Still, Tasha has to wait a short while before she can get to the reception desk while a man goes over a land reclamation permit with the human at the desk. There are actually two typewriters set on it and some sort of voice recording machine as well.

"Welcome to the Terran Embassy," the man says politely when it's Tasha's turn. "How may I be of service to you this afternoon?"

Inwardly, Tasha is relieved when the man doesn't react to her usual appearance; It's something she's had to deal with a lot more given the species-aligned nationalities and her place firmly between two. "If possible, I would like to meet with either of the Council members in order to have this voucher signed," she removes a official-looking voucher from the same case she keeps her datapad in, showing it to the man, " … and then I would like to speak with Ambassador Riddle. My name is Tasha, Pilot-Cadet of the Joint Expeditionary Force."

The man looks over the voucher, then consults a datebook. "Do you just need the voucher signed, or was there other Council business you needed to discuss in person?" he asks.

"I wouldn't mind discussing recruitment, but it's not a pressing matter," replies the young woman.

"Are you looking for a position with the Embassy or the Council?" the man asks at the mention of recruitment.

"No," Tasha replies. "I'm recruiting for my own organization, which in turn is supported by the entirety of the PHTO Council. I thought maybe there were individuals the Council members have had in mind that I could meet while my mission is in progress."

"You've probably seen my black Titan," Tasha adds, hoping that will help explain things.

"Oh… well would you like to schedule an appointment?" the receptionist asks next, one hand reaching for a fountain pen.

"Let me check my schedule." Tasha removes her datapad, scrolls through some menus, then checks her itinerary. "I should have several hours free tomorrow after noon. You may want to add I'd like to discuss politics, too, if possible."

"Mr. Altieri has an opening after lunch in three days," the man notes, check the big scheduling book. "Mr. Cromwell is booked until next week though, although there are two general Council sessions between then and now. If you want to speak to the assembly, you'll need to see the Council secretary though."

"Mr. Altieri is fine," Tasha says with a smile. "I'll save meeting with the Council when I have another report to make."

"I'll pencil you in and let you know when the meeting is confirmed," the man says, even though he uses ink and not pencil to make a note in the book. "Just Tasha, no last name?" he asks, after referring to the voucher.

"Just Tasha," the hybrid confirms.

Taking out a different pad of paper, the man makes a few more notes, and asks, "Where can you currently be reached?"

"I'm staying in the Council dorms at the main complex in building B, room 206," Tasha answers. "Mr. Altieri knows where I am. After all, he was there when I got my room assignment."

"Yes, but I need to know for notification purposes, and to have the voucher sent to," the man explains with an apologetic smile.

Tasha nods her head. "It's alright; I'm a bit new to all of this," she admits.

The man takes down the information, and then places the voucher and note into a little metal cylinder, which goes into one of the pneumatic tubes behind his desk. There's also a panel full of buttons. He holds one down and asks, "Mary, is Ambassador Smith in right now?" into a grill.

The young woman watches the tube speed off in to the building, eyebrows raising. For all the technology she possess, she's never watched a pneumatic tube at work, finding it very entertaining.

The reply is very crackly, but a discernibly female voice replies with, "She's in, Harvey, with Mal and one of the Silent-Ones."

"There's a Cadet Tasha asking to see her, can you buzz her to see if she's busy?" Harvey asks next through the box. A moment later, Mary replies with, "Sure, she's not in a meeting or anything."

The tube's entertainment come and gone, Tasha waits patiently with her hands folded behind her back that, along with her uniform, gives her a vaguely military air. "Sounds like good news," she remarks as the conversation concludes, grinning a little.

Harvey returns to the desk, and draws Tasha a simple map on his pad of paper. "This should get you there without any trouble," he says, handing over the slip. "Be wary of anything she offers you to drink though."

The piece of paper is accepted, Tasha cocking her head to the side that's somewhere between canine and avian. "And to think, I liked her last choice … " She says in a surprised and somewhat distracted tone as she examines the map. Nodding, she then looks up and says, "Thank you for your time. I'll just follow this and get out of your hair," before smiling.

