It took almost two days before Dr. Zerachiel had his presentation ready, as it involved dealing with compatibility issues between Expedition equipment and the Council's projection system. Tasha had plenty of quiet time to rest and recuperate, thanks to her burly nurse keeping everyone out of her room. When she was declared healed enough to resume duties, it felt odd putting on her uniform without the bio-suit underneath. She'd gotten used to wearing it in lieu of regular underwear.

The presentation had already begun when Tasha arrived at the Council chambers, but she hadn't missed much. The room was dark, and she wasn't the only extra arrival: a red-haired human woman stood near the door, leaning back casually against the wall, while next to her was a (probably green) Naga in Templar armor. Both watch the projection screen with quiet intensity.

"This is the map created from the sensor pack readings," Eli says, pointing to the detailed swath of landscape along Melchior's flight route, set amidst a more generalized map of the region. A glowing line shows the Gryphon's original course, ending at the far edge of the map with 'Unknown Contact', while a broken line shows the course change made to get a closer look at the alien snail. A circle defines the edge of the Forbidden Zone, with a slightly wider labeled Perceptual Horizon.

Tasha slips in to the room and takes up position leaning against the wall, opposite the human and armored Naga. She's still a bit sore, but that's not what concerns her most as she lists to the results of her wayward journey; arms folded. No, her concerns rest with the contents of this review, the reaction, and just how much of the footage the Doctor has chosen to show. While she doubts he'll show her freezing in the cold, her nerves have been on edge enough that she can't quite dismiss the possibility.

"The data recorded by the pack is good enough to use for a full calibration," Zerachiel notes, "so that part of the mission was technically a success." He does something to his data pad, and a point becomes highlighted along the course plot. "Here is where the Gryphon used active radar to scan the target. The results indicated a solid object at extreme range, which then appeared to vanish – either by moving away or by putting up electromagnetic countermeasures. Either way, it was likely a reaction to the radar scan, indicating technological intelligence… unless it was a creature that naturally uses and reacts to radar."

After saying this, still photos of the crystal snail and the floating monster appear to the side, with indicators of their positions within the Forbidden Zone. Quite a few gasps escape the audience, especially when the sizes are added to the images for reference. "This is the second Forbidden Zone discovered on Abaddon. We must assume it appeared at the same time as the one west of the Imperial life dome; about 190 days ago. While the first continued to expand only slightly, it has not reached the same level of flight-risk danger as the one seen here. Wind speed at the edge of the vortex was nearly 90 miles per hour, even though the floating creature seems unaffected."

As images of the creature and the hellish landscape that surround it pop up one by one, an anxiety greater than her simple concern begins to rise in Tasha's chest. Each picture pushes the feeling higher, until it feels like the whole room vanishes, and there in front of her is that horrible place again. She clutches her right hand in to a fist, gritting her teeth against the unwelcome memory. Unable to look any more, she closes her eyes and mantras to herself that it isn't real, that she's right here, safe, in the Pit of Himaar.

Images change, showing a video playback of the odd distortion that ran across the image of the sky-island monster. "Dimensional distortion," Zerachiel notes. "This has been documented at the Imperial Forbidden Zone as well. What we are seeing is a temporary window into another reality. If these work anything like the Zones on Sinai, then these windows are short lived and random."

The map zooms out a bit, showing that the original contact Tasha was pursuing was not in line with the Forbidden Zone, but almost 200 miles beyond it and further west. "While it's possible the spatial distortion of the Forbidden Zone could create a radar mirage that made the large floating creature appear to be somewhere else, I can't offer a solid probability of that. For now, the first contact should be considered unrelated to the Forbidden Zone." More graphs show up, showing concentrations of water vapor considerably higher than elsewhere on Abaddon. "The Zone is pumping out a lot of energy in terms of heat and water. This could be purely volcanic in origin, or some of it could be passing through from whatever world the Zone linked to."

Once the topic moves on, Tasha manages to open her eyes – but not without after effects. Were she human, she'd be sweating. As it is, the dark hides the strain that tenses her muzzle and that far away, a little-too-wild look in her eyes. It's fortunate that the topic shifts to something that grasps her attention immediately: the contact could not be explained. For the first time since the pictures began, she manages to look up and stare, wondering.

"I'd like to turn things over to Ambassador Smith now, who may be able to shed more light on the significance of these readings," the old Karnor notes, and turns to nod to the woman leaning against the wall, who strides up to the screen. "Hello again, everyone," she says. "I cannot quote sources for any of the information I'm about to give you, due to security concerns," she says apologetically, before stating, "but I can confirm that this Forbidden Zone did not exist half a year ago. Expedition Intelligence believes these places are a function of ancient Sifran mechanisms that are deep within the core of Behemoth which provide energy and possibly raw material to the worlds of the Primus system. We haven't seen them before now because the 'engine' that powers Abaddon was only recently reactivated, and we have no way of knowing it will continue to run or not."

