There's just enough space between the Melchior's back and the bay doors for an armored Karnor to stand without bonking their head. And nestled on her side, in the slight depression formed in the Titan's spine below the entry hatch is Tasha, sleeping in her Terran bio-suit. And while it's expected that after an intense virtual training session for a person to sleep extra long – she's missing breakfast, and this gets noticed.

It's hard to really ever know why Layth does the things he does. For one who grew up in a culture that liked to talk, he's oddly quiet about his own motives. When Tasha didn't show for breakfast he went looking along with a few of the others. It seems his hunch was right; check the titan bay first. There he found Tasha. He doesn't try to wake her directly; though why not well … it's Layth. Instead he has crouched down like some bio-suit clad Gargoyle over her sleeping body. As the lights blink away on his life-collar, his head tilts this way and that as he watches her sleep. Perhaps trying to judge if she is deep within a dream or on that edge of ready to wake.

At first, the differences between this and other times Layth has seen Tasha asleep seem plain enough; While Tasha usually doesn't curl up in a ball, she also doesn't tend to sleep on war machines, either. Careful observation, however, provides one further oddity: one of her feathers sticks to the edge of her muzzle, tilting away from it to partially rest against the hull of her Titan. While it's conceivable it happened to land there by some quirk of fate and recirculation, it seems more likely it was in her mouth when she fell asleep.

Layth reaches down and gently takes a hold of that single feather and gives it a light tug. "There are better meals in the main hall," he says, "And everyone is waiting for you. I also have to warn you, Fred has been eying your beer. So if you sleep much longer I fear it may become a sacrifice to the dead."

"Mmmmmnnnnnn," utters Tasha, who's ears flick and tail twitches as she stirs from her more than fourteen hour rest. It takes a few more seconds, it almost seems that she has gone back to sleep, before she stirs again. This time, she reaches up and rubs at her face, then pushes herself up with her other hand. Her eyes crack open, looking filmy from her long doze. When she seems to see the world, her eyes widen noticeably, and for a moment she looks this way and that, as if not quite sure where she is.

Layth watches this for a moment, then says, "Did you not listen to the Doctor about not eating the fungus he has been cultivating? While it may smell like meat, it still has some hallucinogenic properties. I believe he did warn us that it might make us have the desire to eat our feet. Perhaps in your case it was your wings?" He uses the feather he had extracted from her mouth to lightly tap her nose as he adds, "And on a more serious note, I think you are pushing yourself too hard. It is not good for the mind to do so much accelerated drug-learning. Nora did warn both of us it can cause brain damage."

The young woman turns to focus on Layth when he speaks again, and she stares at him as he continues, ears swiveling forward. It's not certain if she's even listening, because she doesn't crack a smile, or even react much at all besides giving him her full focus. But when he says "Nora," that all changes. Her eyes widen, and she looks down, raising a hand to her face and looking at it for a moment. "Nora," she repeats, quiet and solemn. When she looks back up again, she reaches to try and get her feather back.

Layth tries to keep the feather just out of reach. "Command to Tasha, please engage main breakers in your brain," he teases lightly. "Otherwise I may start to worry soon."

Tasha lets her hand fall, then her body with it. She flops back against her machine and turns to stare at Melchior's great black wings, far above her head. She's quiet for a moment, and then, "Dreams live on forever, did you know that, Layth?"

"In a philosophical mood? That statement is both true and false at the same time. The real question to ask is what is a dream?" Layth says as he sits down cross-legged on the hull. As he rolls the feather between his fingers, he continues, "Do we really dream? Or are our dreams what is real? Are we just the dreams of an ancient being? How would you ever know?" he asks. He holds up the feather between two fingers in front of Tasha's nose and asks Tasha, "Or another way to look at it … what is this? What do you see?"

Tasha's gaze flicks to the feather, and she watches it for a moment before answering. "The bird of Hermes is my name," she replies in a quiet, yet strangely intense, tone, "eating my wings to make me tame."

"That's an interesting answer, but you still haven't answered the question What is this little thing in between my fingers," Layth prods.

"It is my feather," the young woman answers, eyes shifting to look past it, at Layth.

