Head gear is mandatory in here, so Tasha finds herself in a yellow hardhat, wearing earphones and a pair of soft plastic wrap-around goggles. Aaron would wear human style gear normally, but that doesn't really work with his ears – so he has human goggles and Karnor earphones and helmet, which just look odd on the Lapi.

"So, what can I do you for?" the Chief Mechanic asks. Tasha met him before in the lounge, where everyone just called him Gizmo.

Tasha smiles at the man and extends her hand, offering him the dataslate with the shaard replica encoded on it. While far from a perfect replica, the combination two-in-one weapon still has numerous grips for use in and out of powered armor, can be split in to two equal sized blades, and comes with a number of design extra options that are not featured on the original blade. Unlike the original, however, it lacks the energized cutting surfaces, and any form of reshaping save being splittable. "This dataslate contains the blueprints for a weapon I'd like to have crafted, a prototype shaard replica."

"How heavy can it be?" Gizmo asks.

"As long as I can lift and swing it," Tasha replies, grinning as she rolls her right arm.

"How much is that though?" Gizmo asks, and looks around the shop. "Steel is heavy, unless we honeycomb it. It'll determine how effective it'll be as a shield."

Tasha also glances around the room, then looks back and asks, "Have anything I can test myself against? Then we'd know. Actually, I could also ask our own Engineer, he should know my muscle strength." Like a machine processing something too slowly, Tasha pauses to engage in that odd, near psychic communication some of the JEFers do. "Tasha to Fred, do you happen to know my muscle strength and lifting limits? I need them for the shaard prototype."

While waiting for an answer Tasha unpauses to add, "When in doubt, just make it heavy, and I'll  grow in to it. Vartan, you know!" She laughs.

"I'd recommend limiting each half to no more than 40lbs each," is Fred's reply. "Any heavier and there will be issues with movement speed and inertia."

Another eerie pause as Tasha stares off at nothing. "You're the best – I've told you that right? You forgive me for earlier, don't you?" She then blinks, smiling at the local engineer. "Each section should be no more than 40lbs each."

"I'll punish you later!" is Fred's parting shot. Gizmo looks over the plans thoughtfully. "I think we can meet that, and save some time with a bit of ballistic layering," he notes.

"Can you make her a matching set of underwear?" Aaron asks, grinning innocently.

"I'd need detailed measurements," Gizmo replies with a straight face.

"Come to think of it though, if you could loan me the gauntlets from your armor, it would help," the engineer asks of Tasha.

Tasha eyes Aaron, then stuffs his head under her arm! "He's actually a respectable business man somewhere. Where, I still haven't discovered," she insists, unable to mess his hair now that it's protected. "Hokay, I'll go get them. Follow me, bunny!" And so Tasha heads out to get her gauntlets, Aaron still trapped.

"At least your armpits aren't sweaty," the Lapi notes as he's dragged along, somehow finding it all great fun. "Can I keep the earphones? I wonder if they'll work on Rephidim."

"You'll have to ask the engineer; I can't advocate stealing anymore," replies Tasha. As they make their way back to the ship the young woman asks, "Did I ever tell you my mother and the Captain forbade me from having a real weapon? Do you know why I'm making one now?"

"Your whip isn't a real weapon?" Aaron asks, rubbing his neck a bit. "Well, for Vartans I suppose it isn't. I don't know many armed Vartans though. So what was the excuse? You were too enthusiastic or clumsy as a child?"

"They never explained the reason, but I think I've traveled and grown enough to understand what they were afraid of. You saw how angry I was most of the time, didn't you? Can you imagine the old me with a weapon? It wouldn't have took much for me to draw it, and I'd have probably overestimated myself and ended up dead. That's what they were afraid of – I'd end up dead in an alley somewhere because my insecurity and bravado drove me to fight a battle I never realized I couldn't win. I think … I think they both lead that life, before they joined The Rake," Tasha explains. Seeing Aaron's looking a little sore now, she hefts him up and puts him on her shoulders.

"Hey!" Aaron says, ducking down and clinging to Tasha's hardhat. "You remind me of my mother when you do stuff like this. And I can see what you mean: Vartans out in 'the real world' seem to be outcasts for some reason, or else were born outside of the big Vartan communities and don't know any different. Did your mom ever talk about her family at all?"

Tasha grins, reaching up to steady the man. "I'll take that as a compliment!" She gives one of those all-too-familiar, all-too-loud, laughs before continuing her story. "No, which, given what I understand now, and my own family ties, is very telling. Captain Eyeshine never did, either. I know they grew up together, but nothing else. Not until they joined The Rake crew when they were around my age."

"They grew up together? That's… odd," Aaron comments, managing not to bang his head on anything by the time they reach the Mech Bay and Tasha's armor. "That would imply a sort of sibling relationship, but Eyeshine clearly has different feelings towards your mother – unless those are more recent. I dunno. Vartans are very different from Lapis or most any other of the mammal races, so they could have entirely different instincts. But I see them adopt or fall in love with just about anyone, which does seem in line with other races… "

Tasha grabs a few tools and, holding a few in her off hand, one tucked in her belt, and another in her main hand, goes about disconnecting the gauntlets. Aaron is not put down. "Aye, it seemed like they were the only person the other knew, but that can't be right. They just don't want me to know what they were doing when they were younger. As for the Captain's interest in my mum, … Oi." The young woman shakes her head, in the manner of one who's dealt with a subject so many times it's gotten its own special motion. "That's always been there, even before I was born.The Captain chases mum, and mum resists him and chases whatever catches her eye. I think I know what's wrong now, believe it or not."

