While nobody was sure what to expect on landing, being told that they may or may not be given a different base depending on the decision of the Pit of Himar Treaty Organization (PHTO) Council was a surprise. Until the council members can all convene, the Bellerophon crew are the guests of the Expedition Special Technology and Exploration Corps. – which has a civilian liaison to the university and museum, hinting that their mission is at least partly scientific in scope. The boarding-ramp monitor shows two guards posted, facing away from the ramp and armed with automatic rifles and short-range radios (there being an issue with long-distance radios on Abaddon losing signal, reducing things to dots-and-dashes messaging). Presumably Sergeant Bear can be summoned with one of them. At least dinner was good, if not up to Bromthen Heaven standards, and Tasha learned that there will almost certainly be Vartans in the Confederate delegation.

Of course, Bellerophon is still a ship, and Tasha knows there's always something to inspect after getting into port. While Fred, Layth and Gabriel inspect the exposed engines and hull, Tasha performs a different inspection of the computer systems. This involves watching two columns of numbers stream past, one from the Bellerophon computers and the other from MOTHER. If for some reason a row doesn't match up, the test will halt and a diagnostic system will be activated. "I can handle this if you'd rather do something else," Nora tells her, sitting at another station on the bridge. "Digital PersoComs are down until the test is finished, but I can still operate like a normal person until then."

Tasha has seated herself behind Nora, so that the PersoCom … ghost? … cannot see her expression as she watches the back of her role model's head. A role model that may well loathe her, despite all she did to carry out Nora's mission and save those who remained. Tasha can't exactly fault her for that dislike, either; she and her adopted sister are a lot alike, but Tasha is alive, has the love of the man Nora once loved, and has her whole future ahead of her. Nora has nothing but this ship, her duty, and what solace she takes from the people aboard it.

"No, I'm fine," Tasha insists, her gaze fixed on the back of Nora's phantom skull as if her keen vision might penetrate in to her thoughts. "But, how are you?"

"It's a bit weird, but also not weird… " Nora says, looking at Tasha's reflection in a dark part of the screen. "I actually feel more normal without the computer link. But it means I have to depend on my own memories, such as they are."

"I guess it's like when I disconnect from the Melchior system? I'm sorry, I mean, that's the closest analogy I can come up with – I don't mean to suggest I in any way know what you're going through," says the Vartan girl behind her, who hasn't yet realized she's being watched back by the way she keeps staring, contemplatively.

"So… you don't seem like the sort to hover, Tasha," Nora says, and turns the seat around to face the Vartan. "So, what's on your mind? Or are you just trying to read mine?"

Tasha's eyes widen when Nora turns around, her gaze shifting away. "Oh, well, I've been trying to read your mind ever since it was part of mine," she answers, laughing a little nervously. She runs a hand through her hair, the golden strands falling before her eyes as she looks back and asks, "Do you hate me, Nora?"

"That's a weird question… but then, I guess I don't have an odor now," Nora says. She then takes a deep breath, and says, "No. I don't hate you, Tasha. But that doesn't mean I don't get… upset… at times. Are you feeling guilty about something I don't know about?"

"No … Well, not exactly. Maybe? I always feel guilty about you, but it's nothing new I'm worried about, at least in regards to you. I think we both established our problems already in that whole 'Tasha Storms Off the Ship' debacle – at least, I hope so," the younger woman explains. She pulls her knees in, resting her head on them as she peers at Nora. "I guess I just don't want you to hate me. I did all this for you, do you know that? I din't come to Orpheus or suggest the second founding of the JEF for Gabriel, or for me: I did it for you, and to a lesser extent, people like you like Mariel and Fred. I did it so your memory and your legacy would live on. Because I believe in both it and you, even if you may not believe in me."

"You didn't expect to be talking to me again though, I bet," Nora says, her grin a bit lopsided. "I have the distinct feeling that… well, the real me doesn't quite measure up to the image in your head. Are you disappointed in me, Tasha?"

Tasha's ears raise! … then lower. "Um, well, no, I wasn't expecting to meet you in person, not outside a PersoCom sim, and definitely not incarnate. I was really worried what would happen, actually, when I knew this was possible. I considered not allowing it, as I was still the leader back then, but I believed you deserved to be – whatever a threat to myself that might present." Tasha grins back a little, tail wagging slightly. "As for how I feel about you, no, not anymore. There was a time I was disappointed, but I've grown a lot since then, both as a person and because I've had knowledge crammed in to my brain. I'm no longer quite as wide-eyed about the Expedition Fleet, and Dr. C. and others have helped me understand people a bit better. So, no. I'm not disappointed. I still believe in you, maybe more so because you're a person rather than an ideal. Gods, as I found out, are rather flat. And you're still very inspiring; all of you are."