"Yes and no," Layth says as he twirls it. "Try again."

"I have work to do, Layth," the young woman insists, although she doesn't sound annoyed. She sits up and gives her friend a look, then turns to her feather. "You want a symbolic answer, mythological or personal. The feather is part of me, and it may or may not be real, depending on your view of existence. You were speaking of dreams."

"No, I don't want a symbolic answer. You commented dreams live forever, and my counter is we have no idea what is real and what is a dream because everything is based on perspective. This is your feather. To the Doctor is is a collection of protein. To the scholar it is an instrument for writing great works of knowledge. All of them are right answers because all are based on how they see the world around them. Two people could have exactly the same dream and from it come to completely different conclusions; and both of them be right. There is no right answer; there is no wrong answer. Everything is. And sometimes you think too much," the buck says, grins, and hops to his feet. "And right now my perspective is telling me I want breakfast. You'd best hurry before it gets cold. And having work to do or not, we're all useless if we don't eat and take care of ourselves." He flicks the feather and lets it flutter away. "Come on, Gabriel is worrying again," he adds as he walks away to climb do

Although she listens, the young woman only reacts once. She's strangely inanimate for a person who usually wears their emotions on their sleeve, but at least she nods when Layth concludes that, "everything is." When Layth releases her feather, Tasha watches it fall with a frown, then leaps after it to catch it before she clatters down on the deck. There she waits for Layth to climb down, and she joins him in walking to the mess hall, turning that feather over and over in her hand.

The galley isn't exactly crowded… but it's got more people in it than usual. Gabriel and Eli are there, of course. Eli looks proud, presenting a platter full of what might be scrambled eggs and… thin strips of meat. Mariel is setting out a bunch of muffins.

"You managed to get the green tint out of your meat experiments," Layth calls out to Eli as he enters, "I'm impressed!" Of course since he doesn't eat meat often … it's just muffins for him.

The muffins have a definite corn tang to them. With something citrus as well… orange, maybe. "Tasha! I was worried when you weren't in your room," Gabriel says, standing up and gesturing to the seat next to him.

Tasha doesn't say anything as she enters, although she does walk to gather a plate and begin placing things on it. If anything, she looks distant; neither angry nor sad. Her gaze is pensively as she looks down on what she gets, as if there was something there, far beyond it. When she gets her muffin, she suddenly pauses when she looks Mariel in the face, staring at her with that same pensive look, albeit focused now on the other woman's face. Gabriel's call stirs her, though, and she turns and says, "Coming."

"You look like you need some coffee," Gabriel notes. "Were you sleep-walking by any chance? That's sometimes a side effect… "

"I warned her that you were eying her kegs of beer, Fred," Layth calls out to the kitchen area. "Even being a ghost hasn't stopped your bad habits! So if any goes missing she knows who to go after."

"Hah, it's my word against yours, rabbit!" Fred retorts. "Your kind is well known for raiding gardens, after all."

Tasha settles down beside Gabriel, using her fork to eat. "No, nothing like that,"she says, and seems content to eat her meal and remain mostly quiet.

"Those are fighting words!" Layth counters as he brandishes his half-eaten muffin. "I'm armed and dangerous, I have bread!"

"Bread wins, then," Fred surrenders. "I only have a spatula."

"Then I declare you my slave. You have to clean my quarters," Layth comments, amused. He resumes munching his muffin.

"Tash?" Gabriel asks, watching as the woman eats… slowly, and sedately. "What's gotten into you? You're acting like you're sedated or something, and you've completely dropped your accent."

Tasha pauses, fork hovering an inch from her muzzle. Rather than bite it down, she carefully places her fork back on her plate and turns to look at Gabriel. "Have I?" Her ears flick at the sound of her own voice. "Oh. I have."

Frowning, Gabriel says, "Maybe the doc should look you over, just to be sure you aren't suffering any neurological shock or something… " He also looks to Layth, who doesn't seem any different.

"Sure, I know you keep your room spotless," Fred replies.