The man brushes his fingers through his (slightly orange) hair. "If you need help getting back out, just ask Mary; she's the floor secretary." The map involves a few flights of stairs – apparently the personal quarters up on the top floor.

"Thanks again; don't work too hard!" The woman winks, then she's off down the hall and in to the building.

Four flights up, Tasha encounters Mary, who leads to her the door of an apartment and knocks. The familiar red hair and smiling face of Riddle Smith appear when the door is answered. "Ah, Tasha, c'mon in," she says. "Heard your flight went without a hitch today."

Tasha smiles right back, looking a world better than when the red-haired Ambassador saw her last. Gone are anxious frown and the visible tension that had lined her face and made her seem older than she is. "Thank you for seeing me, Ambassador." As she steps inside, she takes a brief look around as she replies, "That's right; I can't say I miss the excitement of the first one, but I may bring a book next time."

The sitting room of the apartment isn't very large – one might call it 'cozy' – and having the big Naga, Malachite, taking up a corner makes it more so, even though he's mostly coiled up. There's an old Elamoore-style loveseat, and a straight-backed chair with a Silent-Ones woman in it (her partial mask identifies her as Keeper-of-Promises). There's a matching footrest that isn't being used. "Have a seat!" Riddle says, "I was just about to serve some tea."

Tasha gravitates towards the old Elamoorian loveseat, taking a moment to examine it with some curiosity before she settles herself down. The larger loveseat is also good for her wings, letting her spread them out and rest – a luxury few pieces of non-Vartan furniture allow. To those assembled, she inclines her head politely, then says as well as signs, "I don't know if the Ambassador introduced me, but I'm Tasha, Pilot-Cadet of the Joint Expeditionary Force."

"Keeper-of-Promises," the Silent-One signs, which is translated until that monotone mechanical voice by her glove – although it does at least sound a little more feminine than usual. "Silent-Ones Liaison to the Winged Citadel. The men at the hangar have signed good things about you."

Riddle vanishes into another room, saying she'll be right back. The sound of a teapot whistling from that direction probably means it's the kitchenette.

"We have met," Malachite says, bobbing his head. He's out of uniform, wearing a simple green tunic instead of his Lancer armor.

"Really?" Tasha's ears perk and she smiles; she hadn't expect that the mechanics thought well of her. "I have only good things to sign about them, as well. If I didn't know better, I'd say my equipment was better than new when I returned to duty." Turning to Malachite, she raises her brows slightly and nods. "We certainly have. Let me take a moment to apologize for my brevity that day, and my mood. I was still disturbed by my near-death and wasn't quite myself. I meant to say this then, but thank you for your service." She then stands up and extends her hand to the man, to shake.

Malachite is familiar enough with Terran customs to clasp palms and shake back.

The cadet smiles more, shaking, then returns to her seat. "I used to pretend I was a Knight Templar, when I was a child," she admits with a little laugh.

"The Knightsss are popular on Sssinai?" Malachite asks, with obvious interest.

"Welllll … ," Tasha hesitates, but can't hide the uncomfortable expression that crosses her face. "'Popular' isn't exactly correct. They are popular among children as the archetypal hero, but by and large they were an elite law enforcement body until relatively recently. There was a schism between their group and the Temple of Rephidim – the nation located in and born of the Ark – and that didn't go over well with Rephidimites. On a grander scale, I'm not sure of their status, save that they have become independent. I haven't seen many Knights Templars since the Coalition War, and they were all but gone from Rephidim before I found the Fenris."

"The Knights and politics do not mix well," Keeper-of-Promises claims.

"That is, they were an arm of the Temple, until something happened to split them," Tasha corrects. She nods her head to the Silent-One's signs. "It seems that way. I worry about my own organization and the same problem."

"Here we go!" Riddle Smith returns, pushing a little tea-cart. The tea set itself is mismatched – different mugs instead of matching cups, sugar in a crystal cup, honey in a squeeze-bottle, balls of butter on a little dish and cream in what is clear a gravy boat. The small plate of pastries and cookies is equally random, with a few giant, knobby macaroons taking up the center of the pile.

