You spend the rest of the night reading through folders, seeking out your new Guard. Loyalty and religion are hard to separate in this culture, but you do your best. All of the candidates have commendations for bravery. It's past midnight when you finish, stars hanging heavy in the clear night sky. You pull out a few nutrient cubes and take your 'dinner' at your desk, drowning the dusty packages in water from the bathroom sink. You return to your task. As dawn breaks over the canyons, you have your seventy. There are concerns, of course. Your old Guard was riddled with the Pontifex's agents. Your new Guard, no doubt, will have traitors, those that do not fully support you, but its the best you can do for now.
Perhaps I should Loom my Guard... You quietly consider. Idly, you flip through the pages of your sermon book. Blah-blah blah, Holy Light of Sol -- descendent of SEED-- so on and so forth. There's nothing concrete about your life within the tome. You're a legend -- that is to say, only half-real to these people -- like McCreary. With Nicole Gainer gone-- if...you realize she's your penultimate connection to your existence as Pheobe. The only other is the Thornton Family.
Loneliness creeps up as the sun rises. You haphazardly sign off on the book, feeling your limbs ache with exhaustion as you rise to shower.
Using the Interface's memories, your contemplate your scabbed chest beneath the cold water of the shower. Healing again might prove too risky, with the brain damage you endured. It would help if you had some time to repair your brain -- by this time next week, you'll be ready for battle. Or for training. Now you think, is the time for study and healing.
What should I do this week? Study? Paperwork? Vacation?