"Yes, but I expect you to wear the maid's outfit," Layth remarks as he waves his hand. "I've seen your old photos… "

The red woman follows Gabriel's gaze, but her eyes shift to Fred, and linger there. Then, she frowns. This close, Gabriel can begin to pick up her scents readily: there's a complex slew of them, old, but powerful. The newer, fresher scents are, conversely, almost pale next to them. She is calm, that much he can tell, but there's a sadness there – and it seems to continue as she stares at Fred.

Fred waves back, wearing an apron. "How're the steak-strips? The bacon isn't done growing," he asks.

"What?" Tasha blinks, then looks down at her plate like it's the first time she's seen it. "Oh, it's fine. Thank you, Lieutenant."

Fred actually blinks at being referred to by rank, and then shrugs.

Gabriel places his palm to Tasha's forehead, to see if she's running a fever. "Just what happened in those simulations Nora was running?" he asks.

Finishing up with his breakfast, Layth calls back to the kitchen, "Do you need any help back there? I know how confusing spatulas can be."

Tasha's eyes flick to look up, her ears canting back. "Captain?" She asks, bemused. Then she glances over, and answers, "We performed various drills, including launch, orbit-to-orbit, EVA, and pirate simulations."

"Can you beat batter?" Fred replies. "Nora wants a cake made, for when we land. And we have a few days to get it right."

"I can do anything except beef cake," Layth quips as he gets up out of his chair and heads towards the kitchen.

"Captain?" Gabriel asks. "Tash, it's breakfast, not a crew briefing. And you haven't even reacted to that 'beefcake' straight-line from Layth!"

"Oh … " The young woman glances at the kitchen, then offers, "It was funny, wasn't it?" It almost sounds like a question. "I'm sorry, should I eat in my cabin? I don't want to disrupt anything."

"You have to be careful to not deflour the batter while you beat it. It tends to spray everywhere," Layth explains from somewhere in the kitchen with Kohler.

"I think you need to finish eating, and then visit Doc Caravelli… err, PC Caravelli. You're acting like a zombie, and I want to know if it's just fatigue or something else," Gabriel insists.

There's a long pause before Tasha responds,  the woman a watching the kitchen door even as her eyes gaze seems to look somewhere far beyond it. And then, she says, "I already know what has happened." She turns, tilting her head as she looks Gabriel in the face. "I just wasn't sure if something needed to be said. Or, what to say, if something must be said. And, to whom."

"Mariel is the closest we have to a non-deflowered ingredient," Fred teases, causing Mariel to pick up a muffin and cock her arm… but she puts it back after a moment.

"What?" Gabriel asks. "Are you hypnotized, and there's a phrase to snap you out of it?"

"I bet we could fix that," Layth remarks to Fred, then grins in Mariel's direction.

This time, the muffin does go flying. But Mariel clearly never played softball, as it goes wide.

"Oh, Ensign Mathers … ," Tasha breathes, hearing the byplay behind her. Turning, she watches Mariel, and her voice drops low. "I remember her face, when she was being entubed. She asked if it was just like dreaming. A long dream … "

"Snap out of it, Tasha," Gabriel says, and actually tries snapping his fingers. "Where's your head right now?"

Even though the muffin completely misses, Layth clutches his chest! "I'm wounded! I feel all … wheat. Can't … stand," he gasps and staggers around in the kitchen area. "Alas, pastried!"

This causes Mariel bark out laughing after trying hard not too.

"What's going on in here?" Nora asks as she pokes in through the galley door. "Don't waste food! Or mess up that cake! We don't have champagne so we'll damn well have cake at least!"

Layth disappears below the counter as if collapsing. Weakly his hand waves above it as he pleads, "Warn the janitor … too much … bran."

Tasha blinks at the snapping in front of her face, giving Gabriel a rather annoyed look. "Captain, please!" She holds up her hand, trying to calm the assault on her senses. "Gabriel." Her hand lowers, and she turns in her seat and gives Gabriel a very intent, this-is-how-it-is sort of look, only to pause when Nora arrives. From his vantage point he can see both of them clearly – and their expression is the same.

Seemingly caught in the silliness of it, Layth looks up at Nora in mock horror! "It's Mariel … she was sharing her muffin with us! Honest!" he claims.

