When the armored explorers returned to Bellerophon, Gabriel didn't waste any time before issuing orders. Fred's remote-controlled suit was sent off to the Terran motor pool to retrieve the fuel trunk with its hoses and pumps. Layth was assigned the task of extracting Fallen Star's skills with Silent-Ones technology, while he and Tasha would return to the Khattan hangar and start preparing things for transport.

So far, all attempts to link Fallen Star's spirit through MOTHER have met with frustration. While the Silent-One technician could access the optical computer for information, it was no different than someone doing so from the main terminal. Instead, one of the PersoCom interface units has been moved from the Med Bay, and connected up for power and all of its chemical reservoirs filled. Dr. Zerachiel sits near the recovered mobile data block from the Silent-Ones zone, and looks nervous.

"I am assuming the plan is to use me as the bridge between the Silent-One and Terran systems?" Layth finally asks after helping move all the equipment down and get it into position. He's the only one fitted with one of the collars that can use the device left on the ship, so the deduction wasn't that hard to work out.

"Well… not exactly," Eli notes, jamming his hands into the pockets of his lab coat. "This unit isn't hooked into the network, it's just here for monitoring your vitals and making sure your brain doesn't run out of memory chemicals. I've found that the only way for Fallen Star to actually interface is to sort of enter a living person." The Karnor then coughs into his fist, and explains. "I found that out on accident. It doesn't work with the mobile PersoCom projections though. Just with… ah… natural spirits, I suppose."

"Are you telling me she intends to fondle me from the inside?" Layth asks as his brow arches slightly.

"Well… I wouldn't say fondle," Zerachiel says, waving his hands. "It's… well, possession, just… uh… " the man flounders. "In any case, it shouldn't hurt. You'll be in a PersoCom-like dream state, and you should then be able to learn from Fallen Star. Hopefully."

"I promise to be gentle," the transparent cheetah signs, from her position near the stack of glowing, tentacle-waving crystals.

"What if she ends up permanently stuck in me?" Layth asks next. "I will effectively dream forever while she gets my body?"

"Does that happen?" Zerachiel ask, scratching his head. "I mean, on Sinai? I don't know a lot about spirit possession, I'm afraid. I don't think she'd be stuck. All we'd have to do is move you away from this room and she'd fade out."

"Well, there are rumors that certain rulers in Sylvania are subjects of permanent possession," Layth remarks as his shoulders roll in a shrug. "How much will she learn about me? Will she have access to all my memories?"

"I… " Zerachiel says, then looks confused and asks Fallen Star, "Did you pick up any of my memories when we bumped heads earlier?"

"I know that you like sausages," the spirit signs back. Which makes Zerachiel realize he still doesn't understand her. Fallen Star realizes this a moment later, and just shakes her head in a 'No' gesture.

Layth rolls his head slightly just before he walks over to the PersoCom bed. He spins himself around, then sits down. The buck follows up by swinging his legs up onto the bed and then lying back. His left hand lifts up and gestures for Fallen-Star to come over.

The ghost comes closer, looking a bit nervous herself, while Zerachiel moves to connect the machine to Layth's life collar.

Layth's lips quick in an amused expression. "I always wondered what it would be like to share the bed with one of your kind," he signs and then pats the bed he's laying on.

It isn't really possible for a spirit to blush, but Fallen Star's ears move in the Silent-Ones equivalent. As she lays next to the Lapi, Zerachiel says, "Alright, I'm starting the sedative drip." Layth feels a cool sensation enter his neck through the collar, which matches the coolness felt being next to Fallen Star's spirit. He feels his muscles begin to go limp, and the world dimming.

"I have to wonder if this is what it feels like when you die," Layth finds himself thinking as the world around him fades away into the comfort of simply nothing.

Dry wind ruffles across Layth's exposed face as the wagon rolls along through the barren dessert edge. Any rocks in the road would have been moved by the lead wagons, so at least things aren't as bumpy here near the rear. But it's also the position most likely to be attacked, so vigilance is critical, especially with sun beginning to set behind the caravan.

