There is only so much drinking, snacking and gambling that a Karnor can do – before they have to sleep or go on shift. Still, Tasha managed to meet the 2nd shift as they came off duty and do it all over again. By the time she made her way back to the Bellerophon, she was tired and still a bit buzzed. "So, what's the verdict on the base?" Fred asks, leaning against a support strut in the lower corridor and possibly waiting for the Vartan.

Tasha's tail gives the answer away, wagging as it is as she approaches, but she still grins and says, "It was a little rough at first, but after meeting the men and talking, drinking, eating … we get along great! I've never felt so accepted by people who weren't Vartans!"

"That's good to hear!" Fred says. "Now, is the base integrated, would you say? Humans, Karnors, men and women all working together?"

"Ummmm … No." Tasha stops beside the phantom Karnor, dropping to lean against another strut, one 'pip' down from him. She spreads her hands and explains, "All I saw were Karnor, and I saw two shifts. What's more amazing is that they're all men. The only women in this entire facility are Dr. Kitty and myself!"

"So, that implies the military is pretty much dominated by the Karnors," Fred says, tapping his chin. "This base is pretty isolated, though. That may play a hand in the makeup of the garrison, since Karnors are better able to handle being cooped up without the opposite sex for long periods. Did you get to the upper levels, or just to the garrison quarters?"

"I saw half of the work deck, including the vehicle bay, workshops and isolation. Apparently they were working on organic tanks a long time ago!They're just sitting around now, unfortunately. After that," Tasha lifts her hand a little, showing the change in floors visually even as she talks about it, "I moved to the crew deck, and got to see the recreation area, which holds the mess and other things. That's as far as I got. I think the Captain and the big-wigs are all on the upper floor, which I didn't see."

"That'll be your next target then," Fred says. "You need to be able to get along with them too if you're going to be a proper Beta. That Vesuvius fellow looks young, shouldn't be a problem. The dragon-lady though… well, you don't have a good record getting along with authoritative females."

Tasha barks a laugh, nodding. "I don't," she agrees. Then, she huffs her breath against her hand and smells it, blinking. "Maybe I should freshen up before I head out again and meet my superiors. Think I should see if we have a better uniform around here?" She looks at the other Beta in askance, then blinks. "Hey, you're right! I am a Beta."

"Not sure what schedules they keep, but yeah… you need some cleaning up," Fred says with a grin. "Do you have any off-duty clothing?"

"I wasn't even on duty until I was made Cadet. I'm still not sure what, exactly, my role is, what I should be doing, when I should salute and if I'm supposed to be … Beta-ing people around somewhere. I guess that will change, once we have time to organize." The woman grins, then gestures down at herself. "I'm afraid this is the best I have, except some of Nora's clothes I, um, borrowed. I left my other clothes in New Zion. Otherwise, I just have some Vartan mercenary kit."

"Nora was a snappy dresser," Fred admits. "Let me take a look at what you have, and I'll pick something out while you hit the fresher, okay?"

"You got it!" Tasha pushes off, then tries to sling her arm around the man's shoulder as they head deeper in to the ship. "Have you ever had a cupcake? I love them! Also, Cookie, he's hilarious … "

While Tasha cleans herself up (her fresher is of the sonic, air-blowing variety instead of the water type in the captain's quarters), Fred ransacks Nora's old wardrobe. By the time Tasha is done, Fred is ready with his selections.

Tasha exits the fresher room with a towel around her waist, stepping forward to take a look. "That was fast! I didn't know you had an 'eye for fashion'."

"I don't, but I do have an eye for presentation," Fred notes, and shows what he has laid out on the bed. The tunic is unusual, in that it looks like two different ones were cut diagonally from the right shoulder down to the hip, then sewn back together. The the right shoulder to lower-left hip is glossy black, with the shoulder covered. The upper left part is shiny gold, and the shoulder is separated into two narrow straps instead of a solid sleeve. The neckline is also asymmetrical, opening more to the left. Along with these are some plain black pants with a silver stripe along the outer seam, and a red swash with a JEF-shield for a pin, which could go around the hips. "I'll let you choose your own underwear," Fred says, and looks at Tasha's bare breasts. "But certainly some under support, like a half-corset so it doesn't interfere with your wings… "

"Um, show me? I'm new to all these fancy supporters. I used to just use a x-tied length of cloth. I think I have one of those, but in Vartan Expedition-era materials … " Tasha goes "hmmm" as she wanders to her closet, rummaging through it before pulling out some six-thousand year old small clothes and beginning to dress.

"I could build something into the tunic," Fred notes. "I'll have to alter it for your wings anyway, and the pants for your legs, but that should only take a few minutes."

Tasha pauses as she picks up her bra and starts to put it on. "Oh? Hokay, go ahead. I'll just … wait here!" She drops the top back in to her closet, then settles down on her bed before adding, "Oh! Do you have any cologne?"

"I don't," Fred says, pausing near the door. "I doubt anything that volatile would have survived so long. Do you want to try and cover your scent?"

"Nora said it was a good idea, but I can probably go without for now if it's too much of a hassle." The woman flops back on to her bed, snatching the Melchior's data slate to look at as she waits.

Fred really meant it when he said a few minutes. He's back in five, with the slightly altered clothing. "Good thing I still know your exact measurements!" he says. "Aren't you glad you let me feel you up now?"

Tasha's muzzle splits in to a big grin at the question, the woman lowering her slate and peering over it. "Oh, I never regretted it. Your last outfit I've been wearing since I got it," she insists. After putting the slate aside, she slides off the bed and walks over to take the garment.

With help, Tasha manages to get the new garment on, and stands before Fred with her arms and wings out – or at least as much as they can be in the cramped officer's quarters. "How do I look?"

The Beta adjusts the sash, so that the shield is more prominent. "Well, it seems to be stretching with your wing flexes, which is good – don't want your clothes to explode when you're trying to make a first impression. Try sitting?"

The woman sits back on her bed, bracing herself with a hand. "That would be mortifying," she agrees.

The pants seem to flex well also, the cuffs keeping close to Tasha's digigrade ankles, and the fabric not riding up or feeling too tight or loose anywhere. "Now… where are your brushes and combs?" Fred asks.

"I think I have a brush … somewhere… " Tasha gets back up and begins looking around, until she finds her brush half-under the clothes she just changed out of. "I was in a hurry this morning," she admits, offering the man the comb. "Best sleep I've gotten all week!"