The woman waits until the muttering dies down before continuing. "Best case scenario: these Forbidden Zones will eventually lead to a more habitable environment on our world, and someday make life domes unnecessary. This is, of course, is unconfirmed and there is certainly no time line for when this will happen. We will depend on the Pit and life domes for the foreseeable future."

"We have no information about the phantom object, beyond that it has been spotted in the past, long before even the Pit existed," the ambassador concludes.

"Thank you, Ambassador Smith," Dr. Zerachiel says. "So… uh… any questions?"

One mystery leads in to a host of others for Tasha; she hadn't heard anything about 'planetary engines' of any type, nor that the place she had touched upon was some sort of pan-dimensional resource gateway. It all leaves a nagging feeling, as if she missed something, somewhere. In a flash it comes to her: that nightmare. Abaddon said his world would be green again. She had tried to dismiss the dream as little more than a conglomeration of doubts, worries, goals and fears, but, like her anxiety, it refuses to be dismissed so easily. She decides he may need to speak to Calligenia, or someone else aware of the old Olympian pantheon.

A mechanical voice rises above the din – either Strength-of-Stones or Scholar-to-Aliens' translator glove – asking, "How did the pilot sustain injury?"

It takes Tasha a moment to realize the red haired woman had stopped, lost in her thoughts as she is. She looks up from where she had been staring in uneasy contemplation, opening her muzzle to ask something when her jaw snaps shut at the sudden question. Damn it, she inwardly curses.

Zerachiel coughs, then displays another point on the map. "Proximity to the Forbidden Zone resulted in failure of the Melchior's gravity stator and several subsystems. In order to complete diagnostics and to keep watch for any creatures or vehicles attempting to follow her course, Cadet Tasha set the Titan down here and stood watch during the night, until hostile native animals forced a withdrawal. A picture of the horde of vermaxes is flashed up on the map.

A wave of relief passes through the Cadet at the white-washed spin. I owe you a drink – no, a lifetime of drinks, she decides of the Doctor.

"Will the Titan still be able to do the resource scan for the Pit?" Lyle Cromwell asks, the next time Tasha listens. Zerachiel assures him that the Melchior is ready for duty.

And, I am, Tasha agree inwardly. She fears that place, not her Titan or the sky. Melchior saved her life; if anything, she trusts her machine more than she ever has.

Meanwhile, the woman – Ambassador Smith – returns to her companion, only to veer off to greet Tasha. She holds out her hand, saying, "Riddle Smith, Expedition Ambassador to the Winged Citadel. You're the pilot, right?"

Tasha's gaze rolls to the side as the woman approaches. By now, her expression has eased from anxiety-ridden to more of a somber focus. "Yes, I am Cadet Tasha," she replies in a low voice, extending her hand. "Thank you for your contribution to this review, Ambassador."

Smiling, the woman says, "I ask that you not tell anyone else what I divulged. I don't know if it would get back to the source of the information, but I doubt she'd appreciate knowing that we read her mail."

"I'm not unaccustomed to keeping sensitive information secret," Tasha replies, even as a little voice in her head adds: when you don't divulge it spectacularly. She quickly decides that little voice needs to be quiet. "Nor in seeing the value of necessity."

"Your friend Dr. Zerachiel certainly knows when to be discrete as well," Smith says with a raised eyebrow. "If you aren't busy, there's someone I'd like you to meet. In a bar," she offers.

"I also know never to turn down a drink," Tasha replies, and a hint of a grin plays on her muzzle. "Just let me know when and where."

"How about right now, unless you want to stick around until the potatoes notice you and start asking questions as well?" the woman asks.

"Now is an excellent time to leave," the young pilot agrees after casting a a sidelong glance at the assembled politicians. A very good time.

Having a Green Lancer along (introduced as Malachite during the journey) is a good way to feel secure in seedy parts. Riddle Smith heads straight for the bar when she enters, and orders, "Three Vartan ales, good sir." The Vartan behind the bar sizes up his customers, then nods and taps a barrel to fill the mugs from.

Tasha follows along, finding the visit nostalgic. The run down Sinaian buildings remind her of the parts of Rephidim she used to frequent. "Excellent choice," she remarks at the choice of ales, the first thing she's said since they departed.

When the mugs arrive, Riddle drops some coins and passes Tasha one of the mugs, while she scoops up the other two and heads toward the rear booths. Specifically, towards one that sports a closed curtain.

The young hybrid wastes no time in taking a good, long sip of her drink as she walks. This is certainly the most shady thing I've done lately, she decides, wondering at the mask behind the curtain. Curious, she sniffs for familiar scents.

