[ her wrist twists. she raises her palm against his fingertips -- a haunting, intimate sort of touch. it's not the manner in which she usually interfaces with those around her, but she must understand that jim is her best viable link to the future. asking steve comes with too much pain and baggage. steve, as honourable as he is...she's not convinced she can trust him to be so honest as jim barnes.

some things are heard better from friends than from sweethearts. ]

Bloody hell. Where do I start? [ the easiest question is also the most selfish: when do i die? but she doesn't ask it, because it's so damned navel-gazing she's nearly ashamed to wonder it at all. ] I've read what I can about the Cold War when we were on the Marsiva, Jim. But I can't trust the Atroma's wayward libraries, and even if I could...

[ the true details never make it to print. they both know this. so instead of stating an outright question, he looks at him with a plea in her eyes. she wants the gritty details behind the chilly conflict -- the spycraft bits and bobs. ]