"If you ssstart worrying about politicss before you even get off the ground, you will get very little accomplished," Malachite claims, as he plucks a mug and adds butter-balls to it before the tea is even poured.

"That is a multicultural tea and cookie set you have there," Tasha remarks, immediately finding a degree of bafflement as she finds herself commenting on tea sets of all things. I really have changed these last few months, she decides. "I was just talking to the others about the recent history of the Knights on Sinai. I owe you an apology, as well: I was much more curt and uncomfortable than I'd have liked to be last time we met."

"It is wise to be aware of the environment in which you will be operating," Keeper's glove recites, almost on top of the Naga's assertion.

"Oh, I'm used to pilots to being a little bit crazy," Riddle notes. "At least, the interesting ones. How do you take your tea, Tasha?"

Glancing towards Malachite with a raised brow, Tasha's eyes then dart to the second ambassador's sign, making her ears flick. "I'm doing what I can to learn of our situation and press forward despite concerns. I'm only the acting second-in-command; Gabriel – the Captain that is – is the final decision maker on matters of politics, aided by minds wiser than I. I just talk and fly." She grins a moment, then shifts it towards Riddle. "To be very honest, the concept of tea with things in it is very new to me, but I did like it with honey."

Riddle fixes a mug for Tasha, while the others are familiar enough to take care of their one. Keeper unsurprisingly uses a lot of cream, while Riddle adds several teaspoons of sugar to her own. The tea itself is very strongly flavored of cinnamon and mint, a very odd and tingly combination. Malachite stirs his noisily, to help melt the butter.

"Politics is a game best left to the old and stubborn," Riddle offers as her bit of advice. "It keeps them busy so the younger folk can actually get things done."

Tasha covers her muzzle, choking down a laugh. "Well, our leader is very old, and he can be very stubborn, too. But I believe in him." Like any good Karnor – or at least any person with a good Karnor head – Tasha sniffs her tea a moment before taking a sip. A calm smile settles on her face as the mug lowers, and she settles back, looking a bit more at ease. "I'd like to take you up on your offer, Ambassador Riddle. And, if possible, Doctor Zerachiel would like to join me. Perhaps the day after tomorrow?"

"Of course dear, I can have transport ready in the morning. Would you like me to pick you up at the council house or meet here?" Riddle asks.

Lowering her mug, Tasha replies, "The council house would be best, as the Doctor might bring along something-or-other."

"I hear he isss very curious about surviving ancient technologies," Malachite notes, slurping at his tea (it's not like a Naga can really sip with their fairly rigid lips).

The young cadet nods to that. "Very. That's fairly common of us all, in fact. Even with me, I have a specialized education in spacecraft engineering, electrical, mechanical, and Silent-One optical computing. The Captain's education is considerably greater, not to mention the Doctors."

"Do you know of any First Ones sites that were near the city?" Keeper asks. "Much land was buried by the flooding of the Pit, and we hope your efforts will reveal what is down there."

"Data from the flight is still being analyzed," Tasha replies. "Once the current data block has been combed through, we'll present any findings of immediate importance to the Council."

"We're all a bit anxious, understandably," Riddle says, and offers the plate of cookies around. The big warty macaroons are taken by Mal, since size and texture are more important to Nagas than flavor.

Tasha scans the cookie selection with a critical and rather raptorish eyeballing then plucks up a pink frosted lady finger. "We're not trying to be suspenseful," she insist with a laugh. "We just want to make sure our data is accurate and complete before we present anything. This is our debut, and we want it to reflect well upon our capabilities – randomly spotting rifts in space and time aside."

Riddle sits down on the footstool after the cookies have been passed around. "Now, was there anything else you wanted to talk about, other than the tour of the Winged Citadel? This is usually our card night."

"Well, no; nothing that isn't more politics, that is. I didn't mean to disturb your relaxation," the young woman admits, shortly before popping the cooking in her mouth like a large dog biscuit.

"Most political land mines regard land parceling and water rights," Keeper notes – managing to eat a cookie and drink her tea while the glove does the talking.