"Well, let's see what we can do," Fred says, and starts attacking Tasha's hair to try and get it to show some body and bounce. "I used to do my sister's hair," he notes. It's not exactly a comfortable experiences, as stuff gets pulled on occasion. "Is your tail okay as it is? That's your Vartan half, so… I have no idea how it should look."

"Don't ask me! My tail is unique," the young woman replies, shrugging then wishing she hadn't as it ends up pulling her hair more. Wincing, she reaches over and pulls her tail in to her lap, starting to smooth it out. "I could probably tie some more shinies to it. Captain Eyeshine liked beads and feathers; Captain Blackwings usually picked metal and crystal bits."

"I'm tempted to suggest electronic components," Fred says with a light chuckle. "I think this is the best I can do without calling in a specialist," he notes, fluffing Tasha's hair up a bit more by hand. "There's stuff you can spray on it to make it stay in place, but I don't think we have anything like that."

"I never knew this would be so complicated. Vartan culture, at least where I came from, doesn't usually do all this!" Tasha peers up at her new hair style as she rises. "Well not exactly," she admits, "The Captains were all foppish, and I saw a few better off Vartans with more shinies and better clothes. So maybe it's just being poor!" She laughs, then lets her tail go. "It'll do. I'm sure I can get more later. Think I should notify the Captain I'm coming?"

"You should drop in on him before going probably, he's been cooped up ever since they finished the external inspection," Fred says, and then tugs a curl of hair to dangle down between Tasha's eyes. "There! You look more insouciant that way!"

"That word … That word … " Tasha peers at the dangled hair, mouth working as she repeats the word over and over again. Then, she just points at Fred. "I'll know what that word means later at some point. For now, I'll go find the Captain. I didn't even know he was on the ship; I must have been gone a while." She then leans over and gives Fred a kiss on the side of the muzzle. "Wish me luck!"

"Good luck!" Fred says, looks at the strewn clothes and towels… and decides to let clean the cabin up a bit.

Out in the hall, Tasha heads forward toward the Captain's quarters. Before she gets there, the door opens and Nora comes out, blinking in surprise to see Tasha in her old clothes.

Tasha walks down the corridor, checking herself out as she goes. Thus does she jump when she looks up when the door suddenly opens, and there's Nora! "Ah!" The young woman immediately straightens, then quickly spits out, "Fred! He helped – with clothes! The clothes! Ma'am!"

"Well, it's good to see them getting some use," Nora quips with a half-grin. "The sash… I wouldn't have thought of it for that ensemble. Figures Fred would, he likes hips. Anyway, here to see Gabe?"

"I'm not quite sure what to make of it myself," Tasha admits, looking down at her waist. She purses her muzzle a bit, then looks up again. "Aye. Is the Captain free?"

"Yeah, I got him to take a break," Nora says. "We've been trying to come up with what we need to maintain Belle on Abaddon, along with other things."

Tasha bobs her head. "That sounds complicated; I'm sorry I'm not more use to either of you. I was able to spread some good-will with the soldiers stationed here and make some friends, however."

"That's useful," Nora notes, looking thoughtful. "Have you seen much of the facilities here? I know the council is supposed to figure out where we can base, if they're going to support us, but that doesn't mean we can't use what's here now while it's available."

"There's a large vehicle plant in the center of the work deck, and a number of mothballed labs, as well as several active workshops. There's even a few old attempts at incorporating various aspects of the organic life in to vehicles, such as regenerative and organically produced metals. The deck above the work deck is all for the crew. I didn't see what was in the far hangar," the young Vartan reports.

"Did you get a good look at the workshops?" Nora asks. "A base this far out of the way has to either keep a huge spare-parts supply or be able to fabricate things on demand, like the Orpheus could."

Tasha nods. "They have fabrication, although I only got a passing look. I know they can repair and maintain a small fleet of military vehicles, including tanks, and vehicles with serious perforation and mastication damage – so they must be able to create parts and ammunition," she explains.

"I'd love to be able to see for myself," Nora says with a sigh. "At best, we've got the remote suit Fred cobbled up."

"Don't worry; some day we'll figure out how we can get you and the others to be able to act independently without restriction. I have faith that we will," Tasha insists, smiling and giving her best positive tail wag.

"Zerachiel has the power and other requirements for the incubation tanks," Nora notes. "I'm heading over to talk to him now, since Gabe needs the info, and I didn't want him doing it himself so he can get some rest. Try to keep him from working behind our backs, okay?"

Tasha lifts her hand and salutes! "I will! It's my fault he's doing this again, anyway. Maybe it was a mistake that I asked him to lead the JEF?"

"I doubt anyone else could pull it off," Nora admits. "Still, he needs to feel confident and prepared before the meeting – although realistically, the council is a civilian political body, and will want to have some say in things in exchange for support I imagine."

"I wish I could have lead it and let him relax. But you're right, he is the only one who can lead us – I learned that lesson already. I'm not about to try and play Alpha again, not with so much at stake." Tasha turns her head, peering past Nora in to the cabin, and biting her lip. "I'll just try and be the best Beta I can be with what I have, I suppose, and do all I can to support him." She leans back, smiles again, and asks, "And on that note, may I enter?"

"Sure, I doubt he's fallen asleep or anything," Nora says with a smile, and gives Tasha's shoulder a squeeze before heading for the lower-deck ramp.

Tasha's tail wags all the more for the squeeze, and Nora gets another salute as she walks off. With nothing left to do but go forward, Tasha steps inside and raps on the wall. "Captain, it's me," she calls inside. "May I come in?"

"Come in… Tasha?" Akkers calls. He then leans out to see that it IS Tasha and not Nora returning. Even then, it seems to take him a moment. "I remember that outfit… " he says, and gestures for Tasha to come in to the main room.

A pause, then Tasha enters and glances at herself in the Captain's head mirror. "Eerie, isn't it?" She had forgotten how much they must resemble each other now. They had always looked alike, and now that Tasha has adopted Nora's style of speaking, linguistic skills, dress and many of her mannerisms, the similarity must be uncanny. "Fred helped me rework one of Nora's outfits in to a more presentable uniform. Oh! And I'm back from meeting with the soldiers of Tartarus."

"You met the soldiers dressed like that?" Akkers asks. He's sitting in a padded chair next to the bed, and has a printed book in his lap – probably something he picked up in New Zion or Rephidim.

Tasha walks over to stand in front of her mate and captain, saluting and then folding her hands behind her back. "No, sir. I was dressed in my fatigues, then. I am happy to report that I believe I made a good impression – even friends. I've never felt more comfortable around so many Karnors." She smiles a little, then her eyes drift down to try and get a glimpse of the book.