The Lapi slides down Tasha's back, swinging to one side to avoid her tail. "That she enjoys making him jealous, or likes the fun of being chased rather than had?" he suggests.

Tasha's head shakes a little even as she squints at a small bolt she's turning with some precision. "No. That's what I used to think, that she was like me and did it for fun and to be free. But I didn't do it to be free – fun, aye – but not freedom, exactly. I did it because I wanted people to want me. To feel important, to control others. And, I never realized it, but I was also looking for some to treat me well, and help me learn, to believe in me, like Gabriel does. Mum, I think, doesn't think the Captain is these things. I remember, when I was a child, he yelled at her over me and my father. Captain Eyeshine was never very supportive. He has a hard edge, and takes things in a almost grim, realistic way. It's hard to feel he believes in you, sometimes. Or, that he'll be there to help you grow. Not in a close way. Mum rejects him, because he rejects her – he just doesn't realize it."

"Harsh childhoods, with nobody to depend on but themselves – easy to see how such attitudes could grow," Aaron says with a nod, watching Tasha work. "Maybe Eyeshine… well, expects your mother to be his reward for rising to where he is? I know that trap too, but I've tried to avoid it. Don't know if it'll matter for me or not though. You don't see Gabriel as a prize, right?"

One of the gauntlets comes free with a cha-chink noise, dropping in to Tasha's lap. She puts it aside and begins on the second. "I considered that, and I think you're right. I don't know if it's thinking his power deserves privilege, but I do think he thinks he deserves mum after all the time they spent together and all he did for her – after all the time he spent chasing her. But, she keeps rejecting him, just like she did back then. I know why she kept hoping my father would return, which made the Captain so mad: she wanted the 'noble' to take her away, to legitimize her, to help her wounded self-esteem. To make her feel like more than just a poor Vartan mother with a child and few prospects save to remain with a man she doesn't want, because she had little choice." Tasha has to pop a screwdriver in to her muzzle a moment, shifting tools, then continues. "I don't have the position to see Gabriel as a prize. I still consider myself beneath him, even if I tend to take charge. Our age and positional differences make things complicated, however."

"Your mom is successful in her own right now though, isn't she?" Aaron asks, picking up the first glove trying it on for size. "She has her own business, is doing okay with it – should be able to attract someone at least as successful – although maybe she doesn't want someone self-made. Maybe if things don't pan out for me, I'll try my luck with her! She's not so different than an Amazonian warrior. Maybe she'd fit in my mom's armor… "

As it turns out, Tasha has hands that are slightly bigger than most womens'. The interior of the glove is surprisingly smooth and not uncomfortable, if poorly fitting. "Mum's doing well, that's true. I think she's really enjoying having power over her own life and business, and I think that's a big reason why she did it. It also helped her get away from the Captain; she made both of them a little calmer and easier to deal with." Tasha pauses in her unscrewing to glance back and grin. "You can try! I'm not calling you dad, though, and I'll still carry you around. I've actually considered asking mum to come out here, or sending her my pay. As for you, well, I think you avoid relationships."

"My life hasn't quite settled down enough yet to really pursue anything," Aaron notes with a sigh. "Pay? So you're going to be paid for living out this dream of yours? Where's the money coming from?"

"Well, pay is up in the air. I intend to forgo any pay for a while, at least, as a show of solidarity and faith in the JEF. But, eventually I may see pay." Tasha returns her gaze to her work, finishing off the last gauntlet and catching it as it falls. She stands and begins returning tools exactly where she got them. "The PHTO – Pit of Himaar Treaty Organization – Council, which in turn is sponsored by most of the nations of Abaddon, will, if things go well, arrange for their governments to fund us as a similar joint venture." She turns back, holding her hands out, "It looks like I may soon be an officer in a multi-nation sponsored exploratory paramilitary group."

Aaron hands over the gauntlet he has. "That sounds a lot more ominous than it should," he notes with a grin. "Try not to become a megalomaniac in the process. I hear it gives you wrinkles."

"I've been trying very hard not to let the power and prestige I may see go to my head," Tasha agrees as she heads out. "And, you can probably guess, it wasn't easy at all. At first, I really wanted that prestige, because I was a lot more insecure. But, after talking with everyone, especially Dr. Caravelli, and playing the role, I've realized there are far more rewarding and vital paths I need to follow. And if they're not prestigious, I don't really mind anymore. Doing a good job and seeing my organization grow right, and taking care of my people, is as much a reward as I could ever ask for."

"Oh good," Aaron says. "Otherwise I'd have offered to use that painting of ours in case you ever needed to feel humble again. I know they can make copies of images pretty easily in New Zion… " He's grinning when he makes the suggestion though.

Tasha eyes the man all the same, silently threatening a whole new bout of getting stuffed under her arm. The gauntlets must be holding her back. "I'd appreciate if you wouldn't mention that picture. I'm trying to build a somewhat respectable identity on this world, and while I'm sure it would improve recruitment, that's not exactly what I want to be known for." She smiles, though and adds, "I really do think you're just afraid to seek a relationship, though. You keep saying you're too busy, or you try for women you can't really live with. It's all a bit convenient, if you're trying to convince yourself it's impossible."

