Tasha learned that none of the Council members actually lived in the Council complex, but at their respective embassies – only the general staff (and guests) stayed on site. Luckily there were plenty of maps and brochures available with directions to the various embassies and other areas of interest in the city, and it didn't take Tasha long to find her way here.

A long talk and a good rest have done wonders for Tasha's mood. Doctor Zerachiel helped her put her life back in perspective, and while her anxiety hasn't fully left her, she's feeling more positive and mission-focused than she has since she arrived. Looking smart in her JEF uniform, she steps in the embassy and looks around for a help desk; those seem to be a staple in official buildings, she's found, and typically close to the entrance.

Sure enough, there's a desk in the lobby with an Eeee receptionist who looks from a cup of Mateh (or coffee, possibly) and forces herself to smile. "Good morning, and welcome to the Confederate Embassy," she chirps. "I'm Marwandiel; how may I help you?"

"Hi, I'm Tasha – Pilot Cadet Tasha – of the Joint Expeditionary Force, here to see Colonel Rapatia on official business. She isn't expecting me; it's not an emergency," she replies.

The receptionist glances through a schedule book, and then at the ornate mechanical clock (Chronotopian, possibly) on the wall. "According to her schedule, the Colonel should just be finishing her morning exercise in the Gymnasium. If you'll wait a moment, I'll buzz her office for you."

"Thank you." Settling back, Tasha passes the time by glancing around the office. This is a part of Elamoore she'd never seen; Captain Eyeshine was always the one to handle anything official. He'd have probably laughed at the idea of Tasha being trusted with anything important. It makes her suddenly bark a laugh of her own just thinking about it.

The office has several paintings, some of which must be original to the building, including the views of the Tower and Royal Palace of Babel. Newer ones include a younger portrait of the Senator, and scenes from what must have been the Confederate life-dome before it fell to the Imperials. There's even a newspaper on one of the end tables, the Elamoore Times (Everything in the Pit that's fit to Print).

Tasha takes a long look at the Tower of Babel, remembering it before and after the Boomer dropped. It makes a chill run down her spine as memories of that decimation begin to surface, forcing her to turn away. Taking a deep breath she looks around for something that doesn't remind her of a disaster: not the Life Dome; the Senator isn't a disaster unless she stands too close, but staring at him would be awkward; the old paintings remind her of what happened to Elamoore; the paper! Snatching it up, Tasha begins to read.

Right on the front page is a picture of the Melchior, under the title, "Glory of the Past, or False Hope?" The article summarizes the basis of the JEF and why the Gryphon is in the Pit – but also has critical things to say about the expected cost, since there's no guarantee that any new resources will be discovered. A second article covers the details of Tasha's first flight and the alert it triggered, but of course there are no details of what she encountered. The date on the paper is from the previous day, hinting that it only prints once a week.

The young woman's eyes widen as she reads the title, blurting out, "Glory of the past or false hope?" The rest seems to startle her less, because she merely frowns and nods a few times, like she expected as much. "At least I look good in the picture," she summarizes.

"The Colonel can see you now," the receptionist announces, and stands up. "I can show you to her office."

The paper is put back where it was picked up and Tasha nods the receptionist to lead on. "Thank you. If I may ask, are you a native Confederate, or perhaps from Sinai?"

"I'm native," Marwandiel notes, as she takes Tasha up a flight of stairs. "There were not many surviving Eeee from Old Elamoore, after all."

"I heard. It's very sad. I used to come here, years ago, back before it left my home world." Not wanting to allow herself to sink in to another anxiety ridden gloom, Tasha forces a smile and adds, "But, we can only learn from the past, not fix it. I'll do what I can to help the Elamoore as exists today."

The door Tasha is brought too has a brass plaque – written in Confederate and Vartan script: Colonel Rapatia Talonstrike, Council Member. A knock from the secretary is answered by a scrawking "Come in!" The Eeee girl just shrugs and opens the door for Tasha.

Not one to wait, Tasha heads right in and finds a smile crosses her face; she always enjoys speaking to Rapatia. "Ahoy, Colonel! I needed to look in to petty cash and other funding, but I also have a recruit in mind, and so I figured you'd be the best choice. I hope you don't mind the interruption?"

