There is an issue with the numbers.
Phoebe sent through the list of contracted human beings.  Along with the humans who were listed when we first left Earth, I have accounted for everyone, and then some.
There are three people too many.
According to what I felt, other than the fifty from the Screnac.3, there have been nine deaths.
Six of those deaths have been confirmed as people violating their contracts.
Heath Burke was my mum’s friend’s husband, they had two kids together, I filmed their wedding, he was the go-to guy for fixing or moving heavy things.  He violated his contract by constantly refusing his holder’s commands, even whilst enduring painful “incentives”, in the end, his holder deemed him useless and his contract unfit for resale, so she ended his life.
Emma Cooke was in my primary school class, sometimes she was my friend, sometimes she was not, one time she almost fractured my arm from twisting it too far.  She violated her contact by trying to remove her taucil and her holder accidentally administered the lethal measure instead of the sedative.
Fran Glass had worked at the cinema for only three weeks, she openly tired to sell drugs to various team members and reported me to the managers because I had apparently screamed, shouted and swore at her, making her too scared to come in for the following two days, to which the managers laughed in her face.  She violated her contact by stealing and trying to escape from her holders.
Michelle Newman was another cinema team member, she was there for almost half a year, she was very friendly to a select few timid people (aka Amelia and myself) and would go out of her way to stir the pot against more-or-less everyone else.  She violated her contract exactly the same way that Fran had.
Vicki Royston was a conundrum as youth, we were friends in primary school and never spoke in secondary school, despite going to the same place, she had several unsavoury habits and could be fairly spiteful which made it very difficult to defend her.  She violated her contract by constantly trying to seduce her holder’s wife.
Roderick Stephens was my uncle, my dad’s brother, he was serious yet friendly, a retired banker who moved to Jersey (the Channel Island) with his family, then Menorca with his wife once my cousins had moved away from home.  He violated his contract by attempting to violently stop the holder who had purchased his daughter’s contract from taking her away.
They died in defiance of their captivity.  I cannot help but feel a little pride that there were a few who tried to fight.  They died quickly and with little pain.
The list has been sent to Virrion and Rapture, which means that my dad is now aware that he has lost his only brother.  I managed to compose a message to him, attempting to let him know that I was thinking of him.  I neglected to tell him that I am planning on going after those responsible.  I do not want him needlessly worrying about me when there are more important things occupying his mind.  Erin’s choice to remain on the Veroten was not just for the sake of politics.  She has elected to take a break from their relationship because he continues to support me, whereas she is very definitely of the opinion that I am a dangerous liability who should be confined and studied.
I cannot say that I blame her.
With these six people accounted for, there are still three human deaths outstanding.
It is far too coincidental that there are three people who should be dead and three people who died o n board the Screnac.3 without leaving a trace.
I have a theory.
Well, I have many theories, however the most likely of those is the following.
The three that were supposedly vapourized, Tony, Leo and Paul, were somehow removed from the ship before it exploded.  They were taken in front of the others and executed as examples of what the consequences would be for those who resisted.
Of course, that is simply a theory, there is no proof, only a thought in my head, which is not exactly much to go on.
Which brings be to the tharat.
There are no tharat bodies amongst the wreckage, nor are there any that have signed contracts that coincide with the humans.
Orthus, with Culpin’s authority, requested details of the tharat crew members that were on each of the passenger transport ships.
They were only able to get the most sparse information.
Starting with the crew that reached Virrion. 
They disappeared.
As soon as news of the incident reached the Community, they sent out a few small teams using the Hylanx and F.T.L. to arrive at Virrion ahead of the remaining humans.  Those teams helped to settle people in and assist with getting the facilities up and running.  Only one of the teams has remained there long term, however aid has been arriving from all over so they are far from desperate for anything.  The three tharat crew members vanished before they could be asked for their identification.
The details of the other tharat escorts is non-existent.  The tharat are refusing to disclose any further information, however a contact of Orthus has passed on the information that the administration and files are saying that their files have been erased.  There is no information available about any of them.  The logs show the manifestos of each passenger ship, however information about their crews are coming up with blank personnel files.
To say that there is something big going on here would be a colossal understatement.
With each new nugget of information that we get our hands on, the deeper into a conspiracy we appear to be delving.
Either the tharat on those ships were double agents from the beginning, which means that they had to have been on board the Screnac since before Earth was even predicted to be destroyed, or they we made to disappear after the fact and the information corrupted later on. 