The young buck's head tilts this way and that as he listens to the terrain; his hearing providing more insight into the world around him than his eyes often do. Now and then he reaches up with a large hand attached to a thinner arm to brush ragged yellow head-fur from his eyes. His build indicative of a male in his mid teen years; the curse of a lanky and yet fully developed body, more length than muscle. Patchwork leather armor over a worn tunic hides much of his build, thankfully; perhaps making him appear more imposing than he would normally be. His other hand remains coiled around the shaft of a well-worn spear, perhaps evidence of a sense of nervousness, or maybe fear, for whatever lies ahead.

"How are things outside, Flopsy?" comes the familiar, teasing voice of Rais, Layth's (somewhat) older guard trainer. The Khatta pokes his head out from the covered area of the wagon, and says, "Your Master sleeps like the dead, yet snores like a summer storm. If you meet a woman who is deaf, you should urge him to marry her."

"Mm, quiet," Layth answers as he reflexively pushes his lop ears thanks to that nickname. "As for my Master's most impressive nostrils … surely a Khatta born of small ears such as yourself would have no problems with such noise when his servant, a Lapi, can ignore the tempest that brews in his sinus," the buck quips and even flashes a toothy grin to the older Khatta. "Or is a burr in your bum causing you to complain more than usual?"

"I dislike this route," the Khatta complains, emerging fully to sit on the bench next to Layth… and start scanning the opposite horizon. "It is the Beggar's Route, and so is longer than the toll road and has far too many hills and gullies to hide bandits. I am surprised we have not been accosted yet for tribute."

"Which would cost more than the toll road if demanded," Layth adds to his friend's observation. "So we roll the dice with our lives as the ante upon the table in hopes that the Gods see fit to spare us." The buck then shrugs slightly and adds, "But ours is not to question; I go where my Master does and you are under the employ of the caravan. At least you have someone waiting for you at the end of this trip. Atiya, the vision of radiance with the gift of melons upon her chest." It is there the buck pauses to grin before finishing with, "Ah the tales you weave in your sleep. I need not a book, I just have to wait for you to sleep… "

With a frown, the Khatta replies, "I do not say 'melons' in my sleep. They are bountiful orbs of honey." The frown stays in place, and the guard stands to see past the wagon in front of them. "We have not made proper speed, and I fear we will not reach the camp area before the sun has slept."

"You said melons," Layth insists as he now leans to the side to look ahead now. "And you are worrying too much. If we must continue during the night for a bit, the danger is the same, is it not? This road is risk, no matter the time of day."

"But everything is closer in the twilight," Rais claims. "The glow of the sun colors the land, but the Procession is still too weak to see clearly. For my kind, who prefers either light or dark, the twilight is dangerous."

"Mm, it is good that the light does not affect the pulse of the world heard through the ears," Layth remarks. "Does something tickle your senses that cause this worry? Is something out of place?"

"My whiskers tell me to be wary," the Khatta admits, "but my nose and ears say there is only wind and wheel that move here."

"I have not heard anything unusual," Layth says as he shifts a bit on the seat. "But the wise man listens to the feelings of the heart to find truth, the eyes and ears may lie. Perhaps we should speak with the driver on quickening our pace."

"I will see to it," Rais notes, and hops down to the ground so he can jog around to the front of the wagon. It's then that Layth catches a glimpse of something moving on the ground out of the corner of his eye.

"Rais, Movement! To your left!" Layth barks out as he slides to the edge of his seat and leaps down now with his spear in his left hand. It may just me a creature of the sand, but nothing is lost in being wary.

"What is it?" the Khatta hisses, showing up in a flash with his pike held ready. Nothing seems to be moving out there now… and there is also little cover on that side, which merges eventually with the Sea of Sand.

"Unknown," Layth admits, "I just saw … movement. Perhaps it was just a trick of the light fostered by fears." The buck twirls his spear so that the point is down. "I will check the spot I saw move," he says as he starts cautiously towards it.

The sand and gravel is undisturbed, without even a scuff or footprint. A long-dead petrified shrub is nearby, and might have been the focus of the flash.

Layth prods around the bush using the tip of his spear. "You are being too jumpy; the curse of your kind," the buck chides himself as he does what he currently feels is a pointless search.

"The sun plays with us," Rais calls. "A mirage, or dust-devil." A few spotted faces look up from between the slats of the final wagon as it begins to pass; slaves going to market.

