"I don't mean that. Assuming - that accidents don't happen. I'm not paranoid." That part's snapped out, a small sense of bristling like the grumble of thunder across some distant horizon or, maybe, just the smaller more immediate sensation of a piece of paper clumsily crumpled in a closed fist. "I know that. But accident or on purpose, if a person dies knowing something no one else knows then that still goes with them."

A shrug. He lifts a hand, sets his thumb to his lower lip and starts to pick at the skin - absentminded and much as its habitual. There's a small scar there, difficult to parse against the dark of his lip. He makes a short noise.

"The technology here or on the Station? What would you even do?" What's better than riding along in someone's mind? Is there anything more immediate than that?