"I can see it all happening again."

The Alcedi. Molech's hammers. Shock troopers, heavy on the awe. Skirmishers, taken to their logical extreme. They're the wind, given form and wings and ululating warcries. Only the relatively-tight confines of the ship prevent them from their true potential. They cannot soar over the battlefield and plunge, plunge, plunge into esoteric or engine. They must find the path, must turn from the walls of the phalanx, must zip and turn and howl through the ship, lightning blistering across wings and thrusting them along. 

Were they always so terrifying? They can't have been. She remembers the comrades and friends she made--their faces, their habits. Sees them, even now, in the banshees. Hears the cries, and knows that they are of joy, of excitement, of fulfillment of purpose. Remembers when it felt so reassuring to know that they were coming, to turn and feel the ozone in the air.

Now… 

"They fall before him. Bow before him, turn to his purposes. A ship now, but tomorrow?"

She shudders as she stares at them.

"I could tell you that I am doing this for other people. That I do not wish to harm them, do not wish to be a tool in the Emperor's hands in once more bringing the galaxy to it knees. And that would be true, I think.

"But it would also be a lie. 

"I know that, if Emperor Molech emerges triumphant, I die."

It's blunt, factual, and she hates that she can't keep the tremble out of her voice.

"Maybe not today. Maybe not for a long time. Maybe something that looks like me keeps going, keeps commanding the troops, obeys orders. But I! I, who collect scraps and memories and hoard them. I, who would improve myself, and learn to cook, and share food with friends! I, who can love! I, Alexa, will be gone!"

Only here, in the howl of the chase, can she discuss this. Only here, where none can here, can she be sure that it will not get back to the Emperor. Only in the mechanical action of orders followed is there safety.

"I… It would also be a lie to say I do not want my father gone. But I do not want to want that, if that makes sense? If he could leave well enough alone, if I could plant him on a planet somewhere, and have done, I would. But ever has he sought to control, to own, to dictate. To form the world, to bind people, to his ways.

"And were it not for this seal, things should be so simple."

She is silent, for a while, or as silent as she can be while following her troops.

"Please, Thunderer. How did you first come to raise the sword against your father?"