"Fred! I blame you for this," Nora says, pointing an accusing finger. "Next you'll be organizing a spin-the-bottle game!"

"Okay, this is freaky," Gabriel mutters, looking from one woman to the other.

Tasha even turns to eyeball the doorway to the galley, and the expressions match up almost perfectly. When she catches sight of Nora, though, she immediately turns away and stares at the wall past Gabriel, instead. "Maybe we should talk, Cap- … Gabriel."

"We could cut right to the end of that game?" Layth offers Nora … then waggles his brow and ears.

Gabriel sighs slightly, then takes Tasha's hand. "We'll talk in Med Bay," he says.

"Don't tempt me," Nora says. "Besides, Fred's games are always rigged. No matter the outcome, he gets his jollies."

"Thank you," Tasha says, quietly. Standing with her mate, and bringing her meal along too, the red Vartan begins for the hatchway, muzzle pursed and trying to avoid looking at anyone in particular.

"I could tie him up and you could get revenge?" Layth offers to Nora. "I think I'm stronger than him… "

Nora steps aside for Gabriel and Tasha, still talking. "He'd enjoy that too I bet. He loves any attention… "

"Oh, well, hm. Okay, I could tie you up and let him get revenge?" Layth counter-offers? He's still grinning.

"I knew I shouldn't have gotten naked in the simulation," Nora laments…

Tasha lets out a breath a few steps past Nora, then turns down the hallway as she walks with Gabriel. "This is more confused than I imagined," she begins, sounding more at ease now that she's past the bay. "I thought I had a handle on this, but now that everyone is here, I … I'm having problems."

PC Caravelli has plugged Tasha's life-collar into the bed, but not hooked up the life-support tubes. "Okay, I can monitor her brain now," he reports to Gabriel, who pulls up a stool and sits facing Tasha. "Okay, now… what's going on, Tasha?" he asks.

Tasha sits with her back straight, hands folded in her lap. She watches both men with a kind of confident intensity, even as she has begins to smell anxious. A mask? After taking a breath, the young woman begins to explain.

"I am an AI," Tasha begins, not pausing for reactions. "My mind has been attempting to tell me this for a while now, but it wasn't apparent until last night. I have had a theory: what we'll call 'spirits' – the incarnations of personalities and other traits manifested within the Sifran Probability Matrix – gravitate to their material counterparts. What I have dreamed, and outside of the simulation system, has given me the first clue. There are more." Now, she pauses for questions, looking between the two men, ears perked and alert.

The two Karnors – real and virtual – look at one another silently, then Caravelli reports, "No unusual activity or obvious rerouting that would indicate damage."

"Tasha," Gabriel says, resting a hand on her knee, "I somehow doubt that. Maybe you should explain how you came to this conclusion?"

Tasha turns to Gabriel and nods, continuing, "The second piece of evidence is my original PersoCom encoding. I know now that it was not safe, and I have subtly changed my interests and desires after that event. I don't mind; nor do I mind my status as an AI. It is just a fact, and one more clue." Pausing to take a breath and gather her thoughts, the woman looks down at her arm, tracing her tattoos with a finger. "The third clue is the Melchior, what PC Caravelli told me, and what I have read: a pilot engaged in CV mode is a borderline AI. That is, a being changed by another to create a third, composite, mind is not the same as the originals. Now, taking this together … "

The young woman brings her hands together, intertwining her fingers. "I possess a considerable degree of Lieutenant Commander Argentine's skillset, I am not the same person I was when I made contact with the PersoCom system, and … I have now attracted Lt. Argentine's spirit and partial memories." She looks up. "And I don't mind. I just don't know how to act, anymore."

"No," Tasha says, interrupting herself. "I know. But it's conflicted in practice. I exist, I chose this path, and for the JEF, but … I'm not sure how to articulate this. It is much more confusing to be … ," she gestures around, "here."

"So… you think you're possessed?" Gabriel asks, looking a bit lost. Caravelli is still busy with his monitors. "Hmmm, I see traces of a deep memory event, lots of limbic metabolic waste. Not the same thing you'd see from a PersoCom skill implant though, it's more recent. Although I can't rule out the initial traumatic deep memory triggered by the implant isn't a contributing factor."