From the cover, it looks like a history book about the Temple. "That's good. What is your impression of them and the base?" Gabriel asks. "Should we be considering Tartarus as a home base?"

"They are wonderful people, Captain. At least, the ones I met are. I already feel like they are family, and a man – Ace – said I was always welcome here. I believe I have been adopted, Sir. I think they are a good choice, at least so far." Tasha lifts her eyes from examining the book, instead watching her mate for signs her presentation may be incorrect – or her words. "I have not met the senior staff beyond Sergeant Bear. I have heard Dr. Kitty is 'a real piece of work.'"

"She's a human civilian in a military base in the middle of nowhere," Gabriel says, folding his hands in his lap – and atop the book. "I would expect her defense mechanisms to be cranked up as a result to help her cope. So having another woman to talk to might help loosen her up and make her feel less isolated. It would also be useful to find out just what sort of knowledge or expertise she has on Expedition technology, and what her impression of us is."

"Then that's what I'll do, Sir." Tasha smiles, but seems to think better of it, because she straightens her expression rather quickly. "I also thought I should meet Lieutenant Vesuvius. Do you agree, Captain?"

"Yes, he's the one in charge of everything," Akkers notes, looking thoughtful. "You can extend my invitation to both of them to tour the ship before the delegates arrive. We may need their insight on what not to show the civilians."

"Good idea, Sir." Another quickly muted smile. "I'll get to that, unless there's anything else? Are the council members en route now?"

"It will take them at least a day to arrive, I think," Gabriel says. "If they aren't all coming together, they'll have to juggle things so that they arrive at the same time, probably."

"That sounds wise." Tasha tilts her head, then offers, "Would it be a terrible idea to suggest myself as Honor Guard, if they are arriving together?"

"I assume you mean while piloting Melchior?" Gabriel asks, one eyebrow raised.

"I would be rather unimpressive and ineffective on foot, Sir," Tasha replies.

Gabriel blinks at this. "Well, you can be my honor guard," he suggests. "From what I understand, the delegates will each have their own guard."

"Then I won't suggest it. Instead, I will suggest being your Honor Guard, Sir." The woman then clears her throat, before straightening like a rod, again. It's hard to tell if she's teasing, given she smells both intimidated and happy. There was a definite hint of discomfort at the rejection of her original idea, though. Peculiar, given she managed to actually hide her emotions for once.

"You're being awfully formal, Tasha," Gabriel says. "You didn't meet some handsome soldier who swept you off your fee-… hooves… did you?"

Tasha's muzzle breaks in to a grin – then it's stiffed! – no, wait, it's back again! Finally, she sputters and starts laughing so hard she has to catch herself. "Nooo," she wheezes, "I'm just trying … very … hard!"

"Trying what very hard?" Gabriel asks, both eyebrows raised now. "Did Nora put you up to doing something silly?"

The young woman coughs, then pulls herself back up and folds her hands behind her back again after wiping her eyes. "No Sir. I'm just trying to be the best Beta and second-in-command I can be. I'm … not actually sure if I'm doing this right, but I didn't want to distract you by being inappropriate on the ship." She tilts her head, smiling a little. "Is it not right?"

Gabriel grins, picks up the book and sets on the bed so he can offer Tasha his lap. "A good Beta doesn't need to be formal – they get away with being familiar with everyone. And it's not as if we're on duty while Belle is grounded. I don't know what our military status is at the moment."

"Oh good, it's not just me then!" Tasha doesn't wait a second longer, dropping herself in to her mate's lap and snuggling in until she's comfortable. "Ahh, this is so much better. I wasn't sure how long I could manage that, and I haven't been that intimidated by you since we first met. I'm so glad to hear being a Beta isn't … That." Then, she wraps her arms around Gabriel's shoulders and gives him a big kiss!

The Captain laughs and hugs Tasha back. "It has no bearing on how we interact in private," he reminds her. "We're mates… our relationship is on a higher level than old pack instincts."

"That's what I like to hear!" Tasha rests her head on Gabriel's shoulder, letting out a long, contented sigh. "I really wasn't sure what to expect once we landed, or how distant I should be. It's reassuring to know that at least, together, there doesn't need to be any distance."

"Mmmmm, too bad you're all dressed and primped… " Gabriel says. "Maybe after your meeting, you'll drop by again?"

"It is, isn't it? I never thought I'd consider not staying," the woman gives another sigh, albeit more put-upon this time. " … But there it is. Duty certainly is inconvenient. Mmmmm." She nuzzles closer so she can get a good sniff at the man's neck, making sure she has something to take with her. "I won't be too long."

"Nora will be back in a bit with more information for me to… deal with," Gabriel sighs. "After that, I'll be ready for a good break."

"I'd better get up then. I don't need to make her feel any worse than I already have." The man gets another kiss, then Tasha untwines herself and brushes herself off before turning around. "You'll have to tell me if the book is anything like the reality, too. Is there anything else, Gabriel?"

"The Temple has a lot of Saints," Gabriel notes. "Just be careful, be relaxed, be friendly… don't seduce Vesuvius. He looks like a puppy."

"He is awfully cute," Tasha admits, giving an exaggerated tilt of her head and touch of her muzzle as she turns her eyes skyward, consideringly. Then she beaks in to a grin, looking back. "I'll be good. If I can handle a room full of flexing Karnors trying to seduce me, I can handle one young man." She then steps back, and salutes. "I will endeavor not to end up in a fight with Dr. Kitty, as well!" The saluting hand opens in to a wave.

"Don't let her dissect you either," Gabriel advises. "Caravelli would get jealous."

"I will try to reserve all my body parts for you and Dr. C. to share, Sir." Another grin, then Tasha turns and head on out.

The ramp guards can't help but whistle after Tasha passes them on her way to the elevators. These are not the same as the utility lifts Bear showed her, but the ones they took to the officer's mess for their steak dinner after landing. They bypass the crew deck, and let Tasha out in a corridor that is a little more brightly lit (thanks to to heavily-barred skylights). It isn't really any fancier though – it still sports a mural, and the floor is semi-carpeted, if you count rubber as carpeting material. It also has handy arrows and colored lines leading to places. The map shows the level to be a good bit smaller than down below, since there's a small landing pad and lots of space given over to sensing equipment.

Tasha can't help but grin when the guards whistle. She remembers them from earlier, and after seeing her in her fatigues and messy hair,they  must be quite surprised to see her dressed up. The woman knows she's surprised, certainly! After peering at the map, Tasha finds the arrow leading to the two offices she needs. At first she picks Dr. Kitty, thinking to go with the worst first, then realizes it might be an insult to the Alpha and turns direction to head for Lieutenant Vesuvius's office instead.