"It's complicated," Aaron says. "Like your mother, I guess. I want a partner that can stand on their own, without my help. That way I know they're with me because they like being with me."

"Now you sound like Gabriel," Tasha says, smiling even more. She heads down the ramp, taking the shortest route towards the manufactory. "Well, that wouldn't have been me. It's probably still not, given how much difficulty I cause my big wolf. I intend to submit myself for punishment over this when my break is over, in fact – and that's not any sort of innuendo. It's important I demonstrate faith in and subordination to him, because he's our leader, and what's more, I asked him to be. While I agree with my decision, it was decided late, and there may be repercussions. I cannot allow myself to get away with that unscathed." The young woman purses her lips, thinking as she glances over at the smaller man. "It seems like most of the women around you are like me, or else untouchably distant."

The Lapi follows along, and notes, "They all come from cultures where marriage is more about politics or business. It's the Lapi Curse, really. When family is big and important, individual choices still have to meet everyone's approval, or else there'll be some resentment."

"Have you considered a woman from the lower classes? Military?" Tasha asks as they journey down the hall. When they reach the entrance to the fabrication area she checks her safety gear, stuffing her gauntlets under a hand. "By the way, when we're done here, I'd like to return to the shop and ask the Doctor about certain medical procedures, if you don't mind?"

"I can entertain myself, if that's what you mean," Aaron says with a grin. "And… I'm a merchant. I'm not exactly 'upper class' you know. And as for military… that would have to be an Amazonian, with all the baggage that comes with it. I know what I want, and who I want… I just have to make it happen." He eyes the machines and noise and light of the machine shop nervously when they arrive. "Titanians would think this was a playpen."

"Is it bad, so do I?" The young woman steps inside, seeking out the Chief Engineer and waving her gauntlets at him. "It took a bit, but here they are!"

Gizmo waves back and comes over, taking the gauntlets and looking them over. "Hmmmm, okay… I'll come up with something that makes it easy to attach your thingy to these whosits," he says.

"That was exactly what I was thinking," Tasha says with a nod. Then, she cocks her head, and asks, "So … What do you think about that shotgun modular addition?" She even smiles, tail wagging a little.

"I think our standard semi-automatic can work, with a little modification," Gizmo claims. "Maybe with an extra cooling jacket and a spent-shell ejection shield… hmmm."

"It sounds like you're going to have some fun with this! Do you need anything else from me? My engineering skills are limited to a narrow scope of Expedition-era starship technology and some basic principles, but I can lift a hammer and carry a ignot just fine," offers the half-Vartan. She even nudges Aaron forward a little. "And I'm sure he's also useful in some way!"

"I can whip up some burn cream," Aaron offers.

"Well, there you go," Tasha says with a smile.

"Well, if you want to help, come 'round tomorrow," Gizmo offers. "We'll want to do some testing before final assembly, after all."

"I'll be here then. Since you don't need anything else from me – and let me know if you do – I'm going to return to the Bellerophon. And," she holds out her right hand, "thanks for doing this for me. I hope we get to work together more, in the future."

Gizmo shakes, having a strong grip. "Nice to see a girl interested in machining!" he notes.

Tasha grins widely at that. "Machines of all types! I'm even a bit of a machine myself, but you probably know about that. If you're interested, I'll be deploying my Titan to the Ajax in a few days – I'll let you know when?"

"Sure, I'll want to make sure the harness is done right," Gizmo claims, wagging his tail.

"You're a good man, Gizmo." Tasha pats the hand with her other, then steps back and slings an arm around Aaron's shoulders. "Back to the ship!" And soon the two are off again, Tasha's tail wagging behind her.

"So, do I get to stay aboard, or do I need to try and seduce Scholar-to-Aliens in order to get a bed?" Aaron asks.

"I can't authorize additional passengers to the Bellerophon at this time, and I believe the Captain would be hesitant to as well, because of politics. We don't want to suggest we provide special favors to friends, but you did see the Fenris, so it may be possible. You'd have to ask the Captain yourself – I've decided I've made enough controversial decisions for one day." The young woman then grimaces. "Oi, Scholar-to-Aliens, now there's a sour woman. She feels like the Archon's exasperated mother, despite their high status and lack of familial connection."

"Maybe she's his teacher," Aaron suggests. "Who better to instruct young politicians than someone who studies foreign societies? And if I talk to Akkers, should I ask him to be lenient with you… or offer suggestions on punishments?"

"I think you're right, she may well be his teacher. He's a very good man, and if she's partly responsible for that, I've been too hard on her. Despite my feelings-" Tasha glances over, brow raising as she inserts, "which I'm working on, by the way-" before gazing forward and continuing, "I'm growing fond of him. It's nice to have someone else my age in a leadership position. I never imagined I'd need to relate to someone, or that there was anyone, or even that I'd be here, but there you go. As for the Captain … " Tasha takes a deep breath, then shakes her head, exhaling. "I would stay out of it. Asking for your help would be cheating my own ideals, and the ideals I hope to convey."

"Should I at least warn him that you expect a punishment, so he'll have time to think up a good one?" Aaron asks, stepping in front of Tasha and walking backwards with his hands clasped behind his back.