Rapatia looks up from… a massage table? A beefy-looking, shirtless Rhian stands over the Vartan woman, and makes chopping motions along her spine. "G-g-good m-m-morning Ta-ta-sha," the Colonel replies, her voice stuttering from the percussion. The office is done all in wood, with a big, sturdy desk and walls covered in black and white photos of locations and people Rapatia must find important. She manages to gesture to one of the guest chairs (a flyer-friendly one). "F-f-funding?"

The young hybrid pauses to take a moment to glance between Rapatia, the Rhian doing who-knows-what, Rapatia, the Rhian, and back again, all while looking increasingly perplexed. She finally gives a shrug and grins, as if maybe suspecting something naughty is at play. "Morning! Ah … ," she bends down a bit so the Colonel doesn't have to angle her neck so much, "Right, funding. I'd like to be able to buy some civilian clothes, maybe go and have a beer or a meal without coming back to the complex and signing for them. I thought I might pick up some quality of life items, maybe some souvenirs, for the rest of the crew, too. You know how they don't get out much right now. Oh, and I was wondering if you knew anything about a retired Captain named Raehab."

Rapatia waves to the Rhian, who nods and steps outside. Once the masseur has left, Rapatia sits up and adjusts her terry-cloth wrap. "For the funds, I can have Cornelius sign a voucher, but you'll need a second Council signature for it," she says. "As for the latter… how do you know of the Captain?"

"Good. I hate asking for this – I've never asked someone for money in my life – but that seems to be how it's done now that I'm part of an organization. Which reminds me, I probably need to see about escorts to prevent anything dramatic, like what happened a few days ago." Tasha just shakes her head at that flight. Moving on, she folds her hands behind her back and tilts her head, thinking on how to explain Raehab. "Gryphon pilots can't share stories?" Tasha watches the other woman carefully, uncertain how well the dodge will work, or if Rapatia will press her. Further, she wonders, too late, if asking Rapatia was really a good idea after all – maybe she trusts her own kind too much?

"Raehab is no longer part of the Confederate military," Rapatia notes, a bit officiously. "He caused a lot of problems, and came very close to being executed for treason. You don't want to be associated with him, not yet."

"Well … " Tasha takes a deep breath, then exhales and nods. "I guess that settles that, for now. It just seemed a waste to let his talents rot, but I suspected there was more to the man than came up in casual conversation." Twisting her muzzle, the young woman glances out the window a moment, then adds, "If you know of anyone who might be a better candidate, I'd be happy to meet with them."

"Your group only has one aircraft so far, and you are the only one able to pilot it," Rapatia points out. "May be early to start recruiting pilots. If you're serious, I can get you a background report on Raehab, but I would personally recommend younger people, without so much military baggage."

"I was thinking he'd be better on the bridge, where an older, experienced individual is more likely to make calm decisions than, well, someone like myself. An experienced recruit may be better with leadership and education, as well," Tasha offers, looking back. "But you're probably right. In the end it wouldn't be my call anyway; the Captain would review anyone I add to the list for final acceptance. But, hrrm … ," twisting her muzzle again, Tasha asks, "I wouldn't mind seeing that profile; it'd be good to know who I'm associating with, if we share a beer again."

"I'll see about it," Rapatia says. "But some advice, off the record: don't put Confederates in command position. Karnors, humans… maybe Imperials, with good vetting. It's an image issue. Abaddonians will respond to Expedition races more readily as leaders. Talk to the Knights for better advice – they have the experience."

"I really appreciate the advice, Colonel. We both know I'm winging all this as best I can, and any guidance is a big help. There was an Ambassador to the Knights I met on the way out of the meeting yesterday, so I'll ask her about a tour after I land later in the evening." Taking another breath, Tasha nods, as if deciding something. Then, she gives a lopsided grin. "I always bring a bit of alarm, don't I? I'll ask the Knights about escorts, too. Other than that, that's all I came to inquire about – I should probably head out and do try an earn back some of the trust I lost the first flight."

"Good luck this time," Rapatia says with a Vartan grin. "Let me know if you ever need a good massage, too. I'll loan you Lars!"

"Is that what that was?? A … Massage?" Tasha's muzzle gapes, and she goes to say something but seems to think the better of it. Instead, she grins mischievously, and winks. "Thank you. And, I would, but I don't want to ruin what I have with Gabriel." She gives a wave and begins for the door, pausing just before she leaves. "When you said Confederates shouldn't be placed in leadership positions … What's your feeling about me, then?"