The nameplate on the door looks like it was recently added, above the 'Commanding Officer' stenciled on the door. There's a little green light lit at the top of the door arch.

"I guess he's in," Tasha murmurs to herself. After taking a deep breath, she knocks.

The door opens automatically, and the office beyond… is surprisingly small for such a lofty position. It doesn't seem much larger than Gabriel's aboard the Bellerophon, but has room for three people to sit comfortably. The man's desk is covered in papers, and the walls are covered with printed maps of the canyon network around the base. He looks up with a bit of surprise, and seems to freeze for a moment. "Oh… ah… please come in? Miss Tasha, isn't it?" he finally says.

"Cadet Argentine, Sir," Tasha replies with a salute. "But if it isn't a breach of propriety, I am fine with just being called Tasha." The woman smiles, sweeping her gaze across the room for a moment before looking down and saying, "I thought – if you weren't busy, that is – we could talk? As the Beta and second-in-command of the JEF, I feel it's important to get to know both crew and commander."

"The Beta… oh, yes, ah, please have a seat!" Vesuvius says, standing and coming around to hold a chair for Tasha. "I suppose you can call me Gordon then, if you like? I'm… not used to addressing female military cadets."

"If that's okay? Please don't feel you need to treat me any differently than a male cadet." Tasha steps forward and takes the seat, noting how Gabriel did this for her as well – maybe it's a Karnor or Terran tradition with men? She decides to ask Gabriel later, turning her attention back to the here-and-now. She crosses her legs and tilts her head, "And, well, I haven't been a cadet for very long, so we're both getting used to it, I suppose!"

"If you don't know, our military doesn't have women in combat roles," Vesuvius notes as he returns to his own seat. "Although I've seen some with impressive piloting skill, they tend to only be used for rescue and evacuation. Ah, but that's… probably not pertinent," he notes. "What can I do for you, Tasha?"

"That's very interesting. Originally, the Terran Space Force included both men and women – but this was six-thousand plus years ago during the age when Karnors were still being evaluated," Tasha explains. She then scoots a little closer and replies, "Oh, well, I was hoping we might get to know each other. There may be a time when I need to act in less relaxed leadership role with yourself, and it would be good if we got along and knew somewhat of what to expect from each other. I am also here to extend the Captain's personnel invitation to tour the Bellerophon prior to the arrival of the delegates. Dr. Kitty will also be invited."

"Oh?" Gordon says, his ears perking up and his scent growing a bit more excited – at the mention of the tour, not about getting to know Tasha better. "I'd love to see the ship! I used to restore Titans… but just for show. Parades and stuff. The military has so little working Expedition technology in the field now, that I thought they were going to reassign me."

"You … You restore Titans??" Now it's Tasha's turn to sound exited, the woman leaning forward. "That's wonderful! I love Titans! You'll be able to see two when you tour our ship, including my Khattan-Vartan Magi-class class Gryphon "Melchior," and the unnamed Reaper-class Silent-One Titan. Maybe you'll be able to offer some insight! I've been trying to locate another Titan like mine, you see."

"I've… never even heard of that class," Gordon admits, looking a bit stunned. "Gryphon? Magi?"

"Gryphons are flying Titans, not capable of escape velocity but very mobile in an atmosphere. The Magi are a trio of TL2 – that's Tech Level 2 – fighting machines, most likely themed and of religious significance as well. My Melchior is a melee supremacy machine, featuring an AI support and direct mind-machine neural-link. It uses a weapon called a 'shaard,' which is a variable cutting weapon. Physically, it's forty feet tall, and resembles a Vartan male, except with a fan tail, and is black and gold."

Gordon rummages across his desk to find a pad of paper, and hastily takes notes. "It's non-Terran then, but not Silent-Ones… that's unique. I only vaguely recall that the Vartan Titans were used on Sinai."

Tasha's eyes widen – to think, there were Titans with her all along on her birth world! "That's something I didn't know," she admits, sounding impressed. "And yes, it's not Terran or Silent-One in manufacture. It's actually Khattan – Khattan Trade Coalition – in design. And because you like them as much as I do, I'll tell you a little secret: I'm part of the Melchior system, too." She then leans forward and brushes her hair aside, showing the silver studs that connect to metal trails embedded below her still-regrowing fur.

"Wait… when you said direct mind interface… you mean you plug into the Titan?" Gordon asks, gaping at the metal contacts. "How did you… install that?"

"I did!" Tasha waits a moment to let the man get a good look, then drops her hair and leans back. "Control of the Melchior is accomplished through direct input by my nervous system, including my brain. I am also pre-coded to be its pilot; I don't believe anyone else could pilot the machine even if they were also cyborgs like I am. As for how I installed it … I didn't! I had ancient machines perform the surgery, which is a good thing, too – it goes right in to the center of my brain. I had a real headache after that, aye!"

"We don't have anything like that," Gordon notes. "And this was Khattan technology also? And it's still on Sheol?"

"I … I cannot speak of that further. Attempting to access Sheol to acquire its technology outside the JEF would not be wise, after all, and I would not wish to endanger it, you, or the stability of this world by revealing too much. I urge you to keep that to yourself, at least for now. I know as a military man that may not be possible, but please trust me when I say it would be too soon – and possibly dangerous," Tasha insists, laying her ears back. She bows her head a little in apology after she has said her piece.

"It's not like we can get there," Vesuvius points out, sounding disappointed. "But if you say it's dangerous… well, it still doesn't matter; there's nothing we can do about it one way or the other. Our space program died… ages ago."

Tasha smiles a little sadly, then sighs, head shaking. "I'm sorry," she offers, heartfelt. "You see, I'm … I'm very new at this, and some times I say more than I should. But … But I'm willing to trust you. You seem like a nice man. So – at the risk of putting my hoof in my mouth again – I'll answer you: yes, it exists on Sheol. However, I used a template surgical procedure. The system was designed solely for Vartans, but other systems may exist. As for why it's dangerous: the AI systems have begun establishing a combined government among themselves. They asked, specifically, to be left in peace."

"That's incredible!" Gordon says, enthusiastic again. "An alien civilization… sort of… right on our doorstep! And… well, the are friendly, right? I mean, they won't use their high-ground position to attack us?"

"We discussed that with them, and their projections for completion and answers to our inquires both strongly suggest they have no interest in expanding. I'll admit, I shared your concern and I did my best to make sure it was answered." The woman smiles again, less nervously, and rests her hands on her higher knee. "I actually have some pictures, somewhere, of myself, the trinary AI cores, and their 'offspring.'"