Tasha nods to this; she had heard much the same before. "J.E.F. concerns in those departments are primarily focused on basing and self-sufficiency, so I don't think we have any issues there. Ah," the woman glances towards Riddle, "I don't want to delay your game, so I'll get going if there's nothing else?"

"Well, if you're interested in learning bridge, let me know," Riddle says. "Otherwise I look forward to seeing you and the good Doctor the morning after tomorrow."

"I'd love to learn; thank you. I'll see myself out." Tasha sips down the land of her tea before returning it to the tray and standing. She takes a moment to straighten her uniform, then smiles and inclines her head before heading out.

After her talk with the Colonel, Tasha's decided to try and be as low-key as a uniquely bodied individual can be when visiting someone. From her rather sad selection of civilian-viable clothes, she's chosen a tank top stuffed in to her Expedition military pants, which in turn are stuffed in to her centuries old Vartan mercenary booties. Her hands are likewise covered in the ancient Vartan attire; armored, padded gloves – just in case. All of this is largely concealed by her reddish-tan Abaddonian traveling cloak as she steps inside the bar. She immediately spots the booth where she found the old Vartan, and proceeds that way.

The evening crowd is light yet, and hasn't had time to really get into their cups, which means only a few openly leer or stare at Tasha – the cloak's hood and her gloves do a decent job of making her look like just another Vartan. Nobody accosts her on the way to the curtained booth – and most deliberately turn away once it's clear that it's her destination.

No stranger to the tavern dive scene, Tasha proceeds without so much as flicking an ear. A part of her finds it strange, that she's no longer part of this world – and glad, that she managed to escape. Upon reaching the booth, the young woman raps the back of her glove against near the curtain. "Buy me a drink and I'll tell you a story," she whispers inside.

The curtain parts and a surprised looking Eeee girl nearly bumps into Tasha's nose. She's a bit 'tarted up'… and it's pretty clear what her profession is. She excuses herself and scoots around Tasha, heading for the door of the tavern before the hoots and whistle can begin. "Come in," comes the gruff voice of Raehab.

Tasha's brows raise as she watches the Eeee girl depart, but before she can think to leer herself a sense of sadness ends the motion. For all her fate could have gone, prostitute was far more likely than the undreamed of success she enjoys now; It pains her to think that the poor girl didn't get the same chance. Sliding in, Tasha folds her hands on the table and gives the man a sober look and a wry smile. "I hope this doesn't mean you're going to shoot me this time?"

"Left my gun in my other pants," Raehab says, his chitinous countenance illuminated briefly as he strikes a match and lights up a cigar. "Don't sit in the wet spot," he adds. "Surprised you came back, Cadet, to be honest."

The young woman glances down, then simply shrugs and stays where she is. "You'll be even more surprised when I tell you I looked in to your past a bit," she insist with smile that's not wry at all. "But don't let the uniform fool you; I grew up in places like this, if not on this world. You're not the first surly, maimed Vartan I've talked with, and definitely not the only one who could kill me. I like to think you're nostalgic." Her laugh is low for her, but still fairly loud. "Besides, I owed you some honesty and an apology for being half scared out of my wits."

"Only half scared?" Raehab asks. "I must be losing my touch." He leans across and offers Tasha a fresh cigar. "So, asked around about me, but still come back, eh? Gimme an hour to recharge and I fulfill your twisted fantasies if you want." He waggles his single eyebrow. "Apology accepted."

"Aye, half or entirely. And not from you – I nearly flew my machine to my death that day. You won't hear anyone say it, because they don't know, but I didn't sit around being heroic – I broke down after nearly dying the way my sister did, among other horrors. I like to think the flying mountain was my favorite." This time, she doesn't laugh at all – but she does accept the cigar. Holding it forward for a light, she goes on. "Like I said, tough men aren't new. Neither are taverns. I almost was that girl, and I haven't forgotten that fact. Anyway," cigar lit, she settles back, taking a deep inhale before she admits, "As far as my interest in older men, that's already filled by another captain." She answers is waggle with a wink.

"Ah, dash a poor old pilot's hope," Raehab says, leaning back in the darkness. "Thank the First Ones… or whoever… for Eeee women. They can keep their eyes closed the whole time and not mind. So other than apologizing and basking in my raw masculine miasma, what brings you to me this fine… it's evening now, right?"