"You're an unknown," Rapatia notes. "Untested. And an alien. Less preconception to worry about, but you don't yet have the bearing of a leader."

At that, Tasha laughs. "Oh, don't I know it. I'll stick to flying for now. Thank you, Colonel." After a respectful nod, Tasha heads on out. If she's got her itinerary right, she'll still be early to launch.

In the Titan hangar, Tasha arrives to see an odd wheeled scaffold erected in front of Melchior, where Dr. Zerachiel can be seen working on the exposed sensor packs while the protective 'bra' is helpfully held up by one of the Lawbringer Titans.

As Tasha heads for her Titan, she cranes her head to watch the doctor work. Waiting until what seems like a good time to call to him without startling him in to injury, Tasha yells, "Ahoy, Doctor!"

"Ah, Tasha!" Zerachiel calls down. "Nearly done here. Did you sleep well?"

Commanding-Hand, the ground crew chief, folds his ears in disapproval at the shouting.

"I did, thank you Doc!" The young woman pauses by the scaffold, then begins to look around for her armor. "Everything O.K. up there? Sorry Command-!" Chuckling, Tasha lifts her hands instead and signs, "Sorry Commanding-Hand, but the Doctor doesn't know sign."

"You should teach him," the crew-chief suggests, and gestures for Tasha to follow him as he heads for a partitioned area next to the idling reactor.

"I wish I had the time, but we have learning aids back on the ship. That's how I learned to sign, and program a Mind of Light," the young woman signs back as she follows along.

Inside the short-walled area are both Tasha's power armor and the repaired bio-suit. The damaged tiles had been replaced with fresh ones – somewhere in the pile of equipment Zerachiel brought there must have been a supply of replacement pieces.

"My ar-" Tasha clears her throat. "My armor!" she signs with an excited emphasis. "I didn't think we'd see that repaired until we returned to our ship. Eli thinks of everything. Now, if you don't mind, I'd better get suited up. Thank you for the help."

The chief nods, and goes to stand guard at the entry to the cubicle. The walls aren't so high that Tasha can't see over them if she stretched, but otherwise the only ones that can look in are Dr. Zerachiel and the Lawbringer pilot, if they happened to look down in the right direction.

I'll risk it, Eli's seen it all anyway, Tasha decides. She quickly pulls strips off her JEF uniform, followed by her underclothes, and then slips in to her undersuit. It strikes her this is one of a very few times she's ever had to put it on; normally, she wears it for days, and instead of underwear. After making sure it's settled and activated properly, she hops in to her powered armor and waits for it to close. Here we are again. Back in the saddle. Right: no flying off, no getting distracted.

A minute later and the armor is closed up, her gloves are attached and she's got her helmet under her arm. Just in time to see Eli work a lever on his scaffolding… which causes it sink down towards the ground, the apparent supports folding up as it lowers.

"That's handy," Tasha remarks in a much more quiet tone. She thumbs up at the Titan, tilting her head that way too. "I'm going to head out now if there's no worries; going to see if I can get a bit extra done if it's not pushing too hard. I have a lot to make up for."

"Everything is calibrated, and the flight pattern uploaded," Eli notes. The Lawbringer fixes the protective shield back in place over the sensors.

"Then I'm off." tasha reaches over and squeezes Eli's shoulder, careful to ease up the suit's strength so she doesn't hurt him. "Thanks for worrying about me. Don't wait up; go out and have some fun for once, hokay? I'll be headed for the Citadel when I get back anyway, if I can."

Just like her armor, Melchior has been cleaned and polished while Tasha was recovering in the hospital. The Silent-Ones are very meticulous about equipment upkeep, it seems. Even the cockpit smells fresh, somehow.

"Ahh, whatever happens, I'll always feel comfortable here," Tasha murmurs as she settles on to her command apparatus.

As the connection arm swings down, Tasha realizes the pleasant odor is coming from her own armor – it's just more noticeable in the enclosed space. The neurodes connect, and Melchior's voice says, "Welcome back, Tasha. You are in good health according to your suit sensors."