Layth lifts his spear up to his shoulder and jogs to catch back up with the wagons. His eyes flash to the spotted faces that peer out at him as he approaches. A feeling of guilt ripples deep within his gut; his own memories of the market and what he is coming back to haunt him. "You will find good homes to serve," he tells them, and himself, to try and justify what he is allowing to happen.

As he begins to catch up to his own wagon, Layth once again sees motion on the sands, but at first it doesn't make sense. It comes from the direction the caravan is moving, approaching at an angle; a dark splotch on the ground, making no sound. It is distorted, its outline shifting as it seems to accelerate towards him.

The buck pats the last wagon as he passes it. His eyes flick towards the odd movement. quickly he brings his spear up to the ready. "Rais," the Lapi barks again and motions ward the rapidly approaching splotch. "Please tell me the sun continues to haunt us!"

The Khatta guard leaps up and swings himself to the top of the covered wagon, facing the oncoming shadow with his pike held like a harpoon. The blotch changes course and seems to shoot away in a different direction.

Layth whistles out to the wagons ahead. "Be wary!" he shouts as he leaps back into his seat on the wagon and crouches down with his spear at the ready. "Where did it go?" he asks as his head tilts, trying to make out its sound. "What is it?"

"I don't know," Rais still, still on top. "I think… " he says, then quickly spins around and brings his pike up – but not fast enough! The Rahktor's claw hits him in the chest and sends him flying off of the wagon!

"Dagh take us, Rais!" Layth shouts as anger and a feeling of utter stupidity hits him; they didn't watch the sky. "To arms!" Layth shouts at the wagons ahead, "We are attacked! We need bowmen!" The buck then leaps down from his perch on the wagon chair and spins around rapidly as he watches skyward now and backs slowly in the direction he saw his friend fall.

The alarm passes quickly and guards spill out. The bird uses the glare of the sun well, however. Layth finds Rais on his side, having landing in the sand.

Layth's spear point finds itself buried in the sand near his fallen friend. "Come on, you'll be fine," he tells his friend as he drops down to his knees beside him. The buck places his hands gently on his friend's side and tries to roll him over on his back. "And don't think you can use this as an excuse to avoid further guard duty and leave it all to me," he adds, his voice trying desperately to sound joking about it; but failing in its nuances.

The Khatta groans, and his leather armor hides the true damage until Layth gets him onto his back and the material can settle. It looks like the right side of Rais' chest is caved in several inches.

The buck pauses and draws his hands away. Quietly they clench into fists and start to shake. He looks away, sets his jaw, then draws in a long breath. "Okay, fine," he says, as that fake tone of exasperated joking returns, "You're going to milk this for all it is worth." He slips his arms under his friend's body and tries to pick him up gently.

The feline yowls in pain at first, which ends in a cough that sprays blood on Layth's cheek. "It hurts," Rais whispers, with a terrible gurgle.

"It is just some bruised ribs," Layth lies as he carries his friend back towards the wagons quickly to get him out of the sun and onto the comfort of one of the thin bedrolls in his 'family' wagon. "Try to breathe shallow so you don't strain them too much. Atiya will be upset with you if you arrive and are in too much pain to enjoy her company," he suggests. The swallow that follows from Layth seems to sound like thunder to the buck, though to others it likely couldn't be heard at all.

"You… are a terrible… liar," Rais rasps. Everyone is looking to the sky now, with crossbows and longbows at the ready. Layth can see the Rahktor make a pass near the midsection of the caravan, too fast for anyone to hit, and then notices the ground-hugging figures sneaking up on the last wagon. "Tell her… " the Khatta struggles to say, and then just makes a terrible rattle.

"I'm not lying, you're going to be fine. Do you hear me? Dagh, Rais, you're going to be fine," Layth insists, his voice almost a growl. His eyes flick to the figures approaching the last wagon and then back to the man dying in his arms. It's not even a decision for him, he continues the few remaining steps so that he can place the body of his friend in the back of his wagon. The buck knows Rais is gone before his body even touches the rough wooden floor; he heard the few remaining beats of his heart as it eased still; the drumbeat of the dying. "I will tell her you loved her, I promise" the buck whispers to Rais' body as tears begin to streak down his cheek, picking up the tint of red as it passes over the blood of his friend. The buck draws back and his hands close into fists. "No one is going to die on my watch again," his own voice growls in his mind. With a roar that does not belong coming from the muth of the Lapi, he turns from the wagon and sprints fill-speed towards the last wagon; where he saw those shapes.

