Inwardly, I smile to them in welcome.

Responsibility

I send images of Maia to Jeannette. She sends advice on colic. We haven't spoken about Jonny.

Eight weeks. Nothing since Intaki.

I remember his hurt dismay at Vieve, who -- when he stood her up on the occasion of their planned elopement -- didn't search for him.

He does a good line in hurt dismay. "How could you think that of me?" "How could she have? She must never have loved me." It's never his fault.

CONCORD says he still holds a licence.

My agent peeked into the records and told me he last docked in TWX-EI. Syndicate. Consistent with Moira's operations. From there he could've gone anywhere in someone else's ship.

I wrote to Jules. The awkward question. Received an answer: prompt and formal. Deep cover; they expect him back soon.

His sister was lost in the Syndicate.

I imagine him returning with some self-righteous story about how he tracked her down. Perhaps with some new love: he has charm, moves quickly, and is not made to be alone. Perhaps with reproaches for me: I should have waited for him, I clearly didn't really love him.

I think I understand Vieve and the pitcher of iced water a little better now.

Pera, I have my problems, but this one is yours.

Accounts

For a year of being debt-free and pregnant I didn't track my working income. There was money in the account: if I wanted more I'd do some work.

Nearly two months ago I opened up my old work-tracking sheets, copied them off and started using them again. Something to take my mind off things. It's bittersweet. Last time I did that was when I was working my way out of the clan debt. I'd met Jonny and he was helping me break that huge job into pieces so I could track my progress and take each next step.

There's still a column in the worksheet for kisses.

I could remove it. I probably should remove it. I'm not quite ready to yet.

Lace

After my Caldari ships, flying the Dramiel is like slipping into slick, silk satin.

With hard, sharp, filigreed accessories.

Colic

Three weeks of wars, and Maia screaming.

These, too, shall pass.

And so they have.

She sleeps, and so do we, and once again I leave.

Consoled through it by kin, and by real words in unreal settings. Real feelings: real fears. Gentleness among the wounded.

I can laugh, and tease, and argue plays and duty. I can know desire, less damped now by despair. Beauty cuts me: sometimes I turn away.

Seven weeks with no word.

I dream of furs and fever and Maia's unappeasable screams.