"Oh, I can't wait to see the photos!" Gordon says, actually rubbing his hands together. "I've waited my whole professional life for this. Dad was always saying this was a dead-end pursuit, and that I should go with a combat position and advance through the ranks, like he did… "

Tasha's ears perk, then she claps her hands together! "Well! Then you're going to prove him wrong shortly, because we'll be counting on you here. And, well, you've already met two aliens: both Cadet Layth and I are from Sinai." She beams, inclining her head. "I hoped the JEF would be a path to meeting people's dreams and growing stronger, together – and to see you so excited really makes that dream seem alive."

"I hope Dr. Drake comes with the Celestial contingent," Gordon says. "We've only met a few times, but she and I share the same ideas. That's not her real name of course, but I just can't pronounce it properly."

"She'll be pleased to speak with our Celestial Empire AI representative, then. The ITAIC – my acronym for the Imperial Triadic AI Cores – sent a representative to speak with their fleshly counterparts." Tasha reaches in to her sash, pulling out her glossy black Vartan data slate and tapping a few things on it before looking up. "I can't keep track of everything without this thing," she admits, looking up. "Tell me about your ideas?"

"Oh, we talked about joint exploration groups," Gordon says, sitting back and looking more comfortable. "With this time of relative peace thanks to the Pit of Himar and the Gateway, it seemed like we might be able to get military backing… of course, with the whole Celestial Life Dome situation, I don't know that they'll be interested in committing resources right now. The Expedition and the Silent-Ones are the biggest powers at the moment, since we haven't suffered disasters like the Empire and the Confederation."

"I'll admit, and this may surprise you, I don't know much about the Confederation. We did meet refugees from the Life Dome, and I think our Dr. Caravelli is currently treating them at Gateway City, which may, besides being a great boon to them, also help us here. It's good to hear that others have been discussing this idea for a while, and that we're not alone in our thinking. It's a thinking I share with you, as well." The young woman smiles, lowering her pad to her lap. "As for the Silent-Ones, I'm not sure what to expect. We have the Titan, but they are a difficult people, and I fear they're not very fond of me because of what I am. I've been mistaken for a Confederate … 'abomination' … several times now, and called one to my face by a Silent-One guard."

"Ah… well, the Confederates had a very aggressive expansion and exploration policy. Resources on Abaddon are not easy to exploit, you see, and there is a lot of competition. The recent collapse of their central command structure has resulted in a lot of alleged infighting and power grabbing. But they have a strong presence in the Pit, since their technology has certain advantages over ours. The Silent-Ones have been aggressive expansionists in the past, but have become a bit more inward-turned this last generation – it all depends on which faction is dominant in their government. We in the Expedition have been taking a stand-offish, cautious approach to things – which sometimes means we miss out on opportunities. Our claims in the Pit are smaller as a result of that caution, but we haven't taken any big risks for fear of upsetting our populace. I'd say the Expedition holds life… and comfort… at a higher value than the other nations."

Tasha inclines her head, then nods a few times as she listens and mentally sorts. "That's very enlightening, thank you. Despite my being half-Vartan, I hold no current ties – or even much knowledge – of the Confederacy. In fact, I know the Vartan people were not originally members of the Confederacy and their current ties are fairly alien to me. I won't say I won't be glad to see the other half of my people, though." The woman grins a little, reaching back with a hand to pat a wing. "Terrans don't build for wings," she mock-whisper conspiratorially, leaning forward briefly. "In fact, all of us – the current JEF roster that is – are fairly firmly neutral, species ties aside."

"What is your current roster?" Gordon asks. "From the reports I have, it's you and a Lapi from Sinai, and the Ancients from the Fenris?"

"You know about the … Ancients?" The woman blinks; even she hadn't been told who knew about the survivors and who didn't. "Um, and yes, well … It's Gabri- … Excuse me, Captain Akkers, Dr. Caravelli – assuming he wishes to remain with us, Dr. Zerachiel, Cadet Layth and myself."

"Well, that's… not many," Gordon admits. "Of course, depending on how the council goes, you'll be able to recruit from various sources… or just be stuck with us, possibly. I can't make any promises."

"I have faith in our future, Gordon. I believe that there are more people like us – and not just those who have a sterling education and can claim to be 'elite.' There will be others. The stars call to us all, they're our ancient birthright." The young woman smiles, head tilting. "Yes, I think we'll be fine. And even if not, I don't intend to give up."

"Very inspirational!" Gordon says with a smile. "I'm sure Dr. St. John-Smythe will be able to throw the support of the Museum and University behind the cause."

"I certainly hope so. I believe we're already known to the Museum, if not more than special visitors. We – Layth, Aisha, Calligenia and myself – toured the Museum in New Zion while the Captain was reporting to Expedition Command. This was before I presented the idea of reviving the JEF to the Captain and crew, so I was just the civilian leader of the exploratory party," Tasha explains, smiling.

"Well, the PHTO is very big on civilian leadership," Gordon points out. "They tolerate the military, since we're necessary to protect against the native lifeforms after all. They just don't like us to run things."

"It's undecided how the JEF will reform itself, and that will have to be discussed both internally and externally when and if we get support to rebuild. The Captain has suggested a civilian leadership, as he's wiser than I on these things. I believe we'll need a security force given our technology and sensitive materials, but we don't plan to be a military force in the conventional sense." Tasha glances at her datapad, then rolls her thumb across the swirling, water-globe like thumb control before tapping the screen several times. "It is also important we not become a source of military technology, which is part of why the Council is arriving, of course."

"We have self-reinforcing limits on our military technologies as it is," Gordon notes, bridging his fingers. "One of the reasons we had to drop our space program – along with every other military power on Abaddon. It would be too great an advantage, you see. Any group that develops a superior first-strike weapon would immediately be attacked by the others. Of course, that hasn't stopped private groups and individuals over the years. A mad scientist with a military bent pops up every generation, it seems."

Tasha just shakes her head. "It happens on every world, I suppose. People want to show their muscle at the expense of others." She picks up her data slate and turns it around, showing its screen and a black and gold giant that dwarfs a similarly armored Tasha next to it. "I thought you'd like to see this. I also have a question for you, if you don't mind?"

Gordon leans forward to look at the image. "That is your Gryphon?" he asks. "It's very… imposing. What did you want to ask me?"

"It is, but as I said, we are one system. I am as much a part of that machine as anything, and its heart. You needn't fear it any more than you need to fear me." She then leans forward to take a look, suddenly chuckling. "Captain Akkers was a little put off it had a masculine figure, you see. Like you, I obsess over Titans." Grinning and looking up, she asks, "You've seen a lot of Expedition-era relics, then?"