"You … could, yes. It's important he understands why I'm putting myself forward for punishment, however." Tasha tilts her head, holding her arms out as they cross the deck towards the ramp. "He needs to understand I'm doing this not out of guilt exactly, or because I want him to personally like me, but because I feel it's necessary to maintain my ideals, and the ideals of authority and responsibility within the JEF. He should know that I realize in acting alone I potentially endangered the ship, did not inform him, and may have even painted him in an unfavorable light by being the one to voice morality, not him. I want to demonstrate I still respect his authority and didn't do what I did lightly, and accept the consequences – as well as understand his authority. That I am hold myself responsible for this breech."

"Do you have any idea of how Karnors punish one another though?" Aaron asks. "Or how it's done in the military, for that matter?"

"No. It is not necessary I know, or be comfortable," Tasha replies, solemnly.

Aaron salutes when they get to the top of the gangway. "I'll go talk to him then, while you get your doctor time in. I can follow my nose to find him."

"Be nice to the crew, even the unusual ones. They're my family, and they deserve respect, as do we all," the young woman insists. She gives brief directions as to where Gabriel's cabin is, then waves. "If you're lost, just say, "Mother, point me towards," and list where you want to go, or who you want to find. The nearest console should display the information. Mother is always aware of our location."

"That is creepy to know," Aaron says, and heads through the vehicle bay to the lower deck, jogging ahead of Tasha.

Tasha folds her hands behind her back as she walks sedately towards the Med Bay, taking a moment to watch the buck head off. He's such a nice man, I hope he can find who he's looking for. If not for him, maybe I never would have, either.

Passing the Bio Lab, Tasha hears familiar voices, and a quick check shows all three of the doctors present: PCs Caravelli and Zerachiel, along with the real Dr. Zerachiel. Seeing him next to his PersoCom brings home just how hard the resuscitation and healing process must have been, as the real Eli looks noticeably older than his projection.

Tasha swallows down her grief at seeing the one living man's advanced aging, knowing it must be a sore spot and not wanting to show any reaction that might hurt him further. Instead, she forces her best smile and tries to think positive thoughts, hoping the motions will change her scent by the time she's entered fully. "Ahoy, Doctors!"

"Oh, Cadet Tasha," Dr. Caravelli says, smiling to her. "We were just going over technical requirements for the cloning systems."

"Kismet, because that … " Kismet? " … That's exactly what I came by to talk about," Tasha replies, her smile momentarily short circuited by the oddness of Nora's vocabulary sneaking up on her, again.

"Best join us then," the man says, gesturing to an empty chair.

Tasha makes her way over and settles in, folding her hands in her lap. "I should note, the sheer weight of your combined doctoral credentials is very intimidating!"

"Really?" the real Zerachiel asks. "I'm sure the certificates don't even weigh a full pound… unless you count the frames."

"I had a zirconium frame for mine," Caravelli notes.

"Knowledge is worth its weight in gold, isn't it?" Tasha asks, tail wagging. "Zirconium?

"It a sort of industrial crystal… " Caravelli starts to explain, then says, "It's not important. We're talking about energy requirements here."

"Go on? I'm afraid my engineering knowledge is limited, but I'll try and keep up," the young woman insists, ears swiveling forward in that timeless look of canid attention.

"Tartarus uses four geothermal dynamos for power, although three of them are idle right now," PC Zerachiel notes. "With all four online, we could meet our ideal energy budget."

"I recall the base has been repurposed several times, and that the lower sections are something of a mystery," Tasha notes.

Thinking about Tasha's lack of background knowledge, the real Eli explains, "You know how the stators can manipulate inertia to speed up or slow down the apparent passage of time? Well, we can do something similar in the cloning tanks, but it requires a tremendous amount of power to partially suppress inertia and account for the accelerated use of consumables and waste production. But, it lets a clone be grown at ten times the normal rate, from an outside perspective."

"I … think I understand?" Manipulation of spacetime was one of the hardest subjects for Tasha to grasp, being that it rewrote Tasha's understanding of the material composition of the universe. Even now, it gives her a bit of a headache to think about. "You're going to … speed up relative time, by manipulating spacetime … creating a pocket of … acceleration relative to our own, and are … trying to counteract the side effects? Like, external radiation buildup across the event horizon?"

"Well, nothing so deep," Eli notes. "This isn't the same as dealing with a spaceship; we're only suppressing inertial effects locally, within the tube, with a special electric field effect. It's just very power intensive. But with enough of that power, we could grow three clones in about a year."

"That's amazing!" Tasha exclaims, head shaking. "How old would they be? Or, I mean, appear to be?"

"About age ten," Caravelli answers. "The brain is fully developed by then, given proper stimulation throughout the process."

"How does creation of the mind work, exactly? They won't be awake, will they? Will you use some combination of the PersoCom memory transfer and education system, like you did with us?" The young woman inquires, leaning forward with sheer curious energy.

PC Zerachiel notes, "We'll also be creating livestock for the Pit, to justify the use of so much energy."

Tasha can't help but make a face at that, despite knowing full well how important the livestock are. Anything that reduces the dignity of the children – her children – meets instant disapproval. "I can't say I like the idea of them growing next to food items, but the non-sentimental part of me recognizes the importance."