"Possession would suggest a foreign spirit," Tasha insists, leaning forward to try and get a look at the monitor. "What I have is the correct spirit, because I have aligned with it. Or so my theory goes. You can see it in your own PC, Gabriel – he remembers what you do, doesn't he? And why is that? My thought is that he's like you."

"As I am like the Lieutenant Commander," Tasha adds.

"Yes, but… this was a dream, right?" Gabriel asks. "When you woke up, you knew it was a dream, didn't you?"

"I do dream of things I shouldn't rightly know," Tasha agrees. She turns, gazing off in to the ship, and beyond. "But is it appropriate to say they're dreams? Do you dream of of memories you never had? Deaths you never knew? I can see Mariel's face in the medical tube, I know what I – Nora felt when she looked at Fred's body! And… ," she turns back, ears canting as she looks to her mate, "I know how jealous I … She … No, I? … was when I knew you were with another woman."

"Wait… what do you mean there?" Gabriel asks. "I wasn't with another woman back then, so how could Nora's memories know? And I've had some pretty weird dreams, including dreaming I was a human, or someone from a movie or book when I was younger. You haven't really said anything that's not beyond a normal dream."

"You're close to Nora, and feeling empathy means imagining – or simulating, really – what another person is thinking," Caravelli explains. "You just had her as a taskmaster in simulated training. You may have been trying to reconnect with her as you first knew her."

"I assume some of it was symbolic," Tasha admits, holding her hands out, "because it couldn't have been entirely accurate. I remember the faces of the crew, what I did aboard the Fenris, how hot it was, Fred's missing suit … The feelings that came with it." She takes another breath, the exhales, head shaking. "But I remember my … Tasha's, I mean, father, and I never met him. And I remember myself – Tasha – promising me – Nora – everything I have always strived to give her, but never had words for. I … ," Tasha blinks, then wiping her eye and leaning back as she finds her wrist wet, "I don't know. Maybe?"

"Heat?" Gabriel asks. "What heat? You need to focus though: was there anything in the dream that you couldn't have known or imagined?"

Tasha wipes her face again, then folds her hands, leaning forward as she concentrates intently. "The heat of the lava. Oxygen normal, carbon monoxide elevated. Ensign Mathers asked if being entubed was just like dreaming for a long time. Your bed was supposed to be neat, but it wasn't – no, I knew that before. Fred had been attempting to set up a disruption device to tunnel out from the lava before he died, but it was too late. Those were the material memories." She then takes a breath, continuing. "And there was more, but it's clearly different. And I knew it was different. My – Tasha's – father spoke to Nora, saying he wanted to see who I wanted to be. He told Nora that dreams live on forever, but Nora wasn't sure. Later when I went to die – I knew what I had to do – I … Tasha was there, and there were words. A poem. I remember the last part most of all:"

"The bird of Hermes is my name," Tasha recites, "eating my wings to make me tame." Looking up, Tasha adds, "I promised to bring it all back, for her. Because … I … " She sucks in a breath, swallowing hard.

"The bird of Hermes?" Gabriel asks, and looks to Caravelli. "What's that mean?" The doctor pauses, as PersoComs seem to do when accessing the computer system. "I'm not finding any references. The Hermes was a fast courier ship in the Terran Fleet, but that's about it, beyond the dictionary reference to an ancient messenger god. With… winged sandals."

"A messenger god?" Tasha's ears perk, head tilting. The motion stirs tears from her eyes; a much more Tasha-like sight, at least. Even her voice is regaining some emotion, and her scent is alive with it. "Mythology … Wait, Mariel would know!"

"Was there anything else unusual, Tasha?" Gabriel asks. "Stray details that didn't fit or… well, it's a dream so who knows what was in there. But the lava wasn't near hot enough to get past the Fenris's insulation. Mariel?"