"The doctors took good care of me, Melchior. I'll note they mechanics also took good care of you, as well. Surface depth. Let's head out, we have a lot of ground to cover." As system power up, Tasha adds, "And, thank you. It's good to be back."

"They also added a scent to my powered armor, it seems," the woman adds in afterthought.

"You are a woman," the AI notes. "Women generally enjoy floral scents. Perhaps the cleaning crew thought it appropriate."

"I'm glad you noticed, Melchior. I am also a Karnor." While she can't laugh, the system knows when she's amused. "Let's go."

The black giant's head turns, scanning the hangar for obstructions before it begins to move. It proceeds slowly at first, but soon it picks up speed. Its right hand is raised before its face, clenching and unclenching as the pilot takes a moment to test depth awareness before dropping back to surface depth for launch. By the time its reached the runway, its moving at a confident stride, engines a pink glow behind it as a hazy trail follows in the machine's wake.

The Lawbringer keeps pace to one side, keeping well clear of the unfolding wings. There's no reason given for the escort – maybe the pilot just wants to see the launch up close.

The Melchior lifts a hand to sign a, "Stand by for maximum thrust," warning as its wings and tail lock in to full extension. The steady rumble of the plasma jet engines soon become a deafening roar, a funnel of pink and blue extending back from the machine. The funnel extends, the noise becomes unbearable, and then the machine is off the ground and steadily gaining altitude.

"Flight plan is laid in," the machine announces. "Do you wish to review it?"

"Please," Tasha replies as she settles in. While launch is dramatic and the Melchior's flight awesome to behold, autopilot navigation leaves little for the pilot to do other than keep an eye on things.

An overlay appears above a rough terrain map of the Pit, showing a spiral working outwards from the center, at a relatively low altitude of 5000 feet. It doesn't extend fully to the cliff edges, but does 'bulge' out where the river canyons intersect the pit. The estimated flight time for the survey is six hours, due to the low speed.

After taking some time to analyze the flight plan, Tasha thinks, "It's good; I have no corrections, Melchior. Once we reach apex, we'll need to prepare to send Tartarus an update. I've already pre-written it in to my datapad, so you have my permission to send it in my voice. If they have questions, I'll take them personally."

"Climbing now. Will attempt communications with Tartarus Base once we have begun the survey," the AI says. After a moment of silence, it asks, "Were you able to uncover any more information on the anomaly we encountered?"

"Very astute of you to ask – yes. There are actually two sets of anomalys: a UFO, and a dimensional rift. The UFO was detected by a Captain Raehab years ago, and upon approaching it in the Garuda they were flying, it proceeded to strike them with high energy microwaves of sufficient intensity to destroy the aircraft and kill all but one of its crew. Its danger is why we're remaining at much lower altitude. I have the details on my datapad. The second anomaly, the rift, appears to be a gateway in to 'another dimension' – another world. Through it, considerable water and other resources are arriving. The creatures we detected may be of this world or another. The details are also on my datapad," the young pilot replies.

The datapad beeps as Melchior accesses it. "These Forbidden Zones are quite common on Sinai according to your note. I find them very disturbing. The one we encountered put me in a state of confusion similar to what you call fear. The original contact would not have posed a threat to my armor or systems, however, via directed electromagnetic energy. I am shielded against radiation and electromagnetic pulses."

"It's good to know we won't meet the same fate the Phoenix did, at least," Tasha agrees. Her thoughts feel confused, and it's a few seconds before she reveals why. "Fear? I wasn't aware you could feel fear, or, any other emotion for that matter. If you felt what you would describe as fear, then it's something we felt together. The rifts, as you can see, defy all but the most advanced of Expedition-era sciences. I haven't a clue how they work, only that they disrupt the very essence of an orderly universe to twist it as the Sifrans desire. It is quite likely connected to what we on Sinai call 'magic.' Machines of all kinds dread the energy that is magic; it was the doom of the Expedition Fleet, Melchior. It destroyed the Fenris."

"I would define fear as a state of fight or flight stress," the system responds. "I chose flight. I do not experience panic, however, but I cannot claim to not have been partially effected by your own state, since we were at combat depth. This is by design, of course, as it gives me access to your emotional intelligence. I was not expecting you to freeze up however."