"The PersoCom system will be used, yes, but not in the same way you've experienced it," Caravelli says. "Your brain was already fully developed, so information could be stored in large dumps, and then your mind trained to access it. For the clones, they will be fed a constant stream over their development, experiencing it as a virtual reality consistent with the PersoCom memories and generic information to fill the gaps. We've no idea how the Artifact and its 'spirit memory' will affect them, if at all. We're hoping one of those Spirit magicians can't give some feedback in that regard. Ideally, the existing PersoCom 'spirit projections' would simply snap over into the new bodies, so that we don't have a doubling-up again."

Tasha nods throughout the explanation, although her ears flick at the mention of 'spirit mages.' "You'll be happy to know," she doesn't sound particularly happy about it, "that I've passed on a request for meeting with Caroban representatives, so that may provide the chance to speak with a … mage, of your choice. I can also try asking the artifact directly, assuming it wants to answer me."

"May be best to wait on interacting directly with that thing," Eli notes. "Not until we're sure we'll have viable bodies. But I imagine that if it can recreate them as it has, it can also transfer their essence to the clones, and just leave the original PersoCom elements behind."

"You'd know better than I," Tasha agrees, head nodding again. She leans back and casts a glance at one of the tubes, giving it a look of longing she can't quite prevent. "If they're children, who will their parents be?"

"Well… biologically it'd be the gene-sequencing computer," Caravelli says. "Mentally, most likely, it will be their own PersoComs. Only they can exist within the virtual reality at all times with them. So you could say they are their own parents."

"Oh." Tasha is quiet for a long moment, staring at the tank and obviously forcing a very neutral face. Eventually, she looks back and asks, "Will they be exactly like their parents, grown up, then? Will they need anything else?"

"Well, they'll have their knowledge and personalities," Caravelli says, and then shrugs. "But they'll still be children. The brain develops as it does for a reason, and even though they'll have adult knowledge, they will not necessarily have adult reasoning abilities at all times."

"This is very complicated." Tasha reaches up and rubs at the bridge of her muzzle a moment, then shakes her head. "We'll need to address how and why we have child clones of PersoCom entities who's physical bodies perished ages ago, and we're already a little uncertain what the governments will make of how we seem to have brought back the … Well, whatever we did. I was going to offer some part of my own DNA, but … Never mind, it was a stupid idea."

"The system is designed to work with specially tailored DNA," Caravelli points out. "You can't just take a few cells from inside your cheek and grow another Tasha, for example. It will still take almost a hundred days to recreate the proper genetic sequences for the three of them."

Tasha nods. "Stupid," she agrees. Pushing herself up to sitting again, she asks in a more or less deflated tone, "Do you need anything else?"

"Hold on," Caravelli says, holding up a hand. "What's wrong, Tasha? Did you really want them to literally be your children?"

The young woman's ears flatten to her head, and she can't manage meeting the three doctors gaze any further. "It doesn't matter what I want," she replies stiffly.

"It might be possible for you to have children the natural way," Caravelli offers. "With a little help."

Tasha glances back, brows raising. She looks hopeful for a moment, but then a veil of gloom overshadows it. "I know," she replies, head bobbing. "But I can't right now. I don't have the time, and I'm going to be in danger when I return to the field. I can't slow down the JEF just because I want a child. Not … that way."

Caravelli gets up, and actually gives Tasha a hug. "Don't worry about it," he says. "You're young, you've got another fifteen years or so to decide on having children."

Tasha gratefully accept the hugs, almost pulling the man in to her lap. "Thank you," she whispers, nodding her head against his chest before she reaches in and wipes at her eyes. "It's just all this talk of children, it bothers me, and it always has. With the mention of the clones, it seemed like a possibility and I became attached to something I don't have a right to be. I'm sorry, Ramiel. I'm sorry, to all of you. This isn't what I should be distracted by right now."

"Be sure to visit me in the Med Bay before you ship out though, Tasha," Caravelli notes. "I want to harvest a few eggs, just for safekeeping if that's alright."

"You want to … ?" Tasha meets the doctor's eyes, then simply nods and relents. "Hokay," she agrees, leaning back and wrapping her arms around herself. "I was … I was also thinking, I should learn to practice uploading to the PersoCom system?"

"Mariel would be best at training you for that, I think," Caravelli suggests.

"I'll speak to her, then." Taking a deep breath, Tasha rises and seems to take an unnecessary long time to straighten her uniform as she says, "I've probably interrupted your meeting long enough, so I should report to the Captain. I have one further question, though, if you would? What is your opinion on my decision earlier?"

"I'm glad you kept us out of it," PC Zerachiel notes, and Caravelli nods as well, saying, "Copies of living people are likely to be far more disturbing than 'ghosts' after all."

"I was thinking the same thing, although, ideally, I want a JEF where a member's nature is not something we hide, to their discomfort and our profit. I believe we must treat our members equally, or we may end the same way as our previous incarnation. Dr. Caravelli," Tasha glances at the man, "you're good with people; do you think that's a sound decision? I saw us hiding Nora, Fred, and Mariel, making them strangers in their only home. And beyond them, I saw the justification to treat our members differently, which made me think, wouldn't that lead to the same inter-national distrust that ultimately killed Nora and splintered the original JEF?"

"I honestly don't know," Caravelli replies. "It was certainly a risk, and makes things a bit tricky further on when we have the clones – I doubt you could 'hide' that they're the same people, reborn, as easily as if nobody knew they were resurrected in the first place."

Tasha nods her head, rubbing at her nose. "Well, it's done. I feel good about the decision, but … not quite as good as I did when I made it. There's always consequences, aye?" She shakes her head, letting her hand fall. "Speaking of consequences, I'll be off to see the Captain?"

