Request:I formally authorize the Coalition to release limited, non-tactical fragments of fleet communication logs relevant to the Kirell evacuation corridor sequence, specifically relay integrity reports, blackout onset markers, and pre-blackout corridor vector confirmations. These fragments are to be released to tribunal evidentiary review under secure transmission protocols.
I stop, then add the line that makes my stomach tighten.
Rationale:Evidentiary integrity requires independent corroboration of corridor vector alignment at issuance and the timeline of communication disruption. Continued withholding enables incomplete prosecutorial reconstruction and may conceal external override activity. I accept personal and diplomatic consequences of release.
I read it twice, then a third time.
The words are clean.
They are also a declaration of war against silence.
I tap send.
The terminal chimes and the message vanishes into the channel, swallowed by monitored networks and diplomatic bureaucracy. For a moment, nothing happens, because bureaucracy does not react quickly unless it is afraid.
I sit back and exhale slowly, feeling the weight shift in my chest. Not lighter—never lighter—but different, like moving a blade from one hand to another.
A soft tone sounds from the terminal: an incoming message request.
My pulse jumps once, restrained but sharp.
The interface displays a familiar identifier.
Advocate Pellorin.
I accept.
His face appears in pale blue holo, the image flickering slightly because the custody network throttles anything human.
He looks tired, eyes shadowed, mouth tight. “What did you do?”
“Hello to you too,” I reply, and the faint colloquial edge in my voice surprises me; humor feels like contraband here.
Pellorin does not smile. “Rhyx.”
“I authorized the Coalition to release limited fragments of fleet communications,” I say.
His eyes widen slightly. “You— You understand what that implies.”
“I do.”
“You are escalating beyond negligence defense. You are pushing toward systemic inquiry.”
“Yes.”
Pellorin’s expression tightens with frustration and fear. “The League will interpret this as hostile. The Coalition hawks will interpret this as permission. You are?—”
“—tired of watching other people pay for my silence,” I finish, my voice low.
Pellorin stares at me for a long moment. “Is this about Selene Ardent?”
“It is about the record,” I reply automatically, then pause, because automatic answers are often lies. “It is also about her. She is being crushed in real time. She is digging without protection. If I keep playing martyr while she gets destroyed, then what I called sacrifice becomes… pointless.”
Pellorin’s gaze flicks away briefly, then returns. “You’re worried about her.”
“I am worried about what happens when institutions learn they can punish truth-tellers into silence,” I answer, and the words sound grander than the room deserves, but they are true. “If she breaks, they will call it proof. If she disappears, they will call it necessity. And the next person will learn the lesson.”
Pellorin exhales slowly. “And you think releasing comm fragments will help.”