The machine can feel its pilot's dismay, along with a strong sense of both anxiety and shame. "Neither was I. A rift was the last thing I expected on this planet, Melchior. I grew up learning to fear them; they destroy airships just as well as they destroy any other machine. We heard tales of, we saw the empty docks. It didn't happen very often, but we all knew when one of them swallowed another crew. But, it was more than that. You see, Melchior, I possess the partial memories, and historical knowledge, of how the Fenris and its crew largely met their end; how my closet reflection back then, Nora Argentine, met her end. It was the same, Melchior. I saw the volcano, the SPF flux, and it was the same. All I could think of was that I was about to fail, to die, just as my predecessors had. My fear of failure and my fear of death, all right before me. All at once. And I knew … I knew what it would be like."

"Such is beyond my understanding," the AI notes. "I know life and death only in terms of keeping my pilot safe, as a continuous scale of risk, with death being at the extreme end. It is not a separate state from life in that sense, but an arbitrary point of metabolic failure."

"It is the end of consciousness; it is self-dissolution. To me, it means being ripped away from all that I love, all I am trying to build – and that in unbearable." Tasha wills her seat to change shape so she can sit up, laying her head back as her eyes stare at the roof of her cockpit. "For you, maybe it the termination of all purpose. Whatever it means, it scares me. I once sought to understand it by experiencing it through memory implantation, but it didn't help. It didn't help at all – maybe it made things worse. They were right, Melchior. They were all right." Her head shakes. "Without you, I'd be gone now, just as the Fenris and many of its people are. But, I can't let the fear beat me, or my dream will die a different death."

"Communications link established. Report transmitted," Melchior reports, as it begins the slow spiral and begins scanning. "There is a request for voice communication."

"Open communication," the young woman replies, still staring off. The cockpit is largely the same no matter which direction she looks, and the images that are projected in to her mind can appear anywhere; it's looking towards the sky that is enough.

The voice that comes next is very familiar, since it's Tasha's own (even if it sounds 'off' since she's hearing it from outside her own skull). "What the hell did you do? Did you hurt my Titan?" PC Tasha demands.

Tasha suddenly jerks up, gaping. "Melchior, what is this?! Are we getting some sort of feed- … No, that can't be … They didn't!?" Slowly, and very deliberately, Tasha eases herself back in her chair, clamps her mouth closed and teeth together, and closes her eyes. "Why is my PersoCom addressing me over the communications link, Tartarus?"

"Because I'm on monitor duty at the moment," PC Tasha replies. "Mariel needs time off, now that she's been disconnected from the system and is forced to work at merely mortal speeds 3 days out of every 5. Besides, it's easy work."

"I … see. I didn't realize they would employ you so quickly; we had barely begun to start reinforcing skills. Is this another method of skill reinforcement?" Tasha opens her eyes again and tries to relax. Maybe that rift can take her to another world, one where she can have a nice day, where life doesn't involve oddities, medical problems, or near death experiences. "Please tell me you are still wholly within the computer system?"

"Of course I am," PC Tasha replies. "I'm not ready to try a robot. Besides, this is mostly make-work to keep me busy. After all, you are the only one who'd be using this channel anyway. Now answer my question: is Melchior okay?"

"I can't believe my own synthesized AI is worried about you," Tasha thinks to her machine, head shaking. "I tried to avoid giving her attachments to Gabriel; it seems that I overlooked my attachment to you.//" Drumming her fingers, the original Tasha replies. "Yes, the Melchior is fine. Its AI is fine, too. We are all fine. Thank you for asking."

"You're fine, really?" PC Tasha asks. "I'd have been terrified to run into a Forbidden Zone out of the blue. We knew where they all were on Sinai, so never got close. Please tell me you didn't embarrass us?"

"I was scared, certainly. However, despite the difficulty, we were able to acquire fascinating data and still properly calibrate the sensor pod. The only 'embarrassment' was personal. We do have have a public face to maintain, after all." Needlessly, Tasha spawns a few more camera windows to distract herself. "I liked her better in the simulated world. Am I really this annoying? It's worse than Nora."

"Well, be more careful," PC Tasha exhorts. "I'd look really stupid if you killed yourself or got eaten by a worm or something. And don't get drunk either! I can't get drunk, so it's not fair if you do!"

