Tara stood in Zo'or's chamber silently . . . obediently. Her green eyes fixed on the Companion for the United Nations . . . Her boss. How did she get herself into this mess, she wondered. Working for Ta'al had been one thing. He had been her best friend. When she had faced personal problems she went to him. He would listen, and though he often couldn't help her with them, he had been a listening ear. He had been kind and she loved him dearly. All she really wanted was to go home to Greece and to Ta'al . . . if he hadn't been recalled from Earth yet.
 "You are to have the next week off," Zo'or announced condescendingly with a menacing smile. "The Synod feels that those who knew Commander William Boone well should have time off to attend his memorial service and mourn his passing properly. This includes our Implants . . . such as you."
 "Well, all I really need is time off  for the Memorial Service . . " she replied.
 "You are not to report back here for one week . . ." he replied, "You humans are so fragile with your emotional dependence on others."
 She stared at him with a hint of a glare. "When does this leave start?" she asked, trying to hide the fact that she couldn't wait to get away from him.
 "As of this moment,  Lieutenant. You are free to go."
 With a slight bow, she headed for the exit, slowing her steps so she didn't seem anxious.
 "And by the way," Zo'or continued, "I wouldn't plan to go to Greece, if I were you. Ta'al is no longer there."
 She stopped and looked at him with her bright green eyes, unsurprised. "He's been recalled to Taelon, then?" she asked with her softly accented voice.
 "No . . ." he replied, with a menacing grin, "He has passed into the Great Void . . . under orders from the Synod . . ."
 "Oh," she replied, veiling her emotions, but with her British blood burning. "Then I guess I shan't be going, shall I?"
 With  another bow, she turn and left, fighting everything in her being to keep from crying. She had only been working as Zo'or's Assistant Head of Security for 4 months, but by observing other implants, she found that they did not cry . . . In fact, they showed very little emotion. Their whole drive was for serving the Taelons. Nothing more, it seemed . . . except William Boone . . . He had been different, and he had taken her under his wing, though they worked in different departments. He had understood her and very quickly they had become friends. As she walked through the maze that was Companion Headquarters, her CVI brought forth memories with increased intensity. Like the day she had said good-bye to Ta'al and the last joining of their emotions. She had learned to control the CVI long ago and hadn't experienced such intensity for well over two years. But if this was what she was going to be dealing with, she needed to get out of there, and quickly, before she could give herself  away that something was wrong. No one could know what she was feeling. That she was ready to break down in tears. If she did, and the wrong person saw, she knew, that like Ta'al, her life would be stolen by the Taelons. How could she have been so blind to them? She kept asking herself. How could they order one of their own to die? Especially someone as wonderful as Ta'al . . . He had embraced humans and humanity . . . but these Taelons . . . Zo'or . . . She just didn't know anymore. She thought the Companions had come to Earth to help the humans, but now it seemed that their agenda was quite different. What had she gotten herself  into by becoming an Implant. Now she had to pretend to love being at their beck and call . . . With Ta'al it truly had been a joy. She had looked forward to each new day.
 Instantly, she was bombarded with the memory of  when she had introduced Ta'al to the waters of the Mediterranean. It had been a glorious day in August, the year she had begun working for him. She was never quite sure how he experienced it, but he seemed to appreciate the beauty . . . Particularly the sunset . . . They hadn't left until the evening sky had turned dark.
 Finally, she felt the sun hitting her face, as she exited the Companion's building. I have to get out of here, she though frantically, as she made quick tracks to her dark blue Pathfinder. Once in the vehicle, she fumbled putting the keys in the ignition, but within moments, she had them in and she took off. The farther away she got from Companion Headquarters, the more free the tears flowed. Ta'al was dead . . . she kept thinking. He was gone, and she would never see him again. She would never feel his warmth when they touched, or exchange emotions with him. She could no longer share any more of humanity with him and he could no longer dazzle her with his knowledge and culture. He had been her lifeline in this world. When she had been transferred to North America, she had felt as if a rug had been pulled out from under her feet. But then she had met William Boone. Somehow, he seemed to know how she was feeling, and sympathized with her. He had helped her to adjust and warned her of what Zo'or would expect. She had been prepared for conflict with his ideas, but she had no idea how much the Taelon she was now assigned to would repulsed her. And now, her sympathetic ear was gone also . . . she was alone in this world . . . with nothing but those she despised.
