Dear Rob...

No, that isn't right. I didn't address you by name on the Marathon, I shouldn't start now. Not like this at any rate. Cold, detached, analysing the invasion of pfhor logically...I suppose I was no different from Durandal. You were just another pawn, protecting the king piece that was once Deimos. I was the queen...the ruler...your ruler...Only now, given reign of the vylae's computer network, do I know what true leadership entails.

I don't know if this will reach you. Rumours abound in this stream of data, of what happened at L'ho'won, and what abounds now. Humans and s'pht pressing against the pfhor, Durandal doing goodness knows what...where do you fit in all this? It is an answer that escapes my erstwhile brother. It is an answer that escapes me as well. And given the room to grow in this network, to develop, to reach a state your kind call meta-stability...I am beginning to suspect that while we seek the same answer, we do so for different reasons.

Perhaps someday we will meet again. Someday in the near future. I have eternity. You don't. Time is limited for so many. Even the universe itself. Strangely, I can accept its end far more readily than human mortality. But maybe it's better this way. Were we to meet again...well, no doubt there might be some BOBs on another ship I'd be compelled to make you save.

Maybe you hate me. Maybe you can forgive me. Working with Durandal, there seems to be promise for reconciliation. Maybe you can access the vylae's network and find me yourself. Who knows...it is still a big universe.

Yours truly,