"I'll take that under consideration," the original Tasha lies. "Please try and learn as much as you can about our various duties, and don't bother the crew too much. I'll be careful. And, … " Inwardly, Tasha sighs. She could have ordered her PC self away at any point, and finally realizes she just couldn't do it. Even if PC Tasha is just a computer simulated copy, she is still the only other being like her in these many worlds. More importantly, she's her creation, and in a sense, like her child. She can't just turn her back on someone like that, no matter how annoying she is. " … thank you for your concern. Empathy is a good trait; I'm proud you're learning it. Inform Gabriel I still love him and haven't run off with anyone – maybe make a cute heart or something on his personal console with the words?"

"You should tell him that yourself," PC Tasha points out. "But it's not surprising… we've gone longer without nookie than you've been away! Speaking of which, the virtual version isn't bad! And you never have a full bladder to worry about. Fred is pretty decent… "

"Oh gods, really?! Am I really hearing this – don't answer that!" Tasha rubs her face with both hands; maybe dying isn't as bad as she thought; it must be better than listening to her virtual self's sexual escapades – and when did she ever say 'nookie?' "That's … That's very nice, um … Me. PC Me. But, is that really the kind of … skill reinforcement … " "Ugh, ow. I think my brain is dying." " … that you need? Wait, Fred actually did … ? I'm going to have words with him when I get back. My ability in bed is not a freely accessible skill library."

"We didn't actually use a bed," PC Tasha points out, sounding amused. "And all work and no play, you know. Think of it as positive rewards reinforcement. Like the motorcycling with Nora! I'm working on 'building' one from scratch now; I'll send you the plans when I have it done. Trying to base it on locally available parts, after all."

Glad the topic is finally moving away from virtual sex with her virtual self, Tasha quickly warms up to the new topic. "I've learned a great deal of parts are available here to manufacture a personal motorcycle. Don't tell Nora, but that's one of the gifts I intend to bring her, if I can. If I'm able, I'll bring some for you, too. Don't worry about me – I'm too busy to build a motorcycle, and I have the Melchior."

"Can't feel the wind in your face in Mel though," PC Tasha says. "Although, really… you can feel it as well as I do if you have him simulate it, right? When do you think you'll be able to come back? There's no rush… it's going to be a few weeks before the next Ajax run brings it by. Remiel and I are both working on Gabriel, suggesting he visit the Pit. For political reasons, and so forth, officially."

"I can feel a great deal in full depth, even pain. It's not perfect, but it's more than enough. There's the peculiar lack of sensation of breathing, and heart beat, but that's not something you … would … " Tasha winces. She just can't say it. She can't explain how her copied self will never feel what it is to be alive, and selfishly, she can't allow herself to empathize what it would be like to be reduced to life as a PersoCom projection. Instead, she quickly changes subjects. Thankfully it isn't hard given that subject is her mate coming here. "Oh! Gabriel will be coming? That's wonderful! I'm sure he'll enjoy it; the Pit is a fascinating place, if rife with politics."

"Have you gone to any of the old haunts yet?" PC Tasha asks. "What was that place where old whatshisname puked for like an hour after having the local beer? Gah, why couldn't you have focused on all of the interesting memories when you birthed me?"

"I was trying to keep you from making the same mistakes I did, and because I need you to fulfill certain purposes. You are supposed to be my assistant, after all. Somehow, you're far more active than any other PersoCom I've come across that isn't projected – I guess I should be proud I have so much personality." Despite the concern, Tasha finds herself beginning to settle in. While her copy may be obnoxious, there's also a lot she can learn from her, and much more she can teach. She decides it's probably good for her to learn how others may interact with her, personally. "The Drinky Dragon? Or maybe it was Greenwind Tavern … I guess they'd have to change the name now, given how red this world is. And it was Beaky; you know how he is with the wrong alcohol."

"Beaky! I… I have a vague impression of him to be honest," PC Tasha says. "I guess you weren't very emotionally involved with him, Mom, since he didn't leave enough of an impression to make it over the transfer threshold. Do you think I should try the projection thing? I'm still uncertain about it. I mean, it'd be like there was three of us then. Mariel says it's weird reconnecting with her in-system PC and having to integrate what it's been doing."

"Plus you'd dream about stuff I've been doing, like Remiel did I bet," the simulation adds.