"Well… a few at least," Gordon notes. "Generally the stuff that is no longer working. But also a few working pieces, since you have to learn how to maintain those if you have any hope of restoring the broken ones. I've even gotten a brief look at current Silent-Ones Titans."

"Has their Titan technology changed over the centuries, do you think? I've seen several from the Expedition-era, and they seemed to intentionally complicate and limit their Titans as they do their other technology, save light-based technology." Tasha looks back down at her machine, shaking her head a little. "I can't say I agree with their design principles, but I can at least admire their artistry."

"I doubt they've changed much," Gordon notes. "As you say – it's more about art than function. Their Titans have more in common with construction machinery than weapons. But they have cultural importance for them."

"I certainly am not about to argue cultural importance," the young woman says, smiling a little. She rolls her finger again, and the image shifts to several uniformed Vartans standing around a carved stone-like object – the Origin Marker. "Speaking of cultural significance. You haven't seen anything like this, have you?"

"Oh, quite often, actually," Gordon says, and gestures to a framed photo on the wall behind him. It depicts a group of Karnors and humans, in almost exactly the same poses as the Vartans, with a plaque held up before the first row. That one simply states the year and class, however.

Tasha blinks after peering at the photograph, then barks a laugh! "Oh no, that's not what this is at all," she insists, head shaking. A touch of the fingers turns off the slate's screen, and the woman reaches to tuck it away as she explains, "The stone is likely an artifact, although its significance isn't proven yet. By approval of the Captain, I have been given permission to investigate them. The problem is, they're six-thousand years missing."

"Ah… can't help you there," Gordon admits. "Mysterious etched stones are not in my area of expertise. Kitty is supposed to have a database drawn from the Disc of Eras though. She might have better luck finding something about it."

Tasha ears perk at that. "Ooo," she murmurs, glancing back at the door. "I really should ask her about that. In fact, I've probably taken up too much of your time as it is. But," the woman looks back, "if you would like to provide a time you believe you, and Dr. Kitty if she agrees, would like to tour or vessel – and perhaps have dinner – I can schedule that now."

"Oh, well… maybe dinner tonight then?" Gordon asks. "She usually eats by herself, but I'm sure if you invite her she'll agree."

"Excellent! I'll just inform the ship now." The woman seems to … do nothing except stare in to space for several seconds, before looking back and smiling. "Done."

"That collar of yours is more than decorative I take it?" Gordon asks.

"That's a very astute observation," Tasha says with a grin and a wink. "You're correct. The collar is also wired to my nervous system, and allows me certain thought directed options. It will likely be removed when I don't need it for simulation training; I know Layth just hates his."

The Karnor rubs at his own throat reflexively. "I… can't imagine what's that like. And would probably rather not, to be honest… "

The woman nods slowly. "Attachment of the Life Collar is not pleasant in the least – I know from multiple experiences. Personally, I hope to have something that takes advantage of my permanent cybernetic wiring rather than this more invasive, and uncomfortable, process. But for now, it's a necessity." She reaches up and pats the collar, then extends her hand across the desk. "It's been an honor speaking to you, Lieutenant. I can't help but feel like you're already one of us, in spirit."

Gordon leans across and shakes hands. "I hope this is the beginning of something… well… grand," he notes.

"I like to think it is!" The young woman pats the Alpha's hand, then stands up. She executes a straight-laced salute, and says, "We look forward to seeing you aboard our ship soon, Sir. Good day!" And then she turns and heads in to the hallway.

Of course, it isn't clear where Dr. Kitty IS. Would she have an office, or just quarters?

Tasha ponders this most pressing of questions, and decides to do things by process of elimination. And if she can, to ask someone as she looks. First stop: the offices.

Since she's already in the office block, this is easy enough. Most of the offices are open and empty, and few closed ones either have red lights or labels like 'Air Boss' that don't make a lot of sense.

"Hrrrm," Tasha murmurs to herself. She scans the long wall of doors, then shakes her head. But, she still has two options left if she can't find someone along the way: Dr. Kitty's quarters, and her lab if she has one. That odd photographer did say she had one. I wonder if he left already? Shaking her head, Tasha proceeds towards the living quarters.

Passing the workrooms, she hears muttering and clinking noises… and picks up a familiar scent, amidst the chemical ones: Scooter Scott, the photography she was just thinking of.

I forgot to mention he was a human here, too. I'll have to correct that when I get back to the ship, Tasha thinks as she follows the noise to its source. "Mr. Scott?

"Waah!" the high strung man cries out. Tasha finds his rear end, at least, the rest of him hidden inside some black-curtained box resting atop a table. "Just a mo-moment!" he calls. There are more sounds of glass clinking and things being manipulated.

He just may be the most awkward man I have ever met, Tasha considers as she watches the man do … whatever it is he's doing in his strange black box.

It is several minutes before Scooter emerges, accompanied by a foul cloud of chemical fumes. "Oh, Miss Tasha!" he says, as he wipes his hands on his stained apron. "I was developing my pictures from earlier, please forgive m-my rudeness."

"Duty first," Tasha says with a smile. "No harm done. I would have felt bad if I had interrupted or damaged any delicate work. And please, I'm Cadet Argentine, but please call me Tasha if you prefer. I was hoping you'd know where Dr. Kitty is?"

"Dr. Kitty!" the man says in alarm, looking around. Not seeing her, he relaxes. "Oh… where… I suppose in her room?" he guesses. He then looks at Tasha for a moment in confusion. "You are woman shaped!" he suddenly blurts out, having only seen Tasha in her armor before.

"Yes, hips and boobs and everything," Tasha agrees, looking down at herself. "I'm half-Vartan, so there's no reason I wouldn't look like a mammalian hominid woman, is there?" She chuckles, then nods. "Do you happen to know where Dr. Kitty's room is?"

The man turns beet red. It takes him a moment to recover enough to says, "VIP quarters, past the officers quarters towards the main briefing room, ah… to the left and down the corridor."

"Thank you. Good luck with your photography!" Tasha gives a little wave, then heads off left. Definitely the most awkward man I have ever met.

The directions helped, and Tasha finds the VIP quarters, which are more of a set of suites with multiple rooms. Only one seems to be occupied though, as the door is closed.

Well, here I am. Let's see how this goes, thinks the young woman to herself. Gabriel's words about her history with other women in authority position ring in her mind, and she renews her conviction to try and make this a new direction in that sad history. After taking a deep breath, Tasha knocks on the door. "Dr. Kitty St. John-Smythe?"