Several desert raiders leap up and rush the Lapi, trying to get past the spear so they can use their scimitars. They appear to Skreeks. But it seems like another distraction, as the rest overwhelm the slave wagon. The driver is pushed off and the raiders start turning it around (no easy feat on the narrow road). The Savanite cargo are, unsurprisingly, silent.

Layth is in a near blood-rage as he goes after the Skreeks, and the wild and sweeping movement of the spear attests to it. He catches the movement of the wagon out of the corner of his eye and in a moment that perhaps someone else would call 'heroic', he charges towards it and swings his spear towards the lock. There is no heroics to it, though; the act is one of simple revenge. He isn't about to let the raiders take the cargo he and Rais was entrusted; he would rather see it freed to spite those who killed his friend.

One of the raiders rushes after Layth, but is too slow – in more ways than one. Before he can leap to take a swipe at the retreating boy, an arrow sprouts from his back. Back in the wagon, Layth's master knocks another arrow. There isn't anyone guarding the back of the slave transport, since it's taking one raider in the bench and two guiding the drays to get the thing turned around. The spear gets in under the latch and forces it up, breaking the cheap lock.

"Run," Layth growls at the cargo as he catches his foot on the back of the wagon and leaps his way to the top of the transport. Soon the buck is arching through the air, spear held high, as he heads towards the driver.

The original driver is still on the ground, curled up with his hands protecting his head. The Skreek on the bench now scurries to the side with his weapon drawn at the sound of the commotion. Although he's first distracted by the sight of two of his men down with arrows in them.

Layth doesn't even hesitate, he tries to spear the Skreek where he now sits. The fact that the Skreek has a weapon doesn't even seem to matter; all that does right now is revenge.

The Skreek is startled at the sight of a berserk Lapi attacking him, and then it doesn't matter, as the tip of Layth's spear takes out the man's throat. This is enough to get the two dealing with the Dromodons to cut their losses and run back towards the hills and gullies.

Layth's spear snaps hard to the side, nearly severing the Skreek's head from its body in the process. The buck stands there, his chest heaving in and out as he breathes deep and his cheeks matted with tears and the blood of his friend. His eyes fixate on the retreating Skreeks and every fiber wants to run after them; hunt them down. And yet … he doesn't. His duty to his Master and to the caravan return to his thoughts. It's also then that he sees the Skreeks felled by arrows and realizes had they not been shot down; he would have joined Rais in walking the procession. Numbness comes over the buck as he hops down from the seat of the wagon. Soon his spear falls from his hands. Not long after that he crumples down to his knees and curls up.

The tears return as Layth weeps silently in the desert sand, each drop hitting the hot sand, discoloring it, then quickly fading away as if it never were. "I'm so sorry," he whispers to the earth as he rocks, "for not being strong enough to save you. For not being wise enough to look skyward. For … just being a stupid, weak, Lapi. Please forgive me, Rais."

"Layth!" Master Zarif calls, hurrying as best a man approaching 50 can, almost using his bow as a cane. "Are you hurt?"

Layth doesn't answer immediately. Instead he slowly pushes himself back upright and clenches his eyes shut fir a few seconds. "I … I am not hurt," he finally says in a forced, measured, calm. There's another pause before he adds, "Rais is dead."

"I know," Zarif Al-Sudairy says, and actually puts his arms around Layth to hug him. "It is not fair. But we will have a ballista next time. You cannot protect other guards, Layth. It is a guard's place to be at risk, so that others are shielded."

"I could have done more," Layth says as he sits near motionless as he is hugged. "I could have been wiser. I could have been stronger, more prepared. So many things that could have been and now all I can do is bury him."

"I will go to the Caravan Boss, and let him know, so that the guards can be repositioned," Zarif says. "We will be more wary, but this raid did not work in the bandits' favor, and that is important. Now… go and fetch that lost looking slave before Master Bubram notices it is missing."