Tasha nods vehemently, having to use her forearm for a napkin again, which makes her glare a little. "There was the poem … MOTHER's words were different … The stator was flickering … " The young woman squints, concentrating. "My mother was there, and so was the Fallen Friend, … My father was a Karnor, he wanted to know who his little girl wanted to … to be … The murals … Something about being as much here as my father? … My father asked Nora if she had regrets, unfinished tasks … "

Taking another breath, Tasha begins to count off on her hand as she works her way through the powerful dream of the night before. "Mariel's rank is Ensign, Fre'd is Lieutenant … A bead with my hair … Nora was originally against Mariel being on the mission and … " As she counts she suddenly blinks, eyes widening, "And my tattoos were glowing when I woke up."

Gabriel's eyebrows go up at the last bit. Caravelli checks the monitor further. "Ah, if the neuroplugs activated, then it must mean something was triggered. The limbic intrusion could have reacted to something in the dream and fed information into it."

"Could it have caused the dream?" Gabriel wants to know.

"What?" Tasha seems just as interested as Gabriel, leaning forward again and staring at the monitor wishing she knew what its readings meant.

Caravelli shakes his head. "Unlikely. There's no external input unless she's plugged into Melchior, so this had to have come from inside her skull. An embedded function or command that got triggered, or some other data fragment."

"So, it's something from the original implantation?" Gabriel asks. "Something to do with piloting that thing?"

At that, Tasha's eyes widen. "You said there was no memory-editing," she accuses. "My dream was caused by … by … The Melchior?"

"Well, probably," Caravelli says. "It seems most likely – unless she just imagined it all. She does have a powerful imagination, after all. She might have heard the term 'Hermes' used at some point… "

"Ariel," Gabriel mutters. "Ariel is the name of the Messenger God in Sinai's mythology. She would have imagined 'the bird of Ariel is my name'."

"I thought Ariel was the Goddess of the Spirit World?" Caravelli says. "That's what was in Zerachiel's data upload… "

"Mariel knows about mythology. I asked her about it when I was doing Progenitor Cult research. If we ask her about the name, and maybe the poem, she might know something," Tasha suggests. "I think she's using external databanks. Fred may know as well."

"It could be something not in the databanks, but that she doesn't 'remember' until you ask her," Caravelli notes. "It's a phenomenon the two Zerachiels have documented."

"Let's find out." Tasha leans back, then, using the mental command system, opens her comm. and asks, "Mariel, you've been a big help on mythology. I need your help now, please. Do you remember anything about a 'Bird of Hermes,' 'Hermes,' or a poem about either? Something about a sea and … lees?" Tasha blinks, then asks aloud, "What's a 'lee' anyway?"

Rubbing the bridge of his muzzle, Gabriel asks, "So… this wasn't a normal dream. But it has enough errors that it's unlikely to represent Nora's actual memories, to my thinking – or more than fragments that could have been delivered through the PersoCom learning system when she was preparing the simulations and data dump."

"No idea on 'lees', but it could be used to date the poem, if you can recall it in detail," Caravelli suggests, as Mariel (still wearing an apron) arrives in the Med Bay. "You called?" she asks, looking a bit worried to see Tasha plugged into the bed but still awake.

"I'm sorry, Mariel. I know I've been acting strange, but we're here to try and address that," Tasha tells the other young woman, offering a kind, if slightly pained, smile. "We think the dream that caused my, well, personality crisis connected to an embedded something placed by the Melchior or by Medical One. What we need to know is, have you ever heard of 'The Bird of Hermes?' Or Hermes? I think I can recall the poem, too, if you need it."

"Hermes was an ancient god with a few duties," Mariel notes. "He was the messenger of the gods, the patron of boundaries and those who cross them, of shepherds and cowherds, of cunning thieves and liars, comedians, literature and poetry… uh… sports, athletics in general, weights and measures, invention, commerce… hmm… and also a guide to the Underworld. I think he had winged sandals. Oh, and the first world of the Terran solar system was named after him… well, after a different name for him. I don't know if that helps any. Nothing I recall about a bird though, but one of his symbols was the rooster."

"Patron of boundaries and those who cross them?" Gabriel asks. "That seems a definite conflict of interest."

"I think he was also called a bringer of dreams in one poem," Mariel adds, given the nature of the reference.