"Close enough," Tasha replies, chuckling around her cigar. "And sorry to dash your hopes; you're a few months too late." Her head shakes. "You know, it's nice to be able to say that, as true as it may be. I'm under a lot of pressure to hide that part of my life these days, but that doesn't mean I don't remember. Or that it ever quite goes away." She takes a puff, then stares at the man who lurks across from her in the darkness, thinking. "I figured you deserved the truth after what you told me. That, and I wanted your side of things. Annnnd, maybe I just like talking to you?" She gives another shrug. "I'm a strange woman."

"Ah, so I'm a safe reminder of your sordid past?" Raehab asks. "So… my side of things? Well, that depends on what you've heard, I imagine."

"If you were safe, you wouldn't be a very good reminder," the Cadet insists with another wink. She takes a deep inhale, then lets it curl from her muzzle as she looks up in to the dark, recalling. "Let's see … treason, almost killed, caused a lot of problems … It wasn't detailed."

"Ah, treason," the old Vartan says, blowing a smoke ring. "Not much to say there. I was the only survivor of the Phoenix… also the pilot, and had an unbelievable story as to why the most expensive piece of military hardware in Confederate history was spread out over several hundred square miles in itty-bitty pieces. It was just easier to believe in sabotage than a mysterious object that shot us down with an energy weapon."

"I thought that might be the case." Tasha's puffs out the smoke ring as it nears her, then takes another draw of her own cigar. "I guess the rest was fighting your nation's summary dismissal and lack of loyalty? Is that why you took the time to warn me? Revenge?" Before the man can answer, Tasha admits, "I just thought of another reason I came back; we're share more in common than machines and microwave beams."

"The Confederacy will eat their own, just remember that," Raehab says. "I don't know how you'll screen people, or even what positions you'll have to fill… but don't trust anyone recommended by a Confederate Official. Now, you asked around about me, so I take that to mean you visited old Talonstrike?"

"Aye," Tasha confirms, deciding fair's fair and she doubts she could conceal a lie like that from Raehab, anyway. "I guess I can't be surprised about the Confederacy. It's the same way with the Babelites, from all I remember of their nation. Maybe it's always been part of the Confederacy, whatever face they take. But yes, the Colonel."

"How's the old girl doing?" Raehab asks, hinting at some familiarity with Rapatia.

"Know her, do you? She seems like she's well enough; she's more fit than my mother and just as funny," Tasha answers.

"Good to know," Raehab says. "She tell you to avoid me?"

"Not at all. She said you'd be a bad recruitment candidate," the young woman replies, smiling as she takes another inhale. "As much as I like you, I have to agree. For now, anyway."

"Maybe if you need someone to scare the other recruits," Raehab says, taking another long puff. "If you see Rapatia again, tell her she was always my best student. If you don't mind letting her know you're still talking to me, anyway. So what's next on the agenda of little miss hero Gryphon pilot? Or is that classified?"

"'Hero pilot,'" Tasha repeats, muzzle twisting. "We'll see. I like your cigars, by the way." Another inhale, then, "I'll tell her. I had a feeling there was more to all this that meets the eye. As for what's next, well, I keep gathering data. And," here she cocks her head to the side, avian intrigue style, "maybe I'll go see that microwave beam of yours."

"Wear tinfoil," Raehab suggests. "Or a suit made of popcorn."

"I'm sure you'd enjoy that. Unlike the rebuilt Garuda troop carrier – where did you find that, anyway? – my machine can deal with radiation-based weaponry and jamming," the young pilot insists. "I asked it."

"Can't say how we got the chassis," Raehab notes. "Classified. But it wasn't easy, I can tell you that much."

"It speaks a lot of you that you aren't willing to tell me, even now. That's good to know," Tasha says. She takes another deep draw, settling back. "All mine required was another world, another time, and metal in my head. You see, Captain," she removes a hand, extending it forward in to the light. Glimmering metal shines just below the pads of her hand, down her arm, and likely beyond. " … we have a bit in common."