"Oh… good luck," Caravelli says, smiling a bit but looking worried with his eyes. He gives her a reassuring shoulder-squeeze.

Tasha bobs her head, then gives a little smile to him and the two other doctors before she makes her exit.

The ship's corridors are quiet, with Tasha being the only thing moving through them at the moment. Nothing to distract her on her way to face her Captain.

Tasha silently wonders if she's getting a reputation among the Zerachiels for instability and disturbing outbursts, but decides there's nothing she can do about it right now. More painful yet is the embarrassing admittance to her attachment to the clones, something she'd be wrestling with, and largely losing to. Her idea that she could be connected to them was primarily wishful thinking, and selfish at that, and she knew it then as she knows it now – but it was always too alluring. She doesn't know why now, of all times, she's begun becoming attached to just about everyone, but like the problem of the Zerachiels, there's not much she can do about it. Before she quite realizes it, she's staring at Gabriel's cabin door. Stepping forward, she tries to clear her mind, and knocks. "Captain?"

The door opens, and Aaron smiles up at Tasha. "He's all yours," he says, slipping past so Tasha can enter.

"Thanks," Tasha says, sounding a little tired. She pats the man's arm, and steps past him, but stops mid-way. Her concern looks marred by a tint of sadness as she looks over, head tilting, "You'll be alright?"

"Yeah, I've got a little job to do though," Aaron notes. "Good luck in there!"

Tasha perks her ears curiously, but she decides not to inquire. "You too," she wishes her friend, before stepping fully inside. "I'm here, Sir."

"Come in," Gabriel says. He's standing in the living section of the quarters, with his back turned. He's in uniform, but it's his normal (comfortable) one instead of the formal one he's been wearing to negotiations.

Tasha sweeps her gaze across the room before approaching, always finding these formal meetings far more intimidating than she ever expected. She positions herself several steps behind her Captain, and salutes. "I've brought my dataslate for uploading the mission and any other tasks you want me to perform, Sir. Did Mr. Lightfoot explain the other reason I am here… ?"

"Yes, he did," Gabriel says, turning and taking the slate. "He tried to explain your reasons too, but I'd like to hear them from you directly."

The slate is handed over and Tasha nods as if she expected this would be the case. "Yes, Sir. There are several. One, as the Captain of this ship, you are the ultimate authority on what transpires here, including the safety of the ship and its relation to the world. By acting of my own accord, I acted as Captain, calling in to question the power of your authority and my own willingness to follow it. I also did not inform you, when I could have. Two, by making the change in our plans myself, I may have inadvertently implied a lack of faith in your leadership and cast doubt upon your fairness, as I acted on my own in a critical matter. This may result doubt as to your authority over me, my faith in you, and so on. Three, despite asking you to lead, I have repeatedly made situations difficult for you, acting on my own accord recklessly. Four, I decided the direction of the JEF without consulting you. Five, I lied to two crew members to absolve them of responsibility for this. Six, I potentially endangered us to pursue an ideal and an ethical stance."

Tasha takes a breath after listing her mistakes, all realized after the event in question. At the very least she finds spotting her own mistakes easier, if not timely, and the experience isn't as self-esteem destroying as it used to be. Pleasant, she decides, it is very much not, even as it is necessary.

"However, did you violate that ethical stance by your actions?" Gabriel asks. "You wanted the PersoComs to be recognized as people – but you didn't consult them on whether or not they desired that recognition," he points out.

"No, I did not. I made an educated guess based on what I know of each of their personalities. Nora would always follow the mission, whatever the cost to herself. I decided that the mission should help Nora, for once. Fred is gregarious, and I believe he is suffering being isolated from others. Mariel is shy, but I felt, in observing her, she was uncomfortable with the idea of acting less than a person. And, I believed she deserved a chance to have friends," Tasha replies, nodding, if a bit stiffly. The discomfort only grows – what felt like a liberating, humane choice for equality now seems almost childish. She sucks in a breath, reminding herself that she does believe in those ideals, and even if she acted upon them poorly, they were always worth pursuing. "I believe that some times, you must act for others, even if they do not ask. Because they may never ask to be treated well."

"You are correct in that they would never ask," Gabriel says, "because they literally cannot. They cannot make decisions like a living person. They can react, but cannot give commands or wield any authority over others. This puts them at a distinct disadvantage when dealing with living people. So, as much as we both would like there to be equality, there cannot be. They have to be protected from others, as much as possible, lest they become slaves."

At that, Tasha's head lowers. It's something she hasn't thought on for a while, not since the Titanian pirate simulation. She realized then, and then quickly buried it, that if the three living crew members perished, the remaining PersoComs would be unable to resist whomever took over the ship. That is why her final gambit in that scenario would have been to destroy the ship – or at least the projector. It all makes her realize one glaring truth behind it all, one she's been touching on ever since the PersoComs awakened, forcing her to admit, "I … I c-cannot act that objectively about them, Captain. I cannot treat them as less than … Than people."

"As a leader, you must be aware of the strengths and weaknesses of your crew," Gabriel says calmly. "No matter how you feel about them personally. If the man you hate is the best pilot, you would be derelict in your duty not to use him as a pilot when required. And if someone cannot defend themselves, you must act to defend them – or appoint someone to defend them. These are your friends, I know – but they are not spawned from spirits or ghosts, but from AI constructs, and even though they've gone beyond what those constructs where, they are still bound by the rules that govern AIs. And those rules are all about obedience to and the protection of the living crew."