"Flat?" Nora asks, looking briefly confused. "Well, I'm glad you see me now as a real… ghost, I suppose. And not as someone in a poster you tack up in your dorm room." The Karnor goes a bit blank for a moment, then says, "I can't believe some of the role models I hung on my walls back in college."

"I can't believe I know what a 'dorm' and a 'poster' is," Tasha admits, grinning a bit more. "And that's thanks to you, actually. I know you probably didn't intend to teach me proper Standard, but you did. I have some of your memories actually – did you know several days ago I had a feedback problem between the two mind-machine systems and their encoding, combined with a dream, and thought I was you? Or rather, an AI composed of you and me." Tasha throws her hands up, "You should have seen Gabriel and Dr. C's face when I explained that idea – and really believed it! In fact, in the dream I was you, back on the Fenris, and for half the day I couldn't remember how to be me. Gabriel even said my accent vanished."

"That's… disturbing," Nora says, looking concerned now. "I know most heroes don't survive being met in person, but that almost seems like clinging to the image instead of letting it go."

"Maybe it is. It was actually touching, in a way. I was you, and … well something else was me. I suppose I was also me, but the perspective was I was you and the me that is me came later. That's part of why I thought to come and sit with you, the dream reminded me of why I started all this. I thought you ought to know that it was for you. Well, all of the you's that exist or existed." The young woman's ears flicker, then she drops her knees and scoots to kneel on them, leaning forward. "But I have other reasons too, and now that I know you don't hate me, I feel relieved enough to ask you for help. If you want, I'll even let you hit me, grovel, or tell you you're better than me at pretty much everything!" Her muzzle splits in to a big smile, ears perking forward.

Nora's ears go up, and she gets an odd expression. "Okay, you're acting weird now. The submissive thing just… doesn't suit you," she says. "But what do you need help with?"

"Well, not being submissive," the young woman admits, ears laying back. "More specifically, confidence and leadership. It seems that now that I'm no longer angry at everything and everyone, and not trying to prove myself to a father I'll never meet anyway, I just don't know how to be … a leader anymore. Before, I lead because those things drove me, I had to feel superior to everyone and best them, otherwise my insecurity at my life would eat at me. Now, I'm fine with who I am, more or less, but I'm not used to being this way. And what's worse, most of what I know now was given to me. The Bellerophon piloting, engineering skills, even the Melchior all give me skill. But it's not mine; it's like I don't have anything personal to be proud of save that I came this far."

"And maybe I learned the 'submissive thing' from Mariel," Tasha adds.

"Mariel is just… polite," Nora claims, looking thoughtful. "What's your ambition now, Tasha?"

Settling back, Tasha spreads her hands slowly as she answers, "Well, I'd like to see the JEF grow. But if that's too generic, I'd like to become a great Titan pilot, help lead the JEF some day, and continue to learn about science, technology, and history. I have a project underway to trace the Progenitor Cult within the fleet, and their doings, in fact. I want to explore. I want to keep everyone safe, as best I am able. I want to be a good role model, not a loud role model."

"Ah, a role model!" Nora says, hitting on that last item. "To whom?" she asks.

Tasha nods to that. "To the people of the JEF, once we're a larger organization, and to others so that they may appreciate us and maybe even be inspired to join, not unlike how the Karnor Elite were to the Karnor, I suppose, but more broadly. I would also like to stop stuttering and being so nervous," she explains.

"Well, the secret to being nervous is cologne," Nora comments. "You'll need to downplay the whole Titan pilot aspect too, since… well, nobody can realistically aspire to be a Titan pilot without Titans, right? Exploring though, and hunting down a mystery… that's a good hook. Everyone wants to be an explorer; that's why the Expedition was formed, if you think about it."

"Cologne?" Tasha blinks at that. "And … I guess that makes sense. Titan piloting is really more personal, anyway. Part of the reason I want to be a good Titan pilot, and a good combatant in general, is because it's something that no one else has given me – something my ancestors were good at, and my Titan demands. I guess it's a source of pride." She cocks her head to the side. "That people can aspire to be explorers make sense. I want people – and not just he people who are already the best – but others, too, people like me and Layth once were, to see the JEF as something to rise up to, something that can help them become greater; a cause that's greater."

