“You know, at times, you make it really easy to hate you.” Nisha said, her voice filled with both scorn and amusement at the same time. For the last three hours, we had been studying for finals, going over the various examples used during lectures, making sure that we understood the way our lecturer wanted them to be solved and which methods were acceptable. It was a curious mix of the practical, use what works, and the procedural, use what the current, professional standard requires, even if those methods are not necessarily the best ones. After the first hour, I had given up pretending to need to look things up in the book and after another hour, I had given up the pretense that I needed to use a calculator, simply out-sourcing that part of the work to Galatea. That left me with little more to do, than study the papers, making me look a little idle and almost indulgent, while Nisha, who had suggested the whole exercise, was struggling as she juggled multiple, rather massive, tomes and her calculator, trying to use them all at the same time, without letting anything drop.

“We all have our individual advantages.” I admitted, leaning back and stretching my legs a little. “Yet, you only see the advantages of what I have, you do not see the sacrifices I had to make to get here, or know the pain I suffered.” I added, feeling a little theatrical as I said those words, though there was quite a bit of truth to them. Getting stabbed and having my back broken had been an experience I would not wish on my most hated enemy. Even those, I would want to grant a swift death. both to make sure there was no coming back for them and to spare them their suffering.

“Yeah, I saw you back then.” she nodded, putting down her pen and letting herself relax as well. “Though that doesn’t change that you look so annoyingly relaxed now, while I’m struggling to make sense of these problems.” she admitted, waving one particular annoying and nasty set of calculus at me. It was almost as if the lecturer had purposefully made it as obtuse and confusing as possible, trying to hide the correct place to start and which paradigm to apply. Which he likely had, simply to force us to think and not follow a rote process each and every time.

“Would you want to get a coffee, or maybe some tea, before we tackle that problem together?” I suggested, getting a grateful nod in response.

“Sounds wonderful. Any more of this and I fear my brain will leak out of my skull.” she grinned and both of us got up, quickly packing our things to leave. The study-nook we had been occupying would quickly find a new owner, it seemed that during finals-time, the demand for quiet places far outstripped the supply. If not for my access to the security-cameras all over the place, I might have failed to find the open spot.

With a nod to another small group of people, who quickly made their way to the room we had just vacated, Nisha and I slowly made our way towards a nearby coffee-shop. We were taking our time to simply stretch, to get rid of the lingering stiffness as we talked about anything but the subjects we had been studying.

“How was New York?” Nisha asked, giving me a knowing look.

With a sigh, I started shaking my head, remembering the latest coverage, as the original scandal had now split and spawned. My initial investigation had uncovered some interesting factoids and with those as their starting-point, various new avenues of investigation had been pursued. Personally, I felt that it had nothing to do with me, but sadly, the perceived reality was different. As my results had been the first ones to be presented, they had garnered the most attention, which was something the new investigators wanted to capitalise on. Thus, more than one person claimed to have given me the information I had presented and now, with me stepping back, they had to come forward and set the record straight, as they put it.

That led to me, being associated with the newly uncovered information, continuously dragging me into the spot-light, whether I wanted to be there or not. What made the whole thing worse was that the information presented was less stridently collated than my original investigation, sometimes laced with innuendo or outright falsehoods, as they tried to present their narrative. Granted, my original presentation had a slight bias, strongly suggesting that the Lopez were responsible, but the new versions were at times presenting outright falsehoods.

In my name.

“If I ever have to pick between going on stage with a pair of politicians again or having to be shot, I will pick the bullet any day of the week. Or maybe I will pick the bullet and shoot both politicians, and every reporter in the room.” I darkly replied, letting my annoyance show.

“They are not all bad!” Nisha replied, though I could hear that she was more amused than offended. “My father is a great guy and is doing his best to help the country and people, though at times compromise is necessary when it comes to the means.” she insisted, reminding me that her father was high up in the Indian government. Part of me wanted to patronize, to give a pithy answer that called him an oxymoron, an honest politician, but at the end of the day, I had never met the man, nor had I invested any time in digging into his past, present or agenda. Instead, I tried to be diplomatic about it, giving her a friendly smile and a nod, thinking of a good way to change the subject.

“Come to think of it, you never told me about your mother.” I decided to go with something directly related to her father, yet hopefully far from politics.

“Not much to tell, she’s a mother and socialite, mostly working with local and international charities.” she replied, causing me to nod along. “Although, she hasn’t been as active in the last year. I used to help a little in the background, but I obviously can’t do that from here.”

“Maybe she is just enjoying that a certain pest is out from under her feet.” I suggested, getting an amused snort in response.

“I’m sure she is.” she agreed, smirking, “Your parents have to have danced in joy when you left.” she returned the jab and for a moment, I had to consider how to respond. The parents of Diana Hunt, the identity I was using, had died in the same accident she had died in, which had allowed me to appropriate her identity. But while saying so would be accurate, to a degree, there was a part of me that did not want to deny Andrea, Technica, as I had put quite a bit of work into recognising my feelings in regards to her.

“There are no parents. I emerged, fully formed, from the forehead of an old Pentium that got struck by lightning.” I replied, simply making a joke to get out of a serious answer.

“Or was it that the winds formed me out of a rainbow-stone on top of Mount Commodore? I can never quite remember those details.” I laughed, while she rolled her eyes in response.

“Hey, Diana.” Karen greeted me, when Nisha and I entered the coffee-shop. To my surprise, I noticed Tanisha sitting at the table with her, both of them having cups of iced coffee in front of them.

“Hello, Karen, Tanisha. I think you have met Nisha, she shares my Electrical Engineering Major.” I introduced them, even though I was relatively sure they had met before, at least in passing.

“Want to sit with us? Or do you have to head straight back out?” Karen asked, gesturing to the empty seats at their table. After a short, non-verbal exchange with Nisha, we both nodded.

“Sure, give us a moment to order something to drink.” I replied, before we both moved to the counter.

“Say, Diana,” Nisha paused for a second, looking around for a moment, before quietly continuing, “Do you know why Tanisha is feeling so awkward? She’s radiating so much, it’s almost uncomfortable to be nearby.” she asked, looking a little concerned.

“I do know the reason, or at least I suspect the reason. But that is not my secret to share, nor would it be my secret to share that you can detect their emotions a little more easily than anyone else. If you want to ask, you can, but I will not comment on that.” I told her, even as a part of me wondered if having the two of them talk would be beneficial. Nisha was nothing, if not perceptive and from what I had experienced with her, she might be able to give good advice regarding Tanisha’s troubles.

If nothing else, it would give Tanisha a different, maybe more relatable, perspective than the ones she had been given by Sophia and myself.