The conversation shifts to lighter topics—station routines, recommendations for recreation activities, humorous anecdotes about life on Helios. It's almost normal, this lunch with colleagues who understand what I'm going through because they've experienced it themselves. Almost, but not quite—the underlying awareness of our difference, our separation from ordinary humanity, pervades even the most casual exchanges.

  After lunch, I return to the training room to continue my session with Lieutenant Voss. This portion focuses on shielding techniques—methods to contain my developing abilities and prevent unintentional influence on others.

  "The basic principle is boundary reinforcement," she explains as we begin. "Creating a clear mental delineation between self and other, internal and external."

  The techniques she teaches are structured and methodical—visualization exercises combined with specific thought patterns that create what she calls "psionic damping fields" around my consciousness. It's like learning to contract a muscle I never knew I had, pulling my mental presence inward instead of letting it expand outward naturally.

  It's also, I quickly realize, exactly what Elara warned me about—techniques designed to contain and limit psionic abilities rather than truly develop them. But I follow Lieutenant Voss's instructions diligently, recognizing the value in mastering these methods even if I might later supplement them with Elara's alternative approaches.

  By late afternoon, I've made progress with the basic shielding techniques, though not as rapidly as with the projection and reception exercises earlier. Lieutenant Voss seems satisfied nonetheless.

  "Good work," she says as we conclude the session. "Your control is improving. We'll continue tomorrow with more advanced applications." She hesitates, then adds, "You have a session scheduled with Elara this evening. For specialized telepathic range training."

  There's a question in her statement, though she doesn't voice it directly.

  "Yes," I confirm. "At 1900 hours, according to my terminal schedule."

  She nods, her expression carefully neutral. "Elara has developed unique approaches to telepathic range extension. You'll find her methods... different from standard Border Command protocols."

  "Different how?" I ask, though I already have some idea based on what Elara told me last night.

  "Less structured. More intuitive. Based partially on her own theories about consciousness rather than empirically validated techniques." There's no criticism in her tone, just factual description. "They can be valuable supplements to the foundation we're building, but..." she pauses, choosing her words with care, "be mindful of maintaining the basic protective structures we've established today. Elara sometimes prioritizes capability expansion over security considerations."

  "I'll be careful," I promise, appreciating her concern while wondering how much she suspects about her daughter's true agenda.

  After the training session, I have a few hours free before my scheduled meeting with Elara. I spend part of it in my quarters, resting my mind after the intensive training. The strain of learning to use these new abilities is less physical than mental, but no less exhausting.

  Later, feeling restless, I decide to explore the station a bit, testing the access granted to my ID chip. Most public areas are available to me—recreation facilities, gardens, observation lounges. Restricted research sections and command areas remain off-limits, their access panels flashing red when I approach.

  I find myself drawn to one of the observation lounges—a large, open space with transparent panels offering views of space beyond the station's structure. It's relatively quiet at this hour, with just a few off-duty personnel scattered around the comfortable seating areas.

  I stand near one of the viewports, gazing out at the star field. From this angle, there's no sign of the nearby planets or navigation beacons—just endless darkness punctuated by distant points of light. Somewhere out there is Nexari space, the territory controlled by the hive mind civilization that changed my life irrevocably.

  "Beautiful, isn't it?" a voice says beside me, startling me from my thoughts.

  I turn to find Admiral Thorn standing there, also looking out at the stars. I hadn't noticed his approach—either he moved very quietly, or I was too lost in contemplation to register his presence.

  "Yes, sir," I respond, automatically straightening my posture. "It puts things in perspective."

  "Indeed it does," he agrees, his hands clasped behind his back in a relaxed military stance. "Reminds us of our relative insignificance in the cosmic scale. And yet," he turns slightly to look at me, "individuals can still alter the course of history, can't they?"

  There's something pointed in his question, making me wonder if this apparently chance encounter was arranged deliberately.

  "I suppose that depends on the individual," I say carefully.

  A small smile touches his lips. "And the circumstances, yes. The right person at the right moment with the right capabilities." He looks back out at the stars. "Lieutenant Voss tells me your training is progressing exceptionally well. Faster than she anticipated."

  "It seems so," I acknowledge. "Though I'm still learning the basics."

  "Hmm." His noncommittal response hangs in the air between us for a moment. "You're scheduled to train with Specialist Voss this evening, I believe. For extended range telepathy."

  "Yes, sir."

  He nods, still gazing outward. "Elara has developed impressive range capabilities. Farther than any other resistant on record. Her methods are... unconventional, but effective." He pauses, then adds, "She sees possibilities that others miss. It's her greatest strength. And occasionally, her greatest vulnerability."