"If you smell confident, you'll feel confident," Nora claims. "Well, at least us early generation types were very scent-oriented. You had to use colognes or else everyone would know what you were feeling."

"Really? My people can't smell very well at all." Tasha blinks, then holds up a hand to forestall any comments. "I mean, my Vartan people don't recognize scent. We notice motion and body posture. So, scent and standing confidently. I'll try that."

"You could ask the modern Karnors about it," Nora suggests. "It may have faded in the Abaddonian breed from living in controlled environments all this time."

"That's a good idea. I've heard Vartans will be accompanying the PHTO council, so I can ask them as well. I've actually never met an Abaddonian Vartan, so I'm a bit excited about that. I'll have to polish my armor for the best shine." Tasha grins, then purses her muzzle. "There'll be many other species there too, so I guess, one way or another, I'll have to find out how they feel about me. I've been appointed second-in-command, so I'll probably need to be at functions. Do you think I'll have to give a speech?" The young woman blanches, visible only because her fur is partially shaved.

"I hope not," Nora says, shuddering. "I could never give a speech! Public speaking is terrifying to me. If you have to… ask Fred for help."

"YOU? You're afraid of public speaking?" Tasha seems incredulous, ears lifting and head drawing back. "Oi, wow! I'd have never guessed," she admits, head shaking. "I guess Fred loves people, so he'd love them all watching him talk?"

"I don't know how Fred feels about public speaking, to be honest, but I'm sure he could write some jokes to get things rolling," Nora admits. She glances at the monitor to see that it's still running its tests, and then at the 'window' of the bridge, showing what little activity there is in the hangar; which seems limited to a human photographer trying to position his camera gear where it might actually capture the whole of Bellerophon.

Tasha follows her role model's gaze, first to the readout, then to the man on the hangar deck below. "I'm sure he'd be good at it; he always seemed so friendly. I was also going to ask about career advice, but do you think I should go down there and say hello? I mean, isn't this one of those chances to be everything I just said?" She instinctively shades her eyes at the flash!

Of course, the screen filters take care of that as well, so that the flashbulb actually flares black from the bridge view. "I suppose you could," Nora says. "You've been cooped up with ghosts and machines all this time, so maybe meeting someone different will help perk you up."

"See, this is why I look up to you. You don't give yourself credit – you are a great woman. I'm going to see a statue is built of you some day." Unbidden, Tasha leans forward and tries to give her ghost-sister a hug.

She's solid enough this close to the artifact, and Nora returns the hug. "A statue? And if I'm reborn in a clone body, how will you explain it to her?" she asks with a grin.

"I'll say," and here Tasha puts an arm around Nora's shoulder as she grandly gestures at where one imagines a statue ought to be, "This is a great woman, and you are a great woman, and you can be every bit as wonderful as she was – even better – if you try. She was my role model and mentor, and you'll always belong here with her, just like you do with me." She then kisses her sister on the side of the muzzle, like she does with her mother, and stands. Turning, she adds, "And remember, I'm always here for you! If you need anything, or just want something, just let me know."

"You are a silly woman, Tasha," Nora says, then makes shooing motions with her hands. "I'll stare at the machines trying to trip one another. Go hob-nob or something."

"I'm sure he'll be like, "aiiieee, alien!" or something," Tasha says, grinning. She turns, waving over her shoulder as she heads out. "Bye!"

The only security on the Bellerophon side of things is that the airlock door leading to debarkation ramp is kept closed. A few taps on the number pad let Tasha through, however.

Tasha decides to wear her powered armor, not because she needs it, but because it's shiny and impressive and if pictures are to be taken, that suit is the most photogenic. Besides that, her outfits consist of black mercenary attire, camouflaged military gear, and a skin-tight undersuit she definitely doesn't want on posters.

The honor guard at the base of the ramp salute as Tasha appears, although they look a bit nervous that she's fully armored. "Shall we call the Sergeant, Miss?" the right-hand one asks.

Tasha salutes back, primarily because she's not yet sure when to salute and when not to. It seemed polite, as well. "No need, I'm just here to meet-and-greet; we noticed the photographer," she points across the hangar, "and I thought I'd come out and say 'hello' maybe answer questions." She tries standing straight and looking people in the eyes, find it does help her confidence a bit.