Tasha nods, her expression a sober mask when she's not slipping in to looking mortified. It leaves her staring at the floor, as she tries to retain her composure. "I thought I was acting for what was best for them. I still see them as real people, and I have a very hard to grasping that they cannot act on their own. I … I tried to help them, only to doom them further, it s-seems."

"Their limitations will have to be explained to the Council," Gabriel notes. "In a way, those limitations will make them more acceptable, because it makes them clearly artificial – and thus not a threat in any religious or moral sense. They are simply a part of the ship, expressed via advanced alien technology. If anything, they represent the integration of Bellerophon with the Primus System itself."

Tasha grimaces at that, but nods. "I will explain it, and my mistake, if you will allow it, Sir," she pits forward, eyes still floorward.

"You are a Cadet, the lowest rank," Gabriel says. "I'll deal with the Council. But to remind you of your official position, you will be given a duty that will serve the PersoComs, in a sense."

Tasha finally forces herself to look up, her gaze hardening in to something that might be resolve. "Sir?"

"Remove your clothing, Cadet," Gabriel says with a bit of authority. "All of it."

The young woman's ears shoot up and she recoils a step, mouth gaping. "Sir, this isn't the time?" Tasha protests, looking, if anything, aghast.

Gabriel nearly barks in laughter, but controls himself. "This isn't to do with us, Cadet," he says. "The uniform and other clothing are valuable artifacts, and should not be gotten soiled if avoidable. And you are going to be getting very dirty soon, I'm afraid."

Tasha continues to give her Captain and mate a distinctly dubious look as she begins to undress, eventually depositing it all on his chair, in a neat, if not perfectly well-folded, pile. She returns her hands behind her back and tilts her head, waiting.

Gabriel gestures back towards the door. "Your crewmates await," he says. "They will give you your task."

Tasha mutters something about Fred having something to do with this, then shakes her head and makes her way towards the door.

But before Tasha exits, she stops, turns, executes a spot-on salute. "Sir." Then, she exits.

Nora waits outside the door, wearing a prim uniform. "Cadet, you have the honor of joining the ranks of the JEF as we all once did," she says, and holds out… a bucket.

"This is a lot like joining The Rake," Tasha replies to the dubious honor. She eyes the bucket a moment when she takes it, then looks up again. "Are we cleaning, then?"

"You will be cleaning," Nora notes. "I'm not sure if all of those bug splats were caught," she adds, then steps back and gestures towards the ramp to the lower deck.

"You want me to go outside … Like this?" Tasha asks, blinking at Nora. If she could show much of a blush, she'd be blushing, furiously! "Seriously?"

"I'm not the one giving you your final task," Nora notes. "You're to see Mariel next, at the bottom."

"I … see." Tasha eyes the bucket again, then Nora, then the bucket, and back. "The Captain is very clever." The old her might have laughed this off, secretly liking the attention, but these days she just finds it rather embarrassing. Even as she looks distinctly uncomfortable, Nora can see her eyes moving in the way of someone in deep thought as she scans her face. In that brief moment, Tasha wonders if she really was wrong. She decides she still can't quite accept it, but now is not the time. "I'll go then?" Tasha offers, once she collects her thoughts.

"Don't keep her waiting," Nora advises.

"On my way!" Tasha slings the bucket over her shoulder, and proceeds in to the ship.

Mariel is waiting just outside the Crystal Bay, looking smart in her own uniform. "Cadet, are you ready to show your dedication to your ship and crew?" she asks.

Not used to being addressed by Mariel with anything resembling force, the normally higher-in-pack-order Tasha raises an eyebrow but decides to play along; because she's ordered to, to not hurt Mariel's feelings, and because if she doesn't, this might all end up worse! "Yes, Mariel." She decides to stand at attention, too. Just in case.

The young wolf holds out a scrub-brush. It's just a plastic lozenge with bristles, instead of the hard wooden ones Tasha grew up with. Plus, it makes a squeaking sound when squeezed.

Tasha takes a moment to peer at the scrub-brush, wondering what fascinating technology it might be composed of, why it's rather tiny, and, more than anything, why it squeaks. She squeaks it several times, to make sure this is actually a function of the device. Then, she looks up at Mariel with a bemused, if attentive, look.

"The squeaking symbolizes our youth as Karnors," Mariel explains. "We all grew up with squeaky toys."

"It is fun," Tasha agrees, squeaking the toy several more times as she listens to Mariel.

Mariel points down the corridor, towards the Vehicle Bay. Fred is there, at the door. Also, the three doctors are hanging their heads out of the Bio Lab and staring with interest.

Tasha nods to Mariel, then executes sharp military-style tern, and proceeds down the corridor. As she passes the three doctors, she can't help but glance over and grin at them, the toy squeaking in her hand as she passes on to stand before Fred.

Only the real Eli's ears blush at the squeak.

"Maintenance is a way of life in the JEF," Fred says, looking Tasha right in the eyes. "Our ship is our home, and our life. Our equipment must be maintained and kept pristine. Do you understand this, Cadet?"