"Yes, Master Zarif," Layth mutters in a rather defeated tone. The buck pushes himself back to his feet slowly and finally hugs the aging Khatta back. Nothing more is said as the buck lets go and he looks for the 'lost slave'.

The small Savanite is just sort of standing near the back of the slave wagon. Spotted faces are still pressed to the slats, but it doesn't look like any of the others have ventured out. It is the middle of a desert, after all. It seems odd that the one slave who did leave is wearing a strange pocket-covered garment that covers it from neck to heel. It even gives Layth a little wave as he approaches.

Layth suddenly rubs his forehead as if a massive headache just begun. "I … know you," the buck finally says as he gets closer to the spotted 'escapee'. There's more of the buck running his head as if trying to force up a memory. "Fallen," he starts to say. "Dagh, maybe I did get hit."

"I am Fallen Star," the Savanite signs… or is it a Silent-One? "You look as young as me now. I was never so gangly. I am sorry you have gone through this."

"Gone? This is … this is not your fault and not yours to apologize for," Layth says as understanding starts to creep throughout his brain. "I should apologize to you for having to see my life; it is … " The buck just shrugs.

"I don't understand any of what is happening," Fallen Star signs, and looks to the wagon full of shackled cheetahs. "Are they criminals?"

"No. They are slaves. Like me," Layth answers as he looks to the wagon. "Like I was. Property."

"They are [garbage] like me?" Fallen Star asks, her expression one of sympathy.

"You are not garbage," Layth says, "They are … unfortunate. Born in the wrong place and wrong time." The buck closes his eyes for a moment, then opens them and turns to look directly at Fallen-Star. "Never call yourself that again," he says.

"As you wish," the girl says, dipping her eyes deferentially. "I do not know if you have absorbed my memories or not. Your science officer said they may not surface until needed."

Layth reaches over and cups his hand under Fallen-Star's chin and lifts it a bit to get her to look at him again. "Please, don't do that," he says, sounding almost pleading about it. "You do not need to defer or submit to me."

"You are alive, and I am not," Fallen Star points out.

"Here that doesn't matter," Layth says," and we have been trying to find a way to solve the latter. You are still a person."

"I do not know if I am comfortable with the idea of raising the dead," the girl admits, but does finally smile. "Why are you nice to me?" she asks.

"Give me a good reason I should not be?" Layth asks in return.

"I am… " the girl begins to sign, and then just drops her hand. "I don't know," she says out loud.

"Your life was little better than mine, I am guessing," Layth observes. The speaking out loud causes Layth's brow to arch, but he supposes anything is possible in what is mostly a dream.

Fallen-Star rubs at her throat, and smiles. "I can talk. Did I learn that from you?" she asks.

Layth has to think about that. "Probably," he admits. "How old were you when you died?"

Her hands go up reflexively, but she forces them down. "Twelve standard years," she says. "I… don't know how different that is from a Sinaian year."

"You were just a child, then," Layth says, "I am sorry. You never experienced living before it was lost to you."

"Nora snuck me ice-cream," Fallen-Star says with a twinkle in her eye, as if there just couldn't be anything better than ice-cream.

Even Layth has to smile at that. "I know little about your kind and how they related to each other. Were you fond of others of your kind?" he asks, "Did … you ever have a boyfriend?"

"I had creche-mates," the cheetah notes. "Like… brothers and sisters? We were raised and trained together."

"Mm," Layth says and even nods a bit. "Close to a family, then. When you were older, what would have happened? Continued to be assigned duties, assigned to raise a family? Something else?"

"I never thought that far ahead," the girl admits. "Perhaps have my contract taken up by a university or private corporation. May I borrow your stick?" she asks suddenly, pointing to the spear.

"On one condition," Layth says before offering the stick.

The girl blinks, hand open to accept it. "What is the condition?" Fallen-Star asks.

"I want your contract," Layth says as he holds out the stick. His hand remains closed for now…

Fallen-Star looks confused. "I… don't know… " she says, becoming tongue-tied. "I am dead. My employers are dead. The contract does not… exist?"

"Then just say yes," Layth says and looks … amused. "This is called a handshake agreement. A verbal contract between two people."

"Alright," the girl says, uncertainly, and holds out her hand. "You may have my contract for as long as I can… fulfill it," she says. "Although I assume that my spirit will return to its rest once my body is properly buried."