 As she reached her home, she ran into the house, barely taking the time to close the door behind her. She went to her room. There was only one thing that might help, she thought, as she began to light the 20-odd candles she had spread around her room. She would try to meditate. Swiftly, she struck the long match and began going to each individual candle. She didn't stop until her room was filled with a golden glow. Then, she slipped out of her tight work clothes, and into a long flowing, white gown make of  silk. it was soft and cool against her skin. Ta'al had given it to her on her last birthday. She had no idea where or how, but he had wanted her to feel special. She had . . . She took a seat in the center of her bed, folding her legs. She brought her palms together at her chest as if in prayer and began some simple, deep breathing exercises.
 Empty your mind, she thought, breathing deeply. But no sooner had she done that when her mind bombarded her with visions from her childhood. She remembered her mother's funeral. Her mother loved white roses  and honeysuckle and her casket had been covered with them. Soft music played. A classical selection. She had also loved Mozart. Tara remember the service well.
 "We have gathered here, to bid farewell to Elizabeth Catherine Carmichael. Loving wife of Jonathan Carmichael, and mother of Tara and Ryan. In life, she had been a light to this world. Helping those in need. Caring for others that were sick. The Lord touched her heart and in return she touched many of us," Pastor Korinthos recited from notes he place in his Bible.  "And though her death was senseless . . . perhaps, what she stood for in her life will inspire others to be just as selfless and loving. As we commit her body to the soil, let's pray."
 Tara watched as the casket was then lowered into the grave. Her father had stood next to her, unmoving as if made out of stone, while the tears would not stop falling from her young eyes.
 "Ashes to ashes . . . dust to dust . . ." the pastor finished.
 In her hand, she had a special mini bouquet that consisted of one white rose and a small bunch of honeysuckle. The scent was sweet and pungent as it wafted on the breeze mingling with the fragrance from the other bouquets. Slowly, she stood with her father, who also had a mini bouquet, as the casket touched the bottom of the hole that had been dug. Her father quickly tossed his bouquet into the gave and walked away. Tara, stood there and took one last look at the casket. Though she knew her mother's spirit was no longer there, she couldn't help but feel that this was her mother's final resting place. Slowly, she raised her black veil and stared into the grave. She then tossed the bouquet on top of the casket.
 "Good-bye, mummy . . .  I'll love you always . . ." she whispered. For a moment she closed her eyes, letting all of her senses be touched by what was going on, so that she would remember this day forever. Little did she knew that the future would give her the ability to recall every detail without trying too hard. As she walked away to the black limousine, where her father had gone. He waited for her silently.
 Since her mother had died, her father never spoke with her. He treated her like she wasn't there. And she was beginning to feel this rejections quite painfully. And then there was her brother . . . He had been with her mother in the car. He had been shot, also. But the crash had done the damage that had caused his coma.
 "Are you going to the hospital today?" she asked, just to hear the sound of his voice.
 "No," was the curt reply. He didn't speak another word until they were home and guests began to arrive  for the traditional get together bringing food and sympathy. But he wouldn't speak to her.
 She had snuck out of the house as all of the other mourners comforted one another, and had caught a bus, and then a cab to the hospital to see her little brother. He was so tiny in the large hospital bed, with tubes and wires covering his body. He had been on a respirator, and was being fed intravenously. His skin was pale. Where had that joyous five year old gone, she wondered. He had been stolen from her, like her mother had been. But maybe he'd come back to her, she thought, trying to be optimistic. But she knew the odds. Chances  were he was going to die . . . It was the nature of the injuries he had sustained.
 One month later, he did die . . . and she was completely alone. His service was just as nice . . .  but no! She didn't want to relive that one also! She couldn't! As she used all her will, she forced herself back to the present. As her eyes opened, she found herself back in her room. She was still crying. The candles were still lit, but the melted wax in and around each told her that she had been in this reflective state for awhile. Tara then, glanced at her bedside clock. Four hours had passed. Slowly, she got up and went to the kitchen. She saw a bottle of Rum that she kept for company, along with a bottle of scotch, Vodka, and Tequila. If only her CVI allowed her to get drunk, she thought sadly.
 Turning from her thought, she began to make herself a cup of herbal tea instead. As she set the kettle on the stove, she wandered aimlessly through her home. On the coffee table, she noticed that she had tossed her purse there, along with her gun. cautiously, as if she were doing something wrong, she went to the table and began reaching for the gun.