Either way, it is becoming inescapably clear that there is somebody, or somebodies, behind all of this.  It could be a simple case of clever and patient slavers, a political move in an attempt to keep humanity from joining the Community or even some overly thoughtful psychotic being that wants humanity to suffer.
Whoever it is, or they are, I will admit that I am scared.
I am terrified that these “incidents” are going to continue.
Culpin has shown its support by helping me to submit a plea to the Community for extra security measures for the one hundred and nineteen humans that are not under contracts, on Virrion and Rapture.  It does not expect our plea to be accepted, as humanity currently has nothing to offer in return and they have already sent out so much aid already, but we can at the very least try.

Once I was coherent enough to be of any good to the investigation, I emerged from my bunk.
We had been making a slow orbit around the site of the wreckage whilst Orthus and Gheetoh gathered as much data from what remained of the ship’s susync, which is similar to a flight recorder or black-box.
Gheetoh addressed me first as I floated up to where everyone was scrutinizing the information.
“It’s all in bits and bobs, there’s not much to go on from before the explosion,” her voice sounded tired, how much sleep had anyone had over the past few units.  “The council’s investigation showed that there was the same fault on an engineering level across each ship with no information as to how the faults occurred.  They were all of different severity, the most severe of them being the Screnac.3’s engine, which explains why their energy core was the first to rupture.  The susync shows that the fault was only discovered a few moments before the ship’s electronics were exposed to dark energy which damaged the circuits, causing the compressed oxygen supply to combust.  It also recorded someone opening the emergency channel, but only three seconds of audio were recorded.”  She bowed her head, her voice solemn and quiet, “there was only screaming.”
I did not think my stomach could get any lower, yet somehow it managed to drop.
“What about before the fault,” I did not realize how dry my throat had become until I heard my voice coming out sounding like I had gargled sand, “are there any clear records from before?  Did anyone leave the ship?”
Each being’s eyes began to dart between one another, none of them had done the math.
It took a few lals to explain my theory.
Gheetoh spoke first, “I know your ability is very specific and all, but are you sure you felt what you felt?  Could those three deaths have been dreams?  Or people being knocked unconscious?  Because, and I’m just speaking objectively, from the perspective of literally everyone else, all of the people who were on those ships, they have been accounted for.”
I could feel my heckles rising.  I resolutely shoved them back down.
“Three people died, I know they did.  I realize that my word is all that you have to go on and we don’t know each other well enough for there to be some sort of blind trust.  But if there is a record of someone leaving the ship before the fault, it proves, at the least that there was someone on board that knew what was going to happen.  It would be a flawless plan to kill three people as examples, especially if those people were already dead.  Even if you don’t believe me, do think that it’s plausible?”
She twitched her chin to the side, pursing her lips.  Her appearance since boarding the Piti was that of a slim yet solid female alive with a sharp face and no hair.  Her father had been an alive therefore humanoid shapes were her most comfortable outfit.  With a furrowed brow and a deep sigh she tapped along her arm.
A series of the symbols and numbers sprang up along the wall.
“There is one record that refers to one of the airlocks,” she was thinking as she spoke, “seven lals before the fault occurred, one of the maintenance hatches was sealed.  Which means that it must have been open at some point.”  She raised her hand to stop me from thinking ahead of myself, “it does not say which airlock, it does not say when it opened, it does not say how long it was open for, nor does it say how many beings went through, if any at all.  All this proves is that it was open and then it wasn’t.  It could have been for maintenance, it could have been a waste drop, it could have been someone on a tourist’s space walk.  It is not proof that three humans were abducted to be executed by slavers.” 
Her voice had picked up speed as she spoke, causing her to all but gasp for breath as she finished.
“You’re right,” my statement turned her head to an almost forty-five degree angle in confusion so I continued, “it may have nothing to do with anything, it may simply be a coincidence.”  I raised my eyebrows and stared straight at her, “how many coincidences have there been surrounding this series of events?”  Comprehension dawned on her face, “how many coincidences can you believe in before you start to search for a pattern?”
A small smile flashed across her lips and, for a split second I think she may have actually been impressed, yet it disappeared just as fast, as though it had never been there to begin with.
“Say I were to believe you,” she said, “what can any of us do about it exactly?”
Of course my one moment of actually being as clever as I wished to be had to be beaten down by logic.
“Nothing,” I admitted, failing to keep the slight bitterness out of my voice, “as you said, it’s not proof.  We need to keep looking, is there anything else on the susync that could be of any help?”
She shook her head but did not speak, so Orthus elaborated, “all of the information concerning the fault, what caused it, how it was accelerated, who was doing what and where at the time, anything that could indicate anything is damaged or missing.”