  I'm not sure how to respond to this oblique assessment, so I remain silent, waiting for him to continue.

  "She's spoken to you about her theories, I assume," he says after a moment. "About the Nexari, about resistant origins."

  So this is the purpose of our "chance" meeting. I consider denying it, but lying to the Admiral seems unwise given his resources and authority.

  "She's shared some of her perspectives," I admit cautiously.

  "Including her belief that certain Nexari factions may have engineered the genetic modifications found in resistants like yourself?" His directness surprises me.

  "Yes," I confirm, watching his reaction carefully.

  To my surprise, he chuckles softly. "Elara has been advancing that theory for years. With increasing evidence, I might add." He turns to face me fully now. "What she likely didn't tell you is that I don't entirely disagree with her."

  This catches me off guard. "Sir?"

  "Border Command isn't the monolithic entity it might appear from the outside, Andrew. There are different perspectives, different approaches to the Nexari question. Some advocate for containment and eventual military solution. Others, like myself, recognize that the situation is more complex than simple opposition."

  "Then why does Elara seem to believe you oppose her views?" I ask, unable to reconcile this with what she told me.

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  His expression becomes thoughtful. "Because my official position must reflect Border Command's established protocols. And because Elara, for all her brilliant insights, sometimes lacks patience with institutional caution." He smiles slightly. "We've had our disagreements about timing and approach, certainly. But our ultimate objectives may be more aligned than she realizes."

  "Which are?" I prompt, when he doesn't elaborate.

  "Understanding," he says simply. "Of the Nexari, of resistant abilities, of what humanity might become through interaction with consciousness forms different from our own." His gaze sharpens. "The question isn't whether we engage with the Nexari, Andrew. That became inevitable the moment we expanded into their adjacent space. The question is how we engage, from what position of knowledge and capability."

  "And the Nexus Protocol is part of establishing that position," I suggest.

  "It's one approach," he acknowledges. "Though perhaps not the complete solution." He glances at a notification on his wrist device. "I should return to my duties. But I wanted you to know—your unique connection with Elara is of great interest to me, and not solely for its military applications."

  "What other applications interest you, sir?" I ask directly.

  He studies me for a moment, as if assessing how much to reveal. "Let's just say that communication is always preferable to conflict, provided both parties can engage as equals." With that cryptic statement, he nods a farewell and walks away, leaving me with even more questions than before.

  I remain at the viewport for some time after he leaves, trying to process the conversation. The Admiral's perspective seems more nuanced than Elara suggested, yet there was something calculated in his approach, his timing, the specific information he chose to share.

  Was he trying to drive a wedge between Elara and me? Encourage me to trust him over her? Or simply gathering information about our private conversations? Without being able to read his mind directly—an ability I haven't yet developed, if it's even possible—I can't be sure of his true motives.

  By the time I leave the observation lounge to prepare for my session with Elara, one thing has become clear: the politics surrounding resistant abilities and Nexari engagement are far more complex than simple opposition between factions. There are layers within layers, agendas within agendas, and I'm only beginning to glimpse the outlines of the larger game being played.

  At precisely 1900 hours, I arrive at Training Room 5 for my scheduled session with Elara. Unlike the stark functionality of the room where Lieutenant Voss conducted our training, this space has been modified—softer lighting, comfortable floor cushions instead of chairs, even what appears to be incense burning in a small holder near the wall.

  Elara is already there, sitting cross-legged on one of the cushions, her eyes closed in what looks like meditation. She's wearing casual training attire rather than her uniform, and her hair is pulled back in a simple knot rather than the more severe style she wore yesterday.

  She opens her eyes as I enter, a small smile touching her lips. "Right on time. Good."

  "Is punctuality particularly important for telepathic training?" I ask, taking a seat on the cushion opposite her.

  "Precision matters in all things," she responds. "Especially when exploring the boundaries of consciousness." She studies me briefly. "My mother has begun your shielding training."

  It's not a question, but I nod confirmation anyway. "Basic boundary reinforcement techniques."

  "Useful, but limited," she says, echoing what she told me last night. "They create rigid barriers that require constant maintenance and actually restrict your natural abilities in the process."

  "Your mother suggested I be careful about maintaining those barriers during our session," I note, watching her reaction.

  A flash of annoyance crosses her face, quickly suppressed. "Of course she did. Border Command is built on caution, control, containment. But we're not here to reinforce those limitations." She leans forward slightly. "We're here to discover what's truly possible when minds like ours connect without artificial constraints."

  "That sounds potentially dangerous," I observe.

  "All exploration involves risk," she counters. "But I'm not suggesting we abandon control completely. Rather, I'll show you a different approach to boundaries—flexible, responsive protection rather than rigid barriers."