 I could end the pain, she thought. I could . . .  But just as her fingertips touched the handle of the semi-automatic weapon, the tea kettle began to whistle, interrupting her thoughts. Swiftly, she turned away and made herself that cup of tea.
 
 

 The following morning, Tara didn't want to get out of bed. She wanted to hide from the world. But as she glanced her bedside clock, she knew she had to force herself to get up. It was  9:23am and the memorial service for Commander William Boone would be at 11:00am. But I don't want to get up! She cried to herself, throwing her head back on the bed and covering it with a pillow. Instantly, she remembered the first time Boone had taken her to lunch. She had only been in the United States  for a week and still wasn't adjusting very well. That day, she had tied her curly, light brown locks back in a pony tail to keep it out of her eyes. She had worn a dark green, tailored suit with a white blouse that fit her figure well. Will had taken her to a little Greek restaurant. The food wasn't the same as home, but it was okay . . . She had a Gyros plate, a salad topped with feta cheese and she also had a piece of baklava . . . Will joined her, having the same thing. His hazel eyes met her green. He could see that she wasn't adjusting well here, though trying to hide it.
 "So what do you think of New York?" he asked.
 "It's big," she replied. "Thanks for taking me to lunch . . . this little place is quite nice."
 "How are you doing in you new position?" he asked, staring at her with concern.
 She sighed and forced a smile. "About as well as to be expected."
 "Homesick?"
 "Very much so . . ." she replied. "and working for Zo'or! I feel like I've died and started working for the devil! He not at all like Ta'al . . ." she sighed and pushed her salad around her plate. Tears misted her eyes. "I miss him, Will . . . All I can think about is going back home and back to Ta'al . . ."
 Gently, he had taken her hand from across the table. The warmth of it, warming her heart and easing her sorrow a bit. But she just didn't know if she could continue. But as time went on, Boone had been at her side and had gotten her into a routine. There had still been bad days, but he had been there to listen to her and hold her hand through it all . . . and now he was gone . . . just like Ta'al . . . They were both dead.
 As she pulled herself from the memory, more threatened to crash her consciousness. She found herself fighting the tears that stung her eyes, threatening to fall like the rain from a storm. She had to get through this, she told herself. Numbly, she sat up on the bed, tossing the pillow away. Slowly, like a robot, she stood and headed for the shower.
 

 At 11:00am, she was at the cemetery. Though there had been no body to bury, they were holding Boone's  memorial service at the plot next to his wife's grave. A headstone would be placed there to honor his memory. He would have wanted it this way, Tara thought sadly. She was dressed in a black suit with white shirt. Her eyes covered with exceptionally dark sunglasses. Her curly mane fell freely down her back. She stood away from the main crowd and she could see all the flowers that had been sent. Roses, carnations, lilies . . . Their fragrances floated on the breeze. The sun shone down from the sky and it was warm, but did nothing to warm her heart. She saw among the crowd, Captain Lili Marquette, Will's sister Sarah . . . Dr. Belman . . . many others she recognized from work, and others she didn't.
 As the pastor walked up to the crowd and began to recite his speech, Tara could hardly bring herself to listen. Images from her mother's service and her brother's crashed into her mind. Then the pain of knowing that all she would have of her friend now were memories. Then, Ta'al entered her mind . . . he wouldn't even have a service because he was a Taelon . . . Once again, she could feel the tears coming. She was powerless to stop them. Swiftly, she began walking away, trying to dab at her eyes with her fingers, so no one would notice. But her abrupt departure was noticed. A young woman, of Chinese decent saw her. "That's strange," thought the woman, and began following Tara.
 The woman had recognized Tara from the Taelon Embassy and knew Tara was an implant working for Zo'or. Though they had not meet often, she had heard of this Tara Carmichael . . . Transferred from the Mediterranean. Where was she going, the woman wondered. As she finally found her fellow implant, she was slightly taken aback. There, sitting on a bench, sunglasses off, was Zo'or's Assistant Head of Security crying! Implants weren't suppose to cry, she thought. Not those with fully functioning CVI's. Slowly, she approached Tara and gently laid a hand on her shoulder. Tara's green eyes immediately shot up to look into this woman's face. She was petite and slender, with dark, hair and eyes. She was definitely of Asian decent, Tara thought, trying to wipe away her tears. But even more worrisome was the fact that this woman had a skrill . . . She was also an implant.
