It is. It’s not that I didn’t like the Federation; it’s just, it was just right at the end of my time with PY-RE, and …
I felt like a crow in a flock of white song, you know? Wrong. Bad. Out of place. A shadow in direct sunlight, a bhaalgorn in Paradise. I got so depressed I could hardly leave my room, started having dreams where I was using my own blood as high-grade black ink.
I couldn’t stay. I fled. There’s no other word for it. I went back to the Empire and the Society, gave my oath of service to the Directrix, and I’ve been here ever since, trying to piece together what’s left of my soul and maybe even heal.
It’s not like my concerns about the Federation’s stability and all that are gone, but I’ll certainly concede it’s a beautiful place.
Just, not mine.
Hi back! … It’s good to see you again, Mr. Kinnison.