Sniffing in a bar like this is probably not the best of ideas, since some things are just hard to scrub out, like urine, blood and other unpleasant things. It's probably why the few Karnors keep close to the door. Once at the curtain, the human quietly says, "Captain? It's Riddle. I've brought you some drink and company." Malachite isn't looking towards the booth, but has taken up a position and demeanor facing away from it that would strongly discourage anyone else from coming close.

"Not another red-head I hope," grumbles a deep, Vartany voice from within. There's a sound of metal being shifted, followed by, "Come in then, I won't kill you this time."

Tasha nose convulses. Aye, a LOT like home. Her mother's bar was often just as bad, if not worse. As one of the sole 'Karnor' to visit the Fallen Friend, Tasha's insistence the bar smelled funny did little to convince her mother to clean better. So far from home, she thinks as she listens to the exchange, ears forward. A Captain, eh? And Vartan. "Won't kill me this time?" Wondering what that's all about, Tasha looks to the human for the go ahead to enter.

Riddle pulls the curtain back slightly and gestures for Tasha to scoot into the darkened booth.

With a glance and a shrug, Tasha slides herself right in.

Smith follows, setting the extra tankard on the table and letting the curtain fall shut. There's just enough light leaking through for Tasha's night vision to work, revealing their booth-mate to be a hulking, aged Vartan. At least, his left side is Vartan. The right side of his face, down to his entire right arm and part of his chest are covered in dark chitin plates, the right hand being an insectoid claw, and the right eye catching the meager light like a cut gem. The man takes the mug with his left hand and tosses half of it down his beak. "Ah, still tastes like watered down fuel oil," he says, then focuses his attention on Tasha.

The young half-Vartan can't help but take in man before her; it's not often she runs in to another half-Vartan after all. Except, this time, it's a half she's never seen before. She forces herself to meet the man's eyes, reminding herself not to be rude. "Doesn't it always?" she says of the ale, extending her free hand, "Thanks for not killing me this time, Captain."

The man clasps Tasha's hand with his bug-claw, which is just two thick fingers and a thumb. Tasha can feel the tiny hairs lining the insides fingers and palm. "You must be the Gryphon jockey," the old Vartan says. Then he turns to Riddle and asks, "Why'd you bring 'er?"

"She saw it," the human just says with a grin, before taking a drink of her own ale.

While not afraid of bugs, exactly, Tasha's ears still twitch at the strange handshake. "Aye, Gryphon jockey," she agrees, then glances at the red haired woman with a brow raised. "The Zone? Or … Them?"

"She means the Phantom," the Vartan says, letting go of Tasha's hand. "High in the sky, where nothing else has a right to be, glittering like a Rotbiter's toothed tongue. I'm Raehab, former Gryphon jockey of the Confederate Air Force."

Tasha's other brow shoots up at the mention of that, making her look very surprised, indeed. She listens to the introduction and nods here and there, ears perking when he identifies himself as a fellow Gryphon pilot. "Then it's an honor, Raehab," she insists in a tone of respect before taking a drink and settling back. "So, yes … That. Frankly, I thought it was a dimensional distortion, or some sort of redirected light effect from the Zone creatures. Turns out, I never reached it at all … It remained out there … like it was taunting me. Or, watching." Blinking, Tasha remembers something she had lost in the surprise and skuldudgery. "I'm Tasha, by the way – Pilot Cadet Tasha of the Joint Expeditionary Force."

"It does more than watch if you chase it," Raehab says, and uses his left hand to tap on his chitin arm. "Ah, heard something about that: big fancy ship of the ancients. Didn't believe a word until I caught sight of your bird. Haven't seen the like of it before, and I've seen most every machine that walks and flies."

"Raehab shot down my father's airship during one of the little wars we have now and then to relieve the monotony," Riddle notes.

"We've just returned to this world – in more ways than one," Tasha admits, regarding her machine and organization. She looks about to say more, but stops when she hears the red haired woman's admittance. After casting a glance between the two, her expression sobers. "I see," she murmurs, gaze shifting to her drink as she sips and gives herself time to consider. As the glass clunks to the table, ash asks, "So, you got closer to it than I did, and it's hostile?"

"Now that's a tale in itself," Raehab says, and then makes a loud throat-clearing noise. Riddle sighs and collects the empty mugs. "I'll keep your throat wet, old bird," she promises. "Just pass along the story before you finally dry up and blow away."

"I think I might need another drink for this, too, please, Ambassador?" Tasha asks, offering her nearly drained mug to the woman.

Riddle leaves them, and Raehab leans closer across the table. "I wasn't born like this, you know. It's just what the docs had to do to patch me up. It all started about twenty years back… "