"Who is it?" comes a feminine reply from inside.

"Cadet Tasha Argentine, JEF second-in-command, ma'am," replies the half-Vartan.

There's movement beyond it, and then the door opens a crack so the human can look out. When she's satisfied it's only Tasha, she opens the door the rest of the way. "What can I do for you, Cadet Argentine?" Kitty asks, sounding a bit less paranoid now.

Having expected a much more unpleasant initial exchange, Tasha finds herself rather more at ease by the relatively positive reaction. It also helps her to see Dr. Kitty is human, which means she cannot read her moods via scent. "I was hoping, if you're not busy that is, that we might take some time to speak and know each other. As the JEF second, Beta, and as a person, I believe in getting to know those I may work with."

"Really?" the woman asks, looking surprised. "You want to just… talk to me?"

"What else would I … Oh." Tasha flicks her ears, head tiling and muzzle creasing in to a frown. She's silent for a moment, then asks, "It's … been hard for you here, hasn't it Doctor?"

The woman steps back and gestures for Tasha to come in. There's actually a small sitting room, with a bedroom area to the side. "There aren't any other women, and… the Karnors are all so big," Kitty notes. The woman isn't any taller than Tasha. "It's hard to leave my room, frankly."

Tasha steps inside, waiting for the door to close before she returns to the conversation. "You're uncomfortable with Karnors?" Tasha glances around the room, then asks, "May I sit? I've been walking all day." In truth, Tasha could stand the rest of the day and then some; she isn't tired, she just remembered that sitting makes her smaller, and smaller is less intimidating. She thinks the Doctor is clearly ill at ease, and she isn't about to contribute to that.

Kitty gestures to a chair across from her. "Oh, I like Karnors fine, I've just never been surrounded by them before," she admits. "Especially not hundreds of miles from my 'territory' if you want to call it that." She smells… post-stressed. As if it's settled in to a low, constant anxiety.

Tasha walks over and takes a seat, removing her data slate and folding her hands atop it in her lap. "It may surprise you, but I can relate to that," she admits, gesturing at her Karnor-style head. "Both on my home planet and in New Zion, I've faced a lot of anxiety and discomfort around groups of Karnors for being what I am. Until very recently, very recently, coming on to this base of Karnors would have felt like a distinctly nerve-wracking prospect."

"I just hope the Potato Heads get here soon, so I'll have something to actually do," Kitty notes, and gestures to her own data pad on the end table. "I've dug up all the records I could on Bellerophon. She's a Heavy Scout, retrofitted for planetary survey work – which is good, since it's not overtly military."

"You're definitely the most informed person I've met so far regarding our ship." Tasha turns and glances at the woman's data pad, surprised to see a still-working facsimile in the hands of the modern Terran nation. She had expected that technology was lost to them, and smiles when she sees it is not. "And if you're interested, I may have some more information for you, as well as some questions and … Who or what is a Potato Head?"

"Oh, did I say that?" Kitty asks, looking alarmed. "That's… ah, just a pet name for the PHTO Council. A pun! Because, PHTO sounds a bit like 'potato'… and they grow lots of those in the Pit… "

Tasha's brows rise, then she laughs. "It's okay, I've done that too, I'm sure." She waves it off, then taps her data slate to get the screen to come on. "And you're correct about our ship. Our weaponry is very limited, even more so within an atmosphere. Our Reaper Titan is unfitted, and my Melchior is a melee-oriented machine. We possess advanced small arms, but nothing that could be considered threatening to a real army. We are only a few people, after all, and only the Captain has a military history."

"And his allegiance… well, does he even have one anymore?" the human asks. "I would think he'd be a bit disconnected from everything. Maybe objective?"

"The Captain has an allegiance to what he has always believed in: exploration, and the good of his crew and the people he serves. I believe now as I did after awakening him: he is a good, well-educated, caring man who holds discovery and people close to his heart. You can believe in him; I do," Tasha replies, intent and serious. She then takes a breath and leans back a little. "I'm afraid this – the modern nation of the Expedition that is – is not the home he knew. He is apart, but so are all of us of the JEF. But, we are not without place. We are together. Family."

"If you can accept others into your 'family' then your idea may be easier for the Potatoes to swallow," Kitty says. "You'll need to get all of them to agree on support, whatever support that may be, and they'll want to offer their own people for membership."

Tasha inclines her head to this. "It's something we already anticipated, and we have agreed that including a diverse, new array of members will ultimately be for the best. We are aware there may be political, social, and ideological differences, but so long as our members can put aside these differences and work together, then they are welcome. I will not tolerate anyone attempting to use the JEF for selfish ends, nor the harming of its people from external or internal sources. I did not put aside my life and selfishness just to see another ruin what we have built with their own," says the young woman, who thumps her fist gently against her pad to drive home her point.

"Well… you certainly seem determined," Kitty notes, perhaps a little bit intimidated. "I'm not sure what I can do to help. I can speak on behalf of the Museum and University, but I'm basically a historian and journalist."

"We will need people such as yourself, because we are ultimately an exploration organization carrying out a six-thousand year old mission. What we have forgotten needs to be found, and what we do needs to be told. The JEF is ultimately the legacy of all people on Abaddon, as well as on Sinai, and elsewhere besides," Tasha insists, smiling. She taps her pad and turns it around so that the other woman may see it. "And speaking of which, have you see this monolith?"

Kitty looks at the image, and says, "I recognize the form, if not the specifics; an Origin Marker of the Progenitor Cult. There's a notion that the cult survives today in some form at the heart of the Kampfengruppe, given their notions of human superiority. We just can't tell which end of the belief system the fall on."

Tasha blinks at that; she had expected another admittance of ignorance on the subject, not new information. This takes the young woman a moment to process, and she runs a hand back through her hair, thinking. "That's … That's very informative," she admits a few seconds later, nodding slowly. "I had expected another dead end, but here you not only know what it is, but you also are aware of an entire group that is interested in the Progenitor Cult. And you know something of the belief systems as well, which have remained vague to me since I became aware of the Cult. Would you mind elaborating? You see, I am heading – well, the only person – an investigation in to such things."

"The historical beliefs… varied greatly," Kitty explains. "Some view the Origin Markers as signs of recognition of superiority. Others view the number of sides as showing precedence… both ways, depending on if the race in question had a lower or higher number on their marker. Others took them to mean those races were created, and thus inferior to natural races. And of course several groups claimed their race must actually be the Progenitors or their direct descendants."

