The numb freefall of the rescue gravs is the perfect time to ponder the Big Questions.

[i]How does one measure success?[/i] 

The tactical part of her mind, the part that calculated thrust vectors and angles of attack, was still buzzing. It didn't matter that she'd lost, this defeat was just one more factor to consider in its planning. Was it enough that she'd struck such a blow against the Aeteline, the mech that had waged such a campaign of destruction all those years prior? Would it be sufficient to have done more than any other pilot in recent memory? 

For her Mother? Unlikely. Only the headline result mattered, which meant that her next battle was imminent.

[i]What value is life?[/i]

A melelcholy topic, one that she can only contemplate in the numb calmness of her descent. She'd had an opportunity to win just then, but the cost would have been the life of another pilot. More than 'a pilot', [i]Solarel[/i]. Some trained reflex still tried to depersonalise it, even now, to make it seem like an easier choice.

Isabelle [i]hated [/i]that part of her.

The whole appeal of fighting in the arena - when compared to the actual fighting she'd faced in her kidnapping - had always been the inherent safety for a pilot. Maybe it was naive to think so, but pilot deaths were rare. They weren't generally part of what you had to worry about.

Solarel was worth more than the match. She was worth more than the Emberlight (even though a small part of her was shocked to hear her admit that). But the core truth was - for all it represented Isabelle's one safe place, her sanctuary in a lonely galaxy, the Emberlight could be rebuilt. A person couldn't.

[i]What is in a word?[/i]

And here, she admitted ruefully, her mind was really starting to wander into the esoteric. Still, there had been a beauty to that fight that she held tight to. A clarity of communication that had been frustrated for far too long. She'd [i]gotten through [/i]to Solarel, at long last. And , in doing so, had hopefully reminded her of what was important:

That there were others out there who could speak to her. That there was more to fighting, to flying, than just victory. 

Isabelle frowns, remembering what had happened next. The Ateline had put Solarel in danger, simply to secure the killing blow. And then it had [i]spoken[/i] to her. For it to so casually offer up its pilot, particularly to someone like Isabelle who had already [i]proven [/i]she'd be willing to hurt others to advance in the tournament ... it had been ...

... insane didn't even begin to cover it.

That there had been intelligence there, so cold, so distant. Even more alien than the [i]actual [/i]aliens she'd talked to and fought against. It stood there as a repudiation of all the things that made the arena such a wonderful place. It didn't care about skill, banter, heart or willpower. It didn't fight to express itself or communicate or to make connections.

"Peak Performance" ... at that, Isabelle could only scoff. She'd been there. Done that. And it wasn't worth it.

But as to what to do with this information, she had no idea where to start analysing it.

Thankfully, she knew someone who did.

She'd download the memory weave as soon as she could. Send it to Mirror with her compliments. Hopefully the Hybrasillian would be able to finish what she'd started and save Solarel from herself, and that prison of metal and cold fire.