  She explains her alternative method—a technique based more on flow and redirection than blockage and containment. Instead of constructing mental walls to hold my abilities in check, she teaches me to create what she calls "consciousness currents" that channel psionic energy in controlled patterns.

  It's challenging to shift from the structured approach Lieutenant Voss taught me to this more fluid technique, but there's something intuitively right about it, as if my mind recognizes this as a more natural expression of its capabilities.

  As we practice, I notice something else—when I use Elara's methods, the resonance between our minds strengthens, becoming more harmonious and less effortful. It's like switching from shouting across a distance to speaking normally side by side.

  "You feel it, don't you?" she asks, noticing my reaction. "The difference?"

  "Yes," I admit. "It's... easier. More natural."

  "Because it works with your mind's intrinsic patterns rather than imposing external structures," she explains. "The techniques Border Command teaches are designed for minds that don't share our specific neural architecture. They work, but inefficiently, like wearing someone else's fitted clothing."

  We move from basic shielding alternatives to exercises focused on telepathic range—extending our mental reach while maintaining clarity and control. Here too, her approach differs significantly from what Lieutenant Voss began teaching me. Instead of projecting specific constructs or images, Elara teaches me to extend my consciousness itself, creating a kind of psionic echo location.

  "Distance is largely irrelevant to conscious energy," she explains. "What matters is resonance, connection, the harmonic frequency between minds. With sufficient resonance, distance becomes merely a technical detail."

  "Is that how you sensed me from twelve light-years away?" I ask.

  "Exactly. Our minds are tuned to the same frequency. Once your abilities activated, you began broadcasting on that frequency. I simply heard the call." She demonstrates the technique, extending her consciousness outward in expanding waves while maintaining her core identity at the center.

  I follow her example, surprised at how intuitive it feels once I grasp the basic principle. My awareness expands beyond the training room, beyond my own physical boundaries. I sense other minds throughout the station—not specifically reading thoughts, but perceiving their presence, their general emotional states, the unique signatures of their consciousness.

  "Good," Elara encourages, her voice seeming to come both from her physical body across from me and directly into my expanded awareness. "Now, focus on the resonance between us. Let it guide your perception further."

  I do as she suggests, using our unique mental harmony as an anchor point while stretching my awareness even further. The station falls away, and I sense the void beyond—not empty at all, but filled with currents and patterns of energy, consciousness, information flowing in complex networks I can barely comprehend.

  And there, distant but perceptible, something vast and intricate—a collective consciousness so complex it makes my mind reel just to glimpse its edges.

  "The Nexari hive mind," Elara confirms, her consciousness joined with mine in this extended perception. "Not one entity, but many—a civilization of interconnected minds spanning their territory."

  The experience is overwhelming, disorienting—like suddenly gaining a sense I never possessed before. I instinctively begin to withdraw, collapsing my extended awareness back toward my physical body.

  "Wait," Elara says, her mind gently supporting mine. "Before you retreat completely, listen. Do you hear it?"

  I pause, focusing my attention where she guides it. And then I do hear it—or rather, sense it. A pattern within the vast Nexari consciousness, a rhythm or signal repeating at regular intervals. Something deliberate, directed.

  The Nexus Protocol activates, it seems to say, though not in words. The bridges awaken.

  The message repeats, pulsing outward from deep within Nexari space. Not aimed everywhere, but specifically—toward us.

  The shock of recognition causes me to snap back fully into my physical body. I open my eyes, finding myself still sitting cross-legged on the cushion in Training Room 5, Elara watching me intently from across the small space.

  "You heard it," she says, not a question but a confirmation.

  "What was that?" I ask, my voice hoarse as if I've been shouting. "That signal, that message."

  "The same transmission I've been detecting for years," she responds, a hint of excitement breaking through her usually controlled demeanor. "A deliberate communication from a faction within the Nexari collective, directed specifically at minds like ours."

  "'The bridges awaken,'" I quote, the phrase lingering in my mind. "What does it mean?"

  "I believe it refers to us—to resistants with our specific genetic modifications. We're not just anomalies who happened to resist assimilation. We're deliberately created interfaces—bridges between human individualism and Nexari collective consciousness." Her eyes are intense, almost fever-bright. "The Nexus Protocol isn't just Border Command's research initiative. It's something much older, something the Nexari faction has been working toward for decades, perhaps centuries."

  "And what is the goal of this protocol?" I ask, struggling to process the implications. "What happens when these 'bridges' fully awaken?"

  "That," she says, "is what we need to discover. Before Border Command tries to weaponize it, before the more aggressive Nexari factions try to destroy it, before anyone can control or direct what might be an evolutionary leap for both our species."