"Oh, well… just wave if you need us?" the first guard says uncertainly. Apparently they weren't given instructions about what to do if someone doesn't ask for a guide. "Just please do not leave the hangar without an escort. We'll get in a lot of trouble if you get lost."

"Of course. I'm not here to get anyone in trouble," Tasha insists. She looks between the two guards, and then asks, "By the way, what are your names?"

"Privates Bradley and Peanut, Ma'am," the soldier says, saluting again.

"Private Pearce the other Karnor grumbles. "Not Peanut… "

Tasha grins a little, trying to stifle it. "It's good to meet you, Bradley, Pierce. Thank you for watching over our ship. I'm Cadet Tasha Argentine." She then extends her hand, big and gold as it is, to shake theirs.

Bradley is the first to shake. The armor does make Tasha stand a bit taller than she normally would, but she's still just below Bradley's eye level. The Karnor soldiers seem to be chosen for size.

Tasha gives the man a firm shake, then extends her hand to the other, shaking his. "Well, I won't distract you then," she says, gaze flicking back and forth between the two men's faces. "Let me know if you need anything, or I'm off and about in the wrong way!" She chuckles, steps back, salutes, and after the return salute occurs, is off to join the photographer.

The human photographer doesn't really notice Tasha until she's nearly upon him, so focused is he on changing out the film in his camera. He's thin… almost gaunt… with close-cropped orange hair. He wears fatigues that hang loosely on him, as if he were made of coat-hangers, and the lack of dog-tags and insignia hint that he's probably a civilian. Once he closes up the camera, he looks up and spots the Vartan armor. "Yaaah!" he squeaks, then tries to recover with a nervous, "That is… ah… hello, Sir!"

Tasha's muzzle splits in to a big smile, which, albeit friendly, is also unavoidably toothy. "Ma'am, if you please, Mr. … ?" She extends her hand, inwardly wondering if a shake might well shatter this frail looking man.

The man's gaze drops to stare at the armored chest, which… well, doesn't show anything. It's not form-fitting, after all. He looks back up and holds out a shaky hand. "Scotter Scoot… " he blurts, then looks horrified, then shakes his head and tries again. "Scooter. Scooter Scott. Just Scooter Scott, that is, not Scooter Scooter Scott… uh… I work for Dr. Kitty."

"Are you alright, Mr. Scooter Scott? Am I making you nervous? Is it the armor? I wore it thinking you'd appreciate it more, but I can remove it if you don't mind that I'll be wearing my undersuit," says Tasha. She tilts her head, holding up a hand. "But no pictures of the undersuit, please; I do have some dignity!" She laughs, then narrows her muzzle to a grin. "I'm Cadet Tasha Argentine, of the JEF Bellerophon, by the way. Nice to meet you."

The hand is also shaken, albeit gently this time.

"Oh, the armor… it's armor!" the man says, shaking a bit from the shaking. "I could… well, not with the helmet on, because the glare… I mean, the ship is so shiny in places, with all that fancy gold sculpture and all. I don't know if anyone will believe it's real from the photos. And the light in here is dreadful… "

"It's a lot prettier than you'd expect, isn't it? I thought the same thing, when I first saw it." Tasha reaches up and with a hiss of escaping air, removers her helmet and stows it under her left arm. "Here, is this better? And yes, this is armor. More precisely, environmental armor, not combat armor."

"Ah, you have a face, and… eyes!" Scooter realizes, and says so. "You're blond… but red… and you have a nose. Hmmmm," he rambles, holding up a little gizmo that tells him how much light is available.

Tasha finds herself chuckling again, despite her best effort to seem professional. The thin human man isn't at all what she expected, and she thinks he's rather silly. "Yes, blond, red, nose, eyes. I also have wings and a tail, and a chest! I'm a half-Karnor, half-Vartan, if that's what you're wondering. Acting second-in-command of the JEF."

"Wings?" the man asks, his brain completely derailing. "That's not just the armor?"

"Yes, wings." The young Vartan spreads her wings, so they extend fully to either side. "I'm half-Vartan, and that deal came with wings and hooves." She chuckles again.

"Oh, how… OH!" the man goes, fluttering the fingers of one hand rapidly against his lips. "Does… does Dr. Kitty know?" he asks nervously.

