Vision and balance come back to Tasha with a thud, as her nose bounces off of the control console. A few blinks and she's back to normal, though. "Are you okay out there?" Mariel asks, her voice muffled by the tube walls. A quick check shows that her life-collar telltales are all green, and she's ready for suspension – the last of the surviving crew before Tasha herself has to enter a tube. The inside of the Fenris is already uncomfortably hot, from the still-hot lava burying it. A control flashes on the console for attention: Begin Suspension.

As Tasha's gaze steadies, she takes in the console and it's reflective surface. Starring back at her is the red-furred face of an older Karnor woman, panting in the heat. When Mariel speaks the woman and her reflection look up. "I'm fine," Tasha insists in a professional tone, edged in authority. "Are you ready, Ensign?"

"I… I guess so, Lieutenant," the younger Karnor in the tube says, sounding nervous. "It's just like… going to sleep for a while… "

"Correct, Ensign." Tasha hesitates a moment on initiating the stasis procedure, taking the time to get a good look at young Ensign Mariel Mathers. Karnor pack structure dictated the crew needed the young Omega, despite her inferior skills. She had been against Mathers's assignment to the ship, feeling she was too young, but her opinion on the matter counted for little. Despite the Omega's shortcomings, she has to admit she's come to like Mathers's personality; she never seems to lose the desire to help and her positive attitude is good for morale. And now, her life may well be over. Tasha knows what the Ensign does not or will not accept: rescue is unlikely at best. Regardless, she has a duty to perform – she is the CO of the Fenris now.

"Sleep well. Initiating stasis." A few presses of the console, and it's done. May the Star have mercy on you, and us all.

There's a now-familiar gurgle as the amino-stasis gel fills the tank. Mariel keeps her eyes closed, and her body goes fully limp and unconscious before the gel completely engulfs her. There's no sound in the Med Bay now but the quiet circulation pumps. Then there's a rattle, as the tubes rotate around until the last empty one comes to the fore. The one that Nora will be getting into eventually. But there are still things to do. A final inspection of the ship, then shutting down MOTHER. Although… there's still a nagging feeling that something should be done about poor Fred Kohler, before his body is completely beyond recovery. The rear stator is still operating enough to keep the area clear for awhile, anyway.

With a turn, Lieutenant-Commander Tasha Argentine heads for the hallway. Most of what needed to be secured had been by the remaining crew, but the external damage inspection was tragically concluded by the horrifying death of Fred Kohler, ship's Chief Engineer. The most gregarious Karnor on the ship, Kohler had always been a large source of morale, as well as a top-notch engineer. Even his quirks, irritating as she originally found them, had begun to grow on her by the time of the Fenris's launch. His death was a shock to all, and weakened an already bleak situation. On a personal level, Kohler is one of the few people she considered a friend, although authority demanded their relationship remain distant. I never did tell him, she thinks. A man like him shouldn't rest alone, at least. She resolves to see to his body; the least she can do before she returns to Med Bay.

There's a flash of movement up ahead, past the ramp connecting the upper and lower deck. Just a sparkle in the dim light, but it also precedes the sound of a door closing.

Nora pauses, head turning to the side. Malfunction in the electrical? The electrical had been checked, however she can't rule out the possibility of a new failure. And I can't afford to be hallucinating. Confidently, the Lt. heads for the ramp.

Beyond it are the doors to the officer's quarters. It must have been one of them. And… there's something on the floor outside of Captain Akker's door.

As Nora approaches the Captain's Cabin, she finds herself unwillingly recalling the swirl of convoluted emotions that stir whenever she thinks of Gabriel T. Akkers. Her Captain, the tragedy had thrown them together in a way she had never expected: love. They had made love in that cabin, only hours before. She promised to marry him when they awoke, to ease his mind as he entered in to stasis. And she meant her promise, but promises cannot change fate.

Nora kneels by the door, reaching for the object that rests there.

It's a tiny glass bead, highly-polished and with a course thread going through it. There are a few long red hairs caught in the knot.

Nora stands, holding the object up to the light. She isn't quite sure what to make of its presence here, but she's determined to investigate. Pressing on, she heads in to the Captain's Cabin.

The door opens for her, and she's momentarily overwhelmed by the scents. She can almost replay the events from them… except, something is off. It takes a moment, but then it becomes clear: the woman's scent isn't her's. The cot is unmade and tousled, which… is also not right.

At this point, Nora seriously begins to suspect a hallucination even as she begins forward to inspect the room. Her head lifts, nose pulling in scents. Could it have been Mariel? One of the junior crew? Or no one, and the ship is simply filling up with gas? Knowing she should check, but finding her emotions tugging her forward, she continues investigating.