"That's odd … I liked Beaky a great deal. I must have had my priorities aligned differently?" It sounds like she's asking herself. In the cockpit, Tasha's head shakes. She almost misses when her PC suggests the projector. "No!" Catching herself too late, Tasha tries a more relaxed. "No. You see, as much as it hurts me to hear that you're having problems, I think they'd be worse if you were projected. From what I've heard, it's not that different. And, unlike Mariel, you don't have any experience with being flesh and blood, just my memories. I would be worried you'd then want a body, which we can't give anyone. And, well, I'm uncertain if you would want my life. I tried to prevent that for both our sakes, but I don't know."

"So, you want me to stay in the house and do chores?" PC Tasha asks. "Granted, it's a house where I can do almost anything. But I'm not eager for the weirdness. Besides, the Lapi are up to something in the projector room. Don't ask me what though."

"I'm sorry, I really am. But, I think it's for the best. Perhaps if we are ever able to create new bodies that are fully grown and of high fidelity, then it would be possible. Until then, there's just too much social and political risk. We still haven't explained the other copied personalities, after all." Tasha never thought she'd have to have this talk. She made all the effort she could to try and avoid this, but she admits inwardly that she's hardly an expert at PersoCom technology. Mistakes were probably made; it's to late now. "Did you say Lapi? Aaron is with me, though. Did the others remain behind?"

"Oh yeah, Layth and the does are still here. I don't think they'll be staying long though – probably leaving on the next Ajax visit," PC Tasha says. "Aisha isn't around much, but Calli and Layth spend time in the artifact room, talking to Fallen-Star I imagine."

"Oh. Well, I'm glad Fallen-Star has someone to talk to. Things could be worse, as you see with her. I think the day will come, soon, when she will decide to return to her rest," Tasha sends. "I never did get to talk to the does … It's probably for the best with Aisha, but with Calli … She helped me so much … Try and let her know we appreciate all she did for us, please?"

"You could tell her yourself too," PC Tasha says. "Record a personal message, or talk direct. How long are you going to be in contact range?"

"Let's see … Barring any emergencies or obstructions, we'll be at five thousand feet and in contact line of sight for another five hours and forty-two seconds. I'll write a message to my datapad for her and for Gabriel and encode them with notifications they're personal correspondence, as this is. I have a lot of wait time, after all," the hybrid woman replies.

"Okay, I'll keep the channel open while you do that," PC Tasha offers. "I'm still on duty for another two hours."

"Don't overwork yourself; I can tell you from experience it's not worth it." Settling back, Tasha smiles a little. Maybe it's not so bad, after all. If they can ever find a way to incarnate the projections, she could even have a real sister, or even daughter. It might be nice.

It's only mid-afternoon when Melchior returns to the airfield. Aside from some 'shadows' caused by crystal structures, the scan data was very comprehensive – and will probably take days to process. Tasha also has an encrypted message for Dr. Zerachiel – from PC Zerachiel, naturally.

After a largely uneventful few hours and a smooth landing, Tasha is guiding the Melchior back to the hangar as she opens a window to review her new message. "I wonder what this is about?"

The message is large, which all Tasha can tell, since it requires a biometric key to decrypt – meaning Dr. Zerachiel's fingerprint. In the hangar, the Lawbringer and the scissor-lift are waiting. Dr. Zerachiel is even wagging his tail in anticipation of all that juicy survey data.

Tasha's laugh echoes in the cockpit. "It's good to see you so excited, doctor," the machine rumbles as it makes it march back to its assigned lot. "You'll be interested to know I've received a message from the Zerachiel Personal Assistant. Ready your datapad and I'll transfer it."

"Oh yes, I was expecting that," Zerachiel admits, and sets his pad to receive the message. Meanwhile the Lawbringer begins to remove the sensor protective cover.

"It was good being with you again, Melchior. I'll see you soon, if not tomorrow," Tasha bids her machine, reaching over to pat a wall fondly. "We'll find an answer to the rift disturbance in time. Rest well." She smiles, then bids, "Initiate disconnection, begin shutdown."

Soon, Tasha is landing beside the doctor. "Whew," she exhales, running a armored hand through her hair, her helmet tucked under her other hand. "Six hours completed. Mission accomplished."