“Missing?” my attention snapped towards him, “you mean there is data that was specifically removed?”
“Yes,” his voice was cautious, “but whoever did it left no trace, there, again, would be no way of proving who, how or when.”
Anger is something that I have only found myself embracing on very rare occasions throughout my adult life.  It was a pointless reaction to exaggerate frustration and I had never needed it.  My conflicts would always end with me getting upset in a sad way, not in an angry way.
I could feel such frustration building and, for the first time in a very long time, I had had enough of being sad.
The only problem was that I had no real idea of how to be angry anymore.  If I gave into it, I could  genuinely end up doing a lot of damage.
The more I thought about it, the more that I came to realize that anger was a shallow, selfish reaction.  I could, in theory, store it up to direct at particular wrong-doers.  I could also recognize that the only thing that it would be good for is revenge.
I do not want revenge.
I want justice.
I want the beings that did this to pay for their crimes, to be prevented from repeating their action.  Yet, however justified I may feel, no matter how badly they deserve pain or death, these will never be things that I wish upon anyone.  I simply cannot bring my heart down to their level.
I took a deep breath to clear my head.
“We need to keep looking.  Can we search the debris?  There may not be anything we can use, or anything that can help us, but we…” I faltered,” I need to know.”

The Screnac.3 had maintained its shape.
Despite having multiple cracks and a giant hole at one end, it still looked like a ship.
All of the air locks were open.  The explosion would have forced all of the doors open, yet the seals should have stayed in place, until the power failed and the hull cracked.
The outside of the ship had been a reflective metal, which would have made it difficult to spot against the stars.  The heat and combustion had warped most of the surface until it was a dull grey with scorch marks framing each tear and airlock with blackened memories of the hurt that streaked outwards.
Panels, tubing and wiring frayed outwards, frozen in place from the lack of interaction.
We circled slowly inwards as we approached, observing as much as we could, straining our eyes to spot anything out of the ordinary.
There was a viewing platform at the rear of the ship where the passengers would have been able to look directly out at the stars.  Most of the glass panels were still in tact save a few cracks that decorated it like a lazy spider’s web.  There was something on the glass.
Moving in closer, it became clear that it was writing.
On the outside.
In red.
A quick analysis showed that it was paint, the kind that was usually used for ship hulls.
There was one word, a name, written in giant letters across what remained of the ship’s only external window.
“A. Ackbar?” Ishni’s voice said it out loud first, “what’s that?”
The familiarity of it smacked me in the face, yet I could not put my finger on why, “it’s a name, although not of anyone that I know.”
“Isn’t that what the Islamic suicide bombers were supposed to shout?” I took a moment to wonder whether Bernard’s question was any longer considered as racially stereotyped.  Was racism even relevant any more?  Surely such a premise was destroyed along with the people that perpetuated it.  Although there were at least a handful of people that I could think of that would simply transfer their prejudice to our new neighbours.  I expect it will take more than common sense to convince them that such personal views are moronic.
“I think it was ‘allahu akbar’, which I’m fairly certain meant ‘god is great’,” goodness knows how I knew that, “and I think it was spelt differently.  Why the extra A?”
“Perhaps it’s an initial,” Desmosa suggested.
“What, like ‘Allan Ackbar’,” Deia suggested, “or ‘Arnold Ackbar’?”
The realization hit like a ton of bricks.
“Or ‘Admiral Ackbar’.”
As the words left my mouth, it felt as though everything slowed down by a tangible degree.
Bernard’s face scrunched up in momentary confusion which was rapidly replaced by the dreadful understanding, “oh fuck.”
His reactions were slow, or at least so my perception of them was.  Everything began happening in slow motion.  I cursed my anxiety, it had been dormant for the previous few units as my interactions had been kept to a minimum.  Fear of the unknown woke it up in with haste and gusto.
As my heartbeat overwhelmed my senses, the lights became dim, sounds were slow and muffled and moving was how I would imagine swimming in golden syrup would be.
It was a spell.  One that my reflex liked to cast on me when I received bad news.
The only way to dispel the sensation was simple and easy, yet the slow calm was always so seductive that it was never something that I would actively want to do.  However, if there was ever a time to persevere, that moment had to be it.
I took a deep breath and shook my head, causing my senses to careen back into real-time.
“Stop,” my voice came out strong and certain, “Orthus, we have to stop.”
“Stop?” Orthus’s eyes narrowed, “I’m sorry Laura MacPhaid, I don’t understand…”
My justified impatience interrupted him before he could continue.
“Because it’s a trap.”