The magnitude of what she's suggesting is staggering. Not just genetic modifications for resistance to assimilation, but deliberate engineering to create intermediaries between fundamentally different forms of consciousness.

  "The Admiral approached me before our session," I tell her, watching her reaction closely. "He implied that he doesn't entirely disagree with your theories about Nexari factions and resistant origins."

  Her expression darkens immediately. "Thorn is a master of saying what people want to hear while pursuing his own agenda. Whatever he told you, his actions speak louder. He's blocked my research into the transmission for years, restricted my access to certain Nexari artifacts, kept me confined to Helios when I requested field assignments to investigate potential contact sites."

  "He said your objectives might be more aligned than you realize," I persist. "That communication is preferable to conflict."

  She laughs, a short, bitter sound. "Of course he did. He wants you to trust him, to report anything I tell you that contradicts official Border Command positions." She leans forward, her gaze intense. "Andrew, ask yourself this: If Thorn truly believes in communication with the Nexari faction that created us, why maintain a military stance against them? Why develop the Nexus Protocol as a weapon rather than a bridge?"

  It's a fair question, and one I don't have an answer for. The Admiral's words and apparent position don't fully align with Border Command's actions and established protocols.

  "I'm not saying you should trust me blindly either," Elara continues, her tone softening slightly. "But you felt it yourself just now—the transmission, the signal meant for minds like ours. That's not something I could fabricate or manipulate. It's direct evidence that something is happening beyond Border Command's official narrative."

  She's right about that much. The experience of extending my consciousness, sensing the Nexari collective, receiving that rhythmic signal—it was too raw, too immediate to be manufactured. Whatever the full truth might be, there are aspects of our situation that Border Command hasn't fully disclosed.

  "So what do we do now?" I ask, refocusing on the practical. "How do we learn more about this Nexus Protocol while navigating between Border Command's agenda and whatever the Nexari faction wants from us?"

  "We continue training, officially and unofficially," she responds. "We develop our resonance capability to its full potential. And we gather information—from Border Command's classified archives, from extended perceptions like we just experienced, from the genetic memories that may be encoded in our modified DNA."

  "Genetic memories?" This is the first I've heard of such a possibility.

  "It's a theory," she admits. "But some of us—myself included—have experienced dreams or visions that contain information we couldn't possibly know otherwise. Details about Nexari civilization, language patterns, historical events that occurred before human space travel. Dr. Chen calls it 'ancestry bleed-through' in his private research."

  Stolen novel; please report.

  "And you think I might experience this too?"

  "Your dream last night," she says, watching me carefully. "About networks of light across space, a crystalline structure, a presence waiting for you. That wasn't just a random dream, was it?"

  I stare at her, shocked. "How do you know about that?"

  "Because I've had virtually the same dream, repeated over years," she explains. "It's a memory fragment, encoded in the modified portions of our genome. A breadcrumb trail left by whoever engineered us, guiding us toward understanding our purpose."

  The implications are simultaneously fascinating and disturbing. If Elara is right, we're not just genetically modified humans with unusual abilities—we're designed constructs with a specific purpose, carrying embedded instructions from our creators.

  "I need time to process all this," I say finally. "To integrate what we experienced with what I'm learning from official training, to form my own understanding."

  She nods, accepting this. "Of course. We should conclude the official session anyway—we've been here long enough to satisfy the training schedule." She begins extinguishing the incense, returning the room to its standard configuration. "But remember—the transmission is real. You experienced it directly. Whatever else you question, hold onto that truth."

  As we prepare to leave the training room, maintaining the professional distance appropriate for our official roles, Elara adds one final thought.

  "The Admiral approached you because he senses your importance to whatever is unfolding. Border Command, the Nexari faction, perhaps others we haven't identified yet—all have interests in what we represent and what we might become." Her eyes meet mine, serious and intent. "Trust your direct experience over anyone's interpretation, including mine. That's the only way to find your own path through this."

  I return to my quarters that evening with my mind churning over everything that's happened—the official training with Lieutenant Voss, the conversation with Admiral Thorn, the extraordinary expanded perception experience with Elara, and the mysterious signal we detected from deep within Nexari space.

  The bridges awaken.

  What does it mean that I could perceive this signal that Elara claims to have been monitoring for years? Is it truly a communication from a Nexari faction that created us, as she believes? Or something else entirely—a natural phenomenon misinterpreted, or even a sophisticated deception?

  I pace my quarters, too restless for sleep despite the mental fatigue from the day's training. The pressure in my mind has changed since the extended perception exercise with Elara. It's no longer seeking or reaching outward with that constant, undefined yearning. Instead, it feels more focused, more directed—like a compass needle that's finally found its orientation.

  And it's pointing toward that signal in Nexari space.

  I try using the visualization techniques Lieutenant Voss taught me to create mental barriers, to contain and control this new directional awareness. The rigid shields form as instructed, but they feel increasingly uncomfortable, like clothing that's too tight, restricting natural movement.

  Almost instinctively, I shift to Elara's alternative approach—the fluid, responsive boundaries that channel rather than block. The relief is immediate, my mind relaxing into this more natural containment while still maintaining its newly discovered orientation.