"Hmmmm," goes Tasha, leaning back. "There's a few things in there that connect to me, personally. Well, a lot, – what was that about cunning thieves?" She gives Mariel a look. "But, I think the connection must be messenger and especially guide to the Underworld. I was a herald, once. And, well … guide to the Underworld … " Tasha's look turns and she bobs her head to Mariel, sympathetically, "I do know a few spirits. And we are on Sheol, an Underworld. The dream was also very dark, and I remember thinking of death."

"Do you remember the poem?" Mariel asks.

"You know, the more I think on this, the more I think I remember the poem," Tasha agrees. "I was never a poet, but it stuck in my mind, especially the last part. It was so … out of place. It didn't fit the rest, and I'm usually not very good with words. Not like that." She takes a breath, then begins to recite …

"In a sea without trees … No, lees

Stands the bird of Hermes

Eating his wings … valuable? No, something else … Variable!

And makes himself yet full sable … stable

When all his feathers be from him gone

He stand here still as a stone

Here is now both white and red

And also the stone to quicken the dead

All and some without fable

Both hard and soft and malleable

Understand now well and right

And thank God for this sight …

No, wait: And thank you God of this sight"

When Tasha finishes, she takes another breath, then adds in conclusion: "The bird of Hermes is my name, eating my wings to make me tame."

"Oh," Mariel says, looking focused but not 'accessing data' focused. "It's alchemy code, but… looking at it line by line, it sort of fits with the notion of a Progenitor Cult within the Expedition. A 'sea without lees' would be an infinite ocean. That could refer to space itself, or to an ocean of the infinite, which would be the realm of the gods. Both could signify the Primus system."

"So … I'm … dreaming of Progenitor Cult … poetry?" Tasha's ears go askew, as if her brain had shorted out. "But, why? What does this mean, why would I need to know it? Not even the hidden program mentioned this – it didn't mention much of anything except to confirm the Melchior is a Progenitor device and is meant to carry the Origin Marker."

"The bird of Hermes could be a messenger to the gods, or a message, maybe," the girl further speculates. "Like the Origin Markers. The eating of the wings… giving up our technology? Humbling ourselves? If the feathers are our power – the power of our technology – then it implies a time when we've lost all of it. Both 'white and red' could be bone and blood – the dead and the living, together. That could be us, right now, with the stone that quickens the dead that stack of crystal… uh, but that's more like prophecy, which doesn't make sense. I could just be trying to fit things where nothing fits. Hard and soft and malleable though… that kinda makes me think of the Khattans and their Synths. The tame bit… I dunno. I'm just going off the top of my head… "

Half way through, Tasha begins to scratch her head. "I've done some research, but mostly in proving the Melchior is a Progenitor Cult system. I'd largely left the investigation alone to focus on preparing for launch, thinking that without the Marker, I wasn't going to get any more information out of the system. But this, … They did something to my head, and I don't know why." Her head shakes. "In the dream, this poem came up on Nora's Grendel screen while she was standing beside Fred, just before I arrived and reiterated my … ," she glances at Mariel, looking a little uncomfortable, " … promises and guilts. In the dream, I – that is, Tasha – was the Bird of Hermes, telling this to Nora, who was me, like it was important."

"Melchior is more of a bird of the gods sort of thing," Gabriel says. "If it's something to do with the piloting system, then it makes more sense to me that it refers to the Gryphon."

"Oh, and … I told Nora. I mean, Tasha, who I wasn't at the time, told me, who was Nora, that … She is my sister and I am her daughter, and we … are." The young red woman turns to Gabriel, reaching to take his hand, and explains, "This is where I really started thinking I was an AI. That I was … composite." She then nods. "In a sense, I am the Melchior, too. That would explain why I was there, because that's correct. The Melchior isn't like other Titans, it's a cybernetic system. It's only complete when I'm connected to it. Even it's avatar is a reflection of me."

"That doesn't make you an artificial intelligence, Tasha," Caravelli claims. "It makes you self-aware. The reality is that all people are really multiple minds that sort of work together. You become a different person depending on the social situation you're in. Public, private, professional – when dealing with strangers versus family – it's just the way personality works."