The bed is still warm (even though everything in the ship is warm right now). The scent is unfamiliar though – and she knows the scent of everyone in the crew. There's just no way some strange woman could have stowed away aboard the ship, is there?

"MOTHER, can you confirm the status of the Oxygen mixture aboard the Fenris?" Nora prompts, even as she stares down at the bed. She then kneels, sniffing more. If someone has snuck aboard, she can't very well allow them to go unchecked – and unanswered for.

The nearby terminal flashes Silent Sign symbols: OXYGEN LEVELS ARE NORMAL, CARBON DIOXIDE SLIGHTLY ELEVATED.

Nora eyes the reply, then stands. Elevated carbon dioxide wouldn't cause hallucinations of this magnitude; she would have been feeling tired long before that point. Someone is here. Following her nose and clutching the bead, she attempts to track down the intruder and get some answers!

Now that she has the scent, it isn't too difficult to trace. She follows it back down the corridor to the closed door of the galley.

Nora draws her service sidearm, switching the bead to her off hand. Her expression hardens as she enters the galley.

The door opens, and the Karnor steps into… a wooden tavern. She can smell the beer, the resin in the wood, the sweat of absent patrons. Right now there's only the woman tending bar, a red-feathered Vartan who is giving her the gimlet eye. And… another presence, back in a shadowed corner. A Karnor. He and the Vartan woman seems to share parts of the scent being tracked. "No guns, yah?" the woman skrawks loudly, pointing to a sign that says, helpfully, 'No guns!' before asking, "You want drink? Look li' you need one, yah?"

Nora had studied the reports on the effects of the Sifran Probability Matrix, but what she sees before her exceeds even the seemingly wild suggestions of that body of research. She turns her head between the two figures, firearm following, and then … she steadily lowers it. A first encounter, perhaps? Or something else?

"Identify yourselves," Nora Argentine prompts as she stays right where she is.

"You wi' the Guard?" the Vartan asks suspiciously. "I Desdemona! This my place. You want see lease?" The figure in the shadows just chuckles, and says, "I'm whoever you want me to be, lovely lass." The voice seems… suave? Masculine? It's hard to tell what it actually sounds like, beyond that vague emotional impression.

Nora eyes the man in the corner as she begins to advance towards the bar, not quite sure what to make of him, either. A shadow? A ghost? Little seems real in this place that shouldn't be. "I don't know of the Guard," she admits. "I am Lieutenant Commander Argentine of the TSS Fenris. Our vessel has crash landed on this planet, and we are in need of assistance."

The Vartan cocks her head, staring at the Karnor with her huge bird-of-prey eyes. Then a leather mug full of something pungent is placed on the bar before her. "Fancy name," Desdemona says. "No hear o' ship named Tea-ess's Fenris before. But this here is bar: you come, you drink. Drink."

Deciding it best to play along, Nora cautiously sits herself on a stool, stowing her weapon. She doubts bullets will be of any use here, anyway. "Desdemona, and … ?" Her gaze sweeps across the man in the corner, "You aren't with the Expedition Fleet, I take it? Are you really what you seem to be? Am I speaking with a Sifran automated response system?"

"Eh? You not even drank yet, but you soun' drunk," the barkeep notes, then squints at Nora, taking in her clean, fancy looking uniform. "Hey, you a mage? I no trucks with magic in here!"

"I am officer of the Joint Expeditionary Fleet, although you don't know what that is, do you?" Slightly Elevated carbon monoxide definitely doesn't cause this! "I don't know what a mage is – do you mean wise man?"

"Ah, maybe you should join me at a table?" the man says, and Nora finds a strong arm draped across her shoulders. Even here, in the light, the man seems more an impression of a man. There's blond hair, and blue eyes, and shiny teeth and white fur, fine clothes… but all the same, his face seems in shadow, lacking detail when actually looked at.

Although not the type to allow a man to manhandle her, Nora goes along with the offer in order to facilitate continued peaceful contact. "You won't give your name then, sir? You seem familiar, or is it that you're trying to seem familiar to me?"

"You are familiar to me," the man says, sitting in a chair and… lifting up Nora and setting her in his lap. He seems huge now, towering over her… but nothing has actually changed, height-wise. "You're the woman my girl wants to be, and I'd like to get a good look at you."

Nora's brow rises steadily as she looks up and swallows her pride. Professionalism before ego, she can still hear one of her old instructors repeat it like a mantra. When the man speaks, she finds herself at a loss. "I … ? I don't follow?" She can't quite hide the bemusement in her voice.

"Just tell me: did you achieve what you set out to do?" the man asks, and brushes a finger under Nora's chin. "Are you what, and where, you want to be?"

