He makes a vaguely affirmative sound and nods shortly. At the very least, Jones's data will prevent her from being victim to any of the Rift's particularly debilitating effects. Those circumstances would be, he believes - not ideal.
Assuming the avenue of conversation to be safely over was an incorrect deduction, apparently, because Asadi has proven herself in the past to be not only perceptive but adept at expressing that verbally and acutely. He looks at her, unsteady and uncertain.
"That would depend on one's definition of home," he answers, atypically slowly.
It would depend on one having a definition of home, whether in immediacy or in abstraction.
"Where would we go?" Arista asks quietly. "Destiny took us here. We were led - here."
Rush cannot continue this trajectory and he stops and turns away because he needs to and because he cannot bear the idea, even the possibility of being once again tethered to that iteration of Earth, that planet that could not contain him, that universe that could not contain him, that source of himself that is keyed to nothing but agony and directionless searching and maddening impossibility and emptiness and grief, and Arista knows this, she would if she were truly him but Asadi would not, naturally she would not; he has never disclosed these pieces of himself to her and it is quite possible she has no idea what Destiny is in the context of the Ancient ship and his native brane and in any case it would not matter because he would not return to that version of Earth or any of them when Destiny's mission had a purpose, clearly, and that purpose was to take him here and should Asadi be successful he would not participate he would simply remain until this universe's collapse or his own, whichever should come first.
His hand has hooked itself over the back of his neck, fingers wrapping over in a soothing, bracing pull. He forces himself to breathe and not look at any of them.
no subject
Assuming the avenue of conversation to be safely over was an incorrect deduction, apparently, because Asadi has proven herself in the past to be not only perceptive but adept at expressing that verbally and acutely. He looks at her, unsteady and uncertain.
"That would depend on one's definition of home," he answers, atypically slowly.
It would depend on one having a definition of home, whether in immediacy or in abstraction.
"Where would we go?" Arista asks quietly. "Destiny took us here. We were led - here."
Rush cannot continue this trajectory and he stops and turns away because he needs to and because he cannot bear the idea, even the possibility of being once again tethered to that iteration of Earth, that planet that could not contain him, that universe that could not contain him, that source of himself that is keyed to nothing but agony and directionless searching and maddening impossibility and emptiness and grief, and Arista knows this, she would if she were truly him but Asadi would not, naturally she would not; he has never disclosed these pieces of himself to her and it is quite possible she has no idea what Destiny is in the context of the Ancient ship and his native brane and in any case it would not matter because he would not return to that version of Earth or any of them when Destiny's mission had a purpose, clearly, and that purpose was to take him here and should Asadi be successful he would not participate he would simply remain until this universe's collapse or his own, whichever should come first.
His hand has hooked itself over the back of his neck, fingers wrapping over in a soothing, bracing pull. He forces himself to breathe and not look at any of them.