"Well … I get that now, Doctor. I was just confused, and looking at the world through everything I promised, feeling like Nora, against myself as Tasha. It was very disorienting, but I think I understand now. I withdraw my suggestion I am an AI." Tasha smiles, if embarrassedly. Even the band on her neck, where her fur is regrowing, reddens a little. "I've been in so many virtual realities, seen so many dreams, prophecies, visions … I guess I've started to confuse them. But," she shifts to glance at the PC Doctor, "Do you still believe there is a embedded memory, or data, in my head?"

"It seems likely," the doctor notes. "It may be a 'key' of sorts, even, unique to Melchior. Which would mean you couldn't pilot a different one of the Magi even though they have the same pilot interface. At least, that's my guess."

"All this for a … key?" Tasha runs her hand back through her hair, let's out a breath, then reaches over and grabs both of Gabriel's hands and pulls at them. "How do you stand me?" She asks, grinning.

"I just tell myself it's a phase," Gabriel says. "It's what I did with my son." He grins though.

"You were using the Melchior interface before entering the PersoCom system," Caravelli points out. "They may have had a subconscious feedback loop."

"Hard and soft and malleable," Mariel mutters. "Could be the metal mercury too. The poem could mean anything, or just be obscure… but it's Terran, that's for sure."

"At least you can't say I'm not an adventure." Then Tasha leans forward and kisses the man, getting in her good-morning smooch. Looking and sounding much cheerier, not to mention more like her regular self, Tasha asks, "If it's a key, then that also means no one else can operate the Melchior." She pauses, then nods. "That could be; I don't really know how the two systems function together. We could also try feeding my brain related thoughts and see if this … 'key' triggers again. Maybe something in my dream prompted a reply by the key?"

"I don't like the idea of deliberately trying to drive yourself crazy just to see what gets barfed up," Gabriel chides. "But… maybe you should avoid Melchior until after the PersoCom-based training is complete."

"Hokay," Tasha agrees. She shakes her head, looking down and rubbing at her muzzle. "You know, now I feel a bit silly. Just think if I had gone and told Nora this. And Layth, he was starting to get worried. I really believed I was right, too!" The woman groans.

"Is that why you gave me a funny look this morning?" Mariel asks.

"I … saw your face in the tube. Back then. I mean, back when the Fenris crashed," Tasha admits, in a quiet voice. She reaches over and waggles a hand for Mariel to come over, not wanting her to stand apart. Then, she looks up, "I was Nora, entering in the last of your tube data. You asked me … what was it? … "It's just like going to sleep for a while." I can still see it. I'm sorry, Mariel. I'm just confused; my brain is overworked."

Mariel blinks at that. "Wow… but I was never awake in the tube. The Medi Bot knocks you out to install the collar, so… that's my last memory."

"Then that's that; it was just a dream. You had your collar on and were talking through the glass." Tasha smiles, then pulls Mariel over and sling an arm around her waist. "I just couldn't figure myself or anyone out after that. I felt so badly; and now for other reasons. I barely ate your muffin."

"They're still warm!" Mariel says. "Are you okay to return to the galley now?"

Caravelli unplugs Tasha's collar from the monitoring system. "She's good to eat fattening foods, yes."

"I may suspect I'm a muffin next," Tasha warns, smiling. After being unplugged, she slides off the bench and makes a point of bumping, then leaning, in to both Gabriel and Mariel. "I do remember something about Layth and Fred beating things, and deflowering?"

"They're just silly boys," Mariel says, waiting for Tasha to walk back with her.

"Coming, Gabriel? Or waiting for my muffin phase to end before risking it?" Tasha looks back at her mate, grinning all the more.

"I'll be right behind you," Gabriel says. "Gotta pick up the empty dishes!"

Tasha wags her tail at Gabriel. "Don't be too long; I'll have to cuddle up to Mariel instead. Isn't she cute in this apron?" The red woman waves over her shoulder as she walks, adding, "Thanks Doc!" and then she slings her arm back around Mariel, whispering, "So, I talked to Fred."

Gabriel smiles until the two are out of sight. "Well, that PersoCom memory-bleed stuff… is that how she knew what Fred was trying to do, Doc?" he asks quietly.

"No idea, Gabe," Caravelli admits. "No idea… "