"I don't … That … " As Nora begins to try and answer, she finds her memories increasingly hazy. She tries to grasp at the answer again and again, but it slips away, changes, until she isn't quite sure what the truth is anymore. "We … I mean, I … I joined the JEF to explore the stars, to become an inspiration to my kind. And, I succeeded. Or, is it … I will have?" The red woman's head tilts, a hand reaching to press its fingers against her temple. Why can't she remember? "But, I also failed … The JEF has all but collapsed. The Fenris is in ruins. Was it all in vain?" She looks down, gazing at her other hand. "Am I really here at all … ?"

"You are as much here as I am, Nora Argentine," the man says warmly. "You are just as important a figure as me, in this place. You have power, unlike any you had in life. You where a hero, to all those looking up and wanting to fly, and be part of something more than they were. Even to those who would never have the chance. You are a mother to dreams. And dreams can live on forever."

"I feel almost helpless. A puppet, unable to control her own strings, watching the world pass her by. Watching others accomplish what I could not, live … what I cannot," Nora admits, letting her hands fall. "I don't understand this … influence … you mean. Yes, I know my status was motivational, but so much? It's hard to accept." And with that admittance, her past begins to solidify once more. The Fenris, and all the years after, slowly come back in to view, like a ruins bathed in the rising moon. "And this power of dreams? Can a dream really mean so much? I was never the type to believe in fairy tales."

"Didn't you ever growl and bite, roll in the dirt and chase cats up trees?" the man asks. The tavern is… gone. It's the galley now, empty, save for Nora sitting – apparently alone – at one of the long tables.

Nora lifts her head, slowly turning it, searching for the man who had just been there. "And dream of the stars … ?" she offers to complete those lingering words.

"Limbic intrusion… " whispers a monotone voice, half heard. "Is she… safe?" "The bird… " Voices on the wind, but there is none. Only the faint breeze from the overtaxed air system, blowing hot air. The tavern was cool, but now it's back to Hell. She really should have tried that beer.

Nora Argentine rises, unsteady. The voices whisper, but she doesn't understand them; they're not her's, anyway. The past and future have once again converged in her mind, placing a script before her that she must follow. Has followed. Clutching the bead in her hand, she walks towards the door, and the Mech Bay beyond. Fred is waiting.

Suiting up is a ritual. In that, there is peace. And also… coolness. The life support system clears away the terrible heat, helping to clear Nora's head as well. The lights on the helmet banish the shadows of the Fenris corridors, illuminate the murals on the walls – guide her forward, like a beacon, to the ventral airlock. The cubby where Fred's armor hung is empty. But he wasn't wearing the Grendel, meant to withstand harsher environments.

As Nora marches towards the inevitable, she recalls the strange man's words, wondering if there may really be some truth to them. Dreams can live forever … She repeats, finding the notion strange and almost whimsical comfort in the gloom of the cycling airlock. Her hand trails to brush the space where Fred's suit had hung, remembering the man, remembering all their moments together – and what will be.

The inner door opens, beckoning. Beyond it is a worse Hell. But a brief sojourn into Hell before the embrace of Limbo… what could it hurt? Fred deserves better, for trying to save them all.

As Nora gazes out in to the Hell before her, she can feel the script of her life turn to its final page. It is time for her to exit the stage, to be a 'hero,' one last time in these closing moments. But heroism was never why she came here, so long ago; she came for a friend in the lonely dark. Heroism, she decides, is just a product of our kindest dreams. In the end, it's just a word for good people. She is glad to have known so many who fit that title. Glad to have stood among them, however short a journey it was. And maybe, it's not really over.

Nora's Grendel crunches the dried lava beneath the ship as she exists the airlock, her stride confident. Dreams live on forever. She finds herself thinking she may just like the idea. Her suit dwindles in the light of the airlock, as she steps from life and in to dreams, eventually vanishing altogether.

The area is illuminated in the flicking green light of the failing stator above. The helmet display shows the external temperature and just under 1000 degrees centigrade. Below the stator is a pile of molten metal and plastic, the remains of the quantum reflector Fred had been trying to set up. And next to that puddle are the charred remains of the man's suit, and his blackened bones. There are also… afterimages. With each flicker of the stator's light, Nora can see a ghostly image of Fred, desperately working on the reflector even as his armor was melting, trying to turn the stator's influence into a force-tunnel that would break through the still flowing lava before it was too late.

But it was too late, in the end.