"I … don't think so? You're the only person I've spoken to since we had dinner with." Tasha cocks her head to the side. "Is that important?"

"She'll… she'll… " Scooter mutters, then looks at Tasha with deer-in-the-headlight eyes. "She'll want anatomical studies!" he says in a horrified tone.

Tasha folds her arm. "I don't think I can authorize that at the moment." She grins lopsidedly. "But, I could answer questions."

"I'm not… I'm not good at photographing living things," Scooter admits. "Oh, questions… well… does your armor stand up when you aren't wearing it, or is it in pieces?"

"Hm, I may not be able to answer details technological questions either, but I suppose that question is safe. It stands up, it's coherent armor. Mine was modified from the Vartan original, to accommodate my hybrid body," Tasha explains.

"Huh, that's handy," the man says. "And… how do you get it over your wings? You have what appear to be individual armored feathers… "

"The suit splits open along hundreds of breaks, opening up a lot like flower petals and fitting like Vartan scales. I enter from the back, and then the whole thing closes around me." Tasha holds her hands out, then makes an opening and closing motion in her best effort to replicate the effect.

"Maybe, if I set up the movie camera, and the light was decent… " Scooter mutters. "I'd like to record that."

"Let me clear it with the Captain." Tasha doesn't appear to do anything, but her will activates the thought-controlled communication system, which in turn opens up communications with Gabriel T. Akkers. "Captain, I'm with a photographer who'd like to photograph my powered suit, including the opening – is that permissible?"

It takes a moment before the reply comes through, since Gabriel is not wearing a neural collar. "Maybe later. I'm sure they'll want footage from inside the ship too once the bigwigs arrive," comes the reply.

"Understood Captain. I'll keep it to questions and surface shots then. Tasha out." The woman, who had seemed to have been staring in to space, turns now and says, "I'm afraid I can't permit that at present, but there may be a chance once the Council arrives. Is there anything else you're curious about?"

The man stares upwards for some time, his eye flitting about. "What do you eat on the ship?" he concludes. "And… how can so few people operate it?"

"Right now, we eat what we foraged, and fabricated meat," Tasha explains. "I don't recommend it over the real thing, but it does the job. As for how we can operate it, the ship uses extensive computer and artificial intelligence to support the crew. However, our current crew load isn't ideal. The ship is supposed to have many more persons."

"Fabricated meat," Scooter says, nodding. "Do you use a sewing machine or knitting needles to make the fabric?" he asks, trying to sound like he knows what he's talking about.

"Umm, not fabricated in that sense. Fabricated through biological science," Tasha corrects, smiling a little at the man's attempt to know what he's talking about. That brings back memories.

"Oh, I see," Scooter says, smiling and nodding. Then he asks, "So… a loom of some sort?"

"Vats and computers," The Vartan corrects, again. She grins even more. "It may not have a direct reflection here with current Terran technology."

"Vats? Like… for making cheese?" Scooter asks, looking more lost now than before.

"Glass vats full of chemicals regulated by computers and AI," Tasha explains, not blinking a little. Is this what it was like for Nora when she first told her about the Expedition Fleet and its technology?

"And this Ai-Eye is your chemist or the ship's cook?" the man asks, then blinks and pats his pockets. "I wasn't writing this down! Kitty complains if I don't take notes… "

"They are sentient or semi-sentient computers," says Tasha. "My own Titan, the Melchior, uses a supporting AI, for example."

Finding his notebook and pencil, Scooter seems at a loss as to what to write down. "I have no clue what you mean, I'm afraid," he admits. "I take photos. I know about developing film using chemicals, and light and contrast and depth of field. Not sensual computers."

"Sensory, but not sensua- … " Tasha blinks as she remembers Melchior's kiss, then shakes her head and clears her throat. "Ahem! Well, there's no need to be ashamed of that. Not that long ago, I was just a drover on a airship, knowing nothing beyond the world around me. I had no real education as you might know it, I was just a regular person without any knowledge of other worlds, spaceships, advanced science, or what-have-you. All of this would have been over my head, if I had even believed what I was being told. That all changed when my team found the Fenris.

"The Fenris is your teacher then?" Scooter asks, and starts scrawling things down. "A great scholar-engineer perhaps?"