 "Are you all right?" the woman asked.
 Tara nodded, slightly. "I suppose I will be in time . . . "
 "It's just that you seemed pretty upset -"
 "For an implant?" Tara finished.
 "Yeah . . ." the woman finished. "I'm Grace Whitney. I use to work under Commander Boone."
 "Tara Carmichael," she replied quietly, sighing and still fighting tears. "William Boone was my friend. My only friend here . . . Now he's gone . . ."
 "I'm sorry . . . He was my friend, too," she replied, also fighting her own tears.
 For the first time in their conversation, Tara noticed Grace was an implant like herself and Boone had been. She didn't act like the others. Grace was feeling something with his passing that other implants didn't feel. Maybe she was safe with this person, Tara thought, though it didn't seem to matter. Her tears had a life of their own and were unstoppable.
 Grace took a seat next to her on the bench. "So you've been having a pretty rough time with your transfer?" she asked.
 Tara forced a smile. "You could say that . . . All I wanted to do was go back to Greece and to Ta'al, but now that's impossible."
 "Why?"
 Once again, the tears fell like rain. "Because I was told that he has passed into the Great Void. He was forced to do it . . . by the Synod . . . I suppose they had their reasons . . ." Tara rambled, still feeling the pain in her heart as if someone had stabbed her with a knife. "You know, that Taelon was the closest thing I had to family."
 Grace was surprised by this. She had never met anyone so emotionally attached to their Companion. Especially someone with a modified CVI . . . or so it seemed that this woman had one, Grace thought. She also thought she detected a hit of anger in the woman's voice as she spoke about the Synod ordering this Ta'al to die.  Tara Carmichael was worth checking out.
 "I'm sorry . . ." Tara began standing and placing the glasses back over her eyes. "I can't stay here anymore. The pain is unbearable . . . I must leave ."
 "Well, maybe I'll see you around then," Grace replied.
 "Perhaps . . ." Tara answered.
 As the woman walked off, Grace went over the tone inflections of Tara's answer. Something didn't seem right. Swiftly, she pulled out her global. "Ken, get to Headquarters and run  a background check on Tara Carmichael. She's works for Zo'or." With that, she closed the link and began following the woman. She wanted to know more about her.
 

 Tara got into her Pathfinder and took off. She didn't know where she was going, but it didn't seem to matter. She couldn't stop the pain and that's all she wanted was the pain to stop. Aimlessly, she drove for hours. But as the sun started dipping over the horizon, she found herself in a secluded area of some park. She found a rock to sit down on and gazed out at the brilliantly colored sky. This was it, she thought. She was alone, and the pain was too much. She couldn't live like this day in and day out. Everything she thought mattered to her, didn't. Now that she was working for Zo'or, her job with the Companions meant nothing. In fact, with the Synod having forced Ta'al's death, she didn't even know how she could continue to work for them without being reminded of what they had done. Her whole desire to serve the Taelons was when she felt they were here to help mankind . . . but now that she was sure they were not . . . She was lost. She was bound to them because of her CVI. She couldn't just quit. And now, she had no one to help her through the days of misery. Her life was over . . .
 Slowly, she pulled out her magnum .35 and ran her hand over it. Since last night, her only thought had been to end the pain, but there was only one way to end it completely. One way that the Taelons could no longer hurt her. As the memories kept pushing their way into her mind, she raised the weapon to her right temple, making sure she had it at the tender part of the skull. One bullet and her pain would be over. She didn't know if she'd go to Heaven or Hell, but it didn't seem to matter. She was already in Hell . . . Hell on Earth. The Devil didn't scare her. Zo'or did. Just one little squeeze, she told herself, feeling the cold metal against her flesh. Just as she readied herself for her last moment of life, she heard steps from behind.
 "Wait!" cried a voice. "Don't do it!"
 It was Grace! Tara realized as she turned around. "What are you doing here?" she asked, with a hint of anger and desperation.
 "Please, you don't have to end your life like this."
 "You don't understand . . ." Tara replied, her green eyes encompassed with red. "I have to end this pain! I don't have a life anymore anyway."
 "That's not true," Grace said, trying to get this woman to see reason. "You can find reasons for living."