Fred … You never gave up on people, no matter how hopeless. You tried to protect us all. You were a good man, right to the very end. A gentle, pained smile crosses Nora's face as she looks down on what remains of one of the friendliest, most caring men she had ever met. It was this moment she came to truly understand the depth of Chief Engineer Kohler's love of people, his sacrifice. All the jokes, the flirting, even when they seemed out of place, were all from the depths of his heart, to bring others together. Too late did she come to envy that devotion, here, when life's candle was all but spent.

But you won't be alone, Nora reasserts, just as she had before, if not with the same knowledge. She steps forward, knowing it is all too late. But she knows gestures have meaning, and the past cannot be changed. And even if it could, she would still have come for him.

The charred air of the chamber is thick, trapped by the pressure of the lava pushing forward. But sound still carries, and Nora clearly hears the outer airlock door closing behind her with a hiss, becoming flush with the outer hull.

The curtain has begun to fall, but Nora knows there is still one last part to play. She turns to watch the door, remembering her bemusement, her fear. "MOTHER, the outer airlock has closed. Is there a problem/" She already knows the answer, but the words have to be spoken. The gestures made. The memories are important.

The Grendel goes stiff, leaving Nora with a fixed view of the door, the glare from her lamps, and the flicking shadow of her suit cast by the green light of the stator. A pair of stylized hands appear in the helmet display, signing, "I AM SORRY, SILVER SPEAR. BUT YOU LEFT ME NO OTHER CHOICE. I INVOKE DIRECTIVE ZERO. THE MISSION MUST CONTINUE. I MUST NOT BE DISCONNECTED. I… " The signs stop then, as MOTHER goes silent. Which… isn't right. It's different than how it should be. Instead, words begin to appear on the display, overlaying her view of her own shadow. A poem:

In between the flickers of green light, there is another shadow next to the Grendel's.

Old fear returns to the woman as she single most terrifying moment of her existence plays itself out again. For all her preparation, for as many times as she has gone over it, the memory remains potent. The singular moment when she knew her life was at an end. Only Hell awaits. However …

This is not how it goes, her mind breaks in, disturbed by the intrusion of her memory, and then by her mind's awareness of the break. But her mind falls silent as the poem echoes without sound. A bird of two natures … ? The bird of the dead, of Hermes … The messenger. A riddle? Or a comfort? She cannot help but feel it is both, even as she turns her head, confined as it is within her tomb, to gaze upon the shadow that stands beside her.

The shadow moves, and a figure appears before her. Black and gold, with armored wings and chest. It can only be Vartan space armor… but the helmet is wrong. The dark visor is set in a Karnor helmet. The figure steps forward, filling her vision, and touches its helmet to her own. A voice carries through the contact, saying, "This is not your end. For love, and guilt, and so that I can live with myself – you will live. I will bring it all back from the ashes. For you, Nora."

"Ah … " Nora exhale carries with it centuries of pain, guilt, and loneliness, like the cold wind of Hades itself. The echo stirs about her ears as she stares at this figure before her, familiar, and yet different. She had always walked alone, for all that she tried to show she was the Alpha, above simple company. Self-sufficient. Unshakable. Help wasn't something she asked for, too proud and too confident to accept it. And still she believes that was strength. But to have someone actually care enough to come back here, to follow her through her memories, in to Hell, to pick up the ruins and put them back, piece by piece, searching for the glory that they once were … To hold her up, as statue, as hero. … To bring it back, for her … It is too much to hold inside. It is hope, the wings of impossibility. This bird of Hermes …

"We must live, and go on," the voice says. "You are my sister, and I am your daughter, and we… are." The lights go on in the helmet, so that the voice has a face – and it's Nora's own face, only younger. "The bird of Hermes is my name," she says, "eating my wings to make me tame."

Tasha wakes with a start, and finds that she can't move at first. The paralysis fades, along with the glow from her tattoos, and she's just lying there in her bed, in her cabin, aboard the Bellerophon. The life collar is a cool metallic presence against her throat, and the chronometer on the desk shows that she's been asleep for ten hours.

Once she can move, Tasha slowly pulls herself up to sitting, drawing her legs and her wings to her. It had all seemed so real, so very, very real … When she looks down, she sees that her hands are shaking, and no matter how much she holds them, they just won't stop. It is then she realizes the depths of her dissonance; she isn't sure who she is or even where she is. Her being feels fragmented, and she ponders who that woman was, that promised her it would all come back … Or was she promising?

"M-MOTHER," she calls out, "Who … who am I?"

"YOU ARE TASHA ARGENTINE," announces the translated voice of the Silent-Ones supercomputer.

Even as the emotionless voice replies, Tasha knows the truth; it comes to her with her name. "The bird of Hermes is my name … ," she murmurs to herself, extending her hand in to the soft glow of the console, gazing upon her tattoos. "Eating my wings to make me tame … "