"In a way," Tasha says, smiling. She turns towards the Bellerophon, gesturing at it as she speaks. "The Fenris was a ship not unlike this one, one of many that once sailed between planets, and brought us all to these worlds. Their mission was one of exploration, and they were called the Joint Expeditionary Force, just as we are, as we are their rebirth. The Fenris had crashed upon my homeworld of Sinai six-thousand years ago, and we discovered it. Inside, I learned many things, and what I found lead to this ship and to our being here."

The pencil stops, and Scooter meets Tasha's eyes. "You… are six-thousand years old?" he whispers nervously.

That makes Tasha laugh, but she shakes her head vehemently. "Ahhh, no," she insists, holding her hands up. "But, what I know, and what I found, is."

"I'm eighteen," Tasha adds, grinning.

"Oh, you're just a young thing then," Scooter says, relaxing a bit. "I'm nineteen and a half," he says smugly.

Tasha's brows raise, and her arms cross. "Don't judge me on my age! Parts of me are six-thousand years old, so I'm sure I average at least several hundred." She glares for a moment, then laughs again, showing she's just teasing.

"Wait… what parts?" the boy asks seriously. "How can you have older parts?"

"I'm part machine." Tasha leans forward, showing the metal studs on the back of her head. "Being part Karnor and part Vartan just wasn't weird enough for me."

The notepad goes up to hide Scooter's mouth, but his eyes go wide. "You… but those are in your head," he whispers. "Not a replacement hand or foot… but studs in your head? What are they replacing?"

"Nothing," Tasha says, leaning back. "They assist me; they allow certain machines to communicates with my brain and nervous system, and vice versa. The sensors spread across my inner and outer brain, and across the nerve systems of my limbs. They allow me to control my Titan as if it were my body, which is more or less true. I am a 'cyborg.'"

"Dr. Kitty will want to talk to you, I think," Scooter says.

"I'm sure she will. As before, I can't get in to depth on the technology beyond what I'm authorized to speak of. Actually, that may have been too much, but it's nothing anyone can use besides myself," says Tasha. "Is this Dr. Kitty here? I can answer some questions, although they'll be limited."

"She's getting stuff ready for the council," Scooter says. "Which is why I'm here and not where she can make me do decorations or whatever."

Tasha nods to that; she fondly remembers dodging work on The Rake earlier in her life. "Did you want to get any pictures from atop the Bellerophon, or of me, then?"

"I don't do people well," he reminds her. "I guess if you put your helmet on I could… "

Tasha grins at that. "No need, if it makes you feel uncomfortable. I'm just here to try and answer questions and be friendly. Do you think I've fulfilled that?"

"Yes, you're very friendly," Scooter admits. "But also a little scary when you talk about things… "

"Scary complicated, or scary because of my accent and pronunciation?" Tasha inquires, head tilting.

"Scary complicated," the boy admits. "And … the stuff in your head. I wasn't prepared for that at all."

"It is a bit odd, isn't it?" Tasha grins widely. "I guess I've gotten used to it all and have forgotten just how weird it was when it all first came about." She reaches back and rubs at her connectors, deciding she'd better clean them with that special chemical Dr. C. provided, soon. "But maybe, if you're willing, I can ask you some questions?"

"Okay," Scooter agrees, putting his notepad away.

"Well, I noticed I didn't see any women in the officer's group back when I was in Expedition City, and I've never seen a female guard or officer outside an office. Do women not join the military much? They don't fight and lead?" Tasha's ears perk forward, intently listening.

"I… don't know… " the boy admits. "I mean, there are certainly women on the base and all. But I don't know about the military, really."

"Hokay," says Tasha, nodding. "Do you know anything about Vartans, or if there's any Titans stored in this facility?"

"Oh, I think they have Titans here… maybe," the boy says. "There're lots of old machines and stuff I've never seen before here. Vartans belong to the Confederacy and… I've never actually met one."

"Well, now you have!" Tasha grins, head tilting the other way. "Even if only half. And, I'd like to look at these machines when I could. Hm." She eyes the young man a moment, then adds, "I've probably taken up too much of your time as-is, though. You probably weren't prepared to talk with us, but I appreciate your doing so. I'll leave you to your photography, unless you have any further questions … ?"

"You're going to let us on your ship, right?" Scooter asks. "And if so… what's the lighting like? Pretty bright? Even? Not a lot of shadows?"

"It's very bright, yes. You'll do just fine. And we will, I'm sure, once the Council arrives. Anyway, take care Scooter; enjoy your picture taking. I'm going to find Sergent Bear and see about a tour while I'm down here."