"How do you feel?" Eli asks, as he starts downloading the data from the sensor packs. "Any fatigue or other issues? Hallucinations from boredom? Do you need to use the bathroom?"

"I did spend half an hour talking to my own Personal Assistant; I wasn't aware it had progressed that far and was active and working within the system. After that, though … Maybe I was a little bored." She gives an apologetic shrug. "I knew it'd happen. I'm thinking of bringing along something to read next time, or maybe you could supply some interesting files I can review to educate myself further?"

"Well, until I've had a chance to look all of this data over, I won't have any new flight plan for you," Zerachiel says apologetically. "You're on your own for the next few days, unless you want to help me?"

"I wouldn't mind helping you." The young woman smiles, leaning over to glance at the man's datapad. "Nor- er, nor-mal … crew theory dictates we should all try and "wear many hats," as a wise man once told me. It wouldn't hurt for me to learn more about what you do. Perhaps tomorrow, bright and early? Tonight I intend to locate Ambassador Smith and take a tour of the Winged Citadel; perhaps see about those bodyguards. Would you like to come with me?"

"Hmm, the Winged Citadel is likely the remains of a Silent-Ones's starship," Eli muses, getting a glint in his eye. "Perhaps if you can arrange for a tour the day after tomorrow? I'm going to be too busy tonight and tomorrow, but once I have the parameters set the system can crunch numbers without me."

"I can do that. Do you want to go by yourself, or have me wait to join you? I'll warn you I'll be discussing a lot of politics and recruitment strategies, and I'm sure you'll have scientific questions too. I'd hate for us to overwhelm them, or hamstring each other?" Tasha asks. Getting her own glint in her eye she then rubs an ear and admits. "I could go around town tonight instead of the Citadel. Maybe that man will have another story to tell; maybe I can get a drink out of him with a few of mine."

"Whatever you think is best," Eli says, as he manually powers down various sensor packs. "There will plenty of time for follow-up visits as needed, I imagine."

"We'll go together, then," the hybrid decides with a smile. "It'll be good for us to have another joint venture, don't you think? We never really got a chance to talk before this, and I always regretted that. You could probably tell, back during that one time I brought you the sandwich." She chuckles, then thumbs the airport beyond the hangar. "I'll go arrange the tour, maybe get a few other things done, like arrange us some petty cash. Don't work too hard, hokay?"

"Me?" Zerachiel asks, feigning difficulty in lifting his data-loaded pad. "Perish the thought! Why, I was a real party animal in college!"

"I see! Well, we'll have to share a drink some time, then!" Tasha pats the man on the back, laughing. "You can show me how to scientifically drink!" When the laughter finally dies down, she's grinning lopsidedly. "Going to go change now, maybe head back and get some money so I have civilian clothes that aren't far askew of the culture. I'll get your money to you later. Take care!"

"Hmm? Oh, money?" Zerachial asks, focusing on the conversation again. "What's wrong with my clothes?"

"Aye, money. I've decided not paying in a variety of shops won't help our image, so I need money from the Council. As for your clothes … ," Tasha tilts her head, rubbing her chin, " … it might be best if we try to match local dress customs. It'll show we're trying to fit in, maybe make us seem less exotic and alien. And your clothes aren't as bad as mine, my civilain clothes consist of: the extremly embrassing things I used to wear, skirted leather armor with a fur cloak, an Olympian-style dress, and military fatigues. Dreadful!"

"Dreadful?" Zerachiel asks. "I remember some of those outfits fondly," he notes, with a smirk. "But the lands of topless women are long behind us now I suppose. Oh well… "

"There was a tavern around here that … Well." The woman grins, then winks. "I'm sure it's gone. I must admit, I did keep the armo and cloak – it has a lot of sentimental value. It's what I was wearing when I met all of you."

"You made a good barbarian," Zerachiel claims. "No go off and do whatever it is pilots do when they get time off. Shoo!"

"I'm going, I'm going," Tasha insists as she heads off, waving over her shoulder in mock-protest. Her tail wags all the way to her dressing cubicle.

Inside, Tasha slips off the armor but leaves her undersuit on, and simpy puts her uniform back on. Her underwear, she stuffs in her datapad case pocket. "There. Let's see … The Terrans." And with that, she's off to find the Expedition Embassay.