"Hmmmmmmm," murmurs Tasha. She takes a deep breath, then exhales, nodding more. "I have to admit, this is very exciting," she says as she glances at the other woman. "I've been studying the Progenitor Cults and their impact on the Expedition Fleet, as well as origins and intentions, since I found evidence of such upon the Space Carrier Orpheus. And you say, you recognize the shape? Does PHTO actually have an Origin Marker?"

"The organization? No, neither does the Museum," Kitty notes. "If any group does have one, they haven't said so openly. Given the variety of beliefs surrounding them, I imagine they would be hidden away or fought over by secret societies based on the Progenitor mythos. For example, we have no idea if the Kampfengruppe is really related at all. Do they have a human marker, and through it feel it proves their superiority? If so, they haven't touted it as proof for their claims. Do they see the lack of a marker as proof of superiority? Or is it to do with genetics, with humans as the only 'un-spliced' race? They don't seem to want to talk about it."

"Very mysterious," Tasha agrees. She thinks back on the somber, rather intimidating armored humans she saw at Gateway and can only imagine what they really believe. "Then, have you seen a machine that resembles … " The young woman scrolls her data slate back to a picture of the Melchior, " … This Titan?"

"Ah… let me check," Kitty says, reaching for her own computer pad. She manipulates it for some time. "I don't have any record of Vartan-style Titans, other than aircraft," she notes, and shows Tasha a picture of what must be a Garuda on a rocky runway.

Tasha leans forward and nods. "A Garuda, a Vartan mercenary clan primary transport. However," Tasha lifts her own pad and holds it beside the Garuda, showing the differences, "This Titan – a Magi Class Gryphon, the Melchior – was specially created by the Khattan Trade Coalition. I assume you know who they were, despite the lost contact?"

"We know who they were, yes," Kitty says. "I don't have any information on them with me though. We only know of them settling on Sinai, but we can't be sure that the Sea Raiders of Ashtoreth aren't related somehow."

"Sea Raider of Ashtoreth?" Tasha cocks her head to the side, then shakes her head. "No, no … There'll be time to think on them soon enough. Very interesting that there's another concentration of Khattans, however." Pursing her muzzle, Tasha looks down at her Titan and asks, "Does 'The Bird of Hermes' mean anything to you, in the context of Progenitor Cults?"

"Hermes was a messenger god, I believe," Kitty says, her eyes unfocusing as she chews on her lower lip in thought. "Patron of … medicine and… thieves? Something like that. I don't know of any bird, but he was depicted as having winged sandals."

Tasha blinks at that. "I don't like where this is heading," she suddenly admits in a burst of prophecy knee-jerk reaction.

"Pardon?" Kitty asks. "Where did you hear about this bird?"

Tasha rubs at her nose, then leans back and fixes her gaze on the other woman. "It is some sort of poem the Melchior has written to my brain. It is likely some form of identity key. However, I now know the Melchior to have been produced for use by the Expedition-era Progenitor Cult." She takes a shallow breath, and recites, "The Bird of Hermes is my name eating my wings to make me tame."

Kitty jots that down on her pad. "I can see if a library search turns up anything when I can get back to the Museum," she says. "However if it's from something Khattan or Vartan in origin I don't think anything will show up."

"Any help is appreciated, Doctor. Thank you." The young woman smiles, then settles her datapad back in her lap. "This all does present me with a concern, however: I had thought belief in the Progenitor Cult would have died out over the centuries, or at least have become a fringe belief as people concerned themselves more with here than there, but now that you have revealed the Group hold such beliefs and other may as well … I fear the arrival of my Titan may draw their attention. They may even possess another of the Magi."

"If another machine like that is on Abaddon, it's well hidden," Kitty claims. "Of course… there have always been secret groups suspected of hoarding or stealing technology. And we don't even know if other colonies were formed on Abaddon… our range of travel is limited. There are only one or two airships with the range to even reach here from New Zion."

"That … " Tasha pauses. She isn't sure what that news really means at present. Could they be out there, a machine-worshiping cult? A secret society based in a major government? A Magi, just rotting in the dust of this or another planet? Rather than narrow down, it opens up the world to even more possibilities. All she really knows is … "That will require some consideration! I have to admit, it's a little unsettling to have been drawn in to a Cult's interests by accident, even more so not knowing where they might be, and if I am drawing unwanted attention to the JEF by my actions."

"Well, if there is an active group that would recognize your Gryphon… then you'd only have to wait for them to approach you, wouldn't you?" Kitty offers.

"That's true. We can only hope they're friendly about it. I believe I will redouble my efforts to be a good Gryphon pilot, just in case," Tasha insists. She takes another breath; just what she needs, another thing to worry about! After exhaling, she pushes her muzzle to smile and inclines her head to the other woman. "But, for what it's worth, I really appreciate you're willingness to share this with me. And speaking of sharing, I'm not here just to talk: I also carry an invitation from the Captain for a tour of our vessel. If you accept, you will join the Lieutenant in a private tour prior to the PHTO's arrival. There will also be a dinner."

"Oh, I can't refuse that," Kitty says, smiling. "I… well, I suppose taking pictures isn't going to be allowed. Also… ah… I'm a vegetarian. Will that be an issue at dinner?"

Tasha smiles a little more. "Not now that you've mentioned it. I'll relay that to the ship. We have a crew member who is also a vegetarian, and so we are prepared to meet your needs. As for photography, probably not. We don't want to rile the Council needlessly, and there will be time for that later."

"I feel like I know the ship already, from my studies," Kitty notes. "Oh… did you need anything? I noticed you seemed in need of some… hair care products?" she asks, a bit cautiously.

"Is it that obvious?" Tasha asks, making a face. She looks up at her hair and rakes it with a paw. "Besides having to acclimate to a Expedition-era history, advanced technology, cybersurgery, new people, departure from my home, and data-writing to my brain, … it also turns out my hair care isn't good enough. Isn't that picky?" She shakes her head, the tosses her arms in the air!

"So, … yes," the half-Vartan admits in a put-upon tone as her hands fall.

"We can do each other's hair then!" Kitty says, far too excitedly for a woman closer to 30 than 13. But she's clearly starved for female contact.

Tasha wonders what sort of lonely all-male hell this poor woman must have been through to be excited about her doing her hair. "I'll … I'll try," she offers, trying to sound positive. She decides it will at least be a learning experience, and maybe she'll finally understand what Gabriel and the others want when they look at her dress and find it lacking. "I just have to warn you now: I grew up with Vartans, a people who don't even have hair. So, please do not blame the JEF if this is a disaster!"