Layth hands over the spear. "And during that time under contract you are to consider yourself an equal team member," the buck instructs, "And my sister. Just … spotted with silly, short, ears."

"My ears are not silly," Fallen-Star protests, feeling them with her free hand and then flicking them through several expressions. Then she turns and uses the butt-end of the spear to draw in the sand. At first, it looks like a map to Layth, until something clicks and he recognizes it as a phased optical logic circuit, where the interference of different incoming light pulses forms a result.

"It, ah … " Layth remarks. He blinks and shakes his head a few times. "An interference gate with produced the inverted AND of two binary inputs," he answers a moment later. He also ends up signing it for some reason.

"I suppose you did get the knowledge," Fallen-Star says. "It will be handy when you need to extract the memory core for the Temple Library and operate the Titan."

"It sho… " Layth says and his voice suddenly goes garbled. The buck frowns and signs, "Great, you learn to talk, I lose it!"

"This form of interaction is strange," the girl admits. "I think we should separate now, before we become too entwined."

"I'm also teasing you," Layth ends up admitting and then smiles. "And one more thing is required before we separate."

The cheetah cocks her head to one side, her ears flicking in amusement. "Yes, Layth?" she asks.

Layth hugs the Silent-One. "I wanted to give you a hug so that you would have a good memory," the buck whispers in one of her ears. "And I am not giving up on saving you."

"I buried one friend, I do not wish to do so for another," he adds.

The girl purrs, and then seems to melt away, along with the desert, as Layth wakes up to find himself covered in a silver blanket and still feeling chilled. "Are you feeling alright?" Dr. Caravelli's PersoCom asks, as it shines a pen-light into Layth's eyes.

"I feel cold," Layth admits as he shivers slightly under the blanket. He also can't help himself and squints away from the light. "Do I seem … okay?"

"What is your name?" Caravelli asks the Lapi. "And where were you born?"

"Chryxanthos, I was born in the spires of The Vykarin mountains," Layth answers, "To a warrior clan. I was abandoned at the age of … " He seemingly decides to leave it at that.

"Do you want some nice fresh fish?" the doctor asks next, while disconnecting things from the life collar.

"Yes," Layth answers as he tries to remain motionless.

The Karnor pauses and blinks. "Really?" he asks.

"I've eaten dried meat before," Layth notes, grinning slightly, "Fish does not bother me. Also, I want you to leave the collar on me. In case you were considering removing it."

"Can't remove it here," Caravelli notes. "I'm just trying to determine if you've suddenly acquired any feline traits or identity issues. Dr. Zerachiel called me in when you broke out in spots, but those seem to have faded away. That should be impossible, of course, since fur isn't alive to change back and forth like that… But then, I'm a solid ghost, so frankly I am willing to just let it slide."

"Spots? Are my eyes slitted?" Layth actually asks. "And where is Fallen-Star?"

"Your eyes are normal," the doctor notes, and then looks over his shoulder. "Well… I don't see her, but the whole ordeal could have worn her out or… I have no idea. Maybe a ghost can get tired and need to rest?"

"Fallen-Star?" Layth thinks on the off-chance there is a residual link between them, "Where are you?" He feels his neck and after finding only unhooked collar ports, he sits up slowly.

There might be a faint outline of a sleeping cheetah near the kaleidoscopic miasma of light from the artifacts. Maybe ghosts can get tired.

"Or maybe you're more than just a ghost," Layth mutters to himself. Louder, he asks, "Ah, just to be safe, my back is devoid of spotting, yes?"

It takes a moment to 'unzip' Layth's bodysuit in the back, before Caravelli says, "You look clear. Is that sort of thing normal for… being possessed by a ghost?"

"It isn't unheard of. There are stories of people changing color and even shape and body parts when possessed," Layth explains. "Do not ask me why, though. I do not know."

"Well if you want, I'm sure we can mix up a dye and have them painted on," Caravelli offers with a grin.

"I might take you up on that offer," Layth replies as he grins right back. He finally slides the rest of the way off the bed and stretches. "And if you do not mind, I think I will go clean up and wash this suit. Too much canine pheromone has stuck to it; it is making me uncomfortable… "