 Tara half-heartedly laughed with sarcasm and tilted her head down for a moment. "Sure . . . Like what? Because of this CVI I am stuck working for the Taelons whether or not I have changed my mind. Why?! Because my blasted CVI was suppose to have a damn thing called a Motivational Imperative! My whole life is suppose to be to service the Taelons . . . and all I can think about is how much I hate them! They took my only family away from me. And now that I've lost my only friend, I have no one to turn to . . . I would rather embrace the void as it were, than to live like this another moment. I can't keep the charade up any longer . . ." Once again, Tara readied herself for death.
 "But what if you had a reason?" Grace asked.
 Tara stopped once more. "What do you mean?" she asked.
 "What if you kept up the charade to gain information to eventually get the Taelons off of our world?"
 Tara placed the gun down for a moment, still holding it firmly in her hand. "You're with the . . . Liberation?" she asked with astonishment. "How . . . ?"
 "I was recruited. Like Will . . . We both had modified CVI's implanted by Dr. Belman. We've been working for the Taelons to spy for the Liberation. Now . . . I don't know much about Ta'al, but I do know that you must have a modified CVI. How did you get it?" Grace asked.
 "Ta'al recuited me . . . I never even knew other implants were different until Ta'al's warning, before he transfered me," she explained as if vacant of emotions, having cried herself out.
 "So Ta'al authorized the modified CVI?"
 "He must have . . ." Tara replied.
 "Wow . . ."
 "But I can't go on anymore. I'm tired of it all . . . and I'm tired of the pain. I want it all to stop . . ." Tara began gazing at the gun in her hands once more, and Grace took notice.
 "Tara . . . would you be interested in joining the Liberation?" she asked. "You could help us? Maybe it would help you feel better about your life . . ."
 "Will there be a chance to inflict pain on Zo'or?" she asked venomously.
 "Maybe . . ." she replied.
 "Then I'd be delighted." Swiftly, Tara's objective changed from ending the pain to avenging the death of her family . . . Ta'al. She would make the Taelons like Zo'or and the Synod pay for what they had done. She'd find a way. "What must I do?" she asked Grace.
 "Let me contacted the Liberation leader and see what he says."
 

 Ken Grayson met them and took the woman to Liberation Headquarters. Tara had been blindfolded. As she sat in the interrogation room, she was silent and gazed around intently. She knew she was being watched and she remained still. If she were going to live, this was what she needed to do. It would be her new purpose.
 Jonathan Doors watched the young woman carefully, as Grace and Ken stood near him.
 "So what do you think?" she asked.
 "Interesting . . ." he replied. "Boone had been giving me updates on her since they first met. He suspected her CVI was modified, but we both assumed that she had to have been part of a Resistance movement in Greece. That was, until he got to know her better."
 "I know, it's hard to believe that a Taelon authorized a modified CVI. And we know that there's no way this Ta'al could have gotten authorization from the Synod for that. He had to have done it on his own," Grace added. "She really loved that Taelon."
 "And you buy the fact that she wants revenge?" Doors asked.
 "You didn't see her, Jonathan. She was going to end her life . . . This will give her something to live for. I think she'd make a great spy for us."
 "You do understand that it's you're butt on the line here? If this proves to be a good con, it going to come back on you."
 "I understand. Believe me . . . but I don't think that'll happen."
 "Fine. Then let's get to the introductions."
 

 As  the door opened to the interogation room, Grace entered with a man Tara had seen before. Jonathan Doors, formerly of Doors International, but now, current leader of the Resistance movement. He was shorter than she thought as she stood to greet them.
 "So you want to join the Liberation?"
 "Yes . . . I do," Tara replied, her green eyes filled with a passion, he had seen before.
 "Can you be trusted?" he asked.
 "Look, Sir, if you can be trusted, then so can I," she replied with a hint of a temper. "The only reason I'm even here, is because I want the Taelons to pay for what they did to Ta'al . . . Ta'al loved humanity. He embraced all humans. He didn't want to rule over us, or control us. He wanted to understand us, and have our cultures blend . . . but the Synod forced him to die . . . and they have to pay for that."
 "And we're suppose to believe you?" he asked.
 "Believe what you want," she replied, "But if I can't do this to help bring down the Taelons, then my life has no meaning and I'm as good as dead."
 Jonathan observed her for another moment, looking at her stern face full of conviction. "Very well," he said, "You're in."