"I do," replies Tasha. And in her own way, she does. A poorly maintained airship is a deathtrap, which Captain Eyeshine made crystal clear on more occasions than Tasha cares to recall. Lines could snap hurtling crates, pegs, and other things with force enough to crush bones. A poorly maintained lamp could set the entire ship ablaze, killing many. A wheel that doesn't work, a sail that's in poor repair, or a sick ptera could make navigation impossible, stranding the crew in a desolate nowhere. Given her assumption having gotten her in trouble yet again, she decides to add the qualifier, "I think," just to be safe.

"When we have nothing else to take pride in, we can be proud of our ship," Fred says. "So long as she is proud, so too can we be, regardless of our circumstance or standing – even if we're naked and exposed, the ship is our armor." He then holds out… a bar of soap.

This is looking very familiar, Tasha decides as she looks down at the soap in her hands. Oi, I guess some things never change in ships, not matter how advanced they are. After resisting squeaking the toy again, Tasha looks back up, and nods. She isn't sure if she's supposed to say more, and decides silence is safest.

Fred presses the door release, and the Vehicle Bay door opens before Tasha. There she sees… a stack of towels, and a folding chair with Aaron sitting on it. He's got a thermos on the floor next to him and is sipping something from the cap. "Mister Lightfoot will explain the task at hand," Fred notes.

Tasha's brows raise and Fred can distinctly hear her mutter something about 'almost having respect for that man,' before she enters the bay fully. After clip-clopping over to Aaron, she folds her arms around her implements (the toy squeaks) and looks like she's about to say something undoubtedly unpleasant. Instead, she simply askss, "What now?"

There's a loud CLANG as the doors close behind Tasha, sealing her off from the rest of the ship. "Oh, you have to wash the dirt out of the treads on that," Aaron says, pointing to the truck, "and that," he adds, pointing to the bulldozer. Indeed, after the run through the Silent-Ones biodome, there was never a chance to clean off the dirt.

Tasha eyes the two vehicle for a long moment, then glances down and raises a brow, "Anything else?" she asks in a too-calm tone.

Aaron scratches his cheek. "That's it, pretty much, as far as your task," he says. "I'm here to make sure you only use these towels for cleaning. Oh, and to escort you to the galley when you need to get more hot water. Cookie said you can have all you want… "

Tasha's brow goes even further up. It may well pop off her head. "You're suggesting I walk through an all-male military base naked? Is this really the way to demonstrate good judgment skills? Did the Captain actually say that?" If dubiousness were a liquid, the bay might well be full already.

"Oh, I think he left it up to the PersoComs," Aaron says. "Fred did suggest they lower the vehicles down to the hangar floor for you to work on, but I argued against that. I mean, the whole point of this was for you to experience feeling suddenly exposed and defenseless when you weren't expecting it. But don't worry, I talked to Sergeant Bear and he promised that everyone not on duty would look away."

"Uh-huh. Well … ," Tasha eyes the two vehicles again, breathing a sigh and shaking her head, "I can't say it's not unexpected and doesn't make me feel vulnerable. I think I understand how you feel, too, when you think you're helping and just end up in hot water. Or, in this case … ," Tasha eyes the airlock to the ramp in to the base, " … getting hot water." Her head shakes again, and she walks over to pick up a towel. "I guess I'd better get started."

The Lapi hops to his feet, and says, "I guess it's so you think about… I dunno, whatever the PersoComs felt. Here… " Aaron tugs Tasha's wings around to at least cover her front, which makes her look like her head is sticking out of a feathered tent. "Ready to get some water?" he asks.

"The worst part is I thought I was doing them a favor," Tasha relates, unhappily. "I really thought I was helping; now I just feel like a fool. I saw them smile and never realized they did it because they had to; no wonder Nora hated me. I just didn't understand at all – because I wanted to believe in them as I saw them. Again." She turns towards the airlock and watches it, expression fearful, and apprehensive; it's not an expression Aaron saw much, given Tasha expressed these emotions more as anger than vulnerability, before. "This is to make me feel vulnerable and used – just like I made them feel. Then I asked them to hug me for it!" Tasha's laugh is bitter before she takes a deep breath, and nods. "Let's go."

Of course, things look different when they reach the top of the gangway. Tasha can see Privates Bradley and Pearce at the bottom of the ramp in their guard position, turned away. Cookie and the Sergeant stand at the very bottom, saluting, and behind them, Tasha can see Jughead, Ace and Mugsy wheeling in a third 40-gallon drum of steaming water. "I may have mentioned to the Karnors that they didn't have to follow the plan exactly as outlined," Aaron admits.

"I'm at a loss here," Tasha admits in a whisper to Aaron, sounding dazed as her eyes fix forward and down at the group of men saluting and wheeling. "Are they doing what I think they're doing? Or is this something worse?"

"Just saving you the long walk, I imagine," the Lapi says. "I mean, it's still hauling buckets of water up this ramp though, so it's not like you're totally off the hook. I'm the one that's really going to suffer; I have to watch you get all… soapy… and wiggle around under things… gah!" Aaron bemoans.

Despite herself, Tasha barks a laugh. With an amused sigh and a shake of her head, she gives the brush a few squeaks as she descends the ramp. "I guess I can at least try and not make you suffer, so I'll gets started right away!" At least now she sounds amused and looks considerably less anxious as she approaches the bottom of the ramp. The saluting men get return salutes, albeit